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flowerandblood · 6 months

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Rage | Revenge | Relief

[ modern! • Aemond x stepsister! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, angst, smut, kind of incest but not really, mention of marital infidelity ]

[ description: Aemond thinks his life couldn't get any more fucked up until his mother tells him and his little brother that her partner and his daughter are coming to live with them. He gives them a wide berth until one night when he overhears a conversation between his stepsister and her mother. The power of angst, dark, bitchy Aemond. Anon request. ]

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* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

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When his mother decided to divorce his father, he immediately knew who he was going to live with − he had no intention of sitting at home with a man who had paid him no attention all his life. What he didn't suspect at the time was that there was something else behind his parents' separation besides a total lack of affection − or, in fact, someone.

Criston Cole.

When he found out about their affair, when his mother admitted to him that it had been going on for years he didn't speak to her for a month − not because he thought she had no right to really fall in love, but because she was always telling him about the principles of faith in God, the importance of fidelity and virtue.

When he met Alys at one of the parties he went to with his friends from university, when he saw the look she gave him he decided he didn't give a damn − they fucked in the men's bathroom like animals and then went to her place to do the same.

He stayed with her for longer than he had originally intended, not taking calls from his mother.

He eventually returned home; he had his studies to finish, however it was how long he disappeared for that started to worry his mother.

He didn't tell her who he was seeing and why, recognising that he no longer trusted her.

The thought of moving in with Alys occurred to him when one day his mother announced to him and Daeron that Criston and his daughter would be moving into their house − he laughed at her words, shaking his head and said that if they moved in, he would move out, making her burst into tears.

He had the impression that he didn't feel anything anymore.

That he was empty.

Everything seemed strangely funny to him, meaningless.

The day they arrived he sat locked in his room; Alys was sending him naked pictures of herself with messages about what she wanted him to do with her when he came to visit her.

On the one hand it turned him on, on the other it embarrassed him, he wondered how a grown woman could be so desperate.

He was more cautious than her, sending her pictures of his dick didn't thrill him even though she sometimes begged him to do it.

She was just texting him about what position he was going to fuck her first when his mother knocked on his room.

"Aemond. Will you come down to say hello?" She asked softly, hopefully. He pressed his lips together feeling a squeeze in his heart, tapping out a reply to Alys on the keypad of his phone.

Silence.

He heard her give up and go down the stairs.

He felt tears under his eyes, felt rage at the thought that these strangers would now be roaming his house, taking his space, making him uncomfortable even here.

He managed not to see any of them for a few days and felt wonderful about it, going to class first thing in the morning, spending afternoons and evenings with Alys, only coming home late at night.

However, when he came back one time, he saw, putting his keys back on the shelf, that the glass patio door was pushed open.

She noticed a girl similiar to Criston, with his dark hair and big eyes; she was sitting sideways to him on one of the wicker chairs, wearing a thick, light jumper and shorts, her hair loose, as if she was already going to bed.

He saw her nervous gesture, her fingers pressed to her mouth, her eyebrows arched in pain, her whole figure tensed as if someone had just tortured her.

"And what is she like? Have you met her?" He heard the sound echoing from the speaker of her phone, saw her lower her gaze, her lips slightly parted.

"I don't know. She's just normal, Mum. Kind." She mumbled, her voice soft and calm, scared, girlish, young, innocent.

He knew he shouldn't eavesdrop on this, but he just stood and looked at her, unmoving from his spot, standing in the shadows in the corridor.

"Kind? Has she bribed you yet? Is she prettier than me?" The voice on the other end of the receiver was getting more aggressive and frustrated − he saw the girl scowl inwardly, shaking her head, lifting her shoulders up as if she didn't know what to answer.

"She didn't bribe me, she just…I don't know, Mum, I don't know what you want to hear from me, she's just a normal ordinary woman."

"DON'T LIE!"

He saw her cover her face with her hand as she trembled all over; he knew she couldn't take it, he saw tears start to run down her cheeks.

"− I'm not lying mum, I already told you, I moved out with dad for now because it's closer to my university from here, I −"

"You left me. After what he did to me. Was it worth it? For those few miles? To live in the beautiful big house of your favourite daddy's lover?"

"Mum, stop, please." She begged like a small child who asks a parent to stop hitting him already, that she had already understood her lesson, that she would be good now.

He had no idea why he felt a tightness in his throat looking at it, why his heart was pounding like crazy, why he couldn't move or breathe.

"You don't love me anymore. If you loved me you wouldn't have gone with him. You wouldn't have left me. I hope you like your new mum. Good night." She said and suddenly there was the sound of an earphone being hung up.

The girl burst out sobbing, leaning her whole body forward − he had never witnessed anything like it before in his life.

Why is it always the children who have to pay for their parents' mistakes?

He felt he should go upstairs, he felt he should leave her, but instead he moved towards the fridge, opening it. He heard her jump up surprised, only now spotting him through the glass, not knowing what to do, whether she should go or wait for him to leave first.

He, however, pulled out two cold beers and opened them with a loud pop of the cap; he walked outside, placing one in front of her, the other in front of him, sitting down in the chair opposite her, taking a cigarette and lighter out of his pocket.

"If you tell my mother I smoke, I will kill you. Do you understand? I'll make your life a living hell." He muttered, lighting his cigarette from the flame of the fire and took a drag, leaning comfortably against the backrest.

She looked at him with her mouth slightly parted, her eyes wide open, her cheeks all red − he thought she looked like a pet that children really want to have when they are little, a rabbit or a dog, a faithful companion and friend with big eyes.

She squeezed her eyes shut at his words and shook her head, massaging her forehead with her hand, as if she couldn't believe what he was saying.

"Nice to meet you too. I'm guessing that you are the Nicest of Alicent's sons." She said ironically.

Despite the harshness and mockery in her words, she said them so softly and warmly that he snorted with a grimace of amusement, shaking the ash from his cigarette onto the tiles beneath them with a tap of his finger.

"Yeah, that must be me." He hummed, looking to the side, exhaling the smoke loudly through his nose, reaching for the beer bottle − he took a long, loud sip from it, setting it down with a loud hiss of the baubles inside.

"Your mummy is always so pleasant?" He asked, looking at her curiously, wondering why he was so intent on bringing her out of her shell.

Why he was so cruel.

She, however, looked at him indifferently, unmoved; she smiled at his words lowering her gaze, her cheeks red from tears. She shrugged her shoulders.

"She's had a bit of a change of heart since she discovered my father was fucking your mother in their bed. But you probably wouldn't care. You don't seem like the kind of person who enjoys unnecessary drama. Right?" She muttered, leaning back, taking the cold beer he gave her in her hand and took a sip from it, turning the bottle in her hands.

He squinted his eyelids, wondering what kind of girl she was, what she might have wanted.

He liked being in control of what was going on and he wanted to work her out as soon as possible, to see what she cared about, to have her in his grasp like he had Alys.

"And what do you think about it?" He mused, slipping his cigarette into his mouth and taking a drag with a quiet hiss, not taking his eyes off her.

He saw that she was glancing at his scar, at his fake eye, and he felt frustration.

"I think that's my business." She said softly, spreading herself comfortably in the chair, lifting her knees up so that he could see her pleasantly firm thighs perfectly. "I only confide in friends."

He raised an eyebrow and sneered, taking another deep sip of beer, finding her naivety charming in a way; he figured she was younger than him by about two or three years.

"What conditions do you have to meet to be your friend?" He asked lowly, and she looked at him indulgently, a dreamy smile on her lips.

"You have to not be a cold, sophisticated dick." She said calmly.

He smiled broadly at her words, however the smile did not reach his eyes, wide open, empty and cold.

"I don't think I meet your requirements then. What about fucking? Can you imagine the face of our parents if they found out? Sweet God." He chuckled shaking the ash off his almost-smoked cigarette again with his pointing finger − he saw that she raised an eyebrow in disbelief and laughed lightly, as if he had actually amused her.

"I admire the level of your insolence. I really do. I'm full of appreciation." She said, smiling in a way that made him feel uncomfortable − he sensed that he had drawn from her the opposite reaction to the one he wanted. He licked his lower lip, looking at her intensely.

"If I offered you to come with me to my room, would you go?" He asked teasingly, wanting to pander to her, wanting to dominate her verbally. She cocked her head, a soft smile never leaving her face.

"Why not."

He swallowed loudly glancing down at her thighs, feeling a strong throbbing in his trousers at her words, his cock expressing an overwhelming desire to carry out his plan.

Fuck.

Actually, why not?

He rose dropping his cigarette to the ground and extinguishing it with his boot, grabbing a bottle of his beer with his hand, walking back out into the dining room − he heard her get up and move behind him.

They both walked quietly upstairs and headed for his room. He walked in taking a loud sip of his beer, turning over his shoulder to look at her − she came in behind him with her bottle, closing the door quietly, just standing and looking at him in complete darkness.

"So?" She asked quietly, lightly, making him completely hard.

He could fuck her while his mother and her father slept in the next room.

He could cum inside her and then look her father straight in the eye at dinner.

"Take off your jumper." He muttered as he drank his beer to the end, setting the empty bottle down on the ground, pulling his leather jacket off his shoulders.

He watched as she obeyed his command without a word, she had a T-shirt underneath, apparently the top of her pyjamas − he could clearly see the outline of her nipples and breasts through the thin material.

"Come here." He instructed, and she approached him slowly, looking at him with those warm, soft eyes of hers; he took the beer from her and set it down on the nightstand by his bed, then glanced up at her.

"I'm not kidding. If you don't leave now, we're gonna fuck." He said dryly, and she blinked, looking at him without a shadow of surprise.

Seriously?

He chuckled seeing that she hadn't moved from her spot, reaching a hand to his belt buckle, undoing it.

"Get undressed."

He stared at her with wide eyes as she pulled her T-shirt over her head, her lovely breasts firm, looking like those of the busts of Aphrodite created by ancient sculptors.

"Not your first time, is it?" He murmured, pulling off his tight black blouse. She shook her head − he could see she was breathing a little faster at the sight of his bare chest.

"Does your daddy know about this?" He asked amused, and she shook her head quickly, looking at him horrified.

"Are you going to tell him about it?" She asked startled, and he chuckled under his breath, pulling her close in a confident motion.

"Please. I suspect you don't do fucked up stuff like me anyway, kid. My mother would be very disappointed in me if she found out, you know?" He hummed and lifted her by her hips, laying her on her back on his bed, kneeling over her.

They both looked at each other and giggled as if they were doing something joyful − he couldn't believe how turned on he was, how much his heart was pounding.

"You know they'll fucking kill us if they find out?" He asked in a trembling voice as if he wanted to make sure she knew what she was doing. She nodded, her eyes were shining.

He thought they both wanted revenge on them.

And even though it was childish, he felt a kind of affection and tenderness for her.

He thought she understood him, that he would make her feel good.

"Such a good girl. Your dad raised you well. But your big brother will teach you better." He gasped, panting along with her, slipping off his trousers and boxers. She looked at him intently, squirming beneath him, her cheeks red, her eyes big and trusting, her lips parted, plump and shiny.

She looked at him as if she had known him for years.

As if they were doing it together for the hundredth time.

With a sure, light movement he slid her shorts and panties off her thighs − they were left completely naked in front of each other, and for some reason feeling no shame, she reached out to him. He leaned over her and let her embrace his neck.

He brushed her lips with his, at first just to try how she tasted, and then he sink deeper into them, pleasantly full and moist. He slid his tongue down her throat with her loud purr, in his other hand taking his cock, jerking it a few times in his palm, the tip of it glistening and pink, sticky from his precum.

"− will you be a good girl for your big brother? hm? −" He murmured into her mouth and she nodded, panting as he did, her thighs parted in front of him in a surprising gesture of trust.

He slid his hand between her legs to check her condition and smirked feeling it was as he suspected, his fingers spreading her wetness all over her hot womanhood, teasing her clit with calm strokes, making her body shudder, her lips parted in silent, innocent moans.

"− I haven't even touched you yet, and you're already leaking? − I'm beginning to wish I'd introduced myself to you sooner −" He gasped, rubbing her with sure, circular motions, her hips coming up against him, looking for any source of friction.

He groaned low, surprised, when her small, soft hand caught his length and with a calm, sure movements began to squeeze it, massaging it up and down, feeling it throb hard in her grasp.

"− your loss, big brother −" She whispered sweetly, looking at him with such an innocent smile that he felt like laughing and telling her how adorable she was.

"− true − don't worry, we'll make up for our lost time now − hm? − we'll get to know each other better −" He purred delightedly, running the tip of his nose over her cheek, breathing faster and faster, licking his lips, their hips seeking fulfilment in the touch of their hands, their lips beginning to rub against each other again, wet and sticky, not giving each other full kisses.

"− with or without a condom? −" He whispered, running his tongue over her upper lip, and she sighed softly, writhing beneath him, his fingers teasing her slick folds with increasingly determined movements, his palm all wet with her moisture.

"− without − 'm taking pills −" She gasped with some sort of pride, her free hand combed through his short hair; he smirked under his breath, taking his hand from between her thighs.

"− good girl − spread your thighs wide − yes, just like that −" He hummed, and she let go of him immediately knowing what he wanted to do, her hands on his back and neck, stroking him in some kind of excitement and anticipation.

He directed the fat head of his cock at her entrance looking down at her, pushing against her slit, her lips parted wide when she felt it.

"− last chance − yes or no, kid? −" He exhaled and she tightened her fingers on his back.

"− yes −"

He had to kiss her to silence the loud sounds that ripped from their throats as he slid into her with one sure, sharp thrust − he began to move inside her immediately, unable to stop himself, the frame of his bed began to creak beneath them with each push of his hips.

They kissed loudly and quickly with a sticky, wet click, their bodies slapping against each other again and again, her naked breasts pressed against his chest.

He wasn't sure he'd ever let Alys embrace him so tightly, feeling him with her whole body, but she was different − he could feel the need in her fingers, she wanted him to be close and he wasn't going to deny her that.

"− look at you − so good to your big brother, hm? − so well prepared to greet him −" He panted into her mouth feeling her insides clench on him greedily at his words, intensifying his sensations, making him lose control completely, his hands clamped down on her soft, hot body smelling of pleasant, girly shampoo and shower gel.

"− you're so big −" She mumbled with some kind of awe and delight, their tongues licking and teasing as his cock with each thrust rubbed against the spot on her upper wall from which her body shuddered.

"− here? − when I fuck you here it feels good? −" He exhaled and she nodded quickly, moaning louder and louder into his mouth, her walls throbbing hard on the verge of orgasm, their naked bodies bumping against each other fast with a loud slaps.

"− yes − please −" She mewled, panting and quivering beneath him, he stifled her sounds and his own low moans with kisses, speeding up his pace, feeling that he was about to come probably harder than he had ever done before in his life.

"− quiet − do you want your daddy to look in here? − to see me taking care of his little girl? −" He hissed and she tilted her head back; he had to cover her mouth with his hand as she began to moan loudly while the orgasm shook her body, her walls began to squeeze him greedily, sucking him inside.

He only managed to make a few desperate thrusts with his hips to prolong their pleasure before he cum inside her, panting loudly, clenching his eyes, feeling such incredible relief that he felt like he was about to pass out.

"− fuck −" He gasped, collapsing on top of her − his hips rocked inside her for a moment longer with her innocent purr of satisfaction.

They both breathed loudly in an attempt to calm themselves, lying with their eyes closed, feeling that, along with the pleasure, their bodies had left the rage, grief and disappointment.

He felt her look at him and he opened his eyes, thinking she was about to cry, about to say that this was one big mistake, but she giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.

"− God − we're insane −" She whispered with amusement, her eyes shining − he had no idea why he was smiling too, why he felt so damn good, why he felt such immense satisfaction.

"− yeah − that's correct −" He muttered lowly, feeling the fatigue and relaxation slowly overpower his body. He hummed when he felt her hand begin to stroke his hair wordlessly in a soft, light movement, with a kind of tenderness he had completely not expected.

He didn't know himself what he thought of that; he had never allowed himself to be touched like that by Alys saying he wasn't her pet, however there was something different about her touch.

Some kind of genuine concern from which he felt a tightness in his throat.

"This will be our little secret?" She asked quietly, running her fingers through his hair, down his neck and across his cheek. He murmured under his breath and lazily brushed her hand with his lips.

"Yes."

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Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

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husbandhoshi · 3 months

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TO GROW LOVE (AND EAT IT TO THE CORE)

pairing: mingyu x gn!reader wc: 8.1k summary: your whole life, you've only wanted one thing. then you meet mingyu. suddenly you want too much, and you wish the summer never ended. notes: farmer!au, established relationship, angst/hurt/a little comfort

this is a birthday fic for my one and only cat @wuahae ! yes this is about half a year late but what can i say. all good things come with time. thank you for being so kind, funny, and thoughtful (and patient)! not a day goes by where i’m not thankful for our friendship :)

and a million thanks to hana @wqnwoos and jackie @97-liners for helping me with edits. literally you guys are insane writers and i will never stop looking up to you.

i. strawberries (the summer we were young)

When a strawberry is ripe, the seeds push out from the heart of the fruit, as if it's bursting from the inside out.

This is one of the few and only things you've learned by living in Seogwipo, where strawberry season comes like a supernova. The May sun, full and heavy, peels into summer, and the roadside farms open their doors, trying to catch stray vacationers from Jeju City on the other side of the island.

That being said, there are approximately two things to do here. One of them is farm. The other is pretend like you have a life, which is your childhood friend Yizhuo's favorite thing to do when she's back from university on summer break.

Today, this involved convincing her ritzy, too-good Seoul friends that they're missing out on this side of Jeju. (Missing out on what? You're not sure. Perhaps the chipped paint of the mural walls, or the endless flat-topped stretches of seagrass. Yizhuo isn't fooling anyone, but you've always liked stretching your legs out in the bed of her pick-up, even on the long drive to nowhere.)

Unsurprisingly, her friends quickly came to the same conclusion. Just one look at your local strawberry patch, with none of the glamour of the bloated tourist traps in the city, and they decided they'd rather spend the afternoon at the beach.

It was then, between the fragaria blooms, when you met Mingyu. He asked for your name, and the rest was history. Yizhuo and co. scattered like the grasping hands of an overripe dandelion and you learned that he was, one, the newly-graduated son of a pair of local farmers, and two, very, very attractive. Almost too much so, especially for a place like this.

Now he holds up a berry, a bright red murder between his fingers, and tells you to try it.

"You must be delusional if you think i'm taking food from a stranger," you laugh, perched on the fence bordering the field. It sprawls before you, melon stripes on the sunbaked ground.

"No, my name is Mingyu," he replies. "No idea who delusional is." His smile, all bright lip and snaggletooth, tears into the scarlet belly of a newly picked strawberry.

"We all know what happened to Persephone."

"Well, if the underworld was a strawberry patch, I wouldn't mind being stuck there for all of eternity."

"What're you picking all these for, anyway?" you ask, watching Mingyu struggle with his too-big straw hat between the vines. His woven basket bleeds over with little berries.

"Jam. I make it on the very first day of every summer."

"Why?"

"You ask a lot of questions for someone who trespassed on my farm. You're cute, but I won't let you off easy."

He laughs at how you balk, clearly red-handed. You're not sure how to tell him you don't think you were supposed to be here either. You don't do things like sit in the back of trucks, trespass, or talk to pretty farmer boys who take a fancy to you, but it's the summer before you graduate and you're not even sure how long you'll have to continue making bad decisions.

"Are you gonna take my first-born now?" you joke instead. The daylight runs down the rim of Mingyu's hat, trickles down his brow, and you wish you could pour the image of him into a jar and keep it forever.

"No, but I will invite you in for some fresh jam on toast. I baked a loaf this morning." and when you say nothing, he continues. "The strawberries are only good once a year. It's the best you'll ever have. Promise."

It's a whine and a half, and somehow you convince yourself this will be the last bad decision you'll make. You've been here long enough to know that good things don't come twice in Seogwipo, and he is unlikely to be an exception.

Yizhuo blows up your phone, you tie the gingham apron around Mingyu's tiny waist, and the basket turns to blood in the saucepan.

Mingyu is right. Love comes to you in that kitchen, high and red like the sun, and the jam never tastes as good as it does that summer.

ii. watermelon (hollowed out, like a magic trick)

"A good watermelon sounds like a heartbeat."

You watch Mingyu heave the fruit, small and striped, out of his grocery bag. It joins the array of egg sandwiches and banana milks you picked up from the store together earlier. (There should have been chocolate Pepero too, but you split the box on the walk).

You're on a picnic, sprawled out on the outcropping overlooking the water. The path up is basically right behind your house, but you had never cared to visit. It had always been the local makeout spot, a schlocky teen crawl for those with nothing better to do, and yet, with Mingyu stretched out beside you, it seems newer. More exciting.

You're still just friends, or at least that's what you told Yizhuo. But ever since you sat on Mingyu's kitchen counter and ate from his jam-covered spatula, you don't think you've gone a week without seeing him. It's been almost two months, which seems so long and yet not long enough—he makes it easy to be greedy.

"See?" He thumps the watermelon with the heel of his palm. "Try it."

You already went through this entire charade at the grocery store, right in front of all the local aunties, but you indulge him. There's little point to triple checking if it's still ripe, but you think he just likes hitting it.

"It sounds good," you say. "But how are we even gonna eat it? We don't have a knife."

"Watch this." Mingyu procures a coin from his pocket. "You didn't learn this in elementary school? I feel like everyone was doing it."

"Here?" you ask, incredulous.

"Yeah, here. I grew up here too, you know."

He holds the edge of the coin to the skin and slams his palm into it once more, so that it lodges itself into the rind, and begins dragging it around the fruit. You start to wonder if he bought the watermelon just to show you a party trick—not that you mind, though. The strain of his biceps peeks through his rolled up white tee, and you remember why he was able to stop you with just one look back when you first met.

"No way." The watermelon is so ripe, it bleeds around the incision. "I feel like I know everyone here. And I definitely would have remembered you."

"I was probably, like, two grades above you," he replies. "And my parents shipped me off to live with my cousins after elementary school. They said I should get out of Seogwipo and experience the real world."

"Good call. There's nothing here." You watch Mingyu spin the melon over to cut through the other side. The coin catches the sunlight, and it looks like gold. "I wish I left for university. The one here is so small."

"Really?" He pauses to show you his handiwork. The two melon halves roll over on their backs, their cut edge cruel and jagged. "Cool, huh?"

"Impressive," you say. "Honestly. I really didn't think that would work."

"I didn't either when I first saw someone do it. But I’ll try anything once," he replies, ripping open the packaging of the plastic spoon from the bag. "I can't believe you don't like it here."

"You do?"

"Yeah. A lot." He shoves the spoon in his mouth, and you watch the watermelon juice pool around his lips. "I missed home. The trees and the tall grass and the ocean. All the fruits. Everything. I learned to ride a bike, right down there by the water."

"Hm." He passes you the spoon. You don't want to hog it, so you carve out a piece bigger than you need. "Are you gonna work at the farm?"

"Maybe. Haven't decided yet," he says. "I think I want to be here, though. Maybe do something with food, but I want to be home."

"That's funny, because I think I’ve always wanted to live a different life. Or at least one somewhere else."

"You want to go to law school, right?"

"Yeah." Mingyu is right. The watermelon is all sugar, and you would almost feel guilty for eating it if it wasn't technically good for you. "I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer. It's something about the people watching, I think."

"That’s really cool," Mingyu says, mouth full but no less sincere. It's then that you notice your shoulders are almost touching, and your heart crawls back up to your mouth. "You know what you want. I admire that."

He makes it sound like a compliment, but you're sure it's a curse.

You think of your parents. There's a permanent wrinkle ironed into their foreheads, the paper crease of expectations and high standards. It's not that they didn't care, but their kind of care was a humbled sort, made heavy by a hard life. It didn't help that your big sister Seohyun went straight from Yonsei to work a big tech job in San Francisco and never once looked back.

But you can't blame any of them—wanting has always been a hereditary failing. Sometimes Yizhuo will catch you frowning at nothing, and then you remember that life isn't a performance and every day ends at the same time no matter how hard you work. But you don't know how to tell her that the only thing you can do sometimes is want, because otherwise you wouldn't really have much at all.

It seems like the exact opposite of how Mingyu lives—everything about him seems to pass like the seasons. Maybe that's why you can't seem to get enough of each other.

"Thank you. Really." You dig the spoon into your half of the melon. There isn't much left. "You're way too nice to me."

"It’s not hard to be," he laughs. "Maybe you're just too hard on yourself."

You're losing track of the distance between the two of you. You can almost feel the heat playing off his skin.

"Maybe."

It's then, under the veil of summer, where you meet Mingyu's gaze and, finally, things seem close to simple.

All you know are his eyes, heavy with sun, and then the slow, slow move of his lips against yours. He tastes like August, long and sweet, and for once you know what it's like to not only want, but to have, and to have again.

The ocean sings on the horizon, and the watermelon bellies weep.

iii. adzuki beans (or, the blood of a headless taiyaki)

Mingyu eats taiyaki headfirst because he says it hurts less.

"That makes no sense," you tell him, your pinkies linked. You never really liked holding hands, but yours fits so perfectly in Mingyu's and there's some girlish, childlike shine to it when you watch his finger search for yours after just a moment separated.

"What do you mean."

He breaks your gaze to eye a red bean taiyaki, like an unwilling predator sizing up their prey. It's the lamest, most embarrassing iteration of National Geographic you've ever seen, and yet you cannot find any fiber within yourself not deeply in love with the lion.

Fall is a forgiving place for your relationship to settle. You're now a senior at university and he's started his gap year. Gap implies he's in the middle of something, but in true Mingyu fashion, he leaves it up to fate, or chance, or something not nearly as kind (whim).

"Taiyaki isn't alive. And why would you want to pretend it is? Eating gummy bears would become an extinction event."

"It kind of is." He holds out the tail end of the taiyaki, the pastry almost explicitly flayed open, in front of you to eat. "Why does the Haribo bear have a face? Why do the gummy bears live in a gummy forest?"

"Great, so now I can’t even enjoy gummy bears without feeling like a serial killer?"

You dig your pointer into his shoulders, broad from all the time he spends on the farm. To think that his hands, big and weathered, were made to pick berries (and now wrap around your pinky finger) is bruising, if not ridiculously funny.

"It's a crime of passion. Gummy passion. Prosecute that."

He kisses your cheek and your heart almost squeezes into two.

The terrible thing about being with Mingyu is how seemingly endless his affection is. Now he's feeding you in public and buying the two of you matching socks (cat and dog, to be exact), although you'll admit it's a little charming, even if the neighbors do gossip.

He's sweet, too sweet, and his kisses stick to the back of your throat.

But you can't be fooled. There's an unsaid violence to the way Mingyu loves. (The meticulous spiral of the peel he carves when you ask for him to cut you an apple. The grind, decisive and cruel, of a knife against a cutting board. A pair of canines against your neck, your jaw.)

Even now, he bites the head off another unwitting taiyaki before stuffing it back in the bag.

"We're still splitsing, right?" he says, with perhaps 1% of his mouth available for speaking and the other 99% murder machine.

Splits, he always says before you share food. You never had the heart to tell him that it's in the same family as mines or sharesies or takebacks—silly childhood relics, ones that no one uses anymore because they don't mean anything.

This time, you don't hear him because you're thinking about the law school fair you went to before Mingyu picked you up. The future is so close, it scares you. A year from now, what ground would you be standing on? Would it smell like this—the peat, the thread-spool fields, the balm of the ocean? Would you still have Mingyu's finger wrapped round yours?

"Have you decided if you're staying at the farm?" you ask.

"Not really." He uses the back of his hand to wipe off his chin. "If my sister decides to take over, I’m actually kinda thinking of going to pastry school instead of getting a masters."

Mingyu had been toying with the idea for some time after you had talked about it on the outlook. It started off as a joke (September; a galette), then a what if (October; green tea mochi), and now it sits at a kinda.

"Kinda?"

The word gathers speed in the pachinko machine of your mind. You never liked being a kinda person. For Mingyu, it seems like a luxury of a word, but for you, it's really just another thing to hide behind. Kinda talented, kinda ambitious, kinda just there. You're always one foot in, one foot out of something better.

"Yeah, kinda. Why?"

"I dunno. What if we both end up leaving?"

"Maybe. You still want to, right?"

You would be lying if you said you didn't—it's what you always wanted. Seogwipo has been a sun-rot, too-small crutch for you, but you would also be lying if you said you weren't terrified that you'd eventually come back, limping like some doomed Icarus, unable to truly make it in the real world.

Then you think of the pockmarked farmland beside your home, lacy with the fall harvest. Even now, you can trace the endless blue of the coastline all the way there, cut through all the maybes and just let the sound of the ocean fold you into sleep like you were a child again. You wonder if Seohyun, all the way on the other side of the world, ever misses it.

"I’m not sure," you say, because, as much as you don't like it, it's the only answer you have.

"It's ok. You'll figure it out. You always do." He squeezes your cheeks together between his thumb and index, laughing at how they pillow out underneath his fingers. "Screw pastry school. I could come with you. Who else would keep you fed?"

Mingyu's complete and unfounded belief in you makes you feel something close to betrayal. How could he say any of that? With what proof? Only someone like Mingyu would be able to hold the wrinkled fruit of your unremarkable life between his palms and see something better than that. Maybe it's because he grew up on a farm. Either that, or he already cares for you too much, too painfully.

Secrets are easy to keep when they look like yours. At least here, in the pit of your stomach, you can keep count, take attendance of them, all your tittering, small anxieties. Some days it feels like your ribs are pressing out, but it's better than cutting everything loose to spill out over what little you do have control over.

You can handle a little pressure. You have to.

What concerns you is the hand Mingyu's got across your chest. With one look, he just might gut you. A twist of the heart-knife, and all those carefully wound insides carved out in an instant—maybe he'd pity you, but worse than that, he'd likely be disappointed.

For you, expectation has always stood taller than shame, and the idea that he sees something past you makes you want to run away.

"I could be a house husband," he says as easily as ever. "You'll be off saving the world, arguing with whoever, and I'll be there to run you a bath afterwards."

"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves," you reply, binding up the strange, hollow feeling in your stomach with a laugh.

There's a scared little girl hiding inside you, and whether Mingyu sees her or not hurts the same. A spade is a spade. You can only pretend so long.

You look at the taiyaki floating in their wax paper bag, blinded and wrought open by the same grin that now peels you down, and you're not hungry anymore.

iv. winter pears (rotten, outside your parents' house)

Mingyu's family loves Christmas.

You think it's because of the pear trees they have in the front yard. They stand bravely before the house, all emerald ash and wisdom in the December freeze. Run your palms over the knobs and it's like you can see into a sleepy visage of simpler days past. (Below its heart, carved: 1982, the year the farm was bought. Along the tangle of the roots: gyu waz here, in an unsure, childish scrawl.)

Winter comes to the countryside crawling on its hands and knees. On days it doesn't snow, there's a mist, boggy and clingy. You've come to realize the cold is more of a threat than a promise, and so the pear trees still bear fruit; the silvery branches hang heavy, faithful.

The first day of December, Mingyu's parents had tasked the two of you with decorating the farmhouse, a duty you took very seriously. You wrapped Mingyu up in string lights and watched him blink in and out like your own personal firefly.

It wasn't until you watched the rafters, the barn doors, the joyous vault of the ceiling all glow, like a spectacular firework, that you finally started to understand why Mingyu was so into the holidays.

It was in the yellow blush of the string lights that you had your first pear from the tree, which Mingyu insisted was a holiday tradition. We make poached pears, he said, mid-bite. You simmer the pear in syrup until it gets so soft, you can cut into it with a fork. Just like butter.

That same night, he kissed you, mouth hot and trembling and tasting of honey, and pressed you against the bark so hard, you could feel the grit of its veins against your skin.

You think December became your favorite month, and pears your favorite fruit.

So much so, that for the entire month, you try to put away your worries about law school applications to celebrate with Mingyu and his family.

You learn his mom makes the best hot chocolate (a cinnamon stick and a dogged devotion to the whisk), and that Mingyu has no clue on God's green earth how to ice skate. (He careens right into your chest the first time. You spend the next hour with him attached to you like a backpack—he manages to find the most impractical ways to do anything, which you somehow admire the most). On Sundays, Yizhuo ditches her Seoul friends and instead accompanies you to the mall two towns over, where she watches you compare different ties and watches and collagen creams as you decide on gifts for his family. (Lilac is so last year, she'd say, stirring the straw of a watered-down milk tea.)

It's not until the weekend before Christmas when you realize just how serious things have gotten. Your feet understand the meander of the dirt path to the farmhouse, your bones the scent of the yellow-skinned apple, the faded wildflowers. Your palms crave the plush of the rug they have in front of the fireplace. Hell, you can't even eat soondubu without thinking of the kind Mingyu's dad makes, with extra anchovies and green onion.

You don't think about what this means. There are ten days left in December and love poured from a full cup never seems to run out.

"Please let me carry some of those," Mingyu wheedles. "Oh my god. I'm like the worst boyfriend in the world."

"No, you are not." you make your way up to his doorstep, taking care to one-two step over the stray roots of one of the pear trees. It's second nature to you by now. "The moment I hand you a box, you are gonna start trying to figure out what it is."

He harumphs and plucks the big one off the top anyway, the one he knows you can't reach. "I didn't even know you were getting us gifts. You didn't have to."

"It's the least I could do. Who shows up to a holiday dinner emptyhanded?" You stop at the front door. "And stop shaking it," you laugh, using the tip of your boot to nudge his shin.

"Okay. Okay," he says, saccharine, adoring, before grabbing the doorknob. "Ready? Are you nervous? You shouldn't be nervous, right? It's not fancy or anything, if you were worried about that."

And that's the thing that wedges itself between your ribs. Mingyu and his whole family are like this. They love and worry and love again; it presses deep into you, fills you, and overflows.

So here you are, standing in your nicest dress and balancing a stack of gifts you hope will amount to something, never enough but something, to repay the people who you feel have loved you more than you deserve. It's all you really have. You do your best, and yet you know when that door opens, it'll all be washed away in a high-tide flurry of hugs and laughter and the familiar press of Bobpul's wet nose against your leg. They're just those kinds of people—they would be just as happy if you didn't bring anything at all, and somehow that makes you feel even more guilty.

"No, no," you wave him off. "I’m fine. Excited."

When Mingyu opens the door, everything goes just as you expected. His sister takes your coat, your gifts are whisked away to the tree (Aji has already figured out which one is his), and his parents descend upon you in a choking swell of warmth and charity.

We baked some fresh bread for your parents (—Thank you so much, but you really shouldn't have.). You look so beautiful in that color (—No, no, you flatter me too much.). Mingyu better be taking good care of you (—He is. He really, really is.).

The kitchen is gauzy with cinnamon, anise. They must be making their famous poached pears, which Mingyu remarks on, just like clockwork.

Dinner passes the same way. It bubbles over with affection, and you feel swallowed by an impossible yearning. This—a full table and a hand to hold underneath it—did you deserve this? And could you keep it?

For an instant, you picture yourself, years later, at this same seat. Mingyu would be fussing over the rice cakes, his apron still gingham because it reminds him of the day you two met. His parents, grayer but no less happy, bickering over the shade of tinsel on the tree. And the dogs, coiled at your feet like they are now. The vision laps at your bones like you're a raft in a storm.

You're pulled back into the moment when Mingyu squeezes your hand, grounding and insistent. "Mom asked how school was going. I told her I think you're basically the smartest person I know, and I’m pretty sure you're getting into whatever law school you want."

Mingyu's parents laugh, and they cut through their pears.

"Oh, sorry," you say. "Um."

Clink. Knife meets flesh, meets porcelain. Your cheeks are hot. You wanted to talk about anything other than yourself tonight. Clink.

"The top programs are a reach, but it'd be nice." clink. "I just want to get in somewhere."

"They’re all so far away," Mingyu's mom remarks. "So grown up. Any school will be lucky to have you. You'll get into all of them."

Clink.

"Or maybe you can stay here." You watch the prongs of Mingyu's father's fork disappear into the pear. "Keep us old folk company."

"No, no, I think Mingyu should take notes and get off his lazy ass," his sister says, teasing. "Going back to the city will be good for him."

"So you can, what, burn down the kitchen again?" Mingyu grumbles, and the whole table seems to boil over with laughter.

"We’re kidding," his mom tells you. "No matter where you go, I’m sure you'll do great. We can even throw you a party at the end of the year. For graduating."

Clink. Clink.

There's a horrible uneasiness writhing around in your stomach. It's pear and syrup and clove and a blackness, an anxious, selfish one that sucks up all the generosity of the evening and turns it into shame.

Mingyu's mom is talking about throwing you a graduation party, something you didn't even think to do for yourself, and here you are, thinking about the shaking moment you open your rejection letters and the lonely path you'll draw on your way back home.

It's ok. They missed out, Mingyu would say, pouring you a consolation drink, and then it would be over. You'd go home and sit on your bed and the trifold piece of paper would go round and round your head like it was in a washing machine.

Your heart, an inventory of tasks and goals and tally marks. Things you've taken and things you've owed. It's a soft, boneless excuse. Be grateful. Give them that, at least.

Clink.

Dessert ends before you can tell his family not to get their hopes up. Mingyu's mom sends you off with your loaf of bread and a kiss on the cheek, and the moment is gone.

"Gyu," you call out on the steps in front of the house.

There are words at the seam of your lips. You want to tell him you're sorry for worrying so much. For making the whole dinner about you and then very possibly having nothing to show for it when it matters. For the heaviness in your chest. Your cowardice. But none of it comes out.

Instead you watch Mingyu pull at the leaves of a pear tree, watching the frost-filigree they get at the end of the season. He looks over his shoulder and smiles at you, as if he's on the hazy cover of a magazine. His eyes bend so wonderfully at the corners when he looks at you, and it breaks your heart.

"You had fun, right?" he asks. "My parents like you a lot, you know. I think they really do."

But that's the problem, you want to say. You all do, and I have no idea why.

Some of the pears are beginning to rot now. You watch one drop off the vine, and it caves to the pavement like it was made of nothing at all.

v. wild barley (grows like weeds)

In March, you play house.

Your parents leave on a two week trip to see relatives, and Mingyu takes it upon himself to make sure you survive.

It's a kind, blinding charade.

(7 am, breakfast. You usually don't even eat breakfast, but you wake up to doenjang and a smile, one that presses itself to yours until you're wearing it on the long walk to school.)

(4 pm, the stretch between lunch and dinner. You're muddling through another useless club meeting when Mingyu sends you a picture of him in your mom's apron, making kimchi. Kiss the chef, he texts you. You promise to, over and over and over.)

It's good until it isn't.

That isn't to say that it's Mingyu's fault. In fact, it's never really Mingyu's fault, and that's the worst thing about your relationship. Sometimes you wish he was worse just so there was someone else to blame.

(1 am, a fridge-cold glass of water and a hand on the column of your spine. Can't sleep? He asks. Just had a weird dream, you say.

It's a lie. You're a liar.

You miss your parents and the first wave of acceptance letters comes out in two days. You're not like him. Sleep has never been a cure for the exhaustion you're feeling, and you have no way of telling him that however warm the bed is won't fix that.)

It's on a Thursday afternoon when you open your mailbox and see the tiny, thin envelope that you've been expecting for the past week. You don't need to open it to know what it says, and yet you do it anyway.

The sun is white, a ghost in the spring sky. The ocean bleeds into the overcast, the curly barley stands tall around your feet, and you let the worst letter you've gotten in your life fall upon your shoulders, word by terrible word.

Then you close it, pinching the seam shut, and draw up your brave face. Nothing left to do but be brave. You're convinced you've used up all the sadness in your relationship—spend in pennies and the well still runs dry. Mingyu will cup your cheek and call you darling, pouring into your emptying basin, holey and broken.

You see him now through the kitchen window, Venus in his clamshell of a kitchen. Galbijjim day, he had said this morning. Now, he waves at you, glittery with recognition.

Your throat feels like crumpled paper.

Mingyu smiles at you, hazy through the glass. Your cheeks hurt and your mouth is paper mache, but you smile back anyway.

///

The letters come one after another.

You know what the envelopes hold and yet you keep opening them. The little folder you keep stashed in your bottom drawer gets fatter every passing day because you can't help but revisit your misery, almost as if you need to remind yourself it exists.

Mingyu is none the wiser. Today he decides he'll put off pastry school for one more year. "It doesn't feel like the right time," he says, rolling a log of burdock kimbap up. "You know what I mean?"

No, you don't. You never really do.

You do know, however, that it would feel really fucking bad that, come the end of the year, to have nothing. All your friends would be going somewhere—even Yizhuo opened her acceptance to an MFA program in Shanghai yesterday—and you would be here, still, feet firmly planted in the muddy Jeju dirt like they always had been.

"Hey, don't look so disappointed." he jokes. "Don't tell me you're already trying to get rid of me."

You're not, you really aren't. But part of you wonders if it's just a race to the bottom. If you got rid of him before he decided he wanted to get rid of you, maybe it would hurt a lot less. One less letter for the folder.

"Never. But imagine if you picked up a French accent at pastry school. Then I’d consider it. Maybe."

You watch his knife rock back and forth on the cutting board as he cuts the kimbap.

"Some for you. And more for me," he says, in what you can only describe as someone attempting to speak French when they've never heard it before. "Unless you want more, mon cherie."

He brings the plates to the table, his grin nothing short of dizzying.

"I’m irresistible, huh? Still wanna leave me now?"

"You're gonna have to try a little harder than that, I think."

The words roll off your tongue, easily, traitorously.

You watch the kimbap disappear off of Mingyu's plate.

Going, going, gone.

///

Seogwipo is always dark at night, only kept alive by the glow of the moonlit sea.

You can't sleep. Again. And so you sit out on the steps in front of your house, letting the twilight wrap around you like a blanket.

You got your last letter back earlier today. You held your breath and tore it open like you would a birthday card with money in it.

Waitlisted.

It was surely better than a rejection, but some naive, child-eyed part of you thought that if you had just closed your eyes and hoped hard enough, things would work out the way you had planned. Tragically, it wasn't enough this time. You wanted and wanted and you thought maybe that would mean you'd come close to deserving it.

Your parents called today. After managing to sideline the issue of basically the rest of your entire life, they had finally cut through your sad little charade. No good news yet, huh?

No, but—

It was always like that with you. No, but it's not as bad as you think. No, but give me a chance. No, but I’m trying. I've been trying.

You wish things didn't come out of you so complicated. That you could be like Seohyun, who could go through school with her eyes closed and still graduate at the top of her class. Instead, you parade around your little failures, trying to convince people it all could mean something only if they squinted. See? It isn't so bad.

You think you're past the point of crying about it. Your stomach hurts, you're cold, and most of all, you just want to go back to bed. Plus, although Mingyu sleeps like a log, you think he's developed a sixth sense for whenever you get up too early.

Time to be brave, you've been telling yourself, although you don't know who you're pretending for anymore.

So you nudge the front door open—it's so old, it wails if you come at it with any more force—and, to your surprise, see the light above the kitchen sink turned on.

It's not very bright, but it's enough to make out Mingyu's broad silhouette, back turned to you as he makes a cup of tea. He's humming one of his made-up songs.

"Mingyu?"

"There you are," he says, turning around. "Just came out to check on you. And make you some tea."

The kettle whizzes. Your gut twists.

You still haven't said anything to Mingyu. To manage your own disappointment was one thing—you don't think you could handle another person's. And yet when he stands there, Pororo mug between his huge hands, you feel as if you are holding a knife, big and guilty and bloody.

"I-I'm fine, Gyu. Honest." you watch his expression flicker, unreadable in the persimmon lamplight. "Sorry you had to come out. It's chilly out here."

"You know, you can tell me what's going on. I won't judge."

No, no, no. This is the last conversation you wanted to have, with the last person you wanted to have it with.

You feel feverish. You think your hands are shaking.

"Mingyu, I swear—"

"Whatever it is, we can fix it. I know we can."

That almost makes you want to laugh if you didn't want to cry so bad. Of fucking course he would say that. Mingyu, who treats life like it's the watermelon trick he showed you on the outlook, wants to put a bandaid on this whole thing, as if that could come close to fixing it.

He'd tell you to curl up on the couch with a bad movie while he orders takeout. Kiss you on the top of the head. It's ok, baby. Just another bad day for the person who has the worst luck in the world. Another lump of problems for him to try and make better. If he isn't sick of you now, he sure would be soon enough.

"It’s okay," you say, steeling your voice. "It really isn't a big deal. Let's just go back to sleep."

You try to walk away, but the hardness in Mingyu's eyes roots you down to the tile.

"Stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Pushing me away," he swallows. "Like you always do. I know something's going on."

"I’m not, i just—"

"You just what? You can't help it?"

"No, I—"

"Because you like to know that you can? That you can say whatever and then watch me come back?" A fragmented, heavy silence thrums between you. He's looking at you like he's daring you to say something, anything. His gaze is black. "What am I good for if you can't tell me anything?"

There's that familiar, stinging pressure behind your eyes. You think you're crying, but you're not sure. Maybe you've been crying this whole time.

"Fine," you bite. Your blood feels like hot metal. "You really wanna know? I didn't get into law school. There. Happy now?"

Mingyu looks stung.

"W-why didn't you tell me?"

Because I thought you would stop loving me. I thought you would have finally had enough.

"Because it's not all about you, Mingyu."

The words, selfish and damning, burn your tongue. Mingyu is right. This is what you always do. You fuck up and then make everyone else hurt for it.

"I'm sorry," Mingyu says. His voice doesn't sound like his. Instead, the words seem to hang in the air, trembling and holding their breath, waiting for an apology you can't give yet. "I shouldn't have—"

"It's ok." You swallow hard, and it hurts. "Let's just go back to bed."

It's getting colder and colder. You think there's a little hole in your sock, right above the cat's whiskers.

Mingyu doesn't reach for you as he passes to get to the hallway. Maybe he doesn't know how to anymore.

The Pororo cup is left abandoned on the counter. You walk over and read the label on the tea bag—barley, because you have class tomorrow morning.

You pick it up, let the ceramic buzz between your hands with whatever warmth it has left, and hold it to your lips.

It's cold now, but all you can think to do is drink it. Erase all the evidence that tonight ever happened, and maybe it'll be nothing more than a bad dream in the morning.

There's honey at the bottom of the cup. It sears the back of your throat, but you drink until there's nothing left.

vi. the peach blossoms (without fail, bloom every August. I miss you.)

You broke up the next day.

Even now, you remember what happened. You had woken up early that morning to make your own breakfast because you couldn't allow Mingyu to give you any more of himself. Your hands could only hold, shatter, so much.

"Mingyu, I think we should...." You looked at the zigzags of jam on your toast, angry and uneven. "I think we should stop seeing each other. For now," you had added, as if that made anything better at all.

Somehow that seemed more merciful at the time. Really, you think it just showed your cowardice. If you were going to break his heart, you might as well have gone all the way the first time.

Maybe it was a good thing that Mingyu saw right through you. He always did.

"So that's it, huh? You're just gonna give up on us?"

"No, I just...need some time."

"How long?" he asked. "Be honest with me. Because you know I’ll wait."

"I don't know." You couldn't meet his gaze. His eyes reached and reached over that kitchen table and you denied him even that.

"Don't you always know?" he asked, pitifully, desperately. "Don't you want this to work?"

And you did. In fact, you don't think you had ever wanted anything more, and it was that that scared you. You had already lost law school—you couldn't let the only other thing in your life let you go. So you pulled the trigger first.

"We should just end things. I'm sorry. I can't give you what you need."

He packed his bag within the hour, and you think everything, from then on, froze inside you. You didn't move from your seat until your parents came home from the airport later that day and asked why there were two plates of toast still on the table.

You think you knew, someplace, inevitably, this would happen. You, who only knew hunger, had reached deep inside Mingyu and rooted out a love you didn't think you were worthy of having. And yet you still ate from the vine, bite after guilty bite, until you couldn't take any more. The only time he asked you for anything at all, you couldn't give it to him—such was the irony of your relationship.

Maybe you were doomed the moment the first strawberry hit your tongue, just like you had said, all that time ago.

About a month later, you got another letter in the mail. Chungnam National University Law School, it read. This one was fat, in one of those brown envelopes lined with bubble wrap. Somehow, miraculously, that position on the waitlist had turned into an acceptance. You held the package to your chest and cried, loud and with abandon, as if taking a deep breath after almost drowning.

Ironically, the first person you wanted to tell was Mingyu. But the good news you needed to save your relationship came too little, too late. Perhaps that meant it had no legs to stand on in the first place, but that didn't stop you from missing it. Instead, you told Yizhuo, and she drove you to Jeju City and treated you to dinner. "You should just call him," she had said. "Hey, don't look at me like that. He'd probably pick up on the first ring."

The city is swathed in August's crimson summer—peach season. The narrow streets are lined with peach trees, the fruits glowing like fat drops of sunlight. All you do these days is plan for your eventual move to Daejeon and the start of a life that seems newer and shinier than your own. But surrounded by the cicada song, the velvet treeline, the rain-soaked asphalt, somehow you think you're going to miss Seogwipo more than you think.

(Fickle, fickle heart. You always needed things to be taken away to really be able to appreciate them. Somehow, all that wanting had boiled down to something more satisfying, more filling.)

You wonder how Mingyu is. Now that you think about it, he seems just as much a part of Seogwipo as the farm he lives on. It was only last summer when you had first met him in the field, set on fire by the strawberry harvest. You think about him now, peddling around that ridiculous wicker basket to make jam. Maybe talking to another pretty girl, someone as naive, cruel as you had been.

Not long ago, you considered calling him to apologize, but that'd just be another thing to be selfish about. A little time and some warm weather, and I’m calling to finally wash my hands of you. That's what it would sound like, no matter what you said. Still, it didn't stop you from thinking of him, every flower, every season.

"You know, I always wanted to grow peach trees. But I think we've always been a pear kind of family."

Mingyu. If a voice could cut through air, it'd be his.

You whip around, half-believing you're hearing things. Certainly that would be easier, but you're learning that there are some things you can't run from.

And like a picture, Mingyu stands tall, golden, framed by the peach blossoms. Not a thing about him has changed. Not even the way he looks at you.

"Mingyu," you breathe. Unfortunately, none of the times you replayed your last conversation with him help you come up with something to say, because in none of them did you anticipate him coming back. "W-what are you doing here?"

"I live here, silly."

"No way," you reply, scrambling. "Crazy, because I live here too."

You both laugh nervously, a silly, bubbly thing, but you feel like you're going to throw up. It's only now that you realize you're kind of on the walk to his place. Seogwipo has never had places to hide.

"I...um." You try and disentangle the guilt from the nostalgia from the scent of the peaches and the warmth on his face. They all look the same. You missed him. "I got into law school. In Daejeon."

"I heard," he says. "Not surprised at all. I always knew you would."

"Thank you. I mean it." The cicadas buzz around you, as if they know they have an important silence to fill. "You're staying in town, right?"

"Actually, I decided to apply to culinary school. It finally felt right, you know? I'm leaving at the end of the summer, but it's just in Jeju City. I couldn't leave the island."

"Thank goodness. I don't know if you could tell, but I kind of always hoped you would. I don't think I’ve ever eaten better food." Your voice wobbles, but it gets there. "You'll do amazing."

Then time stretches and forces you to recognize, reckon with, the moment you're in. You wonder if he feels the same way you do—bruised, overripe. If there's still a space in his heart for you.

Deep breath. Life only gives you so many chances.

"Mingyu, I’m sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't make us work. You deserved better." Saying it feels like peeling the skin of your heart back. There's still a palpable distance between the two of you—you think that had always been there—but it feels more comfortable in a way it never did before.

"Don’t apologize," he says, easily, as he always does. Everything seems to flow off him like water, and you think that's the part of him you loved the most because it was the one thing you couldn't touch. "We loved each other. I think that much was true."

A jasmine breeze curls through the trees, sending the blossoms fluttering around you like ink in water. The very first time you met Mingyu, you thought the image of him, haloed with the sunset, was the one you wanted to keep forever. And yet, somehow, you don't think you'll ever forget the way he looks right now.

"Will you ever come back to Seogwipo?" you ask.

"I was gonna ask you the same thing—you were always the one who wanted to get out of here." He grins, ear to ear. "Of course I'm coming back. There's nowhere I'd rather be."

"Yeah. I think I know what you mean."

The sea, the clay dirt, Mingyu. Even yourself, clumsy and care-worn. You think, somewhere along the line, you forgot how to love. But you're learning—one step at a time.

"Friends," you say. "Let's be friends. If you'll let me."

"Thought you would never ask. Gladly. Always." The space between you seizes, like it's holding in a breath. Maybe one day, you'll think of closing it once more, but you like where you stand now. You can admire him better from a distance, without your fingerprints all over him. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, something he does before he gets ready to leave. But before he does—"I'll see you soon, okay? You better come back. Promise me."

For the first time, you see the honesty in his eyes and you really, truly believe him.

"Promise."

The Seogwipo sun is high and red in the sky when you wave Mingyu goodbye. It feels like you're coming to an end of a long summer, but you're not afraid. You watch the wind dance through the peach blossoms, their branches never searching, never wanting, and you finally feel as if you've arrived home.

#literally on my hands and knees begging for the tags to work #mine #mingyu #mingyu x reader #mingyu x you #mingyu angst #seventeen angst #mingyu imagines

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yuna542 · 1 year

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Connected (OT8 x reader)

Part 1

Pairing: 3Racha x reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff

Warnings: 18+, Suggestive Themes, Swearing

Word Count: 3.3k

Note: That‘s the first chapter of a series, I‘m writing. It‘s my first time on tumblr… So I‘m a bit confused 0.0

On your first day of your new job as the personal manager of Stray Kids, you didn't expect to be standing in front of the man you made out with last night in a club. But it soon becomes clear that the Stray Kids don't just want you as their manager.

Will this passionate arrangement end your career?

It was one of those goldfish nights where you felt the need to drift in the waters of ecstasy and then forget everything naughty you had done. As if it had never happened.

Everyone did that when they shut down for an evening and dropped all inhibitions.

You'd go to a club, surrender to the neon lights, the sound of the music, and the alcohol, only to pretend the next day that you'd never danced close with strangers, drunkenly ripped your clothes off, or disappeared into a dark corner with the next best guy.

Tonight was one of those nights.

Your group of friends from university had invited you to go to one of the best and trendiest clubs in town, as they said. You didn't go out partying often, but when you did, you left all your worries at home for one night, and tonight was exactly the night you had something to celebrate.

After years of unsuccessful job hunting, you had finally gotten an acceptance letter.

Tomorrow afternoon would your first day at the new company start. Since you had only been living in Korea for a few months, you didn't know the company, so you were even more surprised when you got an acceptance letter for the job after only three days. It seemed like, they liked your profile so much, that they immediately chose you.

You had experience as a music and media journalist and had worked all over the world. Maybe that was exactly what they wanted.

So, to get rid of the excitement, you had accepted and gone to this club with old friends to have fun.

The bass vibrated in your ears and the lights immediately lulled you into the boisterous atmosphere.

Only after a few minutes you stood at bar and ordered the drinks for everyone. There was a group of seven people and you had lost three rounds of scissors-stone-paper. So now you had to take care of the drinks.

Once you ordered everything from memory and remembered the extra requests, even the bartender was impressed.

While he mixed the drinks, you leaned against the bar and looked towards the table that your friends had meanwhile conquered.

"You were able to memorize all that?", asked someone to your left, who was apparently also waiting for his drink.

"Sure... I have a pretty good memory”, you returned, giving the young man a curt look.

He smiled and that's when the bartender came over and set three drinks out for him.

His dark hair fell into his forehead and you looked at the silver rings on his fingers.

"That makes me jealous. I keep forgetting important things..."

He was cute, you had to admit. Although he was obviously trying to look tough with the tank top and leather jacket, his features were soft and his eyes sparkled like buttons in the spotlight. He was a weird mixture between hot and adorable.

You were served your first drinks and averted your eyes from the odd stranger.

"But I'll definitely remember your face!"

Your eyebrows shot up, as his pickup line was actually quite smooth. You turned back to him and couldn't help but smirk at his expectant look.

That's when you spotted two other guys behind him. They were whispering and giggling like kids while watching their friend. Apparently, he hadn't come to the bar just for the drinks.

"Are you flirting with me?", you asked, leaning back against the counter with a teasing grin.

He tilted his head and the corners of his mouth lifted mischievously. In fact, he was really attractive and you couldn't help but stare at him.

"I don't know... Does it work?”

This time you actually had to laugh.

"I gotta go, but feel free to tell your buddies I'm all over you”, you replied, nodding in the direction of the other two, who couldn't avoid to look over at us unobtrusively.

He glanced over his shoulder briefly and then grabbed his forehead with one hand.

"Those idiots..." he muttered more to himself and then put on an apologetic smile.

So you waved at a couple of your friends to help you with the drinks and carry them to the table.

"See you around”, you said goodbye and he just raised his hand sheepishly.

Back at your table, your friend Aiki grabbed you roughly by the shoulder and shook you.

"That guy at the bar! Were you talking to him?"

Confused at her excitement, you glanced again at the bar, where he was now carrying drinks to his friends.

"Yeah, why? He tried to flirt and obviously failed... Although he's really cute," you said with amusement, swirling the straw in your drink.

“No way!”

Her eyes nearly fell out of her head and you still didn't understand.

"What's so special about him?"

"I'm pretty sure that's Han", she explained, as if you had the slightest idea who she was talking about.

When you didn't reply, she said:

"Han Jisung! He is a member of this new K-pop band. They won a big survival-Show a few years ago, and everyone's been really into them ever since."

Sometimes you forget that in addition to her job as a journalist in Korea, she also had a fondness for all K-pop bands. She was almost obsessed with them. BTS was the reason she had gotten into the media world in the first place.

You, on the other hand, had only recently returned to Korea. Even though you were born here, you had spent very little time in the country.

The evening took its course and soon the shot glasses were piling up in front of you, the music sounded more and more enticing and eventually you were magically drawn to the dance floor with a few of your friends.

Another passion of you was dancing.

You had even given dance lessons in America to teenagers and young adults your age. You missed dancing here in Korea.

Therefore, it hardly took a second for you to move your body to the music. It was your very own therapy that brought your mind and body back into harmony.

The music flowed through the speakers directly into your blood and with the alcohol, any inhibitions fell away. Soon you lost your girlfriends somewhere among the people and danced alone. You didn't mind, but that's when you felt someone approaching from behind.

"Don't be startled", a soft voice murmured, and you looked over your shoulder into a frighteningly beautiful face.

Torn from your movement, you stumbled against his chest and he placed a hand firmly on your hip to keep you from losing your balance.

Astonished you turned around completely and the man looked as if he already regretted having approached you. He ran his hand through his dark hair and his biceps stood out.

He was wearing a simple shirt with a denim jacket and the broad shoulders and shy smile didn't quite want to match.

"My friend didn't mean to scare you away earlier. If he said something stupid, I'm really sorry."

That's when you finally recognized him. He was one of that K-pop-Han's friends.

"His pick-up line actually wasn't that bad", you admitted, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

In front of his broad shoulders, you suddenly felt small.

Now he looked genuinely surprised.

"Oh... Okay. Do you want to maybe have a drink with us? He could apologise and you seem a little lost all by yourself."

Judging by his engaging aura, maybe he was also part of that band you had never heard of. However, you highly doubted it. Idols were not that friendly. In all the interviews you had done with K-pop bands, the members had always been reserved and cold.

The man in front of you, on the other hand, radiated warmth and his eyes reflected a gentleness that contrasted completely with his massive appearance.

You nodded, after all you didn't feel like looking for your friends. You might as well use the time to meet new people. And the guy made you really curious.

Relieved, he exhaled loudly and let you walk ahead. He led you to a sitting area, where black sofas stood. There you already discovered the guy from the bar, who was talking to the third person.

When he spotted you,he fell silent and looked at you as if he had been hit by a punch.

"I'm Chan, by the way”, the man next to you introduced himself and gave you a soft smile.

"My name is Y/N”, you introduced yourself as well. He smiled broadly and you could only stare at his dimples for a moment.

As you got to the others, his buddy now looked to you and immediately grinned like an idiot.

If Chan was broadly built, this guy was a wall. He wore a tight black shirt under which his defined muscles were very present and the sleeves were so tight around his upper arms that you feared they would burst at any moment.

But he was also unusually attractive. There was something about them all that made it impossible to look away.

"Guys, this is Y/N”, Chan introduced you, and the muscleman stood up to bow curtly.

"I'm Changbin. So our Hannie didn't scare you away too much?"

Said Hannie was still sitting frozen on the sofa, looking at you as if you had flown across the room on a unicorn.

"No, he was actually quite charming. A little awkward, but nice”, you replied with amusement, glaring at him.

"You hear that? She didn't think it was as terrible as it looked from here."

Changbin patted his friend on the shoulder with a chuckling laugh, and he just puckered his mouth in embarrassment.

Then suddenly Chan was standing next to you again with two drinks in his hands. You hadn't even noticed he was gone.

"I didn't know what you wanted, so now I just got a strawberry margarita and a caipirinha. Have whatever you want! I'll have the other one then."

Surprised by his kindness, you blinked at him a bit surprised. Never had a guy been so accommodating in a bar.

"I'll have the margarita. Thank you.”

You sat down and ended up between Jisung and Chan. It wasn't long before Han had regained his confidence back and you were toasting, chatting, and you completely lost track of time.

The guys were really friendly and even though you were the only woman, you didn't feel the least bit uncomfortable in their presence. You even felt quite safe, which was naive considering that you had met them only a few hours ago.

But the alcohol helped to throw all worries overboard.

"I've seen you dance.... Do you do it professionally?", Chan asked, and you felt his thigh brush yours.

Restlessly, you tugged at the hem of your black dress. It reached your thighs and nestled comfortably against your body. Han looked at your legs and cleavage when he thought you wouldn't notice.

Chan, on the other hand looked so deeply into your eyes that you feared he could read your mind.

"I'm a dance teacher. But it's just a hobby."

Changbin leaned forward with interest and nodded.

"What do you do for a living?", asked Han now, and you tried to ignore Chan's hand resting on his thigh, almost touching your leg.

"I'm a music journalist. In fact, I moved back to Korea because I got a job here."

"That sounds exciting!" said Chan, his knuckles seemingly inadvertently brushing you bare skin. Your foggy mind immediately wondered what he would look like without the tank top.

Before you got even more lost in his eyes, you asked:

"And you guys? How do you know each other?"

"We were trained together and we also work together now”, Changbin began, and you noticed the warning looks from the other two.

"So you're self-employed?", you probed further.

Maybe your friend had been mistaken and they weren't in a band at all. Chan nodded quickly before Jisung could open his mouth.

"Yeah right. Us and some friends developed our own brand."

"Sounds cool”, you replied, as the alcohol gradually drove you away from the conversation. You were finding it harder and harder to focus between the men.

So you asked: "Are you guys coming to the dance floor?" You had to do something to get away from Chans teasing hands, Jisungs sweet glares and Changbins biceps.

Han pouted and shook his head.

"I'm going to stay here. Unfortunately, I hurt my foot and need to take it easy."

He really looked like he wanted to sprint out onto the dance floor but couldn't.

"I'll stay with Hannie”, Changbin said, leaning back on the sofa.

"Just the two of us, then", you said to Chan.

Before he could talk back, you pulled him to his feet by his arm and dragged him toward the dance floor.Once there, you turned to him and began to move automatically to the beat of the music.

The alcohol made all the people, the music and the lights melt into one mass and before you understood it, you were dancing pressed tightly against Chan.

At first he was timid, as if he was afraid to touch you, but gradually he became bolder. He also moved smoothly. Controlled and conscious.

Like a dancer.

"You can dance?", you asked amused, wrapping your arms around his neck. He laughed sheepishly and put his hands on your waist.

"A little”, he replied close to your ear so you could hear him over the loud music. Up close, his lips looked even more enticing and you wondered if they tasted as sweet as they looked. His eyes were now roaming up and down your face as well.

You turned and leaned back against his chest and pressed your ass agains his body. A knowing grin spread across your face as you felt his fingers digging harder into your sides as you rolled your hips against his.

He moved with you and with every little touch, the air charged electrically. You were insanely hot and his shirt was also sticking to his body by now. You grinded your ass harder against him and he immediately had to gasp right at your ear.

That's when he quickly turned you around so that you bounced against his chest.

"What are you doing?" he murmured in your ear and you let your fingertips trail over his chest.

"Nothing...", you replied, looking at him through your long lashes. The corners of his mouth slowly lifted and he began to get into the game, letting his hands wander down your back until they were firmly pressed against your ass.

The alcohol breathed carelessness and desire into the two of you.

His lips hovered in front of yours and suddenly you didn't hear the music anymore. His hot breath bounced against your lips and that's when he started spreading kisses on your neck. Overwhelmed by the sudden tension on your skin, you curled your fingers into his shirt.

His lips brushed over your skin as light as a feather, down to your collarbone and finally to your cleavage.

He looked up at you, and the same heat that tightened into a ball in your stomach was reflected in his eyes.

Without thinking any further, you grabbed his hand and pulled him off the dance floor. As soon as you were a little off to the side, in a corner that was dimly lit, you felt his hands on your waist.

Stormily, he pressed you against the wall and that's when his lips finally collided with yours.

That embarrassed, charming boy from before was gone. In its place had come a passionate and wild tornado that swept you helplessly along with it.

His lips moved hard against yours as you buried your hands in his hair.

His broad shoulders shielded you from the rest of the club, and your heart beat so loudly it felt like it wanted to jump out of your chest.

His hands were everywhere, exploring your body, every curve and every patch of skin not covered by fabric.

For a moment, he broke the kiss so you could both catch your breath. His forehead was pressed firmly against yours and there he was grinning again as sheepishly as before.

You were breathing heavily and he shook his head slightly.

"I don't usually do this", he muttered and that's when your eyes met.

"Yeah, me neither", you replied.

That was the truth.

It took a long time for someone to pique your interest, and you usually didn't let people get to you that easily.

But with Chan, suddenly this heat was flowing in your veins and you couldn't turn off the desire even if you tried.

"Actually, I wanted to help Jisung.... I'm a horrible wing man."

"Yeah that's right. Your pretty bad…”

As if he actually had a guilty conscience, he pressed his lips together.

That made you laugh and you had to put your hand over your mouth as he eyed you with those dark eyes.

"Do you regret it?", you asked after a short silence.

Directly, he shook his head.

"No. Definitely not. You're stunning."

That did bring a blush to your cheeks.

Not wanting him to see how much his words flattered you, you pulled him closer again and kissed him intensely.

He pressed you against him until you felt his bulge clearly against your already soaked cunt.

"I want to fuck you right now”, he growled with a deep voice, that turned you even more on.

An excited moan escaped you and you rolled your hips harder against his growing bulge. It would have been easy to push your panties aside and free his dick so he could fuck you in the dark corner against the wall like a slut.

Your head was spinning and you wanted to tear his shirt off his body here and now. But the wild smooching quickly found its end when a voice sounded behind Chan.

"I really don't want to disturb you, but we have to go, Chan!"

He merely released his lips from yours and hung his head, not releasing you from his grip. His hands gripped even harder into your hips.

"Already?"

Changbin had a big grin on his face and you stared at the floor.

"Yeah... You know what's coming up tomorrow. And Han had way to much drinks."

There was a certain professionalism returning to Chans body as he heard about his friend.

"Hannie is already waiting in the cab. Hurry up!"

Chan nodded, then Changbin turned to you again.

"It was nice meeting you."

With that, he awkwardly said goodbye and left.

"I'm so sorry, but I really have to go", Chan said, as if he needed to justify himself, and you suppressed a disappointed sigh.

Instead, you simply nodded. It was getting late for you to go home as well. After all, you had your first day of work tomorrow.

And so the mysterious charming man disappeared and you remembered much too late that you hadn't asked him for his number.

The two rappers raised their eyes as their friend finally got into the car. After they drove off, Han asked while rubbing his eyes with one hand:

"What took you so long? We were supposed to be back at the dorm by now. We have a busy schedule tomorrow..."

Chan swallowed and was glad he was sitting in front of his friends and didn't have to face them. So they couldn't see that he was stained red up to his ears. With his arm he tried to hide his erection that won’t get soon if this girl won’t stop to ghost around his head.

He knew that tonight had been a big risk. If someone had recognized him and taken pictures of him with the young woman, he would have been screwed. He didn't know himself what had come over him.

"Hyung?", Han tried again, sounding annoyed. There was silence for a few minutes until Changbin couldn't take it anymore and it just burst out of him.

"I just caught Chan making out wildly with that girl."

The oldest whirled around in his seat despite his seatbelt and stared at Changbin. But Han looked surprised, not angry.

"Really?" he asked, and that's when one corner of his mouth began to lift.

"We just kissed for a second", he justified himself, and Changbin couldn't help but laugh.

"From what I saw, it was a miracle you were still wearing clothes at all. You almost fucked her right next to the dance floor."

Chan lashed out, but couldn't reach Changbin in the back and hit the air. This now made Jisung laugh as well, and they continued to tease him all the way to their apartment, where the rest of the Stray Kids were sleeping.

But in the next morning all of them knew the story of their leader fiercely making out with a hot girl at the club and did not stop teasing him.

-> Part 2

——————————————————————————

1K notes · View notes

rrxnjun · 1 year

Text

— SIMPLIFY ROMANCE *̥ nct dream 00 line [series]

You can try to simplify romance— reduce it to a touch, call it odd attraction, a pull of a magnet... but what if you're in love?

Everyone's story is different. One starts with a last resort decision, another one sparks from a petty argument, while some find the one by a total accident and the most lucky ones find love in their best friend... What do all of the boys in those stories have in common? They're completely, utterly smitten with their special someone, and while some are more casual about it, some go above and beyond to impress the girl of their dreams.

Sprawled across the couch of Liu Yangyang’s basement, passing along bottles of beer and laughing to themselves, there’s a group of people enjoying their Friday evening. The low melody of the music playing in the background is loud enough to make you move your head to the beat of the drums, yet still quiet enough to not disturb the conversation going on as the friend group decides to play a round of every college student’s dream game– Truth or dare.

“Renjun! Truth or dare,” Yangyang perks up from his place, occupying the bean bag in the very corner of the room.

“Truth,” the latter hums, too lazy to actually stand up from his place on the old, cigarette-smelling sofa in case of getting a dare that requires being active.

“What’s the most over the top thing you’ve done to get a girl?”

The boy chuckles, rolling his eyes as his gaze drifts to the girl sitting on his right, the feeling of being exposed creeping up his cheeks in embarrassment; he wonders if he can play off his flushed cheeks as being too drunk and not at all flustered. Sighing, he shakes his head as he prepares to answer, already getting ready for the amount of teasing that will surely come next, knowing how his friends are, grabbing every possible opportunity to laugh at someone.

And while they all have every right to tease and poke fun at him for his love story, the knowledge that one day, they were just as down bad as he was back then brings him courage as he tells the truth; because as long as he’s aware, there are people in this circle who have acted way more dramatic than him in the process of getting the girl of their dreams to like them…

Everyone’s story is different, but you know what they all have in common?

They’ve all been utter simps for a special someone before.

✲ 01. blondes are done with fun — huang renjun.

a rumor has it that the popular couple in town broke up after years of being together. having to share your favorite seat in class with the male part of said relationship, you try to find out how to make your heartbroken project partner warm up to you— or— huang renjun goes blonde when he's sad.

journalism student! renjun x fem! journalism student! reader

genre. college au, acquaintances to lovers. fluff, comedy, angst, smut.

wc. 30k

✲ 02. take the stairs — na jaemin.

after having an unexpected guest witness the neverending quarrels with your roommate, na jaemin starts to practically live at your place— or— where yizhuo's flegmatic project partner starts to put a suspicious amout of effort into their assignment.

neurophysiology student! na jaemin x fem! literature student! reader

genre. college au, strangers to lovers. fluff, comedy, suggestive.

wc. 18k

✲ 03. dancing in my backseat — lee donghyuck.

there are only a few things in which men value their social status; one of them being the number of girls in their bed, the next one their rank in league of legends, and lastly, their cars— or— where you would never fuck a guy without a driver's licence.

film student! lee donghyuck x fem! film student! reader

genre. college au, acquaintances to lovers. fluff, comedy, suggestive.

wc. 24k

✲ 04. language of averted eyes — lee jeno.

an anonymous love confession appears on your university confession page one day and you drag your best friend along to help you find the person behind it— or— where lee jeno aimlessly pretends to look for an answer he already knows.

computer science student! lee jeno x fem! music student! reader

genre. college au, best friends to lovers. fluff, angst, comedy.

wc. tba! [est. 15k]

-> get added to the taglist! <-

Do not translate or repost anywhere.

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f1version · 10 months

Note

( 💙 ) PROMPTS — request a driver + prompt from the following lists ( + idea extra, optional ) and i will write a small fic about it…

lewis + "am i your favorite?" "i like your dog a bit more than you, i won't lie."

ROSCOE AND VIVI ★ LH44

pairing: lewis hamilton x fem! dog mom! driver! reader

summary: You and Lewis fall in love during your dogs playdates.

word count: 681

notes: this was very sweet to write, just pure fluff about two dog parents in love. (readers dog name is vivi)

Lewis has never been a stranger, your lives connected by racing since you were young. Your karting careers took off at the same time, growing in different categories so then you’ll be reunited in Formula 1 in 2009, sharing the track once again. He had been there every step of the way, every win, every loss.

Lewis has never been a stranger, but he wasn't what you would call a close friend. You shared childhood and thousands of intertwined memories, but all of it led to nothing more than the acknowledgment of the other's presence, he was just a colleague.

Was.

Months ago, over the winter break, you and Lewis locked eyes in a park, he was walking Roscoe, and you were walking Vivi, your dog. You greeted the other and started talking, updating the other on your lives, those you had never got to meet properly. It felt so natural, sharing and laughing together. A friendship was born that afternoon and not just between you.

Now, during breaks, you usually hang out at each other's houses, always a play date for Roscoe and Vivi. You wish it was also a you-and-Lewis date.

Today is one of those days. It's summer, Roscoe and Vivi play while you watch from the sofa on the terrace, your legs resting on Lewis's lap, his hand on the top of them as you talk about everything and nothing at all.

Lewis is talking about his schedule for after summer break when Roscoe and Vivi catch your eye, they are snuggling, Vivi licks Roscoe’s face a bit. You smile.

“Darlin’, are you listening to me? Y/n?” Lewis calls and you turn to him, he’s frowning, but his eyes are stars.

"I think Roscoe is Vivi's favorite playdate," you tell him, looking at the dogs. "She doesn't like to snuggle that much."

“Oh man, are our dogs in love?” Lewis jokes.

“Maybe” you laugh it off.

“The cherry on top would be us being in love,” He says and you swear the world stops because you are holding your breath “I’m sorry I don’t know why I said that, I do find you attractive- Like, man, you are so beautiful but if you don’t want-”

And here's the thing, you do want, you want so much. These months of hanging out with him have felt like the stars led you home, crossing the toughest of oceans. You like him, so much there’s an agonizing pressure resting on your chest while he rambles. He likes you back.

“Lewis”

“-And now this may be so uncomfortable for you because I’m sure you hate it when this type of thing happens. I know. But-”

“Lewis shut up!” You yell for him as your hands find his face, cupping it “You’re overthinking, just breathe and say what you feel like. I’m not uncomfortable, trust me”

His eyes change and he lights up. “Oh god, you-” You nod and his mouth opens in surprise, he seems startled for a couple of seconds “I'm so sorry, give me a second, I’m trying to organize my thoughts”

“No need to be sorry… and I can help you, I think” you answer and take a deep breath “I like you too, so much”

“That’s- I- Fuck it. Can I kiss you?” He says cupping your face, gaining confidence.

“Of course, idiot”

And his lips meet yours. Everything changes, the universe and its stars watching two constellations unite, giving life to something new. Lewis doesn't let go of your face, you don't let go of his, afraid that this will fade away.

As you part, your temples connect, smiling as if you just won your world championships all over again.

He speaks first.

"So Roscoe is Vivi's favorite, but... am I your favorite?" A laugh escapes your lips at his question, you want to stay here forever.

"I like your dog a bit more than you, I won't lie"

"You will regret that," he says.

"How so, Hamilton?"

"Tickle attack!" He screams as he gets on top of you, drowning in your laugh.

Lewis has never been a stranger, but right now he was a new unknown, and you couldn’t wait to learn everything about it.

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lovebugism · 1 year

Note

hi hello "love you on purpose" absolutely devasted me with it's cuteness and i cannot wait for part two!!!! 💗

✶ ┄ LOVE YOU, ON PURPOSE (ii)

part one | part two

summary: steve can't seem to stay away from the local freaks. he's more surprised to find himself falling for one of them. you have trouble believing that someone like him could want you in the first place. he wants to prove to you that he's not king steve anymore. (18k)

pairing: steve harrington / eddie's bff!reader

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, idiots in love, slight angst, hurt to comfort (sorta), fem!reader TW smut 18+, lots of intimacy and affection and awkwardness, p in v sex, talks of insecurities, reader has an allison reynolds-esque transformation but with a better ending (outfit inspo x, x), probable typos

a/n: welp. here it is. the final part of this 30k+ word fic. it was very fun and very painful to write and i'm very glad it's finally done and out in the world! thanks for all the love on the first part btw reading all the feedback has easily been my favorite part of writing this <3 with that being said, get comfy, get a snack, and enjoy! xoxo

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Falling over you is the news of the day.

If yearning had a shape, you’re pretty sure it’d look an awful lot like you.

The clumsiest of humans, fresh into her adulthood but still feeling like a child most days. Soaking wet, born yesterday. A caterpillar weaving her cocoon and trying to figure out where she fits in the world. The girl who decides she belongs right next to this big, boisterous, multi-colored butterfly she couldn’t stand a year or more ago.

And Steve Harrington, he was… Well, he was the kind of poem people spend their entire lives trying to write.

He was the perfect mixture of beauty and warmth, of mystery and obscurity — the line where the pink of a sunset meets the purple of a starry night. He was all of this rolled up into a twenty-something-year-old boy. A fumbling butterfly that’s getting used to his new wings.

Maybe if you were talented enough, you could write the thing yourself. There’s something powerful in knowing that you could compose some dainty requiem so much bigger than yourself. A beautiful thing that would stand the test of time because there would never be anything else like it.

It wouldn’t be because of you, though. You passed Ms. O’Donnell’s English class by the skin of your teeth, so your writing leaves much to be desired. It would be your muse that would enamor the masses come the next several centuries, because there will never, ever be another Steve Harrington.

At the very core of this poem would read a universal truth: I have fallen in love with his enigmatic being, and now I’m dealing with the consequences.

Well, you’re trying to deal with them, at least. You’re not having a very easy go at it.

Most of the time, you feel like a thousand bricks have piled on top of you. The jagged edges scrape up your arms and press varying shades of purple into your skin. They crush you underneath their weight, but you don’t try too hard to climb out from under them. You couldn’t even if you wanted to.

You feel a little stuck underneath all the feelings you have for Steve.

You’re not quite sure what to do with them all. They’re too heavy to lift; there’s too much of them to crawl out. It all leaves you feeling a bit trapped.

It’s a good kind of trapped, though.

Once the hurt passes, the weight starts to feel like you’re being swaddled in a blanket. Or a cocoon.

As scared as it makes you, as overwhelmed as you feel, you don’t want this puppy-like adoration to end.

But sometimes, the scrapes sting more than they usually do. The scabs split and start to weep. The faded bruises turn purple again, then to blue and black, and they ache all over. They remind you that girls like you don’t end up with guys like Steve, and the harsh realization turns the comforting weight of being in love into feeling like you’re being buried alive.

Steve is a pretty boy. He’s a rich, prettyboy who wears vintage jeans and drives a new Beemer and has never wanted for anything in his life.

And you’re… whatever the total opposite of that is.

You wear whatever’s cheapest at the thrift store or what Eddie lets you steal from his closet. You drive a rust bucket that belonged to your dad until he lost his license, so the thing practically rotted in the backyard until you got yours. And all you’ve ever done is want for things because you’ve never had anything.

And the one thing you want the most is something you’ve never been able to admit to anyone. Not even Eddie. Not even yourself.

Screw new clothes or a car fresh off the lot. You don’t want popularity — you don’t even want money (though it certainly wouldn’t hurt). You want so desperately to be loved that it makes your bones ache.

All you want is someone to hold your wrists and kiss your palms, to cradle you when the thunder is too loud and the cracks of lightning make you shake, to be a hiding place where you can keep every secret and be certain it stays safe.

You want someone to smile at you the way Steve smiles at you. You want to feel held the way he makes you feel held — without ever touching you. You want to feel wanted the way he makes you feel wanted.

You want Steve.

And you’re not sure how long silly love songs will substitute your yearning.

“What do you think about Steve?” you ask Eddie out of the blue.

He was in the middle of a rant about his latest campaign, but you hadn’t heard a single word of it if you’re honest. The butterflies in your stomach were too loud.

The boy sits across the room at his desk, back hunched, while he scribbles ideas into his tattered Dungeons and Dragons composition journal. You’re sprawled out in the middle of his bed like you have been for the past hour, making constellations of Steve’s face from the marks on his ceiling.

“I think he’s an asshole,” Eddie answers without missing a beat.

It makes you roll your eyes. You shouldn’t have expected anything less out of him, really. You toy with the frayed hem of your crop top and rephrase. “Okay, but do you think he likes me?”

“I know he likes you,” he scoffs. “That’s the problem.”

You smile widely to yourself, then purse your lips to the side to keep it hidden. There’s no one looking to see you grinning like an idiot, but it doesn’t make you feel any less like one.

“He wants to take me on a date tonight,” you confess out loud for the first time.

It wasn’t like you to keep something like that from Eddie. Or anything. At all. But you found yourself hiding it like some kind of dark secret. A distant part of you was terrified that it was all in your head, but it’s been three days since Steve asked you now. Which means you’ve spent three days pinching yourself.

You haven’t woken up yet.

“Like, a date date,” you clarify and rise on your elbows to study the boy across the room.

You feel the need to explain yourself because movie nights and rides around town and hanging out in the break room after closing don’t feel nearly as serious as Steve wining and dining you. It feels much more official now, as though the line between liking someone and like-liking them has been drawn.

“And I’ve never been on a date date before—”

“What about the one time you went out with, uh…” Eddie trails off as he aggressively erases something on his paper. He stills and squints over his shoulder at you. “What was his name? Matt? Marcus?”

“Mason,” you correct and try not to shudder at the memory. “And I left him at the restaurant because he asked me how big my boobs were within the first ten minutes, so he doesn’t count.”

A grin pulls at the boy’s face. He chuckles to himself. “Oh, yeah.”

“And I know I shouldn’t be so nervous about it ‘cause it’s just a dumb date, like… We’ve been alone together a billion times now, you know? It’s just…” you ramble in one breath, then trail off with a huff. You flop back onto the mattress rather dramatically. “Steve Harrington doesn’t date girls like me. He dates girls like Nancy Wheeler. And, as far as I’m concerned, they were a matching made in fucking heaven— I mean, I didn’t know them back then or anything—”

“Obviously,” Eddie murmurs. “That was a train wreck.”

“—But they looked fucking perfect together, Eds!”

The image of them walking the hallways of Hawkins High isn’t hard to picture. You can still see Nancy in her pretty pleated skirt and pink manicured nails and Steve with his stupid hair and brand new Ray-Bans. They owned the school like their parents owned Hawkins — it was practically kismet.

You try to picture him and you together, and it doesn’t come as effortlessly.

It’s like trying to wedge pieces from opposites puzzles together; it just doesn’t work.

And it’s different from anyone Steve’s ever dated. It’s different from anyone you’ve ever dated. People look at him and his pretty girlfriend and gush, “oh, wow, they look good together.” People look at you and a guy with smudged eyeliner and heeled boots and whisper in disgust, “oh god, they deserve each other.”

You won’t get any of the kindness that Steve is used to, only stares from strangers as they try hopelessly to figure out whether or not you’re dating — because surely, he wouldn’t stoop low enough to date someone like you.

“And I don’t wanna…” you waver, trying and failing to put your fears into words. “I don’t know, I guess I’m just scared.”

Eddie shakes his head to himself. “You don’t need to be scared, okay?” he mumbles, his attention still turned down to his notebook.

“Oh, thanks, Eds. I’m cured,” you monotone.

“I just mean that—” he cuts himself off with a deep sigh and swivels in his chair to face you completely. “Steve’s a douchebag, alright? But he’s a good douchebag.”

Your brows furrow. “…What?”

“He used to be an asshole and everything, but… I don’t know, I guess he turned out to be a pretty good guy— and if you tell him I told you that, I will kill you,” Eddie explains in one breath. The half-hearted threat spills from his mouth,and he goes suddenly soft. “He’s not gonna hurt you, okay? I promise. I mean, the guy’s practically a fucking teddy bear.”

A smile pulls slow at your lips.

It’s the nicest thing you’ve ever heard him say about Steve, despite having been friends with him for nearly a year now. The foreign kindness comforts you well enough. If Eddie didn’t think Steve was every bit the good douchebag he says he is, there’s no way he’d let you go anywhere near him.

“Yeah?” you mutter.

“Yeah,” he echoes with a huff, obviously upset about having to admit such a truth. Then he shrugs. “And if he does hurt you, I’ll beat him up. Which, with his track record, I’m guessing it wouldn’t be too difficult.”

A laugh tumbles from your mouth. “Thanks for looking out, Eds.”

He only grumbles in response.

And even though he complains the entire time, he drops you back off at your place and helps you agonize over what to wear. He sits on your bathroom counter to keep you company while you shower, then holds your makeup bag in his lap while you get ready. He only comments once about how differently you’re doing it.

Then the boy lounges on your bed, legs crossed and back propped on the headboard while you rifle through your closet. In true Eddie Munson fashion, he’s got something to say about everything you pick out.

Your white sweater is too tight, he tells you, and the fuzzy texture feels too weird. The plaid skirt you pull from the depths of your closet is too “christmas-y” and “totally not your color.” He tells you he likes your boots better as he helps you with the finicky buckle of your Mary Janes, then snaps the band of your knee-highs when he stands again.

Eddie tells you all of this because it’s easier to tease you than to say what he really thinks — that it feels like you’re in high school again and trying out styles that don’t suit you.

He loved you the way you were, in black and leather and silver chains and fishnets, because he knew that’s what you felt good in. You found your identity in your unconventional style and you sparkled in it.

And you were still pretty like this, dressed in brighter colors and looking like the girls that used to bully you in high school, but it’s so obviously not you. More than anything, it irks him that you’re doing all of this for Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.

But Eddie knows that you’re nervous — he can tell by the way you’re talking a thousand miles a minute and checking your appearance in the mirror every couple seconds like something might’ve changed. He also knows that you’re still skeptical about this whole thing. Because you have no idea that Steve looks at you like the whole world could crumble around him, and he wouldn’t even blink.

You don’t know that you have nothing to worry about.

So Eddie figures he’ll wait to make fun of you. Save all his teasing remarks for when you’re gushing about the date the next day.

But you’re already aware of all this — how different you look. You hardly recognize yourself when you look in the mirror. You’ve traded in your shades of black for something brighter. Your blowsy hair is clipped back out of your face. Your makeup is more conventional and modest than you’re used to.

You look less like the freak you usually are and more like a wild thing that’s been tamed.

You feel pretty.

Or, at the very least, the idea that Steve will think you’re pretty makes you feel pretty.

It makes all the imposter syndrome worth it.

You stand in front of the full-length mirror and tug the scratchy socks up and over your knee when they start to slip down. You rise once more, giving yourself another once over, then nod in approval — pleased with the costume you’ve put on.

A fleeting through with a mean, green, bleeding heart and a mind of its own scratches bitterly at the confines of your skull.

Eat your heart out, Nancy Wheeler.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

The ghost in you, she don't fade.

Steve, riddled with chronic feelings of inadequacy, overcooks the chicken and spritzes too much cologne on himself.

He had always been the kind of boy that loved things a little harder than he should’ve.

Ask any plant he’s ever owned that he accidentally killed with every leaf he overwatered, frightened that anything less would be neglectful. He was always so scared of them dying that he suffocated them until they wilted anyway.

He thought he might’ve grown out of all that until he realized he did the same thing with Nancy.

He squeezed her too tight and she squirmed at his smothering, called him bullshit and pushed him away so she could breathe again, then stomped on his heart until she was certain it stopped beating for her.

And therein lies the state of limbo Steve Harrington has lived in all his life — between loving something too much and not enough. He hasn’t yet found that balance that stops plants from dying and people from running away.

He isn’t quite sure how to be anything other than the man he is now.

His conscious clings to your every move. He thinks about when he’s awake, and when he isn’t, he hopes he’ll be lucky enough to dream about you. He bothers you at work all day, then asks if you want to go for a ride when you’re off because he hates being away from you. The nights get too cold when you stray too far. And even though he’s never been much of a chef, he offers to cook for you because he wants to show you he cares enough to try.

Steve’s the kind of guy that overcooks his chicken because he’s terrified that you’ll get sick if it’s not done enough. He’s the kind of guy that douses himself in cologne, then breaks the bottle because he’s terrified of not smelling good enough. He wants everything to be enough for you.

Steve Harrington, for once in his life, wants to be enough for somebody.

But now all he is, is a stupid boy that never learns, who smells like he’s trying to overcompensate for being a terrible, terrible chef.

When Nancy broke his heart, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to be this person again. Steve was scared he’d become someone he didn’t recognize — someone who didn’t care enough to water plants because, hey, they’re gonna die anyway, right? Because he gave and gave and gave, and had nothing to show for it but a stupid wilting flower.

Steve made a dark room of his broken heart. A boogeyman lived there, too. It made him scared that he’d never be able to love someone like he loved Nancy.

But then you came out of nowhere — this beautiful, loud, and mysterious thing that exudes every color of the rainbow when she laughs, despite her blacker-than-black wardrobe. You smile at him like you’ve never been hurt, like a sun that’s never known the night. It makes him feel like he can be that too.

The two of you seek a similar solace in one another. You fill each other’s voids without effort and without trying, like puzzle pieces or halves of an orange.

Steve met you and he realized that he didn’t get his ability to love from Nancy. He had always been a lover, a boy who could love something deeply, and that didn’t go away when she broke his heart.

And sometimes it was awful. It was painful and frightening more than it was anything else — love. It was doubtful and envious and distant.

Love makes you selfish and creepy and uncharacteristically overbearing. Love makes you worry about your hair and overcook your chicken and drench yourself in cologne. Love takes a hell of a lot of hope, and that’s what he feels like when he’s with you — hopeful. Like he’s never been hurt before.

A surge of optimism and apprehension hits him like a bolt of purple lightning just behind his ribcage when the doorbell rings. Mostly because he knows you’re waiting on the other side of it. His hands shake when he opens the door, but not because he’s scared. He’s just full of hope and buzzing with its foreign intensity.

Steve finds the rest of his life standing on his front porch, dressed in all the trappings of his past.

You’re smiling wide when you see him, the same whizzing ball of hope that he is now, and clutching a bottle of wine. You’ve traded your usual grocery store alcohol for something bottom shelf from an actual liquor store. The sunshine grin you’re wearing is about the only thing familiar about you now.

With your hair pulled back, brows combed neatly to match the pretty makeup you’ve spotted gingerly on your features, dressed in foreign colors with knee-high socks and kitten heels — you look nothing like yourself. It’s a costume you’ve got on, still so pretty but pretending in some way.

It has Steve startled for a moment, thinking Halloween came a whole six months earlier and he never got the memo. Then he realizes you must’ve gotten all dressed up for him, even though you never had to. Just like he didn’t have to try and play chef to impress you.

Both of you are just stupid idiots who care too much, making it painfully obvious despite your best efforts to keep it hidden.

“Hi,” you grin sheepishly through a foreign, pale pink, and glossy mouth.

Steve’s too busy gaping at you to respond in a timely fashion.

The wind billows through your hair and sends strands of it flying in your face. And even though he can’t remember a time when you’ve ever worried about the wild halo on your head, you’re quick to tuck them back into place again.

With most of it pulled back and combed with obvious intent, your face is left unhidden. Your neck and shoulders and collarbones are too. And you’ve got on this tight sweater and pretty skirt and tall socks that make your legs look longer. All of your usually concealed features are heightened.

The dainty swipes of mascara, eyeshadow, and blush only accentuate them further, though your spots are attentively covered with foundation that isn’t exactly your shade. It’s a bit lighter than your skin tone, like you’d gotten it some time ago when you were still a bit paler.

You look less like the loud, plucky girl he’s come to know and someone more timid, delicate, and polished.

You’re so pretty he damn near forgets how to speak. His tongue swells and every word he could use loses meaning at the sight of you. But it isn’t you, and that only confounds him further.

It’s like you’ve covered yourself in body paint. The real version of you is hidden somewhere underneath it all, glimmering somehow more golden than the flaxen you’re playing pretend in.

When Steve realizes he hasn’t yet answered you, it feels like it’s been ten minutes or more. In reality, no longer than five seconds have gone by.

“Hey,” he greets finally, in an exhale that gets caught in his throat halfway through. He clears it and smiles shakily. “Hi.”

He steps to the side of the doorway and ushers you inside. He wipes his sweaty palms on his slacks when he thinks you aren’t looking, but you catch him in the act when you turn to face him again. Your grin widens and you trap it between your teeth.

“Smells good in here,” you compliment, walking slowly backward with your hands clasped behind your back.

“Thanks,” he accepts your flattery with an awkward hand on his neck. “Yeah, uh— I kinda burnt the chicken a little bit, but everything else should be good. At least, I hope it’s good. It’s kinda hard to mess up a salad, right?”

He laughs under his breath, then starts to ramble without realizing it.

“I’m not the best cook, as it turns out. I mean, I thought I could at least fake it, you know? Fake it ’til you make it, or whatever that bullshit saying is — but there is no faking the tornado I just had in the kitchen. I don’t think I’ve made a bigger mess in my life. But, uh, yeah… And don’t worry! I didn’t put tomatoes in the pasta. Or the salad. Or the sauce. I know you don’t think them, so…”

You’re in the middle of beaming and trying very hard not to laugh when he hits you with that one.

Steve, like you, is having a very hard time shutting up just now. He’s in the same web of nervousness that you’re spun up in too. He’s all tangled and trying to weave words that make sense, though everything things his mouth in half-thoughts.

But then he says something so strangely profound out of nowhere, and it makes your pounding heart stop without warning. He’s just talking about fucking tomatoes, but you understand that — in some weird, roundabout way — that it’s much deeper than that.

You’d told him the mundane little detail in passing some time ago. At the diner, when you picked the fruit from your burger with a grimace on your face. You said it tasted like battery acid and tainted everything it touched. He took it back to the counter when you weren’t brave enough to.

“Here you go, Punchy. Your battery-acid-free burger,” he’d joked when he set the fresh plate in front of you.

And he remembered all that. He tucked that tiny piece of information about you into the very back of his mind so that he could use it to make you happy later on.

That’s adoration at its core, you figure. Somewhere in all those minuscule remember-ings.

“You remembered that?” you wonder aloud in a bemused sort of whisper.

Steve has already moved on. He’s rambling about the broken spout of his cologne bottle but stops the second he realizes he’s doing it.

Of course, I did, scoffs the little voice in his head. I’m sorta obsessed with you, as it turns out.

He doesn’t tell you that, though, for reasons he finds are quite obvious — the most significant of which would be running you off entirely. So instead, he just shrugs and tries to be cool, despite having already established how terribly uncool he is.

“Yeah. I remember everything.”

When the two of you settle at the dining table, Steve realizes he’s eaten most of his dinners alone until now.

His parents stopped caring sometime around middle school. His dad got too busy with work, started staying after-hours to catch up on paperwork or screw his secretary. And his mom didn’t care because she was too busy getting wine-drunk on the phone with whatever book club friend that was just as miserable as she was.

Steve would fork at his cold pad thai while he listened to his mother’s muffled rant about who went where and who wore a hat.

He couldn’t find it in himself to eat in his room. The empty dinner table was the only sort of stable routine he had in the swirling uncertainty of being a teenage boy.

But now he’s got you.

He hopes he never stops having you. He doesn’t want to go back to being alone like that again, not after he’s found someone that can fill an entire room with their laugh.

The cackle you let out at Steve’s terrible, terrible cheese pun — “yeah, I guess you could say I cooked this all on my provol-own — echoes through the dining room. Even though he knows you’re laughing at him and not exactly with him, he figures it’s a small price to pay to keep hearing such a heavenly sound.

It reminds him of the real you, the one underneath all the foreign regalia.

The rays of your usual sunshine peek from the clouds you hide behind. You’re way too bright to stay hidden.

Steve can tell you’re watching his every move. You eye him from across the table with the intent of doing everything he’s doing, lest you might do something wrong. He puts his napkin in his lap, so you put your napkin your lap. He cuts his chicken with his fork and knife, so you cut your chicken with a fork and knife — though you quickly realize you’re not quite as dexterous as he is for all that.

It’s endearing. The kind of cute that makes his heart hurt just a little bit. He hides his smile and happily abandons the conventional things he’d been taught to do. He eats with his fingers and then licks the pads of them, grinning when you giggle and do the same.

It’s not something he’s used to — grabbing pieces of cut chicken with bare fingers and slurping noodles without having cut them first — especially not when he’s trying to impress a girl. But he can tell the lack of etiquette makes you more comfortable, and that’s all he really cares about.

He offers you another serving once you’ve finished your first. You decline politely with the mutters of “oh, no, I couldn’t,” but he’s seen your appetite. You could down five burgers at the diner and not break a sweat if you’re feeling hungry enough.

It’s one of those little heart-wrenchingly adorable things you do that both shock and enamor him. But, for a reason he can’t name, you’ve decided that part of yourself was too deplorable to add to your costume.

Steve only scoffs at you in response. He scoops more chicken and pasta onto your scrapped-clean plate despite your refusal.

You’re grateful he doesn’t let you get away with your stubbornness. Truth be told, you were still sort of starving.

He’s just grateful you don’t think his mediocre cooking skills total a complete dealbreaker.

Steve tries to fight you when you offer to help him clean up the kitchen. He tells you to make yourself at home on the couch while he tidies up, ushers you to pour yourself a glass of wine and pick out a record while you wait for him.

But you have issues with authority and take little fondness in being told what to do. So, in true Punchy fashion, you do the exact opposite of what he tells you to do.

You roll up the sleeves of your pretty sweater and stand next to him at the deeply set sink in his kitchen island. “You wash, I’ll dry?” you offer.

He doesn’t argue, only nods.

He’ll let you take the blame for not wanting to be too far away from him. It’s easier than admitting his own guilt in the matter. ‘Cause sometimes his heart breaks when he blinks and he has to miss you for the faintest fraction of a second.

“You seriously don’t have to, you know—”

“Stop saying that,” you scold and snatch the dripping plate from his hands. You swipe a towel over the ceramic with a meticulous ease. “I actually like doing dishes, okay? I do them at all time. I’m practically a professional at this point.”

“Yeah?” Steve laughs, shooting you a grin as he dunks his hand into the warm, sudsy water.

You love that stupid smile so much you’ve started to hate it.

It’s soft and so sincere, just wide enough to reveal the dimple in his left cheek. The gentle grin drips with so much honey you can practically taste it. It’s so tender it makes you feel unworthy, so full of love it fills you with a distant rage that he might’ve looked at someone else with it.

You have to duck away from his gaze before he can catch you blushing.

“Yeah. That’s, like, my one chore when I’m over at Eddie’s,” you respond with a shrug. “Because, you know, Wayne’s always working and Eddie’s… Eddie, and he really shouldn’t be trusted with anything remotely sharp or breakable, so…”

“What about when you’re home?” he wonders, simply for the sake of keeping the conversation going, but noting how the mention of home makes you tense.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, considering every time I go back, it looks like there’s been a tornado, doing dishes is just one part of the shit pile that I need to clean up, you know? My parents are usually on some bender — or still passed out from said bender — to take care of the place while I’m gone.”

Steve sees how distracted you’ve gotten as you keep wiping down a bone-dry plate.

“But, uh, anyway. Point is, I think I’m destined to have a career as a professional dishwasher.”

When your gaze flits back to Steve’s, he forces a smile at you.

He’s noticed how you always seem to talk about your best friend and his uncle without ever mentioning your parents. He understands now that it’s because they weren’t your family, not like Eddie and Wayne were. The small Munson clan was your home, it seems, and he fights to steer you back that way.

“So, you stay with them most of the time, then?” he redirects innocently as he hands you a freshly washed wine glass.

“Yeah. I think I’m pretty much Eddie’s personal caretaker these days.”

“Wow,” he marvels playfully, wide-eyed and grinning. “On top of being a professional dishwasher? You’re really doin’ it all, aren’t ya, Punchy?”

“Mm-hmm. I am a real jack of all trades, Harrington,” you joke back with a commendable finesse and flash a teasing smile up at him. The pastel-colored lipstick has mostly disappeared from your mouth now. You look more like yourself.

“And Eddie— he’s got this crazy scar on his hand from when he was a kid, and he was helping Wayne wash the dishes. He, like, blindly reached into the water or something and stabbed himself. Knife went straight through his palm.”

Steve winces.

“Yep. Now he says he’s too traumatized to help do the chores,” you reminisce with a distant laugh and set the glass upside down on the drying rack. “I don’t mind, though. I like doing them on my own. Gives me time to think, you know?”

“I’m standing right here,” the boy beside you scoffs, feigning offense.

“You can be the exception, Stevie,” you assure with a grin.

Maybe it’s the look you give him. Maybe it’s the nickname he used to hate, but now makes his heart skip a beat or two — or three. Maybe it’s all those things and the way your fingers brush his wrist when you move to take the pot from his hands. Either way, something shifts and he forgets how to use his fine motor skills.

The pan slips from his fumbling hands and yours and plops back into the water. The metal bangs loudly when it hits the bottom of the sink. Both of you jump back to avoid the splash.

“Shit. Sorry,” he apologizes, eyes scanning your form to make sure he didn’t make a total mess of you.

“It’s okay,” you promise with a gentle laugh and swipe the towel in your hand over your sweater to remove the droplets clinging there.

Steve scrunches his nose. “I feel like I might’ve just ruined my co-dishwashing privileges.”

“Just a little,” you quip.

You give him no warning before bringing the waffle-patterned nettle up to his cheek to dry him off, too. He flinches at the suddenness of the action but melts into your touch without thinking twice.

“You know, you have a pretty cool scar, too,” you tell him, mostly out of the blue, while you dab at the stubble on his jaw.

Steve’s gotten used to all your abrupt mannerisms and the way you flip-flop between topics with an expertise only you seem to possess. He likes that about you, though. There’s never a quiet or still moment when he’s with you.

“Yeah?” he hums back.

You nod and move down to his neck. “I felt it a while ago, during our Night of the Living Dead marathon—” of which Steve has no recollection. He can’t remember a damn thing from those movies, but can still feel the tingle of your mouth against his own.

“—On the back of your head. Felt pretty gnarly.”

You switch the towel to your other hand and use your free one to swipe through his hair. Your fingers muss at his hour or more of hard work, but your touch is a far better reward than nearly quaffed hair. You weave through the chocolate strands until you reach a marred, barren line.

“Right… there.”

Steve, still buzzing with your touch, manages a breathy chuckle. “Uh, yeah. It’s a… It’s a really long, really stupid story.”

“Wanna give me the short version?”

The grin you give him is impossible to say no to.

“I’m a super klutz,” he summarizes with a shrug and a sloppy grin.

He mourns the loss of your touch when your hand slips from his hair. “Well, now I have to hear the story.”

“It’s dumb. Like, seriously—”

“I like dumb,” you assure quickly to stop whatever self-loathing he was about to spew. “I’m best friends with Eddie Munson. I think I can take it.”

“Touché,” he chuckles under his breath. The remaining dishes are left forgotten in the depths of the soapy water when he turns his back to him. He leans his weight on the countertop and grips the edges of it in his hands. “You see, I did this really smart thing when I was a baby where I’d, you know, crawl backwards—”

“Crawl backwards?” you repeat with an incredulous laugh.

“Yeah. I’d push with my hands — beep, beep, beep,” he flattens his palms and presses them against thin air to demonstrate it for you. “Always in reverse. I mean, it makes sense, right? You gotta push to move.”

“Sure,” you shrug. A laugh tumbles from your mouth shortly after.

“Did that until I reversed my way down a flight of stairs and hit my head pretty damn good,” he concludes with a wince. It’s like he can still feel the pain sometimes.

“Wow,” you marvel. “So, like… When people ask if you were dropped on your head as a kid, the answer would be—”

“Yep…” he sighs, then laughs when it makes you laugh. He looks over at you with sparkling cinnamon eyes. “It explains a lot, doesn’t it? I think, like, right out of the gate, I’m super confident, you know? But I’m also a total idiot, which is just a brutal combination.”

“I have noticed that, actually,” you confess with a gentle sort of smile.

“Yeah?” he winces.

“Yeah. You do this thing sometimes where you get all… suave and cool,” you tell him, squinting and lowering your voice a few octaves for effect. “Like you’re trying to be King Steve all over again. And then you, like, trip over a stack of DVDs or something because the universe is trying to humble you.”

“That is a… really good way of putting it, actually,” Steve confesses with a laugh.

“I think it’s sweet.”

“Well, the good thing is, I get a big enough thump on my head, I can change, you know? I can learn. So, I guess I’m pretty glad somebody bumped my head before we met. ‘Cause things probably would’ve turned out… a whole lot differently.”

Steve watches your face contort from understanding to confusion. Your manicured brows pinch together and your doe eyes squint over at him. He watches you break down his words in real time.

“Somebody…” you murmur under your breath. “You mean… Are you talking about Nancy?”

“Yeah, uh… She gave me a— a pretty big thump, you know? Worse than the one I got falling down those stupid stairs,” he tells you with a reminiscent smile.

It makes you feel like a total idiot, standing in front of him like this — a carbon copy of the girl that tore his heart to shreds.

“I deserved it, though. I mean, you knew me back then, I was a… a total asshole. And sometimes, I think I still would be if she didn’t, you know… if she didn’t… totally rip my fucking heart out,” he concludes with a sad sort of laugh. “Now I’m kinda grateful she did. As bad as it hurt — as angry as it made me — I think, in a lotta ways, it made me better.”

“Better?” you echo quietly.

“Yeah… If she didn’t break up with me when she did — if I didn’t get that dumb thump on my head — I wouldn’t have changed. I wouldn’t be… here right now. With you,” he confesses, revealing more of himself than he ever has before, to a girl he wouldn’t have been caught dead with a couple of years ago.

He looks beside him at this costumed girl — at you — and he sees someone he probably would’ve given the time of day back in high school. The lack of dark, baggy clothing makes you look approachable — like you won’t actually bite him for coming near you like the rumors always said.

And Steve’s self-aware enough to know he probably would’ve treated you like shit back then. He would’ve fucked you just to fuck you, then only talk to you when he needed you to do his homework for him. And you wouldn’t have been the first girl he did that to either, and the thought makes him want to puke.

He’s glad he’s found you when he did. He’s even happier you met him where he was at, in that awkward in-between stage of growing up where you’re trying to be someone different while still finding comfort in staying the same. You never complained even once when he reverted back to his old ways.

And even though you’re standing right next to him, your chest nearly brushing his arm with every heavy breath you take, he finds himself missing you.

You’re not you — not without the fun outfits and the crazy hair and all your rings that clink together every time you move. He misses how the metal felt against his skin and the way they’d get caught in his hair.

You’re still beautiful like this, but it’s a strange type of beauty. One that both of you know doesn’t belong to you. You fit into it like baggy jeans or a too tight shirt. You’ve squeezed yourself into a ball to try to fit into a world far too small for you, because you thought that’s what Steve wanted.

“I’d still be that King Steve douchebag… Partying every night, getting drunk out of my mind, never settling down like I…” The words get trapped in his throat. He clears it to force them out. “Like I always wanted to, you know?”

“Right,” you murmur, voice not strong enough to be any louder than that.

“So, yeah, I don’t know. I guess, in some weird, roundabout way, I’m just to tell you that I’m not that guy anymore. King Steve,” he admits and presses his hip into the counter to face you fully.

When you gather the strength to look up at him, you find his gaze already dripping with honey and staring down at you. He’s all soft and mushy and twinkling with the adoration he’s got for you. And when he smiles, it’s so terribly sincere and coated with a distant sadness that’s been playing on the edge of his voice this whole time.

“And I know you might still see me as that guy. I don’t blame you. Honestly, I don’t really deserve to be looked at any differently, not after how I acted towards you—”

“Steve,” you breathe out in a tender sigh. “It’s okay—”

He shakes his head to himself. His eyes squeeze shut when his chin falls to his chest.

“It’s not. It’s… It’s really not. I just—” he inhales sharply, chest deflating on the exhale when his gaze turns back to you. He looks sterner now, but still so tender. “I just want you to know that I’ve changed, okay? I am changing. And I don’t want you to think I’m the kinda guy you have to change yourself for.”

When the weight of his words finally hits you, it feels a bit like being punched in the stomach.

It knocks all the wind out of you and makes it hard to think about anything other than the sudden loss of breath. Like a kid who’s fallen off the monkey bars and flat onto their back, you can’t do anything but writhe through the ache and hope you’ll be back to normal soon.

You got dressed that evening thinking you were the master of deception. You perfected your subterfuge and awaited Steve’s inevitable swooning because you looked like all the other girls he’d fallen in love with.

But he sees through every inch of your pretending with his secret x-ray powers, and now you’re just a stupid girl standing in front of him, soaking wet with embarrassment.

It’s a little like when he and Tommy and all his basketball goons would make fun of you. They’d talk about you like you weren’t there while they tossed tiny crumbled up pieces of paper into your hair so they could watch you struggle to get them out. But, at the same time, it’s not like that at all. Because now he’s apologizing, and telling you that he likes you, and that you never had to change a single damn thing for him at all.

You’re equally as self-conscious, though, and feeling like a total idiot for thinking you could even pretend to be halfway normal.

“Oh…” is the only thing that leaves your mouth in that moment. Your mind is still going a million miles a minute. You want to blurt out an apology and an explanation all at once, while simultaneously turning into a puddle at his feet and disappearing entirely.

But rather than break down, you stay standing. Too stuck in your head to feel all there.

Steve seems to notice your trepidation almost immediately. His eyes widen and his brows raise and his pretty mouth falls open to let all of his reassurances spill out.

“And it’s not that I don’t think you’re pretty! You’re— You’re perfect like this too, but I just…” he inhales and takes the tiniest step closer to you, putting an unsure hand on your waist. “I like you the way you were before. And this isn’t… This isn’t you.”

You blink back stinging tears and turn your gaze to where you toe your Mary Jane’s into the kitchen tile. You go to twist your rings like you always did when you were nervous before realizing you’d left them all at home.

“I just wanted to be like the girls you like,” you confess quietly.

“You are like the girls I like,” Steve corrects with a gentle laugh. “‘Cause I like you.”

Your eyes are all glassy when they flit back up to his.

Even though you don’t look quite like yourself, the way you look at him hasn’t changed. You still gaze at him like you can see right through the nice hair and the dumb smirks and the stupid persona he puts on when he doesn’t feel good enough the way he is. You look at him like you’re in love with the boy he tries like hell to keep hidden.

The exact same way he looks at you.

“I think I just got a little spooked. Girls like me aren’t supposed to end up with guys like you.”

“I stopped believing in that shit a long time ago,” he admits with the shake of his head. “The whole soulmates-love-at-first-sight thing, it’s all… bullshit. If I’m gonna love someone, I’m gonna do it on purpose.”

Steve watches the lingering sadness in your eyes ebb to something sunnier. Your gaze sparkles and suddenly you’re beaming at him, not bothering to conceal the effect his words have on you. You don’t think you could even if you wanted to.

“I like that,” you murmur in approval, then more loudly proclaim: “Screw soulmates! Let’s start loving people on purpose!”

The two of you laugh about this promise you’ve just made to each other without really saying it to each other. It sort of goes unsaid — if I’m gonna love you, I’m gonna do it on purpose and let’s love each other on purpose. That’s what you mean, and neither of you has to say it out loud because you get it.

It’s that exact realization that makes Steve’s heart flutter something fierce. Suddenly, the urge to touch you becomes too great to bear. He wants to feel you like he did on the couch of his theater room, when a film he could barely recall crackled in the background because the feel of you was too loud for him to hear anything else.

He needs you like that again, on him and all over him. The ache is a palpable one.

The boy squeezes your waist again, as though to remind you he was still there. Or, perhaps, to remind himself that you were still there —the real thing and not something his brain conjured up.

“It’s not totally insane how bad I want to kiss you right now, is it?” he wonders quietly to you. The low, sultry nature of his voice is not at all forced like it usually is when he’s trying most desperately to flirt with you. His words are just naturally weighed down by his desire for you.

You shake your head in a silent promise, then command through a grin, “Kiss me stupid, Harrington.”

Steve doesn’t waste a second.

He’s been anxiously awaiting his chance to touch you all night. He does so now with a vigor that makes you feel all of that anticipation. With one hand on your waist and the other cupping your jaw, you can feel his buzzing skin as it presses against your own — like the static of a television screen. His fingers settle between the strands of your hair while his thumb absentmindedly rubs along your cheekbone.

The softness of his touch makes you hum against his mouth.

His lips are familiar like home — more than, because sometimes you think you’ve never really had one.

There’s never been a cozy, warm, and tender place where you could rest your tired bones. Eddie’s trailer, maybe, but it wasn’t yours. No matter how often you slept within the four walls of his bedroom, no matter how hard you pretended like you’d lived there all your life, it would never belong to you.

But Steve could.

Steve could be yours.

And you wouldn’t even have to pretend either. It would be for real this time.

His mouth was welcoming and pleasant and gentle, far more than you’ve ever gotten out of four walls and a roof. The plush pink of his lips — the cushion of his bottom one you like to dig your teeth into and the rough pad of his tongue that explores your mouth like undiscovered territory — is perhaps the softest thing you’ve ever known.

Even when he kisses you harder and guides you until your back is pressed against the edge of the countertop, it’s still so, so tender.

Steve’s hands migrate to your hips. His fingers clutch the fabric of your skirt as he cages you against his weight and the counter, as though out of fear you might slip away.

Your touch mirrors his desperate one. You cling to him with a similar intensity, balling the fabric of his navy blue Henley in one hand while you waltz through the pretty strands of his neatly styled hair with the other. You let him kiss you the way he wants to kiss you, keeping your obedient mouth plaint for him while he opens your mouth wider with his tongue.

His touches turn bruising, and yours go soft like summer rain.

Steve holds desperately onto you, like any moment he could wake up and none of this could be real. He kisses you like he won’t ever get to kiss you again, having no idea that you’ve already started to build a home in him.

Meanwhile, your fingers tips trail like drops of water down his chest and stomach. They settle at his waist, on the top of his belt, and linger along the leather edge of it. You’re not quite sure what to do next — if you should wait for Steve to say something or if you should go ahead and take the lead.

Your sudden hesitation makes him nervous.

Steve’s lips click wetly as they part from yours. He peers down at you through heavy lids, amber eyes swimming with honeyed desire. His lips are pinker now, and swollen from being kissed so ardently. His brows pinch in concern. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t w—”

You barely let him get the words out before you press your mouth to his again. Your hands twist at the collar of his shirt to bring him back down to you. You stand on the tips of your toes to meet him halfway.

“I want to,” you mumble, practically slurring from being so drunk on his touch.

“I wanna treat you right—” he tries to tell you. Some of his words are muffled against your mouth because you find yourself totally unable to stop kissing him now. “—Take things slow with you.”

You smack a final kiss to his lips. When his honey eyes flutter open again, he finds you wearing a mischievous sort of smirk. There’s an accompanying teasing glint in your glazed over eyes.

“You can do all that when you’re inside of me,” you promise lowly, bold in a way neither of you are used to. The brazen nature of your dirty words is foreign but no less exciting.

They make Steve’s head get all swimmy and his cock tightens as it stiffens in his slacks. His spine tingles with his borderline overwhelming desire for you.

“Have mercy…” he murmurs within a heavy breath, more to himself than to you.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

And love, is only heaven away...

Steve’s curtains match his wallpaper.

It’s a questionable blue and gray plaid that you doubt he picked out himself. The framed pictures of sports cars only add to the boyish flair of his bedroom. It doesn’t look like him, though. None of it does.

The only real trace of Steve The Hair Harrington is the poster of Christie Brinkley hanging beside his window, diligently placed right next to his bed. It’s a blown-up Sports Illustrated cover — a beautiful, soaking wet woman posing less than effortlessly against a palm tree in all her blonde-haired, blue-eyed, perfected-bodied glory. It’s the most King Steve you’ve ever seen.

All the minute details of his bedroom make you giggle.

“You have great taste, Steve Harrington.”

He grumbles in annoyance at your teasing as he clicks his door shut behind you.

“Well, you can thank my mom for my great taste, okay? She decorated the place when we moved in, like, forever ago. I just haven’t, you know, gotten around to changing it yet.”

“I can tell,” you laugh and turn to him with a smirk. “Really cool bedsheets, by the way. I mean, seriously. This is state-of-the-art design here, Stevie.”

It isn’t until he’s being pelted with your relentless teasing that he remembers he’s got dinosaur-patterned linens spread out on his mattress.

Steve typically likes to alternate bedsheets in between washing them. His plain gray ones would’ve perhaps been more appropriate for times like this, but they were in his hamper along with another set of plaid ones. His dino sheets may be immature, but they’re no less comfortable. It’s not his fault they just happened to fall on the week you were coming over.

“Alright, Punchy—” The boy rolls his eyes and splays two wide hands on your sides, pressing himself into you rather shamelessly. You wonder if the clothed stiffness against your lower stomach is just your imagination. Any other teasing remarks dissipate from the tip of your tongue as your eyes widen.

Steve notices your silence and smiles. “—You wanna keep making fun of me, or do you wanna make out some more?”

“I think we can do both,” you answer with a shrug, resting your hands along his waist. “I’m quite the multitasker, Harrington.”

“Yeah?”

You nod.

“Wanna show me?”

You nod again, smiling wider now.

He smashes his lips into yours again. You meet him halfway. It’s all too easy to fall back into the swings of things — the desperate mouths and longing touches. Maybe because you’re always desperate and longing for him. And, with the way he’s clinging to you now, you figure he must always be those things for you, too.

You relish in all of his little touches, in the duality of them. He cups your jaw so tenderly yet clutches your hip like he’s still trying to discern whether you’re real or not. Then his palms slide around your waist and up your back until he’s all but hugging you. It’s too sweet a gesture for how he’s prying your lips open with his mouth to slip his tongue inside.

His hands settle, finally, at the very bottom of your sweater. They linger at them hem, not pressuring you to do anything, just waiting for you to make a move.

You part from him to abide by his unspoken want. Your trembling hands work together to free you from your top. You’re more than grateful to pry the itchy thing off of you.

Steve doesn’t get the chance to admire the bra you wear. He catches a glimpse of frilly lace, but there’s little time to praise your topless form before you’re pulling him into another searing kiss. It’s full of tongue and teeth now, far more hungry that just moments ago. Your fingers slither through his hair and curl in the strands. You keep him firmly locked against you as his lips trail down your neck.

He finds your most sensitive spot in record time — the one just under your jaw, right beside your racing pulse. Your legs nearly give out when his tongue runs over it. A breathy moan exhales from your mouth before you can stop it and you feel him smile against your neck. He doesn’t comment on it, just keeps kissing you there in the hopes that you’ll do it for him again.

You do.

Steve sucks and nips at your delicate skin, and you revel in the feeling of his mouth. Head thrown back, you let him paint your neck in varying shades of red. Some will disappear come morning; others will darken into souvenirs for you to admire for the next few days.

The thought of him marking you drives you nearly as crazy as the feeling of his lips against you.

You stopped trying to hold back your whines somewhere around ten of them ago. It was easier, you found, for him to kiss you and to let yourself enjoy it than be hyperaware of all the sounds you were or weren’t making. Steve seems to like it when you moan for him, anyway. Every time you do, he kisses you harder, holds you tighter, and hums out his own subtle moans against you.

He digs his teeth into your skin. It makes you whimper. The desperate, high-pitched noise fades into a lower moan when the rough pad of his tongue rushes out to soothe the bite. He moves on to kiss you elsewhere. You shiver when your spit-slicked skin meets the cool air.

You don’t notice that you’ve hitched your leg up his hip until you feel his warm hand on your thigh to hold it up for you. His fingers inch up until the tips of them rest beneath the hem of your skirt.

You don’t bother to hide how much you want him.

He doesn’t bother to hide how badly he needs you close.

“Wanna make you feel good,” he mumbles into your neck, smiling when his words make you whine. “Can I make you feel good?”

You nod when the words get stuck in your throat.

He parts from you for the first time in several minutes. His heavy gaze meets your own. “Can you say it for me?” he asks, not teasing you, just wanting to make sure you want this. Him.

“Want you to…” you start, then swallow when your voice is tighter than expected. You manage the rest through bated breaths. “…to make me feel good.”

Steve kisses you again, a long and thorough stamp on your lips, followed by several tinier pecks. Then his mouth starts its journey down, down, down your body, stopping only to admire your exposed chest. He’s more than pleased to find that what you’re wearing is hardly a bra at all.

It’s a sheer thing with dainty lace detailing. He figures it’s more for decoration than to push up your breasts. There’s no padding at all. Just a pretty tulle number that leaves very little to the imagination.

You watch him intently with a smile, enamored by how enamored he seems to be by a pair of boobs. You never thought yours were much to ogle over, but Steve presses tender, wet kisses to them anyway. He takes the plush between his teeth, sucking on the delicate skin to leave a blossoming bruise there. He only trails further down when he’s satisfied with the mark he’s branded you with.

Steve falls to his knees with a soft thud upon the carpeted floor. The faint sound is much more obvious in the quiet of his bedroom. He looks somehow prettier below you — soft and delicate and sweet like chocolate syrup or marshmallow fluff. But he’s still got this air about him, something stern and domineering, that tells you he’s still got all the power.

He presses a kiss to your thigh, just above the top of your sock, then several more further up. His fingers raise the fabric of your skirt the higher his lips travel. And, strangely, you’re not all that nervous about being half-naked in front of him. It’s hard to be when he’s kissing you like you’re a beautiful thing that deserves to be touched so tenderly.

Steve keeps pushing up your skirt and stills when he reaches the apex of your thigh, right where the top of it meets the joint of your hip.

Your underwear doesn’t match the bra you’re wearing, he finds. It’s orange all over and spotted with bats — the color has faded slightly, like you’d bought them some number of Halloweens ago.

It’s endearing. Everything about you is endearing. Even when you aren’t trying.

“Hold it up for me, yeah?” he asks you with your skirt in his hands.

It shouldn’t surprise him when you do the exact opposite. You step back from him to shove the thing down your legs, then leave it in a pool of forgotten fabric on his bedroom floor when you gravitate towards him all over again.

His hands rise to your outer thigh and rub soothingly along the warmed skin. You wonder if he can feel the goosebumps pebbling there. The smirk he flashes up at you tells you that he does.

He’s got a twinkle in his eye when he teases you. “Really cute underwear, by the way.”

“I was obviously very prepared for this,” you retort with ease, making fun of yourself just as effortlessly as you can make fun of him.

“I like them,” the boy assures. “I really like them. Very on brand, Punchy.”

“Would you like me better out of them?”

Your arched brow and knowing smirk, kept caged between your teeth, is met with a bemused gaze. Steve’s eyes go wide at your forwardness.

“Uh, yeah— I mean… yeah,” he nods with a breathless chuckle. Then, more sincerely says, “Only if you still want to.”

You scoff at his timidity, though it’s more at yourself than him. “Look at me, Steve,” you answer plainly, motioning to your half-naked form and the damp spot forming in your underwear. “If I didn’t want this, you’d know by now.”

Steve huffs out a laugh, just before pressing a chaste kiss to the black bow of your panties. He noses at the softness of your stomach while his fingers curl around the hem. He tugs them slowly downward, giving you ample time to stop him if you wanted.

A part of him is still convinced that none of this is real — you, namely. Truth be told, he’s waiting for a smack to the face and a rant about how all of this was just bullshit.

It never comes, though.

Instead, he gets a sheepish grin and a sparkling gaze as you hold onto his shoulder to step out of your underwear. The giggle that spills from your mouth when he tosses them over his shoulder makes him smile.

Your pussy is as pretty as the rest of you. It’s more manicured than he imagined for a girl as wild as you. There’s a tuft of hair on your pubic bone, cut down and shaved around the edges. It leaves your lips bare and glistening with your accumulating slick.

Steve’s all but salivating at the sight of you.

“You wanna put that mouth to work, Harrington, or do you wanna ogle some m— oh,” you try to tease him, all amused at how he looks like he’s never seen a naked girl before, knowing full well he’s seen plenty. But your taunts evaporate from your tongue when he finally puts his mouth on you. They ebb into a breathy, high-pitched moan.

The tip of his chiseled nose smushes against you while he licks at the rest of your pussy with a practiced tongue.

It’s more than obvious he’s done this before. Enough to have become a borderline professional at it. He finds your sensitive button within seconds and with minimal effort. Your legs are already buckling, practically turning to jelly, and he’s only just started.

He latches onto your lips with a swollen pink mouth. His warm, wide hands wrap around the backs of your thighs to keep you steady and anchored against him.

Steve kisses your cunt like he’s making out with you. He opens and closes his mouth in slow, rhythmic motions, rutting his tongue along your glistening skin all the while. He’s sloppy with intention. Every touch is meticulous. He’s trying to figure you out, trying to learn what you like the most and what makes you moan the loudest for him.

Steve’s attentive. He’s ambitious and ardent. It’s like he enjoys kissing you down there, and not like he’s doing you a favor so he can get something in return. He moans against you like it’s every bit as pleasurable for him, as it is for you.

He alternates his efforts while he discovers you like unexplored territory.

You giggled like it tickled you when he stuck his tongue into your cunt the first time, then moaned when his nose nudged your clit. “Your mouth is so good,” you’d praised through bated breaths, but your whines had gotten too quiet for his liking. He opted to give his tongue a break and latch his slick lips to your swelling clit.

You liked it most when he sucked you there. At least, he figures you must, with the way your mouth parts in a silent cry and your hands dart to his hair to push him further into you.

“You like that?” Steve asks you, just to be sure. He pulls enough away so the words are intelligible, but still close for you to feel the vibrations of them against your skin.

“Yes,” you answer in a broken sigh.

Steve barely lets you answer before he’s licking a flat stripe up the length of your pussy. He slows methodically when the tip of his tongue catches your puffy clit, just so he can see your legs tremble. They do, rather intensely so, and he revels in the way your thighs quiver at his temples.

He wishes he’d laid you down before putting his mouth on you. He regrets not getting to spread you open, to part your soft folds with his thumbs, and admire you the way you deserve to be admired.

But to be under you this way is a reward in itself. To get on his knees for you, to let you grind your hips against his face, it’s heaven. He never wants to stop feeling you this way.

“Please, Steve…” you moan breathlessly. “Please, please, please.”

You plea like it’s a mantra. Your voice grows tighter and tighter the closer you get to your peak.

Steve’s not entirely what you’re begging for. You’re not either, really. You just know that the pleasure is swelling. The wringing knot in your stomach is close to snapping. The thought alone is borderline overwhelming. You want to run away from the crescendoing feeling and keep it locked against your pussy all at once.

“Steve… Steve, please. I’m— fuck.”

“You can take it,” he promises, speaking the words into your cunt. His lips smack when he pulls away from you, just for a moment to catch his breath. His chest heaves and his tongue darts to graze his bottom lip. “It’s yours, baby. Just take it—”

You’re a goner the second he wraps his lips around your clit again. He suckles there like his life depends on it. Your hips twitch and you tug at his hair when you come, perhaps a bit rougher than you realize. Steve delights in the burn at his scalp. He groans shamelessly into you, a hearty grumble that rolls over every inch of your body.

You make the mistake of looking down at him in the midst of your undoing. You bring your chin down to your chest and open your fluttering eyes to peer down at the boy below you. He’s already looking up at you, you find, with his own bleary gaze. His cinnamon eyes glitter up at you and you melt for him.

Something about the sight of Steve on his knees for you, face snug against your cunt, and gaze lidded with desire makes you keen. Your hips flex, then still against his mouth while you gush for him.

“There you go,” he murmurs against your cunt. “There you go, baby.”

A high moan gets hung in your throat at his praise. It escapes in a delicate cry when your orgasm pummels into you full throttle. You’re whining and terribly sensitive when the buzzing feeling starts to ebb.

Steve laps at your weeping cunt while you writhe.

He knows to leave your throbbing clit alone now, but seeks to prolong your pleasure in other ways. He gathers the honey you leak from your pulsating hole with an eager tongue and doesn’t relent until you’re twitching away from him. Only when you’re tugging him off by his hair is he satisfied.

Then he goes effortlessly soft again.

He presses little kisses to the burning flesh of your thighs and runs his palms along the backs of them to coax you back to the earth again.

When your cries fade to more contented sighs and your eyes find his again, he smiles sweetly up at you. Too sweetly. He shouldn’t be grinning so tenderly, not when his lips and chin and nose glisten with your slick.

Steve wipes his mouth with the back of his hands as he rises to his full height in front of you.

“Was that… Was that good for you?” he wonders, suddenly sheepish like he wasn’t lapping at your pussy a minute or more ago.

“Are you kidding?” you retort, trying to laugh at him. All that comes out is a fatigued scoff. Your hands twist in the fabric of his shirt and you lean heavily against him when his arms wrap around you again. “I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life.”

That nearly does him in right then.

He leans to press a languid kiss to your mouth. There’s a foreign musk to his tongue now that wasn’t there before. You hum a moan against him when you realize it’s you that you’re tasting.

“Can I suck you off?” you blurt.

Steve freezes.

There’s hardly a thing he wants more than to feel your warm mouth on his cock. He’s been hard and aching since the second he got you into his bedroom. And that’s exactly why he knows he won’t last.

He usually jerks off before dates for that exact reason. At least, King Steve did because King Steve knew wherever he was going, he was getting laid. He wouldn’t have the reputation he did if he only lasted eight seconds.

He would’ve gotten himself off before you came around, made sure he was able to last as long as you needed him to if he’d expected you to need him at all. But he wasn’t expecting any of this to happen — especially not for you to come against his mouth and ask to give him a blowjob minutes later.

He didn’t invite you to dinner in the hopes you’d put out after. Call him old-fashioned, but he enjoys spending innocent time with you. He would’ve been more than happy to cook you dinner and kiss you on the cheek before you left.

But here you are, wanting more.

You never stop surprising him.

“I mean, it’s only fair, right?” you shrug at his silence. “You deserve to get off too.”

“You don’t have to. Not just because I did it for you—”

“I’ve been hearing about your dick since the tenth grade. I’m pretty sure I’m the only girl in the class of ’85 that hasn’t seen it. The least you can do is let me give you a measly blowjob,” you confess lowly.

Steve, knocked senseless at your words, starts working his belt off without a second thought. His hands fumble with the buckle while he smirks at you. “Yeah? What have you heard?”

“Oh, you know. The usual,” you answer vaguely and saunter the short distance to his bed. You plop down on the edge of it and lean your weight on your palms. “Just that you have a monster-sized dick and that Marianne from Soc nearly broke it when you took her virginity.”

“That was a rumor!” he defends as he steps out of his jeans. His shirt goes next. He pulls the thing up and over his head with an admirable sort of finesse, leaving his toned torso and hairy chest on display for you.

“The monster-sized dick or the Marianne from Soc thing?”

He doesn’t entertain with an answer, just drops his boxers and lets you figure it out for yourself.

His cock is already hard and glowing a faint strawberry color at the tip with neglect. It curves to his right hip and hangs there, weighed down by its own size. The hair upon his pubic bone rises to meet the happy trail on his lean stomach, trimmed slightly but still a bit wild. Tanned skin, heavy balls, and a singular vein that trails like a river from the base to the head — Steve Harrington’s got the prettiest dick you’ve ever seen.

You don’t even realize you’re gawking at him because you’re too busy trying to figure out how either could be rumors. You’re looking at beast right now, a wild thing that tiny, little Marianne from Soc certainly couldn’t handle. You’re not even entirely sure if you can.

Steve blanches at your hesitation. He sees you retreat into your head and rushes to bring you back. “Hey, we don’t have to… We don’t have to do this if you do want to. We don’t have to do any of this if—”

“I want to,” you assure quickly, eyes widening when you realize how quiet you’d gone. You can imagine how mortifying it must’ve been, for him to get naked in front of you and be met with total silence. “You just… have the biggest dick I’ve ever seen.”

His concern ebbs to a relieved smile. “Well, thanks for stroking my ego, princess.”

“I would love to stroke something else,” you quip with a playful grin that’s far too proud of such a dumb joke.

Steve rolls his eyes but doesn’t bother to hide his smile.

He wants it on record, though, that he’s not grinning at your mindless innuendo. It wreaks too much of Eddie. You both seem to possess a similar sort of humor in that way, in how you can make anything into a joke — particularly a dirty one.

“Thanks for stroking my ego,” Steve would say and Munson would joke, “Well, we both know nothing else of yours is getting stroked, Harrington, so it’s the least I can do.” And Eddie would’ve been right. But Steve would never let him know that.

The boy settles in the middle of his bed and watches with a glittering gaze as Eddie’s best friend climbs between his legs. She spits into her palm and starts tugging at his hard cock with it. Steve isn’t sure of what to do — if he should rub it in this boy’s face or keep this piece of heaven to himself. He decides on that latter when your lips wrap around his leaking tip.

You’ll tell Eddie about all this tomorrow. He’s your best friend, after all — Steve will be doing the same with Robin, no doubt. And that alone is a reward in and of itself.

Getting him into your mouth was easy in theory, but you quickly find that it’s a harder feat than you realized. Steve’s not just long, he’s wide, and the combination makes it nearly impossible to take him fully.

You pay extra attention to his strawberry pink tip to make up for what you can’t reach. He seems to like that more than anything else. Pearly pre-come leaks from there and you happily lap up his dribbling honey. Steve shudders every time your tongue meets his mushroom tip. His cock keeps drooling for you, so you keep doing it.

You work the rest of him with your palm, made slippery with your spit. Your free hand anchors around his thigh.

The combined effort isn’t something Steve’s particularly used to.

Most girls choose one or the other. They either try to swallow him whole or opt to use their hands when they know that they can’t. That is, if they even want to suck him off at all. The foreign attention you give him drives him to the edge embarrassingly quickly.

“Hey, we should, uh— we should maybe stop,” he cautions tightly.

You detach from the head of his dick with a soft pop, but keep working him slowly with your palm. Your brows pinch together with concern. “You okay? Is it not… Is it not good?”

“What? No! It’s not— It’s not that. It’s great. That’s the… That’s sorta the problem,” Steve assures with an awkward laugh. “I’m not gonna… I probably won’t last much longer. And if you wanna… you know…”

“Fuck?” you finish for him with a teasing grin.

“Yeah. Then we should, you know, maybe stop now.”

Your hand stills at the base of his cock. Steve can finally breathe without the worry of bursting entirely.

“I mean, we can stop if you want to. You know, no pressure or anything, but… I don’t mind. I was sorta looking forward to you coming in my mouth.”

And how the hell was Steve ever going to say no to that — to you? He’s never denied you of anything before, and with that godawful track record, he wasn’t exactly equipped to start now.

Your mouth wraps around him again. You kitten lick at his tip and moan at the musky taste before sucking at his blushing head.

It feels good — it feels great — but he’s plagued with a lingering worry.

He wants so desperately to fuck you, more than he needs to breathe, it feels like. But your mouth is too perfect a thing to deprive himself of. He’s scared it’ll take him too long to get hard again, or worse, that he won’t be able to at all.

The thought of embarrassing himself in front of you, of not making you feel as good as he wants to make you feel, is an unbearable one.

There’s no way he’s stopping you, though. How can he when you’re sucking him off like your life depends on it? Your hand tugs and squeezes at the base of his cock while your tongue laps at his drooling tip. And on top of all that, you moan against him like making him feel good is making you feel good, too.

“Holy shit,” Steve forces through a tightening throat when your tongue dips just below his head to lick where the pale blue vein fades. His neck stretches as he digs the crown of his head into the pillow, revealing all of the pretty tendons you want to sink your teeth into.

“Your mouth is— fuck… Your mouth is fucking perfect, babe, shit.”

All of his little reactions spur you forward.

You want him to keep praising you. You want to keep making his legs shudder and his hips twitch and his cock jerk in your mouth. So you double your efforts, just to hear more of his pretty whines that get stuck in his throat.

When you duck your head to pay the same amount of attention to his balls, Steve’s a total fucking goner.

His hands, both of which were obediently fisting the bedsheets, immediately dart to your hair when you suck his sack into your mouth. One warm palm cradles your jaw while the other clings to the back of your hand. He doesn’t push you or force you to take him further — he just holds you.

“I’m gonna come,” he grunts before a groan climbs out from his throat. His head falls back again, but he forces it upright a moment later so he can keep on watching you.

His hips stutter when you hum a moan against him.

“Yeah? Is that what you want?” he manages through heavy pants. “You want my come?”

You nod with his balls still in your mouth, then pull off of them with a pop to put his cock back in your mouth.

Steve gives you exactly what you want no more than ten seconds later, spitting several loads of his come onto your tongue. It tastes like what had been leaking from his tip, just a bit saltier and far more potent with so much of it in your mouth at one time.

Steve’s thighs tremble around you and hips buck wildly despite himself until he’s given you everything he can possibly give to you.

He allows himself only a few moments to relish in the aftermath of his swirling pleasure before reaching for the box of tissues on his bedside table. He rises to his elbows to hand you the napkin when his dick slips from your mouth.

“Here, you can—” he says, trying to offer you something to spit into. It’s a habit he’d developed after the tenth or so girl refused to swallow.

You’ve already wolfed down his come, though, and wiped the excess at the corners of your mouth with the tips of your fingers. You don’t let a single drop of him go to waste.

All this time, Steve assumed he just tasted bad. He figured that must’ve been why no girl ever swallowed for him — not even Nancy, the only other girl he was ever really serious about. And they were together for two years. On the off chance she ever actually wanted to give him a blowjob, he knew her swallowing his come was totally out of the question.

Steve never minded, though. He was a giver more than he was anything else and he preferred most to finish inside. But now, with you, he sees just how much he’d missed out on. It feels a bit strange and unearthly levels of gratifying.

The boy breathes out a laugh and falls back against the mattress. The tissue falls from his limp hand onto the carpeted floor as he revels in his post-orgasmic haze. With his head still swimming and his legs still tingling, his glassy eyes find the speckled ceiling above him but don’t focus on anything in particular.

“Was that—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” he interjects softly.

There’s no use in asking if you were good or not. Surely, you could answer the question just by looking at him. He’s a puddle of a man in the middle of his bed, pliant and at your mercy.

You giggle and slither in beside him, pressing your mostly bare body into his side. One leg wraps over his own. The warmth of your slick pussy lingers at his hip. You prop your head up with your fist while your other settles along his chest, busying itself with the tufts of hair there.

“That was, like, really good,” you praise with a sheepish beam. You wish you knew bigger words that might be able to describe it better. Really good doesn’t come close to explaining how heavenly it felt to come in his mouth, for him to come in yours. “You certainly lived up to all the rumors, Harrington.”

“You say that like we’re done,” he chuckles at your conclusive tone.

Your eyes flit from his face to his softening cock lying limb on his thigh, then back to his face again. You arch a skeptical brow. “No?”

“Not even close,” he shakes his head defiantly. His honey eyes flit between the both of yours. “I need to fuck you, babe, I just… I need a few minutes. If that, you know— If that’s okay with you…”

“You just give me life-changing head. So, yeah, I think I can give you a couple minutes,” you promise with a playful, but not insincere smile.

Even after having his mouth on you, and your mouth on him, you still like kissing him the most.

No amount of pleasure can sate the feeling of having him so close in this way. There’s nothing equally gratifying as sucking his bottom lip into your mouth or feeling the wet muscle of his tongue running itself over your own. You’d be more than happy to kiss him like this until sunrise.

Steve’s hands stay locked on either side of your head while he pries your mouth open with his own. He’ll occasionally pull back to admire your spit-slick, kiss-bitten lips for a moment or two. Then he’ll flash you a smile, like you’re a piece of finished artwork he’s happy with, before pulling you back down again.

You lean just over him, elbow digging into the pillow beside his head as you rest your weight on your arm. That hand twists itself within the strands of his hair, fingers lazing in the chestnut halo on his head. Your other migrates down his body, touching him with feather-light grazes to coax him hard again.

His stomach tightens when your nails sweep over the thin trail of hair there. His stiffening cock twitches where it lazes along his inner thigh.

“Top or bottom?” the boy mumbles between languid kisses. His eyes flutter open long enough to catch the brief flash of confusion on your face. You don’t stop pressing your lips to his, even amid your uncertainty.

“Like bunks?”

Steve sputters a laugh against your mouth. He pulls away so he can look at you. “No, like— I meant, do you wanna ride me? Or would you rather lay down?”

“Oh. Shit. Sorry,” you stammer quickly. You figure the question must’ve puzzled you because no guy has ever asked before. This kindness is still a tad bit foreign. “I just— I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay. It was cute,” Steve assures with a smile so soft it has to be sincere.

“Um… I don’t— I mean, I don’t know. Is that, like, something you want me to do?”

His right hand leaves your face to find his cock. He wraps his fist around himself, pumping slowly to keep himself hard for you. “It’s whatever you want, okay? Promise. I just thought it might be easier for you if you were on top. So you can take things at your own pace and everything.”

“Yeah,” you affirm within a heavy exhale. You feel yourself growing wetter at the mere thought of being on top of him like that. You nod until the words catch up with you. “Yeah. Okay.”

It isn’t your first time being in this position, but something about straddling Steve’s hips feels foreign. You’re starting to notice that most things you do with him feels that way — new and strange and alarming. Even the most innocent things, the mundane shit you’ve done a thousand times before, it’s all brand new with him.

You twist your hand behind your back to unclip your bra. Steve watches you with wide eyes like you’re doing some sort of magic trick. When you toss the piece of fabric somewhere on his bedroom floor, he spits into his palm to wet his cock.

His eyes flit from his hand, to your glistening pussy hovering just above his lap, to your face. “You can, uh— You can rub yourself on me, if you want. You know, to get it wetter. I don’t have lube or anything. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I’m…” you trail off. I’m more than wet, you’d almost said. That felt a little too overzealous, though, so you settle on telling him: “I’m okay.”

“You’re still on the, um, the pill, right?” he wonders, feeling a bit lame for remembering something you’d said in passing so long ago.

You complained once that birth control made you feel crazy. You said it affected your mood so drastically sometimes that it didn’t feel worth it to take. That was weeks ago. A brief conversation you’d left in the Family Video parking lot.

You nod wordlessly in reply.

Steve holds the base of his cock to keep it steady for you as you pierce yourself with it.

Taking his blushing head was the easiest part. The sensitive tip slips so effortlessly into you, just bulbous enough for you to feel it but not enough to stretch you out. It’s a Goldilocks just right sort of feeling that has low moans crawling from the depths of your throats.

Down, down, down a couple more inches and that’s when the ache starts to set in.

His girth stretches you in an unfamiliar, but no less satisfying way. As good as it feels, the burning sensation is a hard one to ignore. It’s like a fire, a distant one. It’s sort of like reaching your hand toward a flame while your brain screams at you to not get any closer.

It’s a lot like that, actually.

Your brain cautions you about taking him any deeper than you have now lest he might totally split you in half.

“Sorry— Sorry. I’m sorry,” you sputter suddenly, a little embarrassed that he’s only a couple of inches within you and you’re already having so much trouble. With your chin tilted towards your chest and your eyes squeezed shut, you refuse to meet Steve’s concerned gaze. “It’s just… It’s kind of a lot.”

“It’s okay,” he assures quickly. He rubs two soothing hands along your hips and fights back the urge to thrust further into you. You don’t see the gentle smile he looks at you with your eyes closed. “Take your time.”

A little over a minute and a pep talk later, you finally build up the courage to sit on him fully. Come, you can do it, your inner voice spits at you. Stop being a baby. It’s just a penis, don’t be such a bitch.

Your face scrunches when you slide slowly down upon him. Steve expects you to stop and take a break for anothera moment like you’d done just before. He’s more than surprised when you try to take him completely.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You don’t have to— holy shit, babe— don’t hurt yourself— fuuuck.”

You breathe out a heavy sigh of relief when he’s finally sheathed within your pulsating pussy. A lazy, lopsided smile makes its way to your lips, delirious with pleasure and pride.

Both of you exhale faraway moans at the new feeling, heads falling back on their own accord. You’re already more than gratified and you haven’t even moved yet. He’s reaching parts of you that most guys don’t on their best day, making you feel full without trying. Even without his thrusting, the minuscule twitches of his cock are already driving you toward an orgasm.

“Can I tell you a secret?” you ask him suddenly, smiling lazily at the ceiling.

Steve’s adams apple bobs as he swallows. Then he nods.

“I’m already really fucking close,” you confess with a breathless laugh, face crumbling under the weight of your pleasure halfway through.

Steve chuckles, then groans quietly. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I am, too.”

You laugh together and your coinciding embarrassment fades like an ebbing tide. The intimate confessions affirm what you were already more than aware of — that the both of you are just a couple of lovesick idiots who are head over heels for each other and in so far over your heads that you can barely breathe.

You’re spurred on by the sight below you. Steve’s wild hair and amber eyes and swollen pink mouth make you ravenous. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, looking like the sight of you makes him hungry too, as you start to grind your hips over his lap.

He guides your rhythm with two wide hands on your hips. Your pace is slow, every roll of your hips is experimental, and he revels in every second of it.

You start by rocking back and forth over his lap, then by moving in small circles to add stimulation. When get more confident, you lift yourself up and down over his cock. He’s able to hit your most sensitive spot that way. Steve seems to like it too, because you feel the subtle jerks of his responsive cock.

He accommodates your every move — thrusting his hips in time with your bouncing, then flexing them to reach as deep as he can within you.

“That’s it…” Steve murmurs, mostly to himself. He’s not exactly trying to praise you, but his words send lightning strikes of pleasure to your pussy anyway. He keeps babbling to himself. “That’s it, baby. Take it. Just like that…”

You support yourself with your palms on his hairy chest when you double your efforts on top of him. Steve groans at the lewd sound of your slick thighs clapping over his lap every time you move down on his cock. Your cunt quickly drenches his lower stomach and the small thatch of pubic hair just below it.

You too easily forget that fucking is a marathon and not a sprint.

You overexert yourself quickly in your attempt to rush toward an orgasm and the effects of your sudden fatigue make your legs feel numb.

“Sorry,” you apologize breathlessly when you’re bouncing slows to a stop. You collapse to your elbows, nose nearly grazing Steve’s, as you swivel your hips slowly over his lap. You try to laugh at yourself. “My legs are just getting a little tired… I haven’t done this in a while if you couldn’t tell.”

Steve smiles sympathetically up at you. His hands leave the plush of your hips to cradle your jaw. He gazes at you with a stern sort of gentleness. “Stop apologizing. You’re good,” he promises, then pulls you softly down to peck your mouth.

He rolls his hips up into you and grunts when it makes you whine. “So fucking good…”

Steve tells you to tuck your knees further up his torso and you obey without thinking. You tuck your face into his shoulder and let him cradle the back of your head with one hand while the other settles on your ass.

He grips you there rather shamelessly, fingers digging into your plump skin, while he bends his knees behind you. He plants his feet on the mattress and thrusts up into you without warning.

His pace is already a relentless one, having no need to work himself up to a rapid pass as you had. Being basketball team captain has done wonders for his stamina, it seems. He drills up into you and keeps drilling into you without tiring.

He keeps you securely pressed against him all the while and you relax into his embrace, happily letting him fuck you in his own delicious rhythm as he’d done for you.

The new position stimulates you from all angles. Steve’s hard cock pounds into your weeping pussy. Your swollen clit catches the coarse hair on his taut stomach with each of his thrusts. Your pebbled nipples drag along his furry chest.

It leaves you a whining, writhing mess on top of him.

“You like this?” he murmurs in your ear through broken pants.

He’s partly teasing you. He knows you mustlike what he’s doing to some degree because you’re moaning something fierce into his neck, peppering too sweet kisses in between your pretty whines. But he also wants to know that you like it. He wants to hear you say the words.

He feels you nod against his shoulder. “Yes...” You sigh, then whimper. “Yes, yes yes—”

“I knew you did,” he affirms. You can hear the smile on his face. You’re not sure if he’s mocking you or not. You’re not sure if you particularly care either.

His stubbly jaw grazes your cheek when he turns his head to press a kiss to the burning skin. “Knew you’d like it… Takin’ my dick like a fuckin’ champ, babe.”

“Wanna be good for you,” you confess against his sweat-slicked skin, your voice high and wet like you’re close to crying.

Steve tugs at your hair, not enough to hurt you, just enough to pull you from the refuge you’d sought in the nook of his neck. He finds that your eyes are glassy with unshed tears, brows pinching and swollen lips softly agape. His amber eyes are just as wild, heavy with hunger.

“You are good for me, baby,” he promises and seals it with a searing kiss to your wet mouth. He means it in more ways than one and prays you understand. “You’re so good for me… Fucking perfect, babe— shit—”

His cock twitches in your snug slick when you clench around him. He tightens the grip he’s got on your ass and spreads you wider to pound harder into you. You hope his scorching touch will leave bruises come morning. You want to remember how it felt to have him touching you this way.

“Steve…” you sigh, helpless.

“Hmm?”

“I’m gonna…” you start, then whimper when you feel the familiar pleasure start to crescendo once more. It takes a moment for the words to return to you. “I’m about to come.”

“Touch yourself,” he blurts.

Your lidded gaze widens. You peer down at him, bemused by his sudden request. “Huh?”

“Touch yourself for me,” he repeats, groaning when the request makes you tighten around him. “Want this to be good for you, too.”

He says this like you’re not already in heaven. You listen to him anyway, though, and squeeze your hand between your slick bodies to find your sensitive button. You rub at your clit until your thighs tremble around his waist. You try your best to ride through every bolt of lightning the pleasure shoots down your spine, despite the distant fear that you won’t be able to weather them.

“Yeah, there you go,” he praises lowly. “Keep rubbing your clit for me…”

Your free hand stays locked in his hair. Your grip tightens within the chocolate strands as you near your peak. Steve revels in the ache, groaning into your shoulder when the burn at his scalp spreads.

You’re already gut-wrenchingly close. You can feel the coil in your belly tightening, a struck chord crescendoing — and then Steve changes the angle of his hips. He flexes them suddenly and his thick cock probes something much deeper inside of you. Something that’s never been touched before — not by another guy or a toy or you.

It’s tender, and much more sensitive than your clit. Your vision strays for a brief moment as a white-hot flame of pleasure makes you jerk against him. You gasp sharply, then forget how to breathe when a moan gets caught in your throat. Your hand stills between your slick bodies as you freeze on top of him.

The wet cry finally spills from your mouth after several long seconds. It’s as long and delicate and wet as the orgasm you gush around Steve’s cock.

The flame burns red hot just before you come, then turns to simmering embers when your cunt numbs from the intense pleasure. You blink, and suddenly the fire is burning blue. The rest of your body becomes a casualty to the inferno.

“Yeah? Is that the spot, baby?” you hear Steve wonder. He murmurs the words in your ear, but you don’t hear them. They sound muffled and far away.

You hope he doesn’t expect you to answer. You’re not entirely sure if you can form words anymore, or any actual conceivable thoughts. All you can do is suffer through every overwhelming wave of your orgasm that leaves you a crying and convulsing mess on Steve’s lap.

“Holy fuck—”

The boy slams his hips against you with a final, dense clap that sounds deafening in the quiet of his bedroom. Your gushing and fluttering cunt milks his cock. The feeling of your weeping pussy and the sound of your pretty whines throw him headfirst into his own orgasm. His thrusts still as he twitches within you. A moment later, you feel the subtle tingle at the base of your spine when he spits his come inside of you.

His come paints your welcoming, rippling walls. It’s warm, like the first sip of coffee in the morning or fuzzy socks on cold feet. It blankets you in a sinful comfort.

Steve noses at your cheek while he rides the high of his climax. He rolls his hips slowly into you, much softer now that his cock has grown so sensitive. He clamps his mouth shut between his teeth to stifle his too loud moans and desperate whines. They’re forced to crawl from his throat as suffocated grunts.

You mourn the loss of not seeing his face while you’re tucked so securely into the nape of his neck. It’s a work of art you can imagine so clearly — his pinched brows and scrunched nose and parted lips. But you relish in the searing hold he has on you now, happy to hold and to be held.

The shuddering is slow to subside, especially from you. The aftershocks of your orgasm keep your hips spasming over his lap. Steve groans into your shoulder every time your pussy quivers around his softening cock.

And then the two of you just lay there. You hold onto each other and try to catch your breaths. With the both of you covered in a fine sheen of sweat, your skin sticks together with every tiny movement. The feeling of it makes you smile. You feel like the two of you really are melting together.

Steve’s fingers part from your wild strands of hair and take to tracing the expanse of your damp back. You hum in contentment at the feeling, nuzzling your nose up and down the right side of his neck.

The moment is melted ice cream and early morning rain and marshmallow fluff. It’s spring mornings on the porch and warm breezes in the fall. It’s a soft and familiar thing that’s still so, so new.

You think you could spend forever here, if you had to. In Steve’s bed and in Steve’s lap and with all of Steve’s languid touches.

But sex is different when you’re an adult.

When you’re a teenager, you get to be irresponsible. Carelessness sort of comes with the territory. You have sex in a dirty bathroom of a bar you snuck into and don’t think twice about the implications of any it. But as an adult with bills and a nine-to-five and groceries you’ve got to get once a week, all you can think about is how inconvenient a UTI would be.

“I should probably use the bathroom,” you murmur, already grieving the loss of his touch before you’ve even parted from him.

You leave the safety of his neck to peer down at him. His heavy lids mirror your own.

“I have this thing where if I don’t piss after sex, I feel like I’m gonna be, like, cursed or something. Kinda like when you break a mirror and you’re stuck with shit luck for seven year— or however that dumb superstition goes,” you ramble, voice heavy with fatigue and lingering pleasure. “Anyway. Yeah. Plus, I should probably clean up, too.”

Steve breathes out a laugh at your sudden prattling but humors you nonetheless.

Somehow you manage to pry yourselves off of each other — you, feeling significantly emptier without him inside you and Steve, already shivering with the lack of your warmth all over him.

You separate just long enough for him to wet a washcloth in the sink while you piss just a couple feet away from him. The bathroom connected to his bedroom seems to be a foreign sight for you — a least, that’s what he assumes because you rave so enthusiastically about it the entire time.

It’s all Steve’s ever known, though, so he finds it difficult to do anything but nod along with your rambling. More than anything, he’s glad you’re not as weighed down by the domesticity of the moment as he is. Because he, for one, feels a little like he’s been hit by a freight train.

Perhaps spending so many years all alone has made him sensitive to closeness.

You sit on the marble countertop and rest your forehead on his shoulder while he cleans you up. He runs the warm cloth along your delicate folds and wipes away traces of your slick and his come that glisten on your thighs. He pleats the rag and does the same to his softening cock and surrounding skin.

It feels so strangely intimate, more than the sex somehow.

Steve tugs on a fresh pair of boxers and gives you a faded Hawkins Phys. Ed tee to change into. The loose fabric and baggy fit feels much more familiar than the costume you’d initially arrived in. He might be happier than you are, though, to finally get to see you in your most natural state — makeup sufficiently smudged away and ill-suited clothes forgotten on his floor.

You crawl beneath the mussed navy comforter of his bed and smush your face into his pillow. “See? The dino sheets aren’t so bad, are they?” the boy teases when you hum in contentment.

The mattress dips beneath his weight as he settles in beside you.

You smile but don’t open your eyes. “I’m just sleepy… Sue me.”

“It’s barely nine o’clock, grandma.”

“It’s your fault,” you argue, voice dripping with exhaustion. Your skin purrs as he reaches blindly beneath the covers to rub his palm along your forearm.

He grins softly to himself. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You wore me out, Harrington.”

“I’ll make it up to you in the morning, ‘kay?” he promises, then laughs when you smirk and raise your brows — eyes still shut. “Not like that, you perv. I was talking about breakfast. I make a mean scrambled egg.”

You tell him you’re looking forward to it, to breakfast in bed and breakfast in bed. He falls further for you somehow, despite his lingering disdain for your silly little innuendos. It’s the price you have to pay when you love someone, he figures, like when your crush gets a bad haircut or has shit music taste.

It’s a quirk he welcomes along with your many others — your rambling and forgetfulness and social unawareness and inability to sit still. All your little idiosyncrasies weren’t obstacles he had to get over to love you, just more reasons for him to.

And it isn’t this one-sided thing, either. Most people would look at the two of you — at the dowager king and local freak — and they’d think he was doing charity work to love you. But Steve’s got peculiarities of his own.

His best friends are a fourteen-year-old nerd and a closeted lesbian because they were the first two people in his life that didn’t judge him. He chews on the ends of pens and pencils, and his handwriting is shit because he never cared about school. He buys things without ever looking the price tag, then leaves them to collect dust in his room because he never really needed them anyway. He still feels the need to be the center of attention sometimes because the faintest hint of disregard makes him feel neglected.

These are all things you’re aware of. Most of them came with being the wealthy, popular kid from the right side of the tracks. And you liked him anyway — no, you liked him because of them. You adored him through all the heavy shit, and here he was, doing a shit job at pretending to like metal music and horror movies.

“Are you asleep?” Steve wonders after a few moments of velvet silence. He’s still looking at you, one arm propped beneath his hand and the other toying with your fingers splayed on the mattress between you. He hasn’t been able to stop looking at you.

“Almost,” you mumble in response.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Your heart stops at the innocent question, tired eyes flying immediately open and knocking you out of your fatigued stupor.

All of a sudden, it’s 1984 again. You’re the weirdo who bites people and Steve’s royalty who’ll fuck anything that walks — and here you are, in bed with the asshole. For a moment, you expect Tommy Hagan to bust out of the closet with a tape recorder and for Steve to tell you this was all just some stupid bet.

It’s a pang of blue lightning, an ice pick to your abdomen, that lasts no more than a couple of seconds.

Internally, you curse yourself for getting so worked up. You make a promise to yourself to work on all that — the regressing and the disbelief that comes with the not-feeling-good-enough bullshit.

“Yeah?” you finally answer.

“I don’t actually like Dio. Or Def Leppard,” he confesses, finding it hard to meet your gaze like a child who’s been caught in a lie. He focuses on running his thumb over the irregular pattern of your chipped nailpolish. “And I don’t collect vinyls either, not really. I just… I kinda just said those things so you’d like me.”

And, compared to the web you were just spinning in your head, that’s nothing.

“Ooh,” you wince playfully. “Def Leppard I could take, but Dio? I don’t know… That might be a dealbreaker, Harrington.”

He only smiles because he can tell you’re making fun. “I could learn to like them, you know? If it means that much to you. That’s what we’re doing now, right? Loving things on purpose?”

You capture your smile with your bottom lip between your teeth. Your eyes sparkle at him when you nod. “Yeah… We are.”

“Which means you could learn to like football and Bruce Springsteen,” Steve jokes and shifts on the mattress so he’s closer to you.

Your feet bump together, then entwine effortlessly. He plops his head on the same pillow you’re using. The proximity leaves your faces no more than a couple inches apart.

You scrunch your nose, wondering if you should hide your disgust in his playful request or make a joke out of it. You don’t do either. “I could… If it means I get to keep you.”

“Keep me?” he scoffs. “Good luck, getting rid of me, Punchy.”

“Who said I wanted to, huh?”

“You will. When you get sick of me.”

He’s smiling like he’s kidding, but you can tell there’s an edge of self-loathing to his tone.

Your hand crawls from beneath his own and settles on his stubbly jaw. You run your thumb over the cheek, effectively sealing your promise into the blushing apple of it. “I’m never gonna get sick of you, Steve Harrington.”

His brows raise. “No?”

You shake your head against the pillow, then shove the side of your face further into it when you get nervous. There’s a timid quirk to the corners of your lips and a more sheepish glint in your eye. “You don’t get sick of people you love,” you tell him.

Steve opens his mouth to retort. He wants to tell you that he gets sick of Dustin all the time, but that it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love the little shit. He gets sick of milkshakes and pizza and Cheers re-runs when he consumes too much of them in a single setting, but he loves all those things too.

You get sick of things because you love them, he reasons, because you love them too hard and you hate how much you need them.

He doesn’t get the chance to argue any of this, though.

“Not when you love them on purpose,” you clarify with a sunshine-coated grin.

That shuts him up real quick.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #stranger things x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #stevie oneshot #st oneshots #punchy x steve

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 20 days

Note

AITA for wanting to spend a night out with a guy?

I'm twenty, study in university and still live with my parents. I've been planning to move out since I was eighteen, but they told me to keep living at home and not get a job so I could focus on studying while they take care of me financially. This arrangement has worked mostly well in the past years save for a few small conflicts, but it's escalated in the past 3-4 months.

The issue is my time schedule. I have a very active social life, am active in the local art scene, do political work and a lot of extracurricular stuff for university (I'm a straight A student, I might add!). Because of this, and because I'm a natural night owl, I usually come home late several days a week (between 10pm and 2am) and stay out all day for most of the week. This means I can't do a lot of chores, and usually there's a lot of housework because my mum has a bit of a cleaning anxiety and wants to make sure everything is spotless 24/7.

Enter this guy, I'll call him Tim. I met him at a festival last summer and we became long distance friends. Tim has visited me for a day several times before, but this weekend he offered to come over for two days and we agreed to spend the night stargazing together without sleeping. I loved the idea and immediately said yes. It was gonna be just us, a couple energy drinks, and some bench in the city center, and I was really looking forward to it.

The thing is, my mum does not like Tim. Like, at all. She thinks he seems very sleazy and generally distrusts him because he feels "too nice" for her. Mind you, he's just a somewhat shady looking guy who is generally pretty anxious he might make a bad impression, so he overperforms the whole "respectable member of society" act a bit around new people. I've introduced him to my friend group and even the more sceptical people absolutely love him and think he's a very sweet, helpful person. In basically every stressful situation I've ever seen him in he's been deescalating, protective and helpful, and he has on several occasions been my first source of comfort when things went to hell.

Today I told my mum in an offhanded comment that I won't come home between Sunday and Monday and the situation escalated completely. She was crying, accusing me of ruining her month, saying I didn't care about this family, it got ugly. The main point she had was that I was staying out all night with someone who's a total stranger to her and she doesn't trust him at all. In the end we compromised that Tim and I would spend the night awake, but not in the city, at home.

I feel really humiliated by this whole situation and honestly, kind of betrayed, because I was promised stuff like this wouldn't happen, and it just hits in a much safer situation than ones I've been in before (I used to get blackout drunk and sleep at parties a lot.). I'm a legal adult, have been for years now and it's so disappointing that my parents still treat me like a child sometimes and are so judgy towards my friends too. At the same time, I'm wondering whether I've acted wrong too by not telling her about this earlier and not taking her concerns that seriously. I forget sometimes that I talk to Tim every day for hours, but my parents only briefly ran into him once, so of course their view of him is skewed.

PS: I should add that when I told him about this, he immediately apologized, asked if I needed anything or wanted to change the plan and decided to dig out the least offensive outfit he could find so he'd make a good impression on my parents. So he's definitely trying his best.

#am i the asshole #aita

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shocymer · 8 days

Text

121U. 「 Want To Want You 」

"Accidentally crash in to the afterparty of your college football club. There's not a single thought that you end up making out with their hot quarterback."

Pairing : Baekhyun × afab! reader

Word counts : 1.5k

Contents & Warning : suggestive, university! AU, football player! Baekhyun, strangers to lovers, inspired by Day6 -121U.

× Happy late-Birthday, Baekhyun! × | masterlist | a cup of ☕

“Where? Huh? Your major’s festival? Okay okay I’ll be there, I’ll call you back later.” Hanging up the call with your bestie, you rushed up to her faculty building.

Now is 11 p.m. In fact, your best friend asked you to join her since the afternoon. But you've need to gather some reference books in the library first. Too immersed in it, you can’t believe it's almost midnight already.

Isn't it too lively at this late hour? Many tents were still set up firmly, decorated with vivid hanging lamps on each booth. There are still a lot of visitors coming in and out. Feels so different on the first time you set foot here, especially seeing the unusual views. Yeah you admit that you’re not such an update student when it’s come to campus events. Seems like what your best friend said is true, you need to have a little fun at least during your college year.

‘Ding’ a notification sound lit up your phone screen under your grasp. A simple text message showed up the second you are tapping on it.

(Bestie) bae don't call me, my phone is nearly dying. Oh I’m in the blue one! Cya xoxoxo

Ah, seriously? You thought while typing a quick reply.

(You) mkayy

Whether you’re tired or something, the first thing you do is looking for a blue tent just like what 'you assume' she said. As far as the eye could see, there’s no sign of a blue tent around. You let out a deep sigh before decided to left the festival area. Thinking that it will be easier to find those place outside rather than in there.

Once taking a few steps out of the entrance gate, you see a beam of blue light radiating in the corner of the groups of tents. You approach where the light initially came from in confidence. Hoping to find your best friend then drag her home right away. But after you are getting closer, seems like it came through from a different place, which turned out to be separated from the festival booths. However, you still give it a go. Who knows she might be there, right?

The vibe is obviously too contrast, a faint upbeat music began to be heard clearly as you slowly enter the tent. Lot of unfamiliar faces are busy talking to each other. At the time like this, you regret not to be friends with another major students long before.

Beyond your expectation, the tent is connected to a building you've never been to. The deeper you go, the blue light becomes denser. You look around, groups of supposed to be female students surrounded each of male students, having an exhilarating convo that you still unsure about. But It’s giving a party to celebrate something. A slight hint of alcohol odor is also filled the room made you so sure of it. Your curiosity is answered once you saw a pile of football helmet proudly placed at the corner along with a big trophy next to it.

Well, it looks like you got lost here. Automatically shook your head after thinking of how this party coincides with the festival outside. You intended to get out as soon as possible. Alas, the group of girls you saw earlier simultaneously ran after one of the football players, till you pushed to the side.

Hand grabbed the door handle in reflex as you tried to stand still, “crazy, how famous are these guys here?” You said irritably.

Little did you know there’s someone next to you, chuckling at your words. His long fingers covered the thin lips of his, trying to muffle the laughter. Those voice was so satisfactionaly crisp that it tickled your ears. He stopped doing so after both of your eyes met.

Breathtaking. is the first word that comes to your mind. The way those eye smile formed when he is laughing despite a few strands of damp hair subtly covered it. His tall and quite slender figures caught your eyes the most. You can’t believe with those delicate look, he is literally one of them as the game jersey still wrapped around his torso perfectly fit. You stare at him in awe, wondering how pretty his pair of orbs can be if there’s a chance to looking at it up-close.

“Are you okay?” He asked after realizing you were lost in thought for a moment.

“Y-Yeah I’m totally fine.”

Leaning closer to you, he raised his voice a little bit right next to your ear. “But you don’t seem so. Perhaps, do you need something to drink?”

You're the one who's gone crazy, the music has been this loud ever since. How can you mesmerized at this man to the point you could caught his laughter so clearly before. You tried to collect your own sanity before lean over to him,

“No thanks, there’s only booze that I see around.”

His mouth form an “A” shape for a couple of seconds, before fully suggested you something, “I have some water. If you don’t mind, c’mere.”

You nodded as following his back behind, opening the door that you held for your dear life a few minutes ago, which is the football team’s locker room. Even this room decorated with much darker blue light just to match the party vibes. At least your hearing is saved as only less loud music can be heard outside.

He handed you a black metallic water bottle, “I never see you before.”

“Uhm well, actually my faculty is 5 buildings away from here. So.. Yeah” You gulped down the water that he offer to you. “Thanks by the way.”

“Sure no problems.”

After that only silence remained, the mood’s shifting undeniably fast. Looking at how awkward both of you right now. You pay close attention to what is printed on his back. ‘Baekhyun’ and number ‘04’ are visibly written on it. Sometimes he took a glance at you only to catch you red-handed staring at him so intent. Feeling like a blood rushed up to his head, he's too shy to say anything. He decided to brush it aside by ruffling his still damped hair.

Your fingertips itching to reach his front bangs while blurting out few words under your sense, “you’ll catch a cold if you don’t dry your hair properly.”

As your hand nearly touch his hair, he grab it swift motion. “Just.. don’t touch it.”

“Ah sorry I didn’t mea-”

Before you succeed pulling your hand back, he brought it to his cheek while keeping the eye contact with you. Slowly, his lips putting a soft kisses by the end of your palm. “Can you dry it off for me?”

Without a single thought, you reach an unclaimed towel that’s neatly folded on the bench. Then stretching out your hands to dry his hair off as you positioned yourself face to face along to him. At first you actually did that heartily. But after you realized he didn't let go of his gaze towards you as if you would disappear at any moment, your rationality poofs away.

Too dangerous. Your heart beats goes up in rapid speed. If it’s not under the dim light the flushed cheeks of yours would definitely be seen by him,

“why.. you keep staring at me like that?”

“Because I want to.”

“What If.. I want you?” Fingers squeezing through the hem of slightly wet cloth that cling on top his head as you expected perhaps a rejection.

“Well, If that’s the case,” he tucked your hair behind your ear, “I will let you have me.”

His index finger lifted your chin, demanding an eye contact meanwhile his other hand busy untangled your clenched digits to be interlocked with his. Bodies lean forward, the tip of lips are nearly touching, the scent of soft linen and a hint of floral mixed into one only to tease your sense of smell. His warm breath sparked the overflowing desire,

“Please.. don’t tease me..”

He chuckled with head hanging low for a mere seconds before his deep brown orbs seeking through into yours for once again, “first I need to know your name, young lady.” While planting a quick kiss on the back of your hand.

Your lips trembled, stumbling upon the word by word of your own government name which ended up make him burst in laughter. He find you too cute to be true. “Your name is beautiful, just like you.”

He pulled you into deep yet passionate kisses. A slight of naughty smile formed on his lips, the way he felt your body shudder as soon as his fingers running from the nape of your neck down to the lower back. Moving in painfully slow motion.

Head’s going blank, eyelids are too heavy to open, you murmured between the making out session under your control. “But.. I’m not as beautiful as you Baekhyun..”

Out of everyone’s encounter him in romantic ways, you’re the one and only who’s flatter him using the word ‘beautiful’ at such timing. He couldn’t help, hiding an ear to ear smile against your shoulder. Till his soft whisper blown into your sensitive ear.

“Just wait, I will prove you wrong after this.” following by a michievous wink in the end.

a.n. I know it's a sudden baekhyun fic because I miss him lately after I rewatch exo's killing voice T.T He's my ult bias in exo and I really want to tell him that he's so beautiful, gorgeous, spectacular, amazing, breathtaking, scrumptious, immaculate + other praises following behind. Oh well, Happy Birthday Byun Baekhyun! ♡

#byun baekhyun #byun baekhyun x reader #baekhyun #baekhyun x reader #exo baekhyun #exo smut #baekhyun smut #exo fic #exo fics #exo fanfic #exo x reader #kpop smut #kpop fic #kpop fics #kpop fanfic #shocymer

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m00nsbaby · 10 months

Text

Glitter & crimson.

Marc Spector x F!Reader.

Next part.

Tags - warnings. College AU, no mentions of Jake/Steven, suggestive but not smut, cheating.

For my Pedrito Pascal / Oscar Isaac girlies I’m so sorry but Joel is indeed based on Joel Miller pre-outbreak lol.

Word count. 2.1k

Summary. "Marc is clever. One word I wouldn't like to use is manipulative, but I wouldn't be lying; he knows exactly when and how to do things.”

He knows Joel is watching, that one misplaced look and the false confidence he puts in him will be gone, so he carefully chooses his words and makes everyone else believe he would never cross the line with you.

You seemed to be in denial of the obvious, because above all the bad that could be behind that puppy face, there was the fact that he was your best friend, and you loved him, no matter if he was a good or bad person.

A talent he didn't know he had until he met your boyfriend was that of acting. Choosing which mask to wear on each occasion to his advantage.

When Joel was with you, he always kept his distance. After greeting you with a hug, you wouldn't feel Marc's hands on you again until the moment he was about to leave, giving you the most insipid hug he could manage as a way to say ‘goodbye’.

When you were alone, the story was completely different, and both, like two peas in a pod from the first time you exchanged words, spent time together as if you needed each other to breathe.

Though, for Marc, that's exactly how it felt.

The fact that Joel was older than you didn't help. Not so much older that your relationship would be something weird, rather enough for him to have slightly more adult concerns like work and taxes while you were still suffocated by university worries.

You saw each other maybe two or three times a week, but neither of you minded. (Marc didn't mind either; the farther apart he was, the better.)

"The couple of the century." Applause greeted you as both joined the party. You rolled your eyes, knowing they were just teasing, Marc, on the other hand, pretended to bow with one hand while the other rested on your lower back.

Apart from your group of friends, there were at least ten more people, nothing too wild. More like a typical party for young adults, students with enough budget to survive the next two weeks.

"Do you want something to drink?" Amidst the music and noise of the crowd, Marc had to lean in close to whisper in your ear.

His hand never left your body.

"I’ll have whatever you have." You smiled, leaning in enough for him to hear you.

You felt the stares of others fixed on you. Even at this point in your lives, you were not exempt from gossip.

And it seemed that you both were determined to feed the rumors; you, unconsciously, and Marc, enjoying pushing the narrative that you were an adorable couple without a care in the world about a guy in his 30s with a stupid job at a construction company.

When Marc returned with your drink, he sat next to you on the couch, tapped your glass before taking a sip of his, and his free hand rested on your thigh, specifically on the part where your dress didn't cover your skin.

You were used to it. To him. To his hands.

"And when will you make it official?" Someone asked, breaking the moment of intimacy between you both.

"Make what official?"

"Our thing, silly," Marc replied with a teasing smile on his lips.

"But we're not..."

"Soon," he interrupted, this time looking at the girl who had asked, someone from the classroom, one of those who said out loud how much they wanted 'a Marc in their life.'

You rolled your eyes, smiling, and quietly sipped from your glass.

You didn't question it. Little did you know that Marc took every opportunity to make you look like his to the eyes of others.

Gradually, the party started to take shape, you felt more and more crowded among the people, and the volume of the music began to rise until you couldn't continue chatting.

"Let's dance." You nodded immediately as the sofa began to fill up with strangers, and you let Marc pull your hands to get up.

"I can't stand this dress anymore." You said, adjusting the hem of it with your fingers.

"I'll help you take it off later." his lips brushed your ear as the number of people on the impromptu dance floor forced you to bump your bodies together.

"Idiot," you said, laughing, while your hands held his, and your hips began to follow the rhythm of the music slowly.

This was Marc's favorite part, even though he always ended up struggling with his tight pants for reasons beyond his control.

"Is tonight still on?" He whispered when he had you close. You were facing away from him, and your hips continued moving against your best friend's, his hands slowly traveling up and down your waist.

"When have I canceled a sleepover?" You raised your voice, looking over your shoulder at him.

Poor Marc was about to have an orgasm in the middle of his university friends, but could anyone blame him? Your body rubbed against him in that short, tight dress.

He mentally thanked the loud music for silencing his moans every time you moved to the perfect rhythm.

"I-I just wanted to be sure."

"Are you tired?" Your movements slowly stopped as you planted a kiss on his cheek. "You're sweating."

"I'm hot." It came from his throat as if someone were strangling him. He even cleared his throat. "Very."

"Let's have a drink and come back." You gave him a little push to make way for you, and he walked behind you, one hand on your hip as an excuse not to lose you among the crowd.

A sigh of relief escaped both of you when you entered the kitchen, closing the door behind you. There was no one else, and the music felt noticeably quieter.

"What do you want? I'll treat you," you joked as you looked at the grouped bottles of alcohol next to the soft drinks. You grabbed two plastic cups.

"Give me the house specialty."

"Say no more." You served two glasses of mineral water without hesitation. When Marc noticed, he couldn't help but laugh as he held his cup.

With a jump, you climbed onto the counter table, spreading your legs to make room for him. It was as if your body worked automatically when it came to Marc. Like clockwork, he settled between your legs to continue drinking from his glass.

"I can't believe I used to hate mineral water before I met you."

"It's spicy water. How could you hate it?" You tried to stifle a laugh.

He laughed with you. One of those silly laughs where the alcohol in your system speaks for you, and the dream of being with someone you love makes things twice as fun as they really are.

The laughter died down little by little, Marc rested his forehead against yours and kept his eyes closed, along with that silly smile.

"Everyone is talking about us." you whispered after a few seconds of silence.

"You're my fake girlfriend after all." you laughed again.

"You have to stop, you'll get me in trouble with Joel.” Just the mention of his name made Marc's stomach churn. He bit his lower lip to avoid saying what he really thought.

"Oh, really?" He opened his eyes again, moving his head slightly to lightly brush the tip of his nose against yours, making you smile. His fingers pressed against your thighs, and you gasped when he pulled you closer to his body with a single tug. Now you were sitting on the edge of the counter.

"Marc?" You swallowed hard when you noticed his gaze fixed on you. The playful and teasing air had suddenly vanished.

"Uh-huh?" He licked his lips, and your gaze dropped from his eyes to his mouth. You had felt this kind of impulse before, but you always did your best to ignore it. Even before you met Joel.

He noticed the change in your expression and almost smiled triumphantly. After years, you were beginning to let your guard down. Without waste time; his body leaned forward, and suddenly his lips met yours. You had waited so long for this that you almost stole a moan from each other.

Marc's lips were delicious, even though it hurt you to admit it. Beyond the taste of beer and mint, you could feel him in your mouth, and that was so much more intoxicating than every drink he had prepared for you throughout the night.

It was desperate, as if he wanted to show you just how much he had desired you over the past years. You felt his tongue exploring your mouth, his teeth nibbling your lower lip, and his hands roaming from your waist to your thighs again and again.

His jeans became uncomfortable again when he managed to make you whimper against his mouth. With you on the edge of the counter, it wasn't hard for him to push his hips against you, grazing your thigh in an attempt to find some relief to his growing boner.

For a moment, he considered it might be a dream; it wouldn't be the first time he had this kind of dream about you. But his alarm always managed to bring them back to reality just as he was about to reach the best part.

Just like now.

Oh no, wait, that wasn't his alarm.

It was your ringtone.

Like a bucket of cold water, he had to snap out of it. You pulled away from him, cheeks flushed, breathing ragged, and lips swollen and moist from Marc's hungry kisses.

"It's Joel." Of course, it was him. It was always him.

You didn't even give him a chance to fully react as you hastily escaped from his embrace and left the kitchen. It felt like the walls were closing in on you, and you felt suffocated.

The garden seemed like a better option.

"How's the party going?" Your boyfriend's cheerful voice on the other end of the line made your stomach churn.

As you licked your lips, you could still taste Marc.

"Amazing, love." You looked at the pair of guys lying on the grass, tipsy and probably about to fall asleep.

"Is Marc there with you? Will you both come back together?"

You swallowed hard.

"Yes, I... yes." A few seconds of silence. Joel was used to your chatty version, the one who started conversations in the worst situations.

"Oh..." More silence. "I'm glad, it's safer that way." His tone of voice indicated he was serious. Another blow to the stomach knowing the trust he placed in both of you. "Will I see you on Sunday?"

"Of course, love." You took a deep breath, closing your eyes for a few seconds as if trying to console yourself.

"I won't interrupt you anymore, sugar." As if sweeping away that uncomfortable atmosphere, he returned to his playful and affectionate tone, one that you rarely didn't hear. "I love you, can't wait to see you."

"I love you." You were out of breath. "See you."

You waited in the yard until Marc got tired of your absence. You didn't function well without each other, and in social situations, this was no exception. He came out silently, not asking anything, and you were grateful he didn't.

He placed his red jacket over your shoulders before taking your hand, and you didn't reject him; you never could. You intertwined your fingers together, and it was you who led him to the car.

The car that belonged to both of you, if that made any sense.

The ride back home was silent.

Despite the heaviness in your chest, you couldn't help but let things flow with Marc. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't give him the cold shoulder or ask your body to feel uncomfortable with him.

Both of you prepared to sleep in the usual way. He didn't look back as you took off your dress, and you stood side by side at the sink while brushing your teeth. He did his best to ignore that you were wearing Joel's T-shirt to sleep for days now.

With a gentle push from Marc when it was time to go to bed, you laughed a little and felt a bit more at home with his company.

You followed the routine; he opened his arms to welcome your body, and you snuggled up to him as closely as possible. The way he held you made you sigh with relief.

This was definitely your favorite place. Your home was in Marc Spector's arms.

"I love you, you know that, right?" He whispered in your ear, silently praying that his scent would linger in Joel's stupid shirt.

You nodded slowly, unable to contain your smile.

"I know, Marc." A shiver ran down his spine as he felt your breath on his neck. "I love you too."

If only you said it in the way he wished.

He fell silent when the screen of your phone lit up, partially illuminating the room. He squinted slightly and, as he identified the small heart on the contact name of the text message, he knew who it was from.

Rolling his eyes, he tightened his hold on you, eliciting a playful groan from you. He kissed your hair before snuggling with you, a smile on his face.

Was this going to become a competition? Then so be it.

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melanieph321 · 9 months

Text

Ruben Dias x Reader - My Brother's Best Friend Part 1/4

I wrote this one at like 4 am 😅

Summary - Reader rencounters her brother's best friend and the two of them hit it off quite well.

Enjoy!

Five years at university. Non stop studying, no coming home for Christmas, Easter or any other holiday. Despite all of this no one in your family had the courtesy of picking you up from the airport. Instead they sent for somone else, a stranger, your brothers best friend, Ruben.

"Y/N, you grew!" He exclaimed, when he finally pulled up to the sidewalk where you stood. He hadn't recognized you the first time he past you with his car. You had to shout his name the second time.

"I did and one day I'm gonna grow old and die."

He chuckled.

You threw your bags into the backseat of his car, settling down in the passenger seat beside him.

He was practically like family, Ruben. He and your brother had been inseprable friends since they were kids, making you the annoying third wheel.

"Only two bags?" He frowned.

You shrugged. "I'm only staying for the weekend."

"For the game?"

You nodded.

It was the first time Ruben and your brother had been allowed to represent their country in a international game. Although it was only a friendly your mother begged you to take a break from school to come down and watch it. Everyone else in your family was coming, your aunties, uncles and cousins. All coming to support your brother. You were a bit bitter that none of them had come to visit you at school before, although it had been five years since you moved.

"You hungry?" Ruben asked, once you got on the highway.

"Does your family still own a restaurant?"

"They do."

"Then I'm very hungry. A broke student who usually lives off cooked ramen can never say no to free food."

Ruben chuckled. "I would have paid for your meal even if it wasn't from my family's restaurant."

"Well thanks." You blushed.

Pulling up to Ruben's family restaurant, they all greeted you with open arms and painful pinches of your cheeks.

"Look at you!" Ruben's mother gasped. "How skinny you've become. Pãi, make her something to eat, fast!" She took a second look at you. "With a lot of meat in it!"

"I'm actually a vegan."

"You are?"

"You are?" Ruben repeated.

"Is that okay?"

His mother's expression mellowed. "Of course sweetie. I'll inform Ruben's father, see what he can do. We don't have alot of vegan opinions on the menu though."

"I'm sure anything will be fine Mrs Dias, thank you."

"I didn't know you went vegan?" Ruben said, the two of you sliding into your dining booth, sitting on the opposite side of each other.

"Sometimes I think it's the reason my family doesn't invite me to family gatherings anymore."

"That's horrible."

"I'm sure it's not the case." You protested, seeing the expression that came across his face. But in reality you had no idea.

"A plant based diet is good. I do it all the time." Ruben said.

"Eat vegan food?"

"Yes. Especially before a game. It's hard to run an average of 12k a game with a giant steak digesting in your stomach."

"Huh?" You muttered.

"What?"

"Defenders run 12k a game, you sure about that?"

Ruben threw his napkin at you but missed.

"I'm just saying." You chuckled. "I don't remember you as very agile to run."

"Or jump, or sprint..." His sister came by to take your drink orders. "Don't you remember Y/N, Ruben was a very chubby kid when he first started playing football. He would either play defense or goalie, those were his only options." She laughed.

You held your tounge seeing the deadly stare Ruben was giving his sister.

"Can we order our drinks now?" He grunted.

"Yes, of course." She brought out a pen and paper. "A water for you brother and what will you be having Y/N?"

"A coke?"

"A coke it is. See brother, get yourself a girl that isn't afraid of a few calories."

Ruben rolled his eyes as she left you to it.

"So... you only date girls with diet only in their bio's?" You teased.

"It makes things easier." He shrugged.

"Easier how?"

"Well, she won't complain over my strict diet, will she? Or force me to eat carbs two days a week?"

"Ohhh, poor Ruben is scared of getting little chub back on his cheeks?"

Another napkin was thrown your way, forcing you to duck this time.

"What about you?"

"What about me?" You said, throwing back his crumbled up napkin.

"Don't you think you'd be doing guys a favor by mentioning that you're vegan in your social media bio?"

"Nah, I like to see the look on their faces when I surprise them. My ex boyfriend thought my reason for going vegan was because I hadn't tried meat before, which resulted in him taking me on food truck spree. His idea of a good date."

"It would've been a great idea." Ruben objected. "I know alot of great food trucks with amazing vegan options. In fact my friend drives one. I could take you there if you're ever up to it this weekend?"

"That would fulfill your dreams, wouldn't it Ruby?" His sister said, making her stop with your drinks.

Ruben's silence was evident that he didn't enjoy the sudden interruption of your conversation.

"Do you remember that time he and your brother forced you into that shopping cart and pushed you down the hill?"

"One of my fondest memories." You said. You ended up breaking your arm that day.

"Well you should have seen the look on his face when he ran to tell our parents what happened. They were furious, but Ruben was inconsolable, which made all of us feel bad for him."

"Inconsolable how?"

You didn't rembering beeing told Ruben's side of the story before. Your brother on the other hand, told you how he had been by your side until the ambulance came, terrified of what your parents would say once he told them that he's killed you.

"Hasn't Ruben told you?" His sister frowned.

"Carolina, please " He sighed.

"He cried all night, begging our parents to take him to the hospital to go see you."

"Really?" Your eyes widened.

"Yes. He even cried at the hospital seeing your little body all patched up in the hospital bed. I thought it was cute." She said, patting Ruben's shoulders.

He ran a anxious hand through his hair, probably praying that his sister would leave.

"He gave you his favorite teddy though." She shrugged. "That must count for something."

Somewhere a costumer waved for her attention. "Coming!" She groaned and left you two to it.

The relief on Ruben's face was hilarious. "I'm sorry about that." He sighed. "Carolina can be...well Carolina."

"It's okay. " You giggled. " I had no idea that Rosie the whale was from you. I thought my parents brought her to me from the hospital gift shop."

He shook his head. "No, Eddie the whale..." He corrected. "...was all mine. I hope you took good care of him."

"Eddie?" You frowned. "My Rosie is a she."

Ruben snorted. "I don't think so. My Eddie identifies as He/Him he told me so himself."

"Is that so?"

"Ask him yourself."

"I will. As soon as I fly back home."

Somthing came across Ruben's face.

"What?"

"You brought Eddie with you to university?"

You blushed, but was quick to collect yourself. "I did."

Ruben looked to his hands, hiding his smile.

The food arrived just in time to mend the longing pain in your belly. You enjoyed it so much that Rubens family promised to make the selection of vegan food a part of the menu from now on.

"I had fun today." Ruben parked his car alongside the driveway to your parents house.

"Me too Ruben. Goodluck during the game tomorrow."

"See you after?"

"The game?" You frowned.

"Most of the team are going clubbing after, depending on the finally score of course. Either way, your brother and I are celebrating making the national team, you down?"

"I don't know?" The thought of going clubbing with your brother was not a appealing one.

"Or we could do somthing just the two of us?"

"Oh." You stuttured, a reaction to Ruben's eyes staring back at you.

You can't remember the last time they'd stayed on you for as long as they had done tonight during dinner. You thought that to Ruben you were just his best friends annoying little sister, but after hearing the story of how he had worried about you the day you broke your arm, somthing changed within you. Your feelings for Ruben changed.

"Ruben I didn't..."

Cleary somthing had changed within him too, because as you sat with one hand gripping the passenger door, ready to jank it open and jump out, Ruben had leaned forward, catching you off guard by pressing his lips against yours.

"Ruben."

You spoke into the kiss, his breath warm against your face. He let himself enjoy it for a second, before his body stiffend and he pulled back, a terrified expression on his face.

"Don't tell your brother."

"But...I...you kissed me?"

"I know." Ruben was quick to try his lips with the back of his hand. His gaze facing the road ahead. "It was a mistake. Just don't tell your brother."

You got out of the car, confused to what just happened. You watched Ruben disappear down the street along with your stolen kiss.

"That was odd." You muttured. You had barely gotten a chance to react to his lips pressing against yours. Surely the feeling had been pleasant, but how could you know for sure when it all went down so fast?

Somthing else that came at you fast was the realization that your parents house stood empty. However a note was pinned to the inside of the door, saying: "Staying at your brothers tonight, calming his nerves ahead of tomorrow's game. Kisses, Pãi e Mamãe!"

Well who's gonna calm your nerves, you thought. Because they were all over the place for the moment.

#fanfiction #man city #football imagine #manchester city #ruben dias #ruben dias x reader #ruben dias imagine #footballer x reader #footballer imagine #football angst

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flowerandblood · 8 months

Text

The Pearl and the Sapphire (4)

[ modern! • Aemond x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, oral sex, fingering, smut, angst, sexual tension, obsession ]

[description: As a representative of a large family-owned gemstone business, Aemond is attending a major jewellery event where jewellery makers from all over the world are exhibiting. One of them is the Baratheon family. Aemond is tasked with focusing on attracting new customers, but his attention is diverted by the youngest daughter of the eminent maker Borros Baratheon. Slow burn, bitchy, possessive and obsessive Aemond, lots of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request + my sweet @valeskafics)]

A story which is an alternative universe of The Impossbile Choice taking place in modern times. The characters are all the same as in the main series, however, for obvious reasons they will behave differently and experience things differently from medieval times. You can read this without having to delve into the main series.

Series moodboard: Aemond & Miss Baratheon

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

As soon as she entered his room she wondered in her slightly unsober mind what she was actually doing. She watched as he took two wine glasses out of the kitchen cupboard and walked towards the open living room, while she thought strenuously about whether he would add something to her drink if she just went to the toilet for a moment.

She knew nothing about him.

He was a stranger to her.

She was snapped out of her reverie by his low voice, the look in his healthy eye dark and expectant.

"What does he want from you?" He asked directly, without any warning, as if they had known each other forever, and he was her friend to whom she was about to tell her heartfelt dilemmas.

She swallowed quietly at the thought, moving slowly towards the couch and sat down on it. Targaryen immediately sat down next to her, but not too close, allowing her to keep her distance. He poured what was left in the bottle into their glasses, waiting patiently for her response.

With a trembling hand, she opened her clutch bag and took out her phone. She unlocked it and began to read the messages she had received from Cregan.

She swallowed loudly, struggling to hold back tears, locking the screen back, putting the phone again in her purse. She couldn't believe in what she just read, her heart pounding like crazy, her head humming from the wine and stress.

She had spent so many months getting herself together, to accept the fact that he didn't want her, and now he claimed he had changed his mind?

"Question for question." She said abruptly, looking at him tiredly. She recognised that if she was to externalise herself to him, he had to reciprocate.

They knew nothing about each other.

He looked at her intensely for a moment, indecision painted on his face. He was apparently considering all the pros and cons, but in the end he grunted and nodded. She looked down at her hands.

"My ex-boyfriend wanted to be my friend. Months later, when I finally got myself together, he decided he had made a mistake. That maybe we should get back together after all." She choked out with difficulty, reaching for her glass and taking a loud sip from it. She saw that he moved restlessly, playing with his fingers stretched out on his knee, tense. She felt he wanted to say something, but she didn't give him the chance.

"You and the woman you were with at the banquet. Are you two together?" She asked uncertainly, arranging herself comfortably on the sofa, taking a sip of wine, looking at him intently. She saw his whole body tense up, he wasn't looking at her but ahead.

"No." He replied coolly, immediately pressing his glass to his lips.

"Why did you break up?" He asked almost immediately, and she twisted in her seat feeling her heart pounding.

She felt shame.

Why did they break up?

Because she was insufficient?

Because he wasn't ready?

She lifted her legs and tucked them under her thighs, changing positions slightly and sighed quietly.

"He wanted to have some more fun." She said quietly, feeling him give her a sudden, surprised look and move as if he wanted to say something.

"Are you sleeping with her?" She asked suddenly, looking down at her glass, which she held in her hands.

She needed to know.

She needed to know who she was dealing with.

He was silent for too long for her to realise what his answer would be.

"Yes." He said, but there was a kind of withdrawal and uncertainty in his voice that surprised her, as if he really didn't want to admit it.

She looked at him thoughtfully recognising that he was a very insecure man hiding behind a mask of indifference and coldness. She concluded that there was no point in her trying to understand him or his relationship. She opened her mouth wanting to ask at last the question that had been pressing on her lips since she had entered his room.

"Why did you want us to come here?"

He looked at her horrified and went pale, swallowing loudly, twisting uncertainly in his seat, looking away. She pressed her lips together, feeling that they both subconsciously knew answer to this question.

She thought that there was nothing wrong with what they wanted. Since he claimed he wasn't in a relationship with his assistant, and she wasn't in a relationship with Cregan, they were free people.

She looked at him, at his scarred cheek, at his artificial eye. She looked at his jaw, at his nose, his mouth, his hair. He was handsome, he was dark, cold.

She thought he attracted her.

“You can say it. It’s okay.” She said quietly and softly, wanting him to know that she wasn't judging or condemning him, that she appreciated how honest he was with her. She knew what she could count on and what she couldn't and it gave her a kind of security.

She saw him lick his lips nervously and move his shoulders, swallowing hard without looking at her, playing with the glass in his hand.

“I want it.” He whispered almost silently, his lower lip trembling as he spoke the words.

She lowered her gaze at his words, embarrassed, feeling her insides pulsate involuntarily at the very thought of what could happen between them. She lifted her gaze to him and, seeing that he still couldn't look at her, she set her glass down, moving closer to him, sitting on her knees.

She saw him look at her surprised and horrified as she grasped his large hand gently, her thumb running gently over his soft skin. They were both warm from the alcohol and the tension. She saw him swallow quietly, then lean back and set his glass down on the table.

He looked at her as if hesitating, and after surprising her by grasping her face in his hands, he moved closer to her, looking at her with slightly parted lips.

Only now could she see his scar more clearly, his glassy, artificial eye and the healthy one looking at her with a hazy, dark gaze.

She thought she was not afraid of him.

That she wanted to touch him.

When he leaned towards her she moved closer to him, their lips brushed uncertainly, tentatively. They both sighed and kissed again, just as gently, unhurriedly, as if to see if they liked the feeling, his lips firm and warm, tasting of wine. She threw her arms around his neck and he purred into her mouth, emboldened by the gesture.

Only now did she feel that he was much bigger than her, taller even than Cregan, she had the feeling that he encircled her whole person and she felt safe with that thought.

"I want to taste you." He whispered and she felt a powerful shudder, her insides clenching helplessly around nothing. "Will you let me?"

She felt shame at the thought of how much she wanted this.

She couldn't hide what was happening between her legs. As soon as he slipped her underwear off her thighs he could see what his words, his temper and his appearance were doing to her. He touched her leaking entrance gently, watching carefully for her reactions. She shuddered and moaned helplessly, delicate and hypersensitive.

He did what he wanted with her, teasing her clit with his thumb while sinking his finger into her hot entrance once in a while. She breathed loudly, trying to meet his expectations and answer his questions.

"− what made you so wet? − hm? − messages from your ex? −" He hissed, his finger sliding in and out of her with a perverted, sticky click of her own wetness. He tightened his lips as soon as she squirmed at his words, turning her head away, writhing beneath him.

"− answer me −"

"− no −" She mumbled with difficulty, and he hummed under his breath with the satisfaction, leaning between her thighs. She couldn't stand his subtle caresses, she hadn't expected him to be so gentle, the tip of his tongue teasing her entrance and clit, barely slipping in between her folds.

"− I fucking knew it − I knew you would taste wonderful −" He exhaled, pressing his nose against her warm womanhood. His tongue slided suddenly into her swollen, fleshy interior, licking her shamelessly, her hands tightened involuntarily on his hair pressing him closer, a quiet mewling came out of her mouth.

She was horrified at how close she had come to fulfilment, at how easily he had brought her body to such a state.

When she came on his face she lost touch with reality completely for a moment, panting loudly, clenching her eyes shut, the tickling heat spreading throughout her body, loosening her muscles.

She looked up at him sleepily when she heard the sound of fabric being unfastened and saw that his hands were at his zipper, his pupil dilated, his gaze thirsty and hot.

"You still want this?"

She nodded.

She let him carry her onto his bed, his arms holding her gently and tenderly. She hugged his neck and felt a pleasant buzz in her head as he laid her down on the sheets. She swallowed loudly as she watched him put a condom on his swollen, hard manhood and pressed her lips together at the thought of actually doing it.

She felt her insides pulsate again at the thought.

Her heart was pounding like crazy.

He leaned over her, his gaze full of something she couldn't name. It was dark, murky, but warm at the same time, full of affect, although she didn't know why. For some reason she sensed he would not be violent towards her and she felt a momentary relaxation.

"Already during the show I was wondering how to get you into my bed. How tight and hot you must be inside." He exhaled, guiding the tip of his cock against her hypersensitive entrance. She opened her mouth, drawing in a deep breath at his words.

Already during the show I was wondering how to get you into my bed.

That's why he was looking at her like that.

She felt a strong shudder pass through her at the thought.

When she felt him inside her she closed her eyes, sighing with effort and relief at the same time. He was big and pulsating, pushing her tight walls to their limits, making it hard for her to catch her breath. He looked at her as if he couldn't believe they were really doing this, his lips parted in an accelerated breath.

They both moaned in surprise at as he began to move inside her, slowly at first, as if he wanted to savour this moment and the feeling of her throbbing, warm walls.

After a moment, his hips began to accelerate, stretching her insides to the limit, pulsing on him with desire. She had already forgotten how wonderfully pleasurable it was, her lips parted in accelerated gasps each time he rubbed the point inside her that made her hot.

"− oh, baby −" He exhaled, speeding up, entering her with a loud, wet slap of flesh against flesh, looking at her with an expression of delight on his face.

She wasn't sure if Cregan had ever looked at her like that.

She felt her insides tighten around his length at that thought, with every thrust he made, the slap of his thighs against her buttocks, it felt better and better, as if she realised that she really did want this.

She wanted him.

She touched his cheek with her palm as he leaned down and kissed her tenderly, deeply, devotedly, pressing his forehead against hers.

"− you like it when someone takes care of you, don't you? − when someone fucks you properly −" He gasped fucking her faster and faster, she felt the whole bed creak beneath them, his hands clenched tightly on her hips, his body focused only on pushing his cock into her again and again.

She felt the heat in her lower abdomen reach its zenith again, a mewling sound erupted from her mouth that was also meant to be a pathetic confirmation of his words, her lips parted wide.

"− I'm gonna cum now, okay? − I'm gonna cum inside my sweet little girl −" He exhaled and she nodded quickly, feeling his words between her thighs, sensing that her fulfilment was rapidly approaching, that just a few more of his movements and she would come again.

"− oh, yes, please −" She mumbled, feeling his hand begin to tease her clit again.

They both moaned loudly into each other's mouths, feeling each other's orgasms, she heard him sigh helplessly as he felt her core clench violently against him again and again, his cock twitching and pulsing inside her in fulfilment.

Looking misty-eyed at his face, at his clenched eyes, feeling his nose pressed against her cheek, his lips trailing over hers, his trembling hot breath enveloping her skin, some part of her regretted that he had to use a condom, that she couldn't feel his semen inside her. She blushed at the thought, panting loudly, embarrassed at the idea.

They stroked each other's faces with their palms, breathing fast and trembling all over, trying to calm each other down, when suddenly someone started pounding on his door with their fist.

"Aemond? What the fuck? Who the fuck are you in there with?" She heard a raised, distraught female voice and looked at him with big eyes, horror on his face, he shook his head quickly, his mouth formed the voiceless words "Be quiet".

"Aemond!" The woman started pounding on the door and pawing at the handle, she felt her whole body start to quiver, she sobbed quietly. He laid on top of her and embraced her as if he wanted to comfort her and protect her from what was happening.

"You fucking bastard! Are you fucking this little girl? This little slut? God fucking damn you! How could you do this to me!" She heard her angry voice followed by sobs. She herself began to cry hearing it, in her head the words she had spoken.

Are you fucking this little girl?

This little slut?

Why did she feel like a whore if they weren't together?

"What have we done?" She asked in a terrified whisper, feeling his lips pressed against her temple.

"Shhh." He silenced her by stroking her head, she could feel his heart pounding hard.

He was as terrified as she was.

She cried out quietly in his arms hearing her for a moment longer, and then she heard someone in the distance open and close the door loudly.

Complete silence ensued.

She swallowed loudly, his hand steadily stroking her head snuggled into the hollow of his neck, only after a moment did she realise he was still deep inside her.

Seconds later he lifted himself up on his elbows, glancing down at her most likely to see what state she was in. She could see that he was also shaken, both of them looking at each other breathing unevenly.

"You can sleep here if you want. I'll give you my shirt." He said uncertainly and she blinked, her lips slightly parted in disbelief.

He was proposing that she stay with him for the night.

Probably through remorse.

She shook her head and saw that an expression of disappointment flashed across his face, his jaw clenched tightly, his nostrils moved anxiously.

"I can't. I'll be up all night dreading that she's coming here again. I won't sleep a wink." She explained in a trembling voice, wanting him to know that this wasn't about him. He swallowed loudly at her words and nodded, then slowly pulled himself out of her.

She gasped in discomfort and clenched her eyes shut, feeling a sudden chill and emptiness inside her, his hand stroking her cheek reassuringly.

"Shhh. Wait here a minute, okay? Don't go anywhere." He said pulling up his trousers and getting out of bed to disappear into the bathroom a moment later. She sat on his bed only now feeling that her whole body was shaking from stress, her eyes burning from crying.

A minute later he came out of the toilet, a wet towel and a glass of water in his hand. He handed it to her, his hand with the damp material slipped between her thighs. She clenched them, frightened, but he looked at her calmly.

"Let me. I don't want you to leave my room in this condition." He said lowly, and she felt a warmth spread over her heart that she didn't want to feel at all.

She relaxed her hips and felt the warm, wet towel wipe her clean of all her sticky juices, bringing her relief and comfort. She involuntarily took a few deep sips of water from the glass feeling her throat dry up after what had happened.

As soon as he finished he rose and she stood up with him, covering her thighs with her dress, moving on shaky legs towards the sofa to get her underwear, putting it on quickly. She felt him watching her alertly as she picked up her clutch bag and his briefcase of documents.

As she moved towards the entrance, putting on her shoes quickly, he followed her, doing the same as she did.

"What are you doing?" She asked surprised, fatigue, terror and alcohol mixing in her head.

"You don't think I'm going to let her catch you alone in a corridor somewhere after that scene, do you?" He asked coolly, and she swallowed loudly.

She saw him quietly grab the doorknob and open the door silently, leaning his head out, looking around. He nodded for her to follow him and they both started for the stairs, not wanting to wait in plain sight for the lift.

They climbed to her floor and only then did she feel relieved. However, they both froze and stopped in mid-step when they saw her father emerge suddenly from his room, apparently heading for her brother's apartment.

When he saw her, her tear-stained face his brow furrowed in a way she knew all too well, his accusing gaze falling on the Targaryen standing beside her.

"What happened?" He asked expectantly, she could feel her heart pounding hard, she thought she had to think of something quickly.

"Cregan has been nagging me all day and I felt bad during our conversation. Mr Aemond was kind enough to offer to walk me to my room to make sure I was okay." She mumbled being on the verge of crying again, looking at her father pleadingly.

He muttered under his breath and nodded at Targaryen, putting his arm around her and saying 'thank you for your concern'.

Before she entered her room she glanced at him apologetically over her shoulder, their tired gazes meeting for a moment before he turned and started down the corridor in the other direction.

Her father began to question her about what was going on and ordered her to show him what messages Cregan was sending his daughter. Feeling that she needed to somehow make her story credible she showed him textes she had been receiving from him throughout the day.

"Couldn't he finally decide on something? Why is he messing with your head like that? I'll talk to his father when we get back." He said angrily, ignoring her pleas for him not to do so and that they were no longer children in kindergarten. When her father left, angry and shaken, she called Royce quickly.

He was in her room after a few minutes.

He walked in smiling, but seeing her state and her red eyes he immediately furrowed his brow, looking at her anxiously.

"What's wrong? Cregan?" He asked walking up to her, putting his hands on her shoulders, as usual physically showing her his support. She pressed her lips together at his questions.

"Not only that." She whispered with a blush of embarrassment and shame not believing what she was about to say.

"I slept with someone." She mumbled, burying her face in her hands, shaking her head. Her brother threw her a confused yet amused look.

"Well… I told you to have fun. I just hope he didn't hurt you? Do you regret it?" He asked bending down to her level as if to see what the look in his eyes betrayed. She looked at him helplessly, lowering her hands.

"I slept with Aemond Targaryen…"

"WHAT?"

"…and when it was all over his assistant, who he is sleeping with but is not in a relationship with, started banging on our door when she heard us, screaming and crying." She mumbled out quickly on one exhale, wiping quickly the tears that were again flying down her cheeks, her brother looking at her in disbelief. He ran his hand through his hair, shaking his head.

"I, God, this is totally fucked up. If they're not together then why did she make him a scene?" He asked rhetorically.

"I have no idea! Maybe there's more to her than that though. She was already looking at me at breakfast after I exchanged a few words with him and I'm afraid she knows it's me. That she's going to say something to our father." She said in a trembling voice, Royce pressed his lips together.

"Has she seen you?" He asked uncertainly.

"No, but our father saw me and Aemond when he walked me to my room. He wanted to make sure this woman didn't catch me anywhere. I told him he only saw me off." She explained brokenly, seeing her brother's horrified gaze.

He let out a loud breath, burying his face in his hands as if he felt immense relief. He put his hands at his sides, looking at her with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

"Well, my little sister, I see that when you do have fun, you do it with pomp." He said amused and she burst into laughter at his words, somewhat relaxed by the fact that she had told him, that she didn't have to carry this burden alone.

Before bed she took a quick shower, wanting to refresh herself after what they had done. She realised to her surprise, standing under the drops of hot water falling on her body, that she didn't regret what she had done after all.

She couldn't erase his touch, tell herself that it hadn't been pleasant, that it hadn't given her pleasure.

She thought, sighing, that they were both adults, they had done what they wanted, and now their paths would part and everything would go back to normal. She thought she would call Cregan tomorrow and explain to him exactly how she felt, and if that didn't work, she would just block his number for a while.

She came out of the bathroom in her pyjamas and involuntarily reached for her phone wanting to see if Cregan had written anything else. She was surprised when she saw that she had received some direct message on Instagram from a strange account, but it didn't look like spam. She opened it and started reading.

She swallowed loudly feeling her heart pounding.

Aemond.

She felt relieved and hot in her lower abdomen at the thought that he had found her, that he had made the effort just to write her that.

She knew that he must have seen that she had displayed the message and she didn't want him to feel that she was pretending that nothing had happened. She took a long time to respond and deleted and rephrased several times.

She felt a shudder when she saw that he had immediately displayed her message and wondered if he would write anything more. She felt a stab of disappointment when nothing appeared after a few minutes but decided it was still nice of him to write to her.

She shuddered when she heard the sound of a vibration, a notification displayed on her phone that she had received a new message on Instagram. She unlocked her phone with her heart pounding hard, wondering why it excited her so much.

She thought maybe it was because he seemed so withdrawn, dark, silent, and now he was talking to her of his own free will.

She pursed her lips as she read this and swallowed loudly.

He opened up to her.

He talked about his relationship.

She rolled over on her sheets, sitting up, thinking deeply about what she should answer to that. She didn't want to judge him or ask too in-depth questions, but she wanted to understand him.

She finally replied, her heart tightening.

Will this answer upset him? Was she too direct? She flinched as her phone vibrated again.

A short, cold answer. She swallowed loudly, sighing softly, not knowing whether she should write more or not.

She pursed her lips as she read this. Somehow their relationship was as complicated as hers and Cregan's. She wondered if she should advise him something.

She blinked, feeling her heart pounding hard.

Exchange of mutual benefits.

Objectification.

Had he done this to her today to make her go easy on his grandfather's deal and convince her father to sign it?

She swallowed hard at the thought.

He didn't answer her question for a very long time and she slowly started to fall asleep in her bed. She suddenly jumped up when her screen lit up after several minutes.

She pursed her lips as she read the messages that appeared quickly one after the other. She thought he had finished the rest of the wine that was left in his room.

She fell asleep almost immediately after sending the message, the alcohol numbed her completely and made her not wake up until the morning. She flinched when the alarm on her phone started ringing and she turned it off, glancing at the display. She saw then that she had received another message from him.

______

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dejwrites · 2 years

Text

❪ ♡ ❫ ─── ⠀ ⠀⠀ happy together ⠀ 〳 ⠀ u.wakatoshi ‵

❪ ♡ ❫ ─── ( synopsis ) if i should call you up, invest a dime. and you say you belong to me and ease my mind. imagine how the world could be, so very fine. so happy together or in which the heir to the biggest mafia/yakuza in japan is in an arranged marriage with a foreigner & it turns into a wicked jealous filled obsession. inspo from happy together by the turtles

♡ ˙ ˖ ✧ — fem reader, her/she pronouns, female pet names, the reader is black coded (mentions of skin complexion but isn't centered around the plot), yandere themes, yandere!ushijima, mentions of violence, mentions of blood, mentions of murder, mentions of gore, yakuza/mafia au, choking kink, character death, possessive!ushijima, ooc!ushijima (only said ooc cause he does not act like the way he acts in hq), toxic relationship, ushijima father slaps him in one part, arranged marriage au,

❪ ♡ ❫ ─── reblogs & comments are highly appreciated

HOW COULD SOMEONE’S HANDS FEEL SO COLD? That thought lingered in the back of your mind when you felt Ushijima Wakatoshi’s hand placed on the lower part of your back as you waltz around the venue. You remembered how his touch felt so cold that it sent a shiver down your spine even though minutes ago you complained about hot you were in the vintage well-tailored white dress. You never actually expected your life to take a sudden change due to your father. It was a bit comical considering that he got you into this marriage and didn’t even bother to show up to walk you down the aisle. You felt like a sheep among some vicious hungry wolves. You had no friends in Japan. You had no family in Japan. Just Ushijima and his circle. You couldn’t even contact your family unless they contacted you first. You would think that you were the president’s daughter, but you were only one of the richest men in the world's daughter. That came with consequences. Your life was always under a microscope. Eat this. Dress this way. Don’t date this person. Attend this university. You didn’t actually think you’ll be scribbling ‘have an assassination threat on your head’ off your Bingo card.

So here you were, bound with Ushijima Wakatoshi for your safety and the future of your family. You should have known that an arranged marriage was going to be put on the table. Someone one would question why a foreigner has been hanging around the notorious family that controls more than eight districts in Japan. You planned to lay low, enjoy your time in Japan, maybe go back to school, and then when your father contacted Ushijima’s father, go back home. But the thing is, you knew that it wasn’t any going back home. For all you know, your father could have been dead. The thing is you knew this marriage wasn’t going to be rainbows and sunshine, Ushijima didn’t even smile as you waltz down the aisle in a room of strangers. You remembered the deadpan look he gave you, but that last dance is what caused your stomach to form the most horrendous knots as he brought your closer. You could feel his breath trickle at your earlobe before he’s whispering, “The only one for me is you, and you for me. We both have a lot on the line when it comes to this fuckin’ marriage. We’re stuck with each other, so let’s make sure this work.”

Even though he uttered those words in your ear over two months ago, you and Ushijima just couldn’t work. It wasn’t like you weren’t putting in the effort, you did. You even learned how to cook some of his favorite dishes and even then, you still were met with a harsh cold steel door. You remembered vividly when it seemed like a switch was turned on in his head. You sat in the living room like the pretty wife you were. The diamond ring on your wedding finger glistened under the family mansion light, you hated to admit that Ushijima picked out a beautiful ring when it wasn’t much meaning behind it. You were confused about why you and Ushijima were summoned here in the first place. It wasn’t like you two were doing anything romantic anyway, just you watching the maids cater to him due to him partying the previous night. When you heard the harsh footsteps and your eyes watched as men bowed as the Takashi Utsui entered the room. By the looks of his face, he looked pissed and your mind instantly panicked. You toyed with the ends of your dress as you watch Ushijima stand up with urgency to greet his father.

Your eyes bulged outward when you heard and witnessed the harsh slap Takashi placed against Ushijima’s cheek. The room was so silent and you observed everyone in the room. No one bulged at the action as if it happened before. You watched as one of Takashi’s men would rush to his side handing him a folder. He opened it with urgency revealing the photo of Ushijima in a club the previous night. A woman was on his lap kissing his neck. Your eyes instantly lowered in embarrassment. Even though this marriage had no love, you still felt a form of humiliation.

“What did I tell you before you said I do to that woman right there?” Takashi’s finger points at you.

Ushijima's jaw clenched tightly as if he was holding back an explosive bomb.

“Huh? I can’t seem to hear you.” Takashi stepped forward toward his son. His head tilted to the side as he was trying to hear Ushijima’s words.

“That if I embarrass her, I’m dishonoring my family,” Ushijima said.

“And?” Takashi asked.

“And she’s a part of the family now,” Ushijima said.

Your heart was beating so hard at the word. You watched as Takashi's fingers combed through his hair. He let out a sigh to calm himself down before he’s walking over to you extending his hand for you to take. You hesitantly took it as he helped you up, walking by his angry son to walk into the family garden in the backyard. Your hand grasped at his arm as you walked by his side. The sweet scent of the Cherry Blossom tree that was in their backyard. You remembered Ushijima mentioning that his father got the tree grown in the backyard because his mother adored the scent of when the petals free-fell to the ground. However, even though his parents divorced his father still made sure the tree was taken care of.

“I want you to go out,” His father commented as he was walking around the garden. He could feel your grasp upon his arm tighter, “You’ve been trapped up in the house while my reckless son goes out and embarrasses our family,” He commented.

“I don’t know anyone to go out with sir,” You commented. “I would rather be home, especially considering that it would only be a burden. Do I need to remind you, that I have a hit out on me?” You pointed out.

You watched as his lips formed a straight line, “Of course. I won’t let you go out alone, you’ll be with my assistant and her friends. Plus, I’m sure I’ll have some men in there if you need them,” he reminded.

You would look at him before simply nodding, not bothering to argue with him once again. “Okay.” was the only thing you said before he let go of your hand.

“Please enjoy your time out. I would hate to have to tell your father you hate it here.” He responded. “You deserve to be happy and I’ll be sure to ensure that.”

You forced a smile on your face which seems like you were doing that a lot. The sweet scent of the cherry blossoms lingered up your nostrils before you were speaking once again, “Okay, thank you.” You gave his arm a squeeze and a kind smile before departing to go back into the luxury home.

You were expecting to be met by Ushijima, but he was nowhere to be found. It didn’t particularly shock you, he got embarrassed in front of everyone. You were expecting to be met with your usual driver who hardly spoke to you unless you spoke to him first but instead was met with Tendou and Kai. Your eyebrows raised as you stared at him, “Let me guess, you’re taking me home.” You sighed and you didn’t get an answer, but you did follow them outside the huge mansion.

When you got in the SUV, you would sit in the back instantly indulging in the things on your phone before you heard Kai’s voice. “He actually does care about you, you know?”

You would shake your head, “Has a funny way of showing it.” You answered.

“But, please do not do something tonight that will upset him,” Tendo warned as his fingertips tapped at the steering wheel.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “He gets to go out and act a damn fool, but wants to lose his mind if I do the same,” You kissed your teeth. “I’m going to go out and have so much fun like his father said to do.”

The remaining amount of time in the car was quiet before you were dropped off at the luxury mansion that you resided in. Despite you decorating the huge mansion to your liking, it still didn’t feel like home. You were greeted by one of the maids, and you would only tell her that she could take the day off, especially considering that you believed today was one of her children's birthdays.

“But Mr.—“ The maid's words were cut off by you.

“I will handle him. You guys can have the rest of the day off. Go enjoy your child’s birthday,” You explained as you watched her face light up before she walked away to grab her things.

FOR ONCE YOU WERE ENJOYING YOURSELF. As you were at the bar attempting to flag down one of the bartenders, you could feel a male figure squeeze himself next to you and the countless others at the bar. His tall stature towered over you as you attempted once again to get the bartender’s attention. However, the man interjected whistling and getting the bartender’s attention.

“That’s the trick, to get their attention,” He commented as he gave you a smile that you returned. It was like a bird calling as the bartender flocked to him effortlessly. “This beautiful young woman has been trying to get your attention. I’ve told you guys about not being aware of the customers in front of you.” He warned.

“Sorry sir, it’s a bit hectic back here.” The bartender apologized as his eyes traveled to you. But when he noticed who you were, he looked away with quickness. “What can I get you?”

You would ignore his sudden break of eye contact and begin to list the drinks your section wanted. “Could you get them served to that section also?” You pointed to the section on the left of the club. “Add an extra bottle and just charge it to Ushijima Wakatoshi’s card.”

The gentlemen next to you eyebrows raised as he was trying to mentally put a face to the name that fell off your tongue. You leaned against the bar patiently before speaking, “Thanks for helping me. I appreciate it.” You gave him a kind smile as you watched one of the bottle girls load up the drinks on a tray to deliver to the section you were at.

“It’s no problem. We wouldn’t want to disappoint the wife of Ushijima Wakatoshi.” He responded.

You rolled your eyes hearing that statement, which the man caught instantly. “Is there a problem? Are you—”

Your words cut him off with a quickness. “It’s not a problem. I am his wife after all, but I just hate that here that’s all I’m known for.” You said to the gentlemen.

You understood that it was for the best for a lot of people to know who you were, but being known as the wife of a man who didn’t even take the marriage seriously himself felt even worst. You had so much more power than people expected, but here you were in an unknown world not being able to use that power.

You thanked the stranger once again before attempting to go back to the section, but you felt him tug you back towards him. He lets out a firm sigh before extending his hand toward you. “Let’s start over, I’m Lev Haiba. I own this club.” His hand motioned around the crowds of people in the nightclub.

You couldn’t help but snicker as you shook his head. “Y/N, heir to the biggest oil company in the world.” You answered. “But that has to stay between us.” You gave Lev a playful smirk and he only held his hand up in a defensive mode.

“Your secret is safe with me. I hope Japan is treating you well considering the uh—circumstances.” Lev says.

You could hear the pity in his voice. “I’m assuming you’ve heard the news of my loving husband?” You asked as the two of you were walking towards the section you were in.

“Everyone did. It was this club he was spotted doing said activities. However, it’s Ushijima Wakatoshi, no one is going to ruin his mood.” Lev admitted as he rubbed at the back of his neck nervously. “But I have said too much, I should get back to my job. It was a pleasure meeting you.”

You watched as he disappeared into the crowd, once again feeling like the sheep in a field filled with wolves as you sat down in one of the chairs. You instantly picked up the drink wanting to drink the night away.

WHEN YOU RETURNED HOME, you dropped your YSL heels on the floor as you stumbled into the house. You glanced at your phone and saw that it was four in the morning. You couldn’t believe that you stayed out so late. You definitely were going to have to rain check with the afternoon tea session with Ushijima’s mother. You attempted to tiptoe your way further inside the house not wanting to wake Ushijima (if he was home). You were aware that on some occasions Ushijima men would be at your house. It didn’t shock you that they were here in your living room doing gods know what. However, the weird feeling under the bottom of your feet caused you to instantly sober up. It felt wet, slightly slippery. You glanced down and your eyes grew big at the sight you were seeing. You had stepped in a small splatter of blood that decorated the thin plastic layer that was on the floor. Your heart rate increased instantly as you stumbled back in a horrified panic to be met with Ushijima catching you from falling.

“I—“ Your words were stuck in your throat. Your hands were shaking harshly and your heart felt like it was trying to claw out your chest. Your eyes stared at your husband as the crimson-colored liquid stained the white Versace button-down shirt.

“It’s good to know you’ve made it home safely. Now let’s go get cleaned up. We’re both in need of a shower anyway.” He firmly said.

You felt Ushijima grab hold of your forearm. His blood-covered fingertips stained your brown skin. “But we have guests.” You stuttered out.

“That’s fine, they will be busy cleaning up the mess that you made,” Ushijima confirmed.

Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion as you were being tugged into the shared bedroom. With urgency, Ushijima closed the door behind him. “Strip.” was the only thing he said as his hands went up to unbutton the buttons on his shirt.

You did what you were told, letting the dress you wore fall to the ground. You crossed your arms over your chest preventing Ushijima from seeing you like this. You didn’t even notice that he had already stripped out of his expensive clothing. You could sense him towering over you before you finally croaked out some words, “You said my mess? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Goosebumps decorated your skin when you felt Ushijima’s fingertips tracing alongside your side. His fingertips engraved you with the possible sin he just committed before you arrived home. He stopped right at the soft fabric of the thong you wore, letting out a low hum before pushing them down. You didn’t argue against his action. You weren’t sure if you were too afraid to or if you just wanted to see where this would go. You stepped out of your underwear before watching Ushijima disappear into the bathroom. The sound of the shower could be heard before his voice broke you out of your broken thoughts. Like an obedient dog, you walked into the bathroom with your hands still attempting to cover your bare body. Ushijima was already in the hot steaming shower washing over the blood that was on him. “I’ve already seen you vulnerable before, remember our wedding night?” He asked. “There’s no need to hide your body away from me.” He answered.

“You never responded to what I said. What mess have I created? You’re the one that’s going out every night and acting a fool,” You reminded him.

Ushijima let out a sigh, “Just get in the fuckin’ shower and we can talk.” He says, “Please.”

Hearing him say please was a shock to you, you took a couple of steps forward opening the door of the walk-in shower to join him. In a different world, such an intimate moment would have your stomach flowing with butterflies. But right now, your stomach could only twist in dangerous knots while you let the steaming hot water heat your body. “Did you have fun last night?” Ushijima asked.

Your eyes met with his as you felt the warm cloth filled with soap brush against your body. He was kind enough to clean you himself. Similar to a doll maker creating a doll, you felt that’s what Ushijima was doing. You were his doll as soon as you walked down the aisle clutching onto his father’s arm. “I did. It was nice to not be bottled up in his house. It can get lonely sometimes,” You answered.

“You have the maids, it can’t be that lonely,” He responded.

That was true. During your time living here, you managed to get to know each of the eight maids and two groundskeepers that worked to make sure Ushijima’s home looked nice. But it still felt lonely, cold. It didn’t feel like a home.

“Although, I appreciate their help around the place. It’s not the same.” You answered as your finger went up to motion for the young man to turn so you could wash his back. “You know this. I’m not asking for much, but can we at least pretend we’re enjoying this marriage.”

“I’m actually enjoying this marriage,” Ushijima responded with a chuckle.

“You have such a weird way to show it. Going out every night, being seen with other women—“ You stopped abruptly to let out a weary sigh. Not sure if the sudden feeling of being lightheaded came from the hotness of the shower or the fact that you’re finally voicing your opinions to Ushijima. “It’s humiliating.”

Ushijima didn’t say much about your words. The two of you continued to shower in silence before eventually getting out of it. At this point, you had sobered as you toyed with the ends of the soft white rob Ushijima put you in. You watched as Ushijima waltzed back into the bedroom, “Well, let me show that I will change.”

Your body leaned against the doorframe of the master bedroom bathroom, “Sex really can’t show me anything. Changed behavior though,” You said rolling your eyes at him.

“Come on, when was the last time we actually had sex.”

“You’re deflecting from the original conversation Ushi,” You sighed as you walked towards the dresser to find something to wear.

As you were searching for something to sleep in, you could feel Ushijima’s strong arms wrap around your waist. He tugged you closer to his body and you felt the growing boner poking at the fatness of your butt. “You haven’t called me Ushi since our wedding night.” He commented.

“You’re so annoying.” You sighed, but you didn’t bulge out his touch. “We both were drunk as ever that night. I can’t believe you still remember that.”

“Of course, I remembered it. You moaned it so beautifully while your head was buried into a pillow,” Ushijima reminded you as you felt his lips press against the exposed skin on your neck.

You felt your skin grow hotter with each harsh nibble, lick, and bite on your neck. One of Ushijima’s hands disappeared inside your robe and straight in between your thighs. His index and middle finger swiped at your wet folder and indulged how wet you were while you seemed to melt into his touch. “You don’t remember, hmm? How your thighs couldn’t stop shaking once we were done?” He asked as his fingertips that were covered in your wetness would rub at your clit. “How you wet up the sheets so badly?”

You made direct eye contact with Ushijima in the mirror that was connected to the dresser. The once softness that was in his eyes for a split second was gone. You weren’t particularly super religious, but you were sure you were looking into the eyes of the devil. He undid your rob and tugged it off your bare body causing you to gasp suddenly. Your thighs quivered for more as you felt your own wetness stain the inside of your thighs. Ushijima stopped the subtle circular motion on your clit before he’s talking once again. “Tell me you remember that and I’ll help you cum,” His words tickled your earlobe and you nodded instantly.

“I remember. Ushi—“ You desperately coughed up those words. “I remember.”

“Good,” Ushijima said while the grip around your waist grew tighter. “Now be a good wife and go to the bed and get on all fours, darling.”

You did what you were told, being sure to grab a pillow to make yourself feel more comfortable. The anticipation bubbling into your stomach as you could sense Ushijima behind you. When you felt him tug you closer to the bed, you swallowed the large lump forming in your throat. Your cunt so eager to swallow his cock bit by bit even though you were sure he wasn’t going to be so gentle. When you felt the tip of Ushijima’s cock enter you, you chewed at your lower lip getting ready for him to instantly bottom down inside you. The faint memory of your wedding night when he specifically praised you on how well you took his dick swirled around your head.

This time he took his time. Pushing his cock inside you slowly, teasingly, until you were gasping for him to put it all the way in. His large hands grasped at your waist before his hips begin to drive forward to be met with the soft flesh of your butt. Your head buried into the pillow caging in your moans before Ushijima grabbed the pillow and tossed it. “I need my men to hear you while they’re cleaning up your mess.” He said firmly.

His fingers buried into the flesh of your skin while the sound of skin slapping against each other could be heard. Ushijima was in a complete trace as he watched his cock disappear into your addicting cunt. “Go ahead, moan out how good Ushi is making you feel while they clean up your mess.” He said through gritted teeth.

“What mess?” You hiccuped out through moans. Your eyesight grew blurry due to the tears that accumulated through Ushijima’s thrusts.

You let out a yelp when Ushijima grabbed a hold of your head tugging you upward. His chest pressed against your sweat-coated back before he let go of your hand to use that hand to snake around to your neck. “Don’t act foolish Y/N.” He answered.

You could feel Ushijima’s cock twitch inside you as he stopped his thrusts abruptly. His hand wrapped around your neck and you could feel him give it a slight squeeze before his thrusting continued. “You know my doll. When you press your thumb in someone’s windpipe, index finger to their carotid artery, and your middle finger applies pressure to their jugular vein…they’ll lose consciousness.” Ushijima said.

The heat of the moment of your breath grasping away for a couple of seconds due to Ushijima mimicking the same thing he just told her, he let go of you and shoved your face further into the fluffiness of the mattress. “Even when I nearly took your breath away, you only clutched around my cock even tighter.” He said darkly.

His words sent a bone chilling shiver down your spine as you moaned out helplessly. “Ushi!” You moaned out.

His thrusting only continued, ignoring your little whimpers before he leaned over placing wet kisses on the middle of your spine. “You know that only makes a person lose consciousness, but if you continue you can damage the cortex of your brain which leads to your death.” He uttered as he was thrusting.

His chest heaved upwards as he traced his name upon your skin. “It took less than 6 minutes for your little friend Lev to finally fuckin’ die when I wrapped my hands around his throat.” He said through groans. You could feel his thrusting grow sloppy, he was about to cum.

“I had to clean up your mess Y/N,” he said.

You felt yourself orgasm immediately. The dangerous shiver that went though your body made your body go into complete shock. Your gasping out for Ushijima. The thought of him killing a man that talked to you pushed you to the edge. Perhaps you did flutter around his cock even more at the sound of those words coming out his mouth. Ushijima still fucked you through the explosive orgasm until he too was cumming mess, not bothering to pull out either. Filling you up to the brim with his cum just to trap you as his.

He let your body collapse on the bed like a rag doll. You were completely out of breath with his cum leaking out of you and when you met his eyes, they were soft once again.

“We’re starting a clean slate starting now. No more outside interferences when it comes to our marriage. We’re going to be happy together if we like it or not.” He said as he leaned down to place a kiss upon your temple.

“Now get some rest, my doll, we have tea with my mother in about eight hours.”

You really were still a sheep upon the family of wolves.

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#ushijima wakatoshi smut #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #hq x reader #hq smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #ushijima smut #ushijima x reader #x black reader #black reader #black reader smut

2K notes · View notes

matchadobo · 9 months

Text

KIDD; overnight

wc: 1656 summary: stranger to lovers college au warning/s: none, sfw, afab reader, my writing style kind of changed here, idk if i like or hate it

you had just moved in your college dorm and your mates have invited you to go on the nearby bars fellow university students also go to, a mixer of some sort. you were kind of iffy about taking up the offer because crowds really weren't your thing, but this was an opportunity to meet people which would later be good for you. so you accepted it. only to have your mates wasted in the process, no companions whatsoever you sat alone in the bar. tons of creeps tried having their way with you, but you politely declined to avoid further conflicts.

that is until, he approached you. shimmying between the men surrounding you and thanks to his size, they backed off given his bold demeanor. tousled, red hair, pearly skin, sharp, golden eyes, and tinted lips curled into a scowl. surrounded by big scary men, this fellow seemed to be set apart from that criterion despite his aura.

he'd scare off the guys with just two words, "get lost." he'd soon ask if you were okay and tells you off to not be alone here at night. you reasoned out with your current situation and he snickered, "some friends you have." he'd then order a shot of scotch for you and him and ask, "do you wanna get outta here?" he'd stare directly into your eyes, genuinely waiting for you to answer despite taking a long time. "don't overthink it. but let me tell you something, you won't regret it if you humor me."

you were hesitant to comply but, god, was he so attractive. he didn't seem to have bad intentions either, after all he just saved you from a world of hurt. typically, going out with strangers is a big no-no, but there was something about him that draw you to him and you're eager to find out, to find him out. so you decided to fuck it, what's the worst that could happen?

so you'd go with him as he led you away from the bar. you walked alongside him on the busy nights of your town. your hands clasped behind your back and his were buried in either of his pockets as you two strolled to a more quiet road. you'd ask him his name and you tell yours, ask what his major is and exchange jokes here and there.

he goes by eustass kidd, he majors in metallurgical engineering and is a year older than you. he likes hanging out by the skateparks, karaoke and studio booths, arcades and bowling alleys, and that bar earlier where he and his mates do some gigs every now and then. he also lives a block away from your dorm house.

so you ask him where you two are going, he'll brush you off and tell you to be patient, snickering when he sees your puzzled expression. until you two reach a what seemed to be an abandoned carnival. it was dark and some crows were hanging around the railings. he'd look over his shoulder and tell you, "i always come here but got no one to take." you answered, "so i'm your first one here, huh?" he'd look down and chuckle, "and if i said yes?" you responded before walking away, "i'm special then."

you walked across the dimly lit place, rides with colorful designs are now muted from dirt and its age. to your surprise, the place suddenly illuminated from the variety of lights that chorused with the rides running. you looked behind you and saw kidd smiling with his arms crossed after he emerged from what seemed to be a staff booth. he sauntered towards you, "well? what're you waiting for?" the lights radiated the features of both of your faces. you responded with a smile and grabbed his wrist as you two headed straight for the drop tower, "you."

the both of you spent the night scaring yourselves from the horror houses and going ride after ride until you two got sick to your stomachs. you asked him when you two rode by the ferris wheel that moved a little too dangerous, "what made you think you should take me here?" he shrugged, before looking back at you. "hell if i know, guess you're a special case." a swarm of butterflies brushed by your stomach, rendering you a smiling idiot.

you didn't seem to notice the how fast the time flew by. you two decided to eat at the nearby diner that's open for twenty-four hours, his treat he says. you gazed at the clock and almost spat all the food you've eaten. you almost lost all air if it weren't for his firm but gentle pats on your back, he gave you water after stifling his laughter. "the hell happened to you?"

you hit him after catching your breath. "you jackass, i have first period in an hour!" you packed your stuff and hurried on your way back after thanking him for breakfast and bidding goodbye. he also waved at you and ate your leftovers.

your first period went by like a fever dream, running on no sleep and a full stomach. the high of your borderline date with that charming redhead was the only thing keeping you awake. the sheen of his amber orbs when he intently looks at you every time you talk, the way his canines tug by his lips with each smile and laugh, his playful insults that get sharper with each of your comeback, the way your knees touch when you two sit together and it sends electricity coursing through your veins, and how his wintry metallic scent never left your clothes and sinuses. the day went on and you didn't have the chance to see him again.

the next day, you found him waiting by the door of your last class when you left the room. he waved at you from afar, your friends asked you who that UNIT of a man was that seemed to be waiting for you. clad in a black, silk muscle tee that accentuated the tone of his body and jeans also in the same color, a simple outfit that seemed too deadly for you.

so you made your way towards him and asked, "what are you doing here? how the the hell did you find out my class?" he replied with a grin, "you told me the other day you wanted to hang out today, right? got your head in a flurry, coineanach (bunny)?" he ruffled your hair afterward, continuing. "you seem to badly need a break, aye? come, i'll give you a real stress reliever." you let him put an arm around you because you seem to fall on your knees from the weariness or for that fluttery feeling that suddenly washed over you. you gazed up at him, "this better pull me out of drowsiness, eustass." he chuckled lightly, "oh this'll wake you up, sleepyhead."

he took you to the same bar you two met, meeting up with who seemed to be his friends and waving at them from afar. then it all occurred to you, you looked at him with utmost anticipation. "you're gonna play?!" he smiled as he nodded at you, introducing you to his bandmates. he soon got on stage with them, giving you a wink before starting their performance. it made you question whatever the hell you two got going on; how he touches you, how he talks to you, how he looks at you, why he took you here, and how will this progress. it was a full-fledged war in your head. how attractive he looks while performing certainly did not help in sorting out your thoughts and calming down your heart.

the band dominated the bar, the thumping of drums and cheers of the crowd had taken the pandemonium up a notch. you soon got tipsy with the drinks to try and relieve yourself from the chaos that is your heart and mind. you didn't notice that the performance was already over and kidd was tapping your shoulder. "did that woke you up?" you noticed that he was a little too close to you so you can hear and see him because of the packed bar, you flushed red at the proximity that the mild scent of rum from his mouth wafted in your nose, so you excused yourself. he was calling after you but you blurred him out because you terribly need fresh fucking air.

you catch your breath, chest heaving as you held on your knees for support. you hear the door behind you open and shut again. "hey name, what was that? are you okay?" he placed a hand on your shoulder, only for you to flinch. "alright, damn. did you hate our performance that much? the fuck's going on?"

you started, "why did you take me here?" he took a few minutes before answering, "cuz i wanted you to see me play, if it ain't your taste that's fine-" you cut him off, "that is not what i mean, okay?! y-you were amazing back there."

with your words he suddenly grew smitten, like he read you so successfully and figured out why you're acting like a wreck. "yeah? you think so?" your eyes were frantic and your chest was in rampage, you couldn't look him in the eye and you kept chewing on your bottom lip. he stood dangerously close to you, his fingers raised your chin so he could have a good look at your flustered face. "you know why i was so amazing back there? it's 'cause you were watching, wanted to show off to this pretty girl i have my eye on." he tucked a hair by your ear, fingers ghosting by your cheek before it landed on your jaw. "seems i did well to do so, hm?"

you finally mustered out words, "so you feel the same way? you've been driving me nuts since i got here." he laughed, hugging you by your neck. "why do you think i'd take you to that carnival, huh?"

there was silence as you two basked in each other's embrace. until kidd blurted out, "your heart is beating like fucking crazy, damn i did that?!" you hit his arm and hid your heating face in his chest as he continued to tease and make fun of you.

this is kind of all over the place??? lmao

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joongwooclub · 2 years

Text

fated || j. yh.

pairing: fem!reader x jeong yunho

tags/warnings: childhood friends to strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, smut near end, dilf yunho, yunho’s child likes fem!reader a lot. [aged up reader and yunho]

word count: 6.0K

✩: authors note - this was a quick (not to quick) brainrot, so please know this may contain grammar inaccuracies + misspells and I haven't had time to revise due to university.

✩: reblogs / comments + feedbacks are appreciated!! story under cut!

Jeong Yunho has been my best friend since childhood, we went through every single small and big situation I can imagine. I didn’t know when it happened but I had feelings for him. Maybe it was his golden retriever personality, or his tall body portion with his long delicate fingers that caressed your face. Shaking my head to get the perverted thoughts away from my mind, I looked at the boy next to me. His side profile was perfect as always as he laughed at a comment a fellow classmate said. It was a late Friday night, sitting in the bar with a small group of friends from my last year classes. It was bizarre to think that it was the last year of college and after this, everyone will be on their way to their own life. “Yunho-ah, what will you be doing after finishing the last year?” Mina asked, her eyes fluttering in a way to send flirtatious signals. Yunho gave her a smile, and it made my stomach turn. Was I jealous? Very much, but I couldn’t do anything since Yunho wasn’t my boyfriend. Just a crush. “Well hopefully I’ll level up soon at my workplace, I want to do business once I finish here.” He answered, a hand on his lap as his legs were crossed, like a true gentleman, I bit my lip as the group spoke.

My energy slowly runs out to communicate. Yunho glanced over at me and rubbed my arm softly, “Hey..you tired?” I nodded slowly, “Let’s go back home?” He whispers, my cheeks grew with blush as he was so attentive to my energy, but as well as he said ‘home’ like we lived together. I nodded and got up, “It’s getting late so me and y/n will be heading back. You guys stay safe.” Yunho smiled before handing some money to another friend to pay for his and my drink. “Yuyu, I can pay for my own drink.” I pouted. He just poked my cheek and shook his head, “nope~ I got it.” He didn’t even let me finish my new sentence as he took my hand and walked me out of the bar. Luckily we didn’t drive, so we were able to just grab a taxi and even more luckily, we lived a few blocks from each other. As the taxi took us back to my house, I looked out of the window, the night view flew by. I sighed, Yunho looked over at me. “What’s up sweetheart?” he questioned, I looked at him and smiled softly, “Just wondering how we would be once we graduate.” I spoke softly. Yunho awed and took my hand into his, his warmth warming my cold hands, “Well, we will have each other no matter what.” “promise?” “promise.”

[ 4 years later ]

That night with Yunho felt like it was a day ago. The promise of staying together soon broke as graduation happened and life became busy. Last thing I knew was that Yunho was now a CEO of a business, while I currently work at a small (not so quiet) preschool as a teacher. All those years for a teaching degree and I still landed a job to work with small kids. Could it be the baby fever? Maybe, but the thought of one day having a family was nice, but definitely not now. I mean, I am only 25 years old, almost 26 now. It was normal to think about family now since it was my mid-20’s but, no one ever caught my eye–not since yunho at least. “Ms. Y/L/N~” A small child called my last name, I turned around and smiled as my eyes landed on one of my favorite students, “Hi nina~ how are you.” I cooed softly crouching down to be eye level with her. Her brown eyes shined brightly as she was a naturally giggly, happy child. “Ma dada ist picking me..” she said. I tilted my head smiling at her, knowing she was still young so developing her speaking skills was something we wanted to work on. “Your daddy is what sweetheart?” I asked. “Picking me..um..up! Like sky!” she said excitedly. “Oh, picking you up! How nice~ what about mama?” I asked. “Mama don’t live with us. She went away.” she spoke naturally. I was shocked. I knew her mother, she wasn’t the best but she was trying as a young mom, around my age, so I didn’t have the right to judge. As Nina said that, she went back to playing with the other kids outside, the giggling and lively screaming of the kids echoing through the small playground. I stood up and started to clean up around the table area, glancing at the clock outside and notice the time they were about to be picked up. As soon as the clock hit 5pm, our alarm to come inside rang. Some kids ran inside, while others put away their toys from the playground back into the outside box and went inside. I gave them small smiles as we helped put on their shoes if they couldn’t do it themselves. One by one each parent came to pick up their child. Nina waited in the corner, tippy toeing to look out the small child level window. I cleaned up the remaining trash and watched for every parent and child that left.

Almost a full 30 minutes went by and Nina was still here. “Nina sweetheart, where’s daddy?” I asked, sitting down next to her crisscrossed. “Works late…he come..” Nina mumbles sadly. Her head tilted down and I saw her fumble with her hands, I bit my lip, feeling sorry, Nina’s mom was always a few minutes late, but not like this. So I took her tiny hands into mine and gave her a smile. “How about we play princesses?” I suggested. “Yay!! Princesses!! Will you be princess too?” I giggled at her half full sentences; I nodded and she smiled ear to ear. I rumbled through the toy box near us and pulled out some dolls. Nina finally sat down across from me and started playing, immediately forgetting about her late father. It was some minutes after when the door opened. Nina looked up and gleamed with happiness as she rushed to get up and run to whoever came in. I stood up and patted down my work jeans and looked at the figure. He had black hair, broad shoulders, he was clearly tall despite the fact he was bending down to kiss his daughters forehead. The obvious sweating told me that he rushed here as quickly as he could. “I’m terribly sorry for being late, please forgiv-..y/n?” his sentence stopped and I stared back. “Yunho?” I was shocked. His eyes turned from shock to the smile he gave in college, “daddy you know ms. Y/L/N?” Nina asked, looking between us. “Yes baby, we went to school together.” Yunho smiled, squatting down to his daughter. “HOW?! You look old, she’s pretty!!” Nina screeched. I held back my giggle as she said, “Nina sweetheart, don’t call your dad old.” I chuckled.

Yunho laughed and patted his daughter’s head, “come on baby, let’s go home.” He stood up and held Nina’s hand. He gave me a sweet smile, “I really am sorry that I’m late. Even though I’m a boss at my own company, it’s so much harder to leave. Was she okay?” Yunho asked, I nodded. “Of course, Nina is one of my favorite students.” I smiled, walking back to the dolls on the ground to put them away, “Nina told me about her mother not being able to pick her up anymore?” I mentioned. Yunho’s face turned pale, “y-yeah..c-can we talk about it outside?” He asked. I simply nodded and made sure everything was cleaned, grabbed my tote bag, and keys to lock the door, turning off the lights before closing the door behind me. Yunho parked his car right on the driveway of the preschool and lifted Nina into the backseat, putting on her seatbelt, before telling her “daddy needs to talk real quick ok? Listen to music.” as he turned on a seat tv and Elsa's Frozen started playing. As he closed the door, making sure to lower the windows a bit for air to circulate, he looked at me. “She listens to frozen loudly. So we can talk normally.” he said, and he was correct as I heard Nina sing very loudly to the song, mumbling at parts she couldn't understand. “No worries. I only mentioned cause she told me, but for file reason, I have to add you. Will she be coming back soon?” I said looking at him fondly. Yunho shook his head in a no motion, “I want to say unfortunately no, but I’m happy. We filed for a divorced a while ago because she told me she found someone better and the guy treated her better..whatever that meant. I just got full custody over Nina. You can remove Kyomi Cheng and add Yunho Jeong instead.” He explained. I made a mental note about the info, “Alright, thank you. I will make sure to update the files tomorrow morning.” Some silence filled the air before I made a comment. “Still can’t believe you’re here.” I chuckled. He smiled and nodded, “yeah, can’t believe we live in the same city even though we went to school somewhere else. Do you live around here?” “I do. A few blocked in Willow Crossing.” Yunho’s eyes opened in shock, “No way! I live in Fairview Estates!” I was equally shocked. Fairview Estates were the more expensive places, but it was really close to where I lived. “Wow, fate really has us.” “yeah..” I gave him a smile and hugged him, which shocked him again but his gentle arms hugged me back. “Well get home safely, I’ll see Nina tomorrow.” “First thing in the morning.” Yunho smiled. I waved bye to Nina who smiled and waved goodbye back and walked to my car. My heart was racing like a teenage girl again, seeing Yunho like that was like college. He still looked the same, except his face got sharper, he grew muscles, he was taller, and god, he smelled so good in the hug. His cologne clogged my mine, it smelled like Ferrari Light. I shook my head, I can’t believe I’m falling in love with him again just by seeing him. I focused on my way home, stopping by the store to pick up food for dinner and went home. The long day finally tiring my body as soon as I sat down to eat. My phone buzzed and I glanced at the time. 7:50 pm, I furrowed my eyebrows as I usually never have messages or calls at this time.

Unknown Number, 7:51 pm : HIIIII MS. Y/L/N

Unknown Number, 7:51 pm: I’m sorry y/n. Nina took my phone after I said I still had your number. Just wanted to say thank you for watching her. Would you like coffee tomorrow morning?

I smiled at my phone, even as a single dad now, Yunho was still the same. Caring and selflessness. I picked up my phone and typed back.

Me, 7:53 pm : Would love coffee!

Yuyu, 7:54 pm: Caramel Macchiato like the old days, right? :)

I blushed as he remembered my order even though it was years ago since we last saw each other. I texted back and smiled.

Me, 7:55 pm: wow, still remembered =D, anyways get Nina to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodnight Yunho!

Yuyu, 7:55 pm: No Yuyu? :(

Me, 7:56 pm: okay, goodnight yuyu~

Yuyu, 7:56 pm: :D Goodnight doll (still your favorite nickname right?) Nina says goodnight as well. See you tomorrow.

I felt my cheeks fill with blush as he used a nickname (more of a pet name) I haven’t heard in a while. The way he used to say it in college always made me weak in the knees. It was honestly pathetic of me for feeling like this from just one moment with him. I sighed and put my phone on my night stand, the only light was coming from my lamp. I wonder how Yunho acted now since he has a little girl, does he tuck her in at night? Cuddle her as she falls asleep? Maybe he uses his puppy-like pout to get his little girl to giggle when she’s upset. ‘Why am I thinking like this?’ I mumbled to myself. Reaching over and turning off my lamp to try and sleep. ‘Let’s hope I can function in the morning’

The loud beeping from my alarm blared through my silent bedroom. I groaned and pressed stop, lazily getting out of bed. I looked at my phone, going to the weather app to see what the weather was like for today. The temperature was starting to get colder, and those weathers are what I liked the most. I got up and went to my closet to grab a beige turtleneck, topping it with a loose sweater to hang, wearing some simple leggings. After getting ready and adding small accessories, I quickly grabbed my bag and keys to drive to the school. It wasn’t a bad drive today, the crunchy leaves making me smile brightly as I walked towards the door. Setting up the classroom was easy and I finished quite quickly as the kids wouldn’t be there for another hour or so. So I sat down onto my chair in my corner and typed away on my computer, until I received a message.

Yuyu, 9:20 am: Good Morning :D, Nina has something waiting for you at the door!

I giggled and put my phone down to walk to the door to open it. I see Nina holding a Starbucks sandwich bag and holding my drink. “WE GOT THIS FOR YOU!” Nina giggled, I bent down to her level and smiled brightly. “Thank you Nina~ Would you like to go put it on my desk?” I asked, she nodded happily and ran inside, taking her shoes off first, before running to my desk corner. “She’s so energetic for the morning.” I looked up and saw Yunho smiling down at me. He held out his hand and helped me stand up, he was in a black suit, white button up on the inside, with shiny slick black shoes. He had two silver rings on, and his married finger was bare. I wanted to smile at the thought of him being single, but that’s just rude for someone who just got cheated on and divorced. I snapped out of my daydreaming and spoke, “Nina is an energizer. Just like her father.”, my comment made Yunho smile and chuckle deeply. “I’m glad. It’s okay for her to be here early right?” he asked, concerned. “Of course. Me and her can play princesses-” “DADDYYY~” Nina interrupted what I was saying, Yunho apologized and looked at his daughter. “Yes baby?” “Come in and play.” Nina pouted. Yunho looked at me, as if he was asking if it was okay for him to stay for a bit, “come in come in.” I motioned him, closing the door behind us, hearing the alarmed door lock for safety reasons. I watched as Yunho looked around the classroom, his tall figure could touch the ceiling if he was any taller. I sat down on the carpet with Nina as she played around with blocks

Yunho sat down next to me and watched his daughter ramble and play around. He sighed, but not a negative sigh, more of a relaxed one. “You’ve changed.” “hm?” I hummed, turning to look at him. His eyes connected with mine and I felt my heart flutter. “From college. You used to hate looking after kids and such..now you’re a teacher, being surrounded by little kids all day.” he chuckles. I blushed and focused back on Nina, “yeah..well.. You know, people change.” I said as I was quite embarrassed because I started liking the idea of kids when I imagined me and Yunho having one. “You would be a good mom.” Yunho commented while watching Nina. I could have choked on water if I had any in my mouth, “w-what makes you say that?” I stumbled. “I just know it. I mean we grew up with each other, plus you’re so caring and protective of kids, even if you personally don’t think so.” Before I could reply, Nina walked up to us and handed us some dolls. “I’m princess! You and daddy can be king and queen.” she smiled innocently. I looked at Nina big eyed and mouth a gap, this must have caught Yunho off guard too because his ears started to turn to a shade of red and he coughed awkwardly. “Nina sweetie, you can’t say things like that.” Nina pouted and whined, “it’s okay Yuyu.” I whispered, getting up I walked to my desk and picked up the coffee. “Thanks by the way.” I blushed, shaking the drink lightly, “ah, no problem.” Yunho smiled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, he stood up awkwardly and cleared his throat. “Okay well, thank you for the fun morning, I have to head to work now. Nina be good, take care y/n, I’ll be on time, this time, I swear.” He says, “Don’t keep promises you can’t keep.” I joked. He just laughed and nodded, “see you later.” He smiles, before heading out the door, the door closing slowly closing behind him, I watched as his broad shoulders slowly went out of view.

The day at the school went by fast. The kids were now taking their scheduled nap time, I made sure each kid was comfortable and tucked in before going back to my desk. I silently typed away on my computer, creating plans for the next few classes. I felt my eyes close slightly from the calm, tired atmosphere. I drank my water to stay awake and continued with my tasks, and before I knew it, the school day ended. Every kid greeted their parents, I waved goodbye to each kid with a smile, “see everyone on monday!” I cheered. Looking around the classroom, Nina sat patiently on the waiting stools. “Come on Nina, let’s go outside.” I said, she smiled and happily hopped off the small stool and ran to me, taking my hands into her small ones. I turned off the lights and made sure to have everything before locking the door. “Daddy isn’t here yet.” Nina pouted. I pat her head, “I know sweetheart. He can be late again. How about we sit out here and play a game?” I said. “What game?” She gleamed, I hummed, thinking of a small game that could still be stimulating for her, “how about I spy?” “how do we play..” she tilted her head. God, she was so cute, just like a smaller version of Yunho. I chuckled and sat her down on a step, while I sat down next to her. “If I say I spy..I will give a hint on what I'm looking at and you guess.” I said, Nina nodded softly like she semi understood. So I started the game, “I spy something with green.” Nina looked around, “..hm..tree?” she asked looking at me with a nervous look. I nodded and cheered, “yes that’s correct! Great job Nina~” I smiled, making Nina happy. We played like that until Yunho appeared a few minutes later, he got out of his car and opened his arms as soon as he saw Nina run to him. “Thank you.” he says and I smiled back. “No worries. I think Nina enjoys her time with me, right Nina?” “Yes~~ You’re the best!” she cheered as Yunho put her into her car seat. “I think I owe you dinner for always watching my daughter.” Yunho laughed while closing the door. “I’ll take that offer one day.” I said lightly, grabbing my keys out, actually parking closer to the school this time. “Get home safely Mr. Jeong.” I waved bye, Yunho bit his lip before saying bye back and getting into his car.

Multiple weeks passed, and weeks turned into months. It turned to a routine of Nina getting to the school early with my Starbucks order in her tiny hands as Yunho looked at her fondly. Each conversation with him became close again, just like old times. Sometimes I would think he would blush, but I always turned down that thought. We were only friends and that’s it. For this particular day, school was on break and I didn’t have a lot planned since I was far from family, and I rarely went out so hanging out with friends wasn’t an option. Somehow Nina heard that from a conversation with a coworker, and here I am in front of Yunho’s and Nina’s house. The house was actually quite big, it looked like two stories, the front yard was covered in light snow, decorated with cute Christmas decorations for the upcoming holiday. I rang the doorbell, feeling the cold getting to me despite wearing a warm thin sweater with an oversize hoodie with some warm leggings with beige fur boots. Yunho opened the door and smiled brightly, “Welcome y/n.” he greeted, allowing me inside. I walked in and was hit with the warm air and the smell of hot chocolate in the air. Nina wanted to make hot chocolate with marshmallows, she was dying for you to try it.” Yunho said, his hand accidentally brushing against mine as he was walking past. I blushed and softly nodded, “if you get too hot, you can leave your hoodie on the rack.” he says before rushing back to what I would assume is the kitchen. I walked in that direction as well and was in awe. The kitchen fridge had drawings by Nina pinned to it, with small photos of Yunho with his family and friends. One photo made me smile and blush. It was an old photo of us from college, his arm was wrapped around my shoulder, we were both gleaming with bright smiles on our face, the party strings and confetti stuck in our hairs. “We grew up so much huh.” Yunho commented, seeing me look at the picture. “Yeah, it’s unbelievable.” I said looking at him. I don’t know why it was still awkward between us. It could be me..I don’t know how to stop thinking about him. He clouded my thoughts 24/7 and I couldn’t get him out of my head. “Let’s go sit down.”

A few hours passed, mainly filled with movies and laughter from Nina as I watched Yunho play with her during slow scenes of the movies. It was nice to see him like this, I wonder why his ex would cheat and say she found someone better. He was a busy man, but he always tried to make up for his time by spending extra time with his daughter and cooking and playing with her. “Can I call y/n mommy now?” Nina asked innocently. That comment made me snap out of my thoughts. Yunho stopped giggling and sat up straight. He furrowed his eyebrows. “Why do you say that Nina?” He asked seriously. “Because she reminds me of mommy, but better.” Nina said, pouting. I just got up from the couch, “sorry Nina, but I have to go.” I said, patting her head softly before rushing to the door. I heard Yunho telling Nina to stay where she was and I heard heavy footsteps behind me. I reached the door and opened it quickly, rushing outside, only for my wrist to be caught by the person I didn’t want to look at. “y/n? What’s the matter?” “Nothing Yunho, I just have to go.” I said deadpan, I wanted to cry, tell him I loved him, but how can I without ruining our built friendship again? Yunho’s grip tightened around my wrist then I felt his other hand spin me around, forcing me to look at his chest. “Look at me,” he said sternly. I never heard this tone from him besides the times I would cry into his chest about my pathetic, toxic ex boyfriends. I was shaking slightly, maybe from the cold, or the fear of looking Yunho in the eyes. With the little courage I had, I looked him directly in the eyes, I watched his eyes soften, “Why are you trying to leave-” I cut him off, tears were in my eyes, “Yunho, please let go of me. I need to go. I can’t stay here, I’m sorry. I love Nina, but what she said... I can’t handle it. I can’t handle it because you will never see me like that.” I started, getting out of his grip, backing away slowly. “I loved you Yunho, I actually still love you. Since we were kids, but you will never see me like that, and I don’t want Nina to think I’ll be her new mom when we aren’t anything.” I continued. I didn’t even want to wait for a response, I just rushed to my car, starting it and leaving before Yunho could stop my car. I knew he didn’t love me back…but how wrong I was.

Days went by, then it was weeks. I called my assistant to tell them I got sick and wouldn’t be in for a while, I ignored every text and call that came from Yunho. I really only responded when I knew it was Nina texting from her speech pattern and little kid spelling. I couldn't face him, not after what I said. Was I being childish? Sure, but feelings make you feel like that. I want to hold him, hug him, have him tell me it’s okay, but he’s not mine, and he would never be. I wiped my tears with my tissues as I sat on my sofa with an oversize t-shirt and shorts, used tissues filled with tears and snot covered the table as a twilight movie played in the background. Way to go y/n, a grown adult crying over a problem I made myself because I couldn’t control my emotions. The movie was loudly playing until my doorbell started to ring louder than the tv, I sniffed and paused my movie. I silently groaned, not wanting to open the door. I was going to ignore it, but remembered I was sad enough to deliver food and thought it could be my poor uber eats driver holding my two pizza boxes and cake desserts with extra whip cream. I got up and wiped my face to avoid being asked if I was okay. I didn’t bother looking at my peep hole, what a mistake. As I opened my door, Yunho stood there. He was wearing a simple black tee and gray sweatpants with gray jordans. I wanted to close my door, but he caught it. “y/n..please. Let’s talk.” He says, his voice soft enough that it made me want to cry. I didn’t have the energy to try and kick him out so I just moved away from the door and stepped back. “I just want to talk about the last time I saw- are you crying?” Yunho began before seeing my bloodshot eyes, I turned around not being able to face him. “N-No I’m not.” I said trying my best not to sniffle. Yunho sighed and walked in completely, closing the door behind him. I didn’t want to look at him, until I felt his arms wrap around my body, his hands automatically wrapping around the waist. His warm body heat transferred to me and I wanted to cry even more. He slowly turned me around and gently placed my head against his chest. “You can cry..it’s okay.” he whispers. I cried into his chest, tears kept falling, and Yunho just held me in the middle of my home. I probably spent half an hour just crying into his chest. It was like the old times, and my heart ached. Yunho’s shirt was soaked by the time I slowly got out of his warm hug, despite it being a black shirt, it was noticeable I was crying into it. “I’m sorry Yunho..I’m sorry..” I began to apologize. Yunho just looked at me sadly and gave me a small supportive smile, “y/n love, it’s okay..” he whispers. My head started to ache in pain as the crying took a lot out of me, I groaned softly and put my head against my forehead. “How about you go upstairs to your room? I’ll bring you medicine.” Yunho offered. “What? No I’m okay-” “Stop lying to me please. Just go lie down. I’ll figure out where your room is later.” Yunho said sternly. Not having the energy to argue, I just simply nodded, before heading up I mumbled, “my room is the one on the right at the very end.” before walking up the stairs.

As I laid down on my bed, my head began to hurt even more, Yunho came into my room a few minutes later with a glass full of water, and some head ache medication. He set the stuff down on my night stand, and glanced around my room. My sanrio stuff animals on one side of my bed, and some small posters of music and photos of trips. He chuckles, like seeing my room matched me perfectly. “What?” I mumbled, blush growing onto my cheeks. “Nothing..nothing. Your room just fits you that’s all.” He smiled, sitting on the edge of my bed. I didn’t say anything, too scared to speak to him now that he was in my room. I basically confessed and now I have to deal with the rejection. I reached over and took the medication pills and gulp down the water before laying back in bed. “So..can you just reject me, so we can move on..” “reject you? Why would I reject you?” I frowned at his answer, did he enjoy my pain? “You came here to say I’m sorry, I’m not interested right? So go on and reject me!” I said loudly, ignoring the thumping pain in my head. Yunho just shook his head, “You’re unbelievable.” “what?” I took offense to his comment. He stretched over to the point he was hovering over me, I could feel his warm breath on my face to my neck. His long body completely covering me. “You never even let me answer you that day.” He mumbles, “Because I know-” “No you don’t y/n. Listen to me y/n, I love you as well. I always been so scared to hurt our friendship, and when we graduated. Fuck, I regretted not telling you. Yes I got married and I have my beautiful Nina, but the love never felt like how I love you.” I was speechless. Yunho liked me, like actually likes me. “I..Yunho..” I tried to talk, but nothing came out. It was a lot to process, but my headache made it worse. Yunho looked at me, biting his lip before I felt his lips against mine. It felt so good to have him on me, I kissed him back, our lips molded together like it was suppose to be like this. We kissed for a few more minutes before I pulled my head back to breath. He was so breathtaking, no words could express how good he looked. “I..let’s talk about this later..maybe..” I mumbled. He tilted his head, “Your head still hurts?” he asked, I nodded in reply. He hummed then gave me a kiss on my cheek, “I have an idea. But I need your permission.” he whispers. I furrowed my eyebrows, “What is it..?” I questioned. “Well, I heard from some friends and maybe some articles..that sex helps..but only if you want it.” he whispers, his eyes focused on me. My mouth was agape, not knowing how to answer. I mean, SEX WITH YUNHO? YES, but my mouth couldn’t say it. “I’m..I’m okay with that.” I mumbled, looking up to him. “Don’t worry, I won’t have full sex if you’re uncomfortable. Just let me take care of you. Safe word princess?” My head buzzed, because why was he like this, so caring and sexy. I just wanted him. My head clouded with thoughts of him. “Hmm..it can be red.” I whispered, feeling his chest through his t-shirt. He gave me a smile, before his hands gripped my hips, he gave me a quick kiss on my forehead, before his head reached down to my stomach.

His lips kissed my stomach, reaching my lower region, his hands handling my thighs. He gave quick licks to my inner thighs. I squirmed at the feeling, but my lower region gushed with need. “Yuyu..please.” I whined. He chuckled darkly, “you’ve been calling me Yunho the whole time, so go ahead. Keep calling me Yunho. Or maybe you can call me something different.” He teased, his hands softly rubbing my thighs. “S-Sir please..” I whined looking down at him. His eyes grew dark and he smirked. I lifted my lower region and he gently took off my shorts and panties, his hands immediately cupping my cunt. I let out a soft moan as his fingers rubbed my folds, the feeling was new, but I wanted more. I felt his hot breath and he suddenly landed his tongue onto my folds. My hands tugged on his hair, pushing him deeper into me. His tongue swirled around and sucked. I moaned out, “mhm.. Fuck..sir, feels so good.” He detached himself from my cunt and chuckled, “Yeah? You feel good baby?” He whispers, his voice an octave lower. My head was hazy, his lips touched my cunt once again. He began sucking on my clit, pleasure spreading throughout my body. My nerves were on high, I felt my head fill with dopamine, as it felt so good. My lower region was tightening and I squeezed my thighs together, softly squeezing Yunho’s head. He gripped my thighs and spread me out, opening me more as he lapped over my cunt. “I..I” I couldn’t speak, only moans and groans could be let out. “Go ahead and cum baby.” He mumbled before continuing his action. I felt myself release in his mouth and he kept eating me out as I was calming down, turning sensitive. “Y-Yu..too much.” I whined. He detached himself and I saw my juices around his mouth, as he used his fingers to wipe his mouth, I watched as he inserted his own fingers covered in my juices into his own mouth and he hummed. “You taste good baby.” he smirked. My body was tired, but my headache was gone, I gave him a drunken smile, “Do I now?” I said, feeling like I was high. Yunho just smiled and got off of my bed, “I’ll be right back.” he says, before leaving my room. He came back a few minutes later with a warm towel and more water. “Where’s your wardrobe, for your underwear.” He asked, looking around at the multiple cabinets. “Bottom left on the 3 layer.” I said, he walked over and opened it. I saw him smirk and grab an underwear then close it. “We have to use those toys next time.” He commented, I blushed at his comment. He gently wiped me, knowing I was still sensitive, and changed my panties. As he finished, he helped me drink water then put the blanket on top of me. He laid down next to me, I saw him take off his shirt before his body went under the covers. His arms wrapped around my waist, making me a small spoon in the bed, and I blushed. His head snuggled into my neck as he gently left pecks. “Let’s rest for now. We’ll speak later.” he whispers. I nodded and felt my body get tired, but I knew how I should feel now. Loved. He was in love with me, and I was in love with him. “I love you yuyu..” I mumbled before closing my eyes. “I love you too, my princess.”

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