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pedge-page · 6 months

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Cravings

Frankie 'Catfish' Morales x F!reader

Summary: Pussy eating king frankie, who gets his aforementioned nickname when you tried to come up with ways to prevent him from relapsing back to coke.

Warnings: soooo much oral —pussy eating, cum eating, grinding, dry humping, cumming in pants, kissing, Frankie's mouth is everywhere, alcohol, drunk sex, unprotected sex, little dub con since Frankie doesn't ask if he can cum inside, overstimulation, free use esc situations

Notes: This is NOT the Frankie free-use series I mentioned before; I'm a bit delayed with writing it, so here's something else i had started as a drabble but then... did not stay a drabble. Please like and reblog if you enjoy this fic!

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Rather than drowning himself in coke, Santi slyly suggest he drowns himself in pussy instead. The guys around the table laughed, but you kind of agreed and told him you'd help set him up on hookups. Frankie didn't want to go through the trouble of having to find a potentially different girl each night. Plus, his cravings were sporadic. He would need his fix in that moment whenever it came.

He remembered back when you had drunkenly admitted guys could hardly satisfy you because you had a high drive, usually cumming on your fingers at least 6 times a day before bed, often times more on lonely weekends. He was left speechless at the time, but now he couldn't get Santi's proposition mixed with that knowledge of you out of his head.

You tried to cook him meals instead or buy him hoards of candy, but the idea was stuck in his mind. You knew you'd be a convenient alternative, given you only lived less than 10 minutes away and was always around when he needed help. But you were afraid of crossing that line with one of your all time best friends.

Eventually, being around him so much—"on call" as the boys put it—left you susceptible to his sweet touches, ghosting lips against your ears, sporadic twitches and jittery hands, antsy fingers dancing along your hips. You considered the option heavily before finally caving: you were doing this to HELP him, as his friend. Just a little relief every so often when he absolutely needed it.

You came 9 times on his tongue the first time. It wasn't even that he was trying to make you cum, but the eagerness in the way he moved so fast, growling and moaning at the taste, his lips attached and never left your heat. His big nose just perfectly bumping your clit each time he pointed his tongue dove deep into your craving hole, curling up and hitting that soft spot inside you left you shaking and crying out his name, back arched and fingers clawing at his shoulders.

He was sated for almost 6 days (and you needed the ample recovery time because not even your fingers could make you cum so hard) before the craving hit again. Incessant knuckles pounded your doorstep. You had barely unlocked the door before he was shoving himself in and devouring your mouth with his. "I need another hit, carniño."

He didn't wait for a response, knocking you on your ass on the sofa and stripping your sweats and panties off before throwing one leg over his shoulder. Flattening his tongue, he licks a long strip along from your hole to your clit, obscenely guttural moans from the back of his throat filled your ears. He looked wild-eyed and crazy, as if starved for weeks and was finally given the sugar rush of the century.

You inevitably move in with him, claiming his spare bedroom, worried about how bad he gets when he goes anything longer than a few hours without you.

He makes you ride his face until you're suffocating him, and he still can't get enough. Your juices flood his mouth and nose and his eyes roll back as he loses air. You try to get off and apologies, but he's caged your thighs with his muscular arms, holding your pussy flat against his face as he devoured you more, ignoring your squirming pleas. He hums against your nub, the vibrations sending you into your own addictive high. You cum again, and again, and again, and soon you're tugging his hair, crying his name with fat tears down your cheek, leaning back and scratching at his chest to let off, but its useless. He's so lost in your cunt that you become light headed, barely holding on to the headboard as your lower body continues to spasm.

He only pulls off for a minute, squeezing his nostrils to force out your juices. He's so dazed, pupils blown wide, beard and mustache drenched in your slick, so pussy-drunk and in love that he wants to do it again. "Sweetest fucking cunt, I swear. Just wanna curl up and live inside here, querida."

You offer to suck him off but he gestures embarrassingly down, where you turn to see a dark splotch on the belt-line of his pants where the tip of his spent cock peaks out, dribbling little white drops onto his lower belly, having cum untouched just from eating you out.

It gets to the point where you lock yourself in the bathroom when you take a shower just to have 10 minutes of peace. Your pussy is so puffy, clit so swollen from his constant assault day and night that you have to calm down and remind yourself what good its doing for him. He hasn't touched the white powder in weeks.

He's wondered where you've gone when he sees the bathroom light illuminate under the door. He knocks a few times, then raps harsher with his fists, calling out your name. You tell him you just need a minute. The makeshift locks on the bathroom door of Frankie's apartment isn't designed to keep an ex militant out, and he just pushes it forward with enough force that it gives way and he let's himself in. You go to cover yourself when he pulls the shower curtains away, but the same needy expression on his face as he narrows in to the slit between your legs has you aching once again. It's Pavlovian, the way he stares, practically drooling, hands twitching by his side, sending signals to your cunt to start dripping for his appetite. He spins you around so your cheek is smothered against tile, ass out towards him, not caring about the water drenching his baseball cap, grey shirt and pants as he kneels on the shower floor and puts his face between your legs. He moans when his lips start sucking on your nub, tongue thrusting in and out of your hole. He keeps you in your spread position with his arms holding your waist, making their way to spread your ass for him to dive further in, knees between your heels. You reach one arm back, knocking his cap off as you card your fingers through his damp hair, gripping it when you cum and grind yourself back on his scruffy face.

He's otherwise so gentle, so soft spoken, but when he gets between your legs, something primal takes over and you can hardly recognize him.

Sometime in the evening while you were watching a movie, you see his knee bouncing next to you. You has snapped at him earlier and refused his hunger when he peppered kisses all over your neck, down your back, then tried to yank your pants down while you were cooking dinner for the two of you, nearly burning your arm on the stove from such force.

You hated that you had outright refused him for the first time, but the truthfully the swollenness between your legs needed rest before he wrecked you again. He's biting his lip so hard, stealing glances at you before rubbing his hair and shifting his cap back on.

You instead take your top off, having gotten comfortable enough to go without a bra when it was just the two of you. Frankie is a bit shocked, only used to seeing you strip your pants first before anything else.

You crawl over to him before sitting in his lap, thighs spread over his. He swallows the lump in his throat, unable to take his eyes off of your tits right in front of him. His legs are still bouncing in agitation, the movement making your breasts jiggle right in front of him. He groans, licking his lips, breathing heavily.

"She needs a break, Fish," you said quietly, your soft and small hands seeking his big and callous ones, pulling them up over your waist before letting them settle on your cups.

He doesn't hesitate or ask further, head leaning forward and lips immediately latching on to your nipple. He moans, eyes closed as he sucks around the areola, tongue swirling your pebble as he kneads them in his hands.

You're trying so hard not to grind down on his cock, instead sitting upright on your knees so you're not fully resting your damp panty-covered crotch against the tent in his pants. The position is more head level with your tits, but he doesn't like that. He grips your hips to bring you flush against him, gasping out when you instinctually start rocking your hips steadily against his clothed length.

He noticed how heavily your chest is flexing, glaring up at you to see your brows furrowed, face tilted towards the ceiling trying not to cum on him. He cups his hands against your cheeks and brings you in for a sweet kiss, his lips slotting perfectly against yours as his hands return to palming your breasts. He presses his forehead against yours so your eyes meet, goosebumps wracking your whole body at the lust behind his eyes, and something more you couldn't place. "So good to me, querida. Perfect lips"—he gently pecks your lips—"perfect tits"—then a generous kiss to each of your breasts—"my perfect girl." You could smell the scent of your pussy on his lips, as if they'd be stained there now. Kissing your lips, your throat, collarbone, down the valley of your breasts, and erect nipples, and all the way back up again, was enough to keep his mouth busy and his craving subsided. And it worked almost as well, the two of you cumming sticky and wet against one another in your underwear with heavy sighs and sated eyes; you had calmed him down enough to get him to remove his clothes and put on a fresh pair of boxers before tucking him to his own bed with your favorite blanket.

As you tip toed into the bathroom to prep for a bath, you stared at your naked reflection: how swollen, and red your breasts were, covered in raised bite marks the shape of Frankie's jaws. Among your new scars are the faded scratches and bruises of Frankie's fingertips on your waist, stomach and lower back from how incessantly he devours you while his face is buried in your sopping pussy, like he had to sink his claws into you so you wouldn't slip away as he feasted. You look like you were attacked by a passionate lion.

His sweet nothings every time he stared into your eyes was what really turned you on. You tell yourself that it was just the withdrawal symptoms talking. That he was basically just high on a new drug.

To you, it must have looked like Frankie's craving were only getting worse with how increasingly frequent his lips found themselves attached to your body. In truth, his desire for coke steadily grew less, and it wasn't the replacement of the powder that he was seeking from you but rather the insaitability of finally having you that grew stronger.

The rest of boys noticed the effects you're having on Frankie too. They see it when he meets them for a drink every other Saturday, the way he anxiously taps his foot under the table, glancing around like he's unsure what to do, where to go, because he can't sit still. It's the signs of his cravings kicking back in, and they're all worried at first. But it's not until you up show later and slide into the booth next to him that they notice: Frankie casually drapes his arm around your shoulders like he always did—that part was normal. But what was new is how they could visibly see Frankie's heart rate slow, the way he slumped against the bench and completely calmed down from just your presence.

They also couldn't help but notice the way his eyes raked you with a mix of lust, love, and obsession, his dark gaze never once leaving the sight of you the entire night. All the while you laughed and chatted with them about your week, oblivious to the change in demeanor of your friend from just a few months ago.

You assured the boys that you two weren't fucking—and it was true, you hadn't slept with him once. albeit a few blow jobs, it was exclusively just Frankie eating you out or kissing. You were very hopeful that his cravings were going to go away soon since its the longest he's been off coke. You were even talking to your old landlord to see if your old apartment a few blocks away still had openings since you'd be moving out of Frankie's place soon. Santi couldn't help but see Frankie's dejection, his arm sliding away from you as he excused himself to get more beer.

By the end of the night, Frankie was drunk out of his mind. Will suggested he slow down so he wouldn't pass out before he could walk home. It sounded like a good plan, until Francisco glanced over to the bar and saw you sitting there and smiling at a guy who was flirting with you. Fish took a giant gulp of his beer, downing the entire jug before slamming it on the table and striding out of the booth towards you. He overheard the guy asking if you had a ride home tonight.

"She comes home with me. Every. Night," he slurred, his sweaty palm skimming possessively over your jean-clad thigh and snaking between your legs, face coming so close to you that your noses slide against each other. Frankie's eyes bore into yours with so much desire, it bordered on range. You knew those were his craving eyes. The pungent smell of alcohol on his breath made you flinch as he tried to pull you in for a kiss. You quickly tell the confused guy that he's your roommate and you need to get him home immediately. You could barely finish excusing yourself from the stranger before Frankie was dragging you out of the bar. You managed to wave to the others, making a drinking gesture and pointing to Frankie before being yanked into the street.

He was stumbling all over the place, breath uneven as you hoisted him up to lean against you, eventually making it through his apartment entrance and turning the key to unlock his unit.

With a renewed sense of urgency, Frankie slammed the door close behind him and pinned you up against it, his hands roaming your body as his mouth desperately sought yours. "Craving," he mumbled against your open lips. "Need"—tongue forcing its way into your mouth, he nipped at your lower lip, sucking on it before releasing with a pop— "need you," he panted.

"I know, I know—Jesus Fish. I'm—gonna help—gonna take care of you—" you breathed, ashamed of how quickly you could feel your panties dampen. It never bothered him though, and only encouraged his sweet tooth more. You weren't nearly as drunk as him, but your few margaritas made you extremely susceptible, even welcoming, to his touch.

You hummed into his shoulder when his hard bulge rubbed purposefully against your covered core. He bit your earlobe as he fisted your low-neck shirt before pulling it down roughly, the fabric tearing away. You gasped, ready to scold him but he pressed his mouth on you again, teeth clashing, his hands slotting down your body to pinch, grope, scratch at any bit of skin he could get.

"So—so good t'me. Always taking—such good care of me, cariño."

His fingers dip into your ass and hoist you up so he's carrying you, your arms and legs wrapped securely around him as he boldered through his apartment, kicking his door open before tossing you on the bed, watching you bounce. You never break eye contact as you unbutton your jeans at the same time Frankie pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it aside to unfasten his belt and zipper.

Clambering over you to reseal your lips, you breath in his scent, hands exploring his tone arms, down his chest and muscle middle all the way to the little pooch of tummy hanging. His hands gripped your jeans and pulled them along with you down the length of the bed, bringing you to the edge, his grip pushing up on the back of your thighs so your knees are digging against your rib cage, pulsing pussy exposed at his mercy. "I fuckin' love this pussy, querida," he growled before burying his face between you folds for the thounsandth time. "So fuckin' wet for me," he mumbled against your thigh, nipping at the skin.

He ate you out with precision, eyes hungry watching you, determined to make you fall apart quickly. He wasn't doing it for his own taste, but the sheer satisfaction of watching you writhe for him, knowing your body inside out as the only one who could get you like this. He's languidly thrusting two fingers in and out. You didn't even need to be stretched: he'd practically been prepping you for months now. You're crying out into the air as you cum, hips bucking against his nose with your heels digging into his shoulder blades. Frankie pulls away, kissing your stomach and up your tits before making you taste yourself on his lips.

The feeling of his cock nudging your entrance make your once dazed eyes go wide and alert. He pauses, suddenly worried. He can't read your expression, time dragging out too long and it scares the fuck out of him that he's taking it too far, that you didn't agree to this.

He had wanted to tell you everything right then: how he dreams of you riding him, or when he fists his cock in the shower when you're at work to the thought of what your tight walls would feel like wrapped around him when first violates you, how he automatically gets aroused now when he just sees you or smells your laundry, or admitting how many times he's actually cum in his pants without you noticing when he is buried between your legs, dying to have you cum around his cock instead of his tongue.

It's not until you sense his hesitation that you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him close, sharing the same breath of air, nodding as your calves hook over his ass and squeeze his hips, the tip of his flush cock slipping in to your wet heat.

You both sigh heavily into each other's mouth when he takes charge again and thrusts fully inside you. He scrunches his eyes closed, forehead dipping down to your breast bone to revel in the overwhelming feeling of the tight space inside you.

You warmly caress his hair to bring him back up to you, kissing him and whispering, lips trembling, "Don't—don't think about it. Just... just use me."

His heart sank: You probably just thought this was another hit for him.

He didn't want to think about the fact that you were everything he'd needed in that moment, the image of perfection beneath him beautifully laid out for his eyes, his touch, but not for his soul. He gritted his teeth, pulling out then slamming back in, jolting your whole body up the mattress. It was fast, rough, and not at all how he wanted your first time to be with him, but he couldn't control his urges. He was gasping loudly as he fucked you, your cunt gushing around his member, the obscene sound of slick and skin slapping skin echoing in his otherwise empty apartment.

He brought his thumb to rub messy circles on your clit, sending you into a spasm of praises and expletives, but the most satisfying sound was his name repeated over and over again.

He barely manages to pull out before jerking his cock only twice and creaming all over your folds and clit. Groaning in post orgasmic bliss, he watches you heaving and shaking, filthy pussy covered in his seed. Half of his mind is only working now as he slides back down to lap you clean with his mouth, his own saltiness filling his throat, fingers scissoring inside to get your juices flowing, obsessed with the sight in front of him: your back arched off the bed, heels digging into his lower back as his hands pinning your hips down flat so he can work his mouth over you. And then you're cumming again, so angelic on his tongue, your sweet moans going right to his dick, hardening once again as he ruts into the mattress. He nips your clit and sucks, reluctant to pull away as he lines up and splits you open. You scream out, and if it weren't for the way your barely-recovered battered walls kept sucking him back in, he'd be worried you're in pain. His hands hook under your lower back, lifting you off the bed as he plows into your squelching cunt over and over again.

Youre both covered in a thin layer of sweat, the pillows and comforter of his bed strewn haphazardly around the floor as he dominates you. The headboard slammed recklessly agains the wall, and neither of you cared about your neighbors trying to sleep at 1 in the morning. He ignores the oversensitivity of his cock and your clit, forcing you both into an unexpected climb of another orgasm like it was a primal need.

It was happening without warning; he should be asking for permission, but he knew you took the pill, and he's been dying to release inside you from the moment you first let him put his lips on you. You're cumming on his cock again, hips bucking and grinding against him without your clit being touched, and he was done for.

With a harsh cry, he climaxes again, his length flooding your womb with ribbons of white. His arm shoots in front of him, flat on the bed next to your ear to hold himself up so he didn't crash down on you as his hips jerked, pushing his seed deeper in to you.

He rested most of his weight on top of you, labored breaths combined into one. He kisses the top of your nose, whispering "thank you," unsticking your sweaty bodies as he rolls you two over to have you lying on top, your head next to his. He pats your hair over your ear, pebbling your forehead and eyelids in kisses. His cock twitched in your spent heat, cum leaking out and dripping down to his balls and on the bed.

"Glad I—could...help..." you mumbled, eyes already closed as you drifted into sleep.

His softening dick slipped from your pussy, warm hands wiping you with his shirt before settling you gently on a pillow. He watched the gentle rise and fall of your breaths, naked and fast alseep on his bed. He pulled his sheets higher to your shoulder, his heart beating faster at the way you snuggled further into his pillow.

Frankie stared at the ceiling for hours, hand on his forehead in anguish, wondering how the fuck he was supposed to tell you it wasn't cocaine he was craving last night.

- - - -

Part 2: Crash

Series masterlist

#pedro pascal smut #francisco morales #frankie morales smut #triple frontier smut #triple frontier #frankie morales #catfish morales #catfish morales smut #frankie catfish morales #frankie catfish morlaes smut #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #catfish morales x reader

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upsidedownwithsteve · 4 months

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Eddie Munson x fem!reader

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. But I want to.”

It had become a call and response of sorts, a mantra that Eddie seemed to live by, if not only for you. Usually his words were followed up by a kiss, something sweet pressed to your cheek. Or he’d pull you into him by your belt loops, hands a little rough but his intentions always soft, his face dropping to the crook of your neck so he could nuzzle his nose there, like he didn’t really know how else he could possibly give you all the love he had for you.

So when your car inevitably gave up, the clutch grinding and the gears sticking, Eddie didn’t hesitate. You didn’t even ask, always feeling bad for expecting but it didn’t come to a surprise when he took your keys from you and dropped a kiss to the corner of your mouth, a little off kilter from the early morning sleep that still clung to him.

“Eddie,” you began, as usual. Soft and shy and guilt ridden. “You don’t have to. I know you’re busy right now.”

“Never too busy for my girl,” he responded, wincing a little as he dug out his chocolate pop-tart from the still too hot toaster. He’d learnt the hard way not to use a knife anymore. He tore off a piece of pastry, a sprinkle on his cheek, ruby red. “Besides, what do I tell you, huh? I know I don’t have to - I want to, sweetheart.”

He grinned when you scrunched your nose, embarrassment and too much love clinging to you, Eddie’s adoration too obvious when he leaned down to where you sat with your coffee. He let you brush away the sprinkle, grumbling about how he was saving it for later but his protests died off on his lips when you stole them for a kiss, your hands on his stubbly cheeks.

The boy was pink when you pulled back, pleased looking and much more awake. Then, Eddie winked as he spun your keys around own finger, the rest of his breakfast bitten between his teeth as he left for work, always a flurry bed mussed curls and silver chains.

When he didn’t arrive home by five, you knew exactly why. It wasn’t too long a walk to the garage, but you knew he’d scold you all the same. That’s why you had a Tupperware box full of pasta in your hands, a foil wrapped cookie on top, still warm from when you’d pulled it from the oven.

Sure enough, when you arrived at the almost empty garage, your boyfriend was the only one left working. You passed Wayne as you ducked under the half closed shutter, sharing the same fond look of faux annoyance that you pretended to both have for the younger Munson and you promised the man there was more pasta for him at home.

Eddie didn’t see you approach, too busy with half of his body under the hood of your car, poking and prodding it with tools you didn’t know the name of. You made sure to make enough noise before you rested a hand on the small of his back, fingers skating over the bare strip of skin left exposed between his shirt and jeans.

His smile was too much when he appeared from the car, always happy to see you. And like you thought he would, despite his grin and the way his eyes lit up, he grumbled:

“What’re you doin walkin’ half way across town on your own, huh?”

You rolled your eyes even if you didn’t mean it, your expression still fond and you pushed his dinner to his chest. He accepted the food with a happy hum, peeking into the container to eye it appreciatively.

“It’s a twenty minute walk, handsome,” you replied. “And it’s very much still light out.” You smiled at his worry because the evening behind you was barely beginning, the summer sun still high enough in the sky to keep the sidewalks golden, the warmth lingering.

Eddie grumbled again, no real heat behind it as he leaned in for a kiss, careful not to put his dirty hands on you. “Still. You’re too pretty to walkin’ around alone.” Another kiss, this one softer, longer. “Thanks for dinner, sweetheart.”

You beamed, happy to have helped. “Least I can do since you’re fixing my car.” You frowned at the vehicle like it had offended you. “How’s it looking?”

“She’ll live,” Eddie sighed dramatically, giving the roof a pat. “If you remember to change her oil, that is.”

Your cheeks burned.

“But I’ve sorted the clutch, so that shouldn’t stick anymore and there’s a part needed for the gearbox, but I’ve got that on order,” the boy bit into his cookie, desperate for sugar. He moaned, a sinful noise that was meant for both you and the chocolate. “Hopefully it’ll be here tomorrow so I’ll do one more late night, get this hunka’ junk back on the road for you in no time.”

You knew it was a fruitless effort to ask Eddie to let you pay in anyway. Hell, Wayne would shut you down just as hard. Eddie didn’t want you paying for any of his hourly rates, overtime or not. And as he’d told you before, costs for parts could get lost sometimes, receipts slipping down the backs of desks, never to be seen again.

So you smiled at him instead, soft and sweet and warm like the summer. You didn’t mind the oil stains on his shirt as you leaned in, hands against his torso, feeling the faint lines of muscles and soft skin there.

“Thank you,” you murmured against his lips, stretching up on your toes to bump your nose against his. A kiss, tasting like chocolate chips, lingering and lazy. “I love you.”

Eddie went shy like he’d never heard you say the words before. Maybe you didn’t say them enough, maybe you needed to remind him hourly, especially if it got him looking at you like that, eyes all wide and soft and awe filled.

He pecked your lips, your cheek, your jaw, nose pushing at the space under your ear as he told you the same. “I love you too, pretty.”

You didn’t need to hear it back, as nice as the words sounded on his lips. Eddie showed you how much he loved you every single day.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie Munson fanfiction #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson blurb #Eddie Munson imagine #UDWSLOVELANGUAGES

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beeslibrarycorner · 1 month

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Night Time Aid

WARNING: MDNI, smut

You were tossing and turning, frustrated that you couldn’t fall asleep. Your nightgown felt constricting the more you moved and the heat radiating off of cooper wasn’t helping much either. You hadn’t realized cooper had woken up until his arm tightened around you.

“Go back to bed baby, I’m sorry I woke you up” you grumbled as you yawned and rubbed your eyes trying to get out of his grip. Your attempt was useless because he kept inching closer.

“I’m not going back to sleep until I know your sleeping” he murmured and pushed his face into the skin of your neck. He suddenly detached from you and sat up.

“I have an idea” he said a grin growing on his face as he pulled you up with him. He dragged you out of bed and guided you to the living room. He pushed you onto the recliner and you let him, curious about what his idea was.

He grabbed the remote and turned on the tv, put it to a channel with some documentary on. He threw the remote somewhere and then dropped to his knees, “what are you doing?” you asked him.

“I’m going to help fix your little problem, just relax and watch what’s on the tv” he said and then he pulled up your nightgown and he got to work.

Mouth finding your clit instantly and sucking hard. You gasped at the sensation, your hand moving to grab onto the arms of the chair to steady yourself.

The light of the tv illuminated the both of you in a low blue light. You looked down to watch what cooper was doing and he met your gaze.

He opened his mouth and licked up what was leaking out of your cunt. “Keep your focus on the screen don’t focus on me honey” he said before closing his mouth around your clit again and humming at the taste.

You tried bucking your hips into his face but he pinned your hips down with one arm. You couldn’t even focus on what was on the screen, your eyes felt too heavy.

He abruptly stopped sucking on your clit and inserted two fingers into you. He rests his head on the top of your thigh.

“My poor little love needs to relax, that’s why I’m here sweetheart. So I can help you shut your brain off” he cooed his fingers crooking upward into the spongy tissue.

You tighten up at the feeling and he chuckles. “Look at you” he cooed. You looked down to see his smiling face. “You look so relaxed already, good girl” he said.

He took his fingers out of you and put them in his mouth humming at the taste. You looked at him puzzled the pleasure you were feeling was ebbing away.

“Don’t look so disappointed sweetheart, I promise you everything is going to feel so good.” He said reassuringly.

And then he got back to work rubbing your clit slowly before insirting two fingers in again. You hummed throwing your head back relishing in the pleasure you were feeling.

“She is so needy isn’t she?” he asked and you looked at him not really understanding what he was getting at. He continues, “your pussy, she’s very needy and demanding isn’t she sweetheart??

You nod feeling goosebumps spread at his words and the way everything feels. The first inkling of a warning that your orgasm was coming startled you.

You were enjoying the constant pleasure that you didn’t want it to end. Cooper smirked knowingly, he always knew when you were starting to get close even before you knew.

“Let go sweetie, you’ll feel so much better afterward” he murmured before reattaching his mouth to your clit and curling his fingers hard.

He hummed against the flesh, the sensation made you eyes roll to the back of your head. The pressure and movement of his fingers against your upper wall felt like too much.

It was inevitable, you cum seconds later and it’s intense. You inhale a sharp breathe, convulsing against his mouth and fingers. He doesn’t let up until he knows your fully spent and stops when overstimulation starts to seep in.

The both of you catch your breath, the tv playing in the background. There’s a coral reef and colorful fish on screen, the both of you look in silence before he grabs the remote from the floor and turns the tv off.

He turns to you, a lazy grin on his face. “You look so much more relaxed honey, let’s get you to bed” he said before pulling you to stand with him.

He brings you back to bed after cleaning you up. He was pressing kisses into your skin and telling you how much of a good girl you were and how much he loved you.

“I wouldn’t mind being between your legs every time you have trouble falling asleep” he murmured into your hair and you giggled at the comment.

He started rubbing slow soothing circles into your back. It only took a couple of minutes for you to fall asleep with your head cradled against his chest.

#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #fallout

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teatreeoilll · 5 months

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𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧'𝐭 (𝐇𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐚 𝐇𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢 𝐗 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

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w/c - 1.6k content - MDNI! fem!reader, porn with plot, hurt/comfort??, riding Hiromi in the bath is a necessity at this point

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After you leave, Higuruma Hiromi plummets onto the sofa, his limbs sprawled on the brown leather, dark, tired eyes glued to the dim TV screen. The yellow lights of his apartment taunt him, illuminating the half-empty closet, the one toothbrush left in the cup on the sink, and the empty spot where your suitcase used to lay beneath the bed.

Hiromi never took himself for a fool; the moment he'd known he fell in love, on a damp park bench, holding a cup of coffee in his frozen fingers, he uttered clearly, "You'll grow tired of me."

To which you simply laid a hand on top of his, "Drink your coffee; it'll get cold." And it was summer again, for a while. Slowly but surely, autumn neared - a missed anniversary, a canceled date, late nights at work, always followed by an apology and a kiss on the forehead that merely delayed the inevitable.

"Not going to answer that?" The secretary watches Higuruma stare at the ringing phone on the table, concerned by the sudden hint of emotion in his eyes.

"A misdial," He brushes off, attempting to direct his thoughts back at the paperwork on his desk.

The phone comes back to life, "It's ringing again," she remarks.

"It is," he agrees, blinking slowly while reading your name on the screen, thinking it more unlikely than god himself calling to have a chat as he slides his finger on the screen, "Hello?"

"Hiromi," the sound of his name coming from your lips almost sends his mind spiraling, "I need help."

There are many lawyers in Japan, but none like Higuruma Hiromi. You knew that, standing in the corner of the police interrogation room, dialing the number you deleted from your contacts but was still etched into your brain.

"Where are you?"

Regret settled in your mind; god, what a stupid idea, "This was a mistake," you utter into the phone.

"Where are you?" He repeats, chair squeaking as he gets up to push papers into his suitcase.

You pause, deep breaths audible through the line, "Yotsuya Police Station."

"She's a real something, your client," the police officer escorting Hiromi tugs at his mustache, pressing the elevator button restlessly, "Hit a man o'er the head, put him in the ICU for three days." The elevator finally opens, "She admitted it earlier, girls these days think every man is coming after them, so it's fine to bash their head in with a bottle o' wine."

Hiromi clutches onto the handle of his suitcase, fingernails digging into the leather.

"Third door on the left," the police officer leaves him in the hallway.

Hiromi hesitates, his fingers lingering on the handle as his breaths grow shallow. A rustle in the room prompts him to open the door, and he enters a bare, white space. In the middle of the room stands a large table, hiding half of your body underneath it.

Your eyes shoot up at the opening door, "Hiromi," and he feels a tug in his chest at the raspiness of your voice.

He sits on the chair across from you, loosening the tie on his neck as he places his suitcase on the table's shiny surface, "Was it a good wine?"

You stare blankly at his words, "Store bought."

"Good."

It's silent save for his suitcase's rustling when he takes a notepad out of it. Your eyes cling to his face, "Hiromi."

His arm jolts at the sound of his name, the pen in his hand leaving a mark on the paper, "When did it happen?"

"Hiromi," you repeat, your leg bouncing under the table, awaiting his reaction. "Why'd you come?"

"Any witnesses?" He asks, eyes fixed on his notepad in front of him.

"Hiromi!" You snap, "Would you talk to me?"

"I am," he moves the notepad away, stiff hand clinging to his knee.

"You're not," you breathe, "fuck, I left, and you didn't even call."

"Would you have answered?"

You grow silent, eyes scanning the empty room to find something, anything else to focus on, "I -"

"I came because you called," he can't stand to see that look on your face, his fingers digging into the fabric of his trousers.

"I would have come too," you admit softly, heart about to tear out of your chest, "If you called."

"Then why did you leave?" It's not that he didn't know the answer; it came out of his mouth as a desperate man's plea, a beggar clinging to his empty cup.

"To see if you'd call," you responded.

"And then I didn't."

"And then you didn't," and he sees it all again: empty cupboards, the spare key to the apartment lying flat on the coffee table, laughing at him.

For a moment, he recalls where he is, your unbrushed hair, disheveled clothes hanging off your body, red eyes under the bleak fluorescent retaining a defeated look that eagerly awaits whatever is to come out of his mouth next, "Any witnesses?"

He opens the door to his apartment with a shaking hand, a strange relief washing over him when he lets you walk in first, "Are you sure you want to stay here?"

"I doubt the landlord's wife would let me stay in that place, after I smashed a bottle over her husband's head and all, y'know."

"Right," he flicks on the lights.

You were very much aware of his routine at that point: a cup of tea, walking by the dying plant he always forgets to water, the hum of a record he'd put on while drawing a bath and then soak in until the skin on his fingers would shrivel.

You sat on the sofa, staring in silence at some poorly made sitcom playing on the TV as the door to the bathroom closed. You decide to get up, pacing around the apartment, which still looks just like the way you left it, the closet still standing half empty, like it's waiting to be filled with your clothes yet again, "God, that man."

You strip, looking over at the change of clothes he'd left for you, ignoring it as you walk up to the bathroom door.

"You don't have to do that," Hiromi mutters at your naked figure, his breath hitching the closer you draw to the bath.

"I want a bath too," your lips curl up as your foot touches the warm water, steam still clouding the vicinity. You put it firmly on the ceramic bottom before lowering your body into the warm bath, breathing out a sigh at the feeling.

You straddle him, running a hand over his chest, reaching his head, letting your fingers brush wet strands of hair out of his face, "You look good like this, Hiro," you mutter, bending down to press a chaste kiss on his lips, tasting the remnants of black tea on his mouth. A hushed moan escapes your lips when you feel him twitch beneath you.

He raises an arm, his fingers tangling themselves in your hair as he pushes your head further down, his breath fanning over your face for a split second before he parts your lips with his tongue, water splashing as he raises another arm to wrap around your back.

"God, you're beautiful," he hums, growing dizzy when you rock your hips against him, pussy gliding against his hard cock, waves of warm water crashing onto the bathroom floor while you moan into his mouth, fingernails raking through his damp hair.

"I-It's a shame, Hiro," you stutter, letting a soft pant out of your mouth as you lower a hand under the water, tightening your fingers around his cock to align it with your entrance, "I-If you called, we could've - " you moan as he thrusts his hips up, feeling the tip of his cock push in before sinking yourself onto his length, "done this a lot sooner."

Hiromi lets out a strangled groan, dark eyes focused on your face twisting with pleasure as you lift yourself up, only to come down on his length again, your hands leaving his hair to hold yourself steady against his wet chest, fingernails leaving crescent moons on his skin.

"Fuck - " He breathes, his large hands gripping your waist, helping you as you raise and lower your hips onto him while he listens to your breath quickening, biting back a moan every time the water splashes at the smack of your thighs against his hips.

Your hips stutter, the tip of his cock hitting the spot inside you that made you see stars, vision blurred by the steam as you tried to keep up the pace, muscles in your thighs burning as you rode him, "Hiro - fuck - " his name comes out as a plea, which he recognizes promptly, releasing the grip on the side of your waist to slip a hand between your legs, tracing a long finger over your folds.

"A little more f' me, baby," He urges, rubbing circles over your clit, watching the beads of sweat form on your forehead, trying to hold off his own high as he feels your walls flutter around him, "like that - fuck," he groaned as you dug your fingernails deeper in his skin.

"Hiro - " and there's nothing left to hold on to, your back arching, heat pooling in your stomach as you lower yourself desperately on his cock, coming undone under the touch of his fingers still working on your clit, feeling his cock twitch, emptying himself inside you as your vision spots.

Your breath slows as you melt into his arms, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck, "Not much left of the bath," you chuckle breathlessly, looking at the puddles of water covering the floor.

"It's fine," he mutters into your hair, his hands wrapping themselves around your back, and you feel a twitch from his cock beneath you, "I think it's time for bed anyway."

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gtgbabie0 · 1 year

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A cold heart

{After distancing yourself from Cregan the truth finally comes out}

Hope you enjoy as always lovelies! 💕

CW// reader is pregnant

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Cregan grew up in the North, he became acclimatised to the cold weather as he grew, but yet he’s never felt so cold then he does right now in your shared bedchambers, despite the warmth of the fire. It’s a type of feeling that completely renders him numb. An aching feeling that sits heavy against his chest, it’s almost as if he can’t breathe.

He watches you climb into bed slipping underneath the many furs. His heart freezes as the realisation slowly sets in, he’s in for another night of silence, and like every other night for the past few weeks you’ll sleep as far away as possible, shrugging off his touch.

It's not that you didn't want him to touch you, quite the opposite actually. You just couldn't risk his wandering hands grazing against your tiny bump, you wouldn't let him find out, not that way.

He doesn’t think he can go another night of isolation. So he reaches out to you in hopes you’ll reopen your caged heart to him once again, just as you did all those moons ago when he confessed his feelings to you.

“Love, will you please tell me what’s bothering you? I can’t stand this silence” he says, a gentle hand against your shoulder and he winces when he feels you go rigid under his palm.

He retreats his hand not wanting to be the cause of your discomfort. You don’t look at him, far too afraid of the pain that will stain his face.

It’s not that you don’t want to tell him, in all honesty, you so desperately wanted to share the news, but you’ve heard so my awful stories from other ladies about their husbands seeking pleasure through other means, how they are completely abandoned by them simply because they were ‘undesirable’ it hurt to hear. You couldn’t imagine going through that.

So maybe that’s why you push Cregan away, because if you do it first it’ll hurt less when does inevitably happen.

“Nothing is wrong Cregan, I’m tired,” you say, wrapping your arms around yourself in search of comfort.

He likes to think that he is a calm man, never quick to anger but right now in this moment, anger is quick to warm his heart.

“Do not lie to me” he says, tone firm. You have only ever heard that when some lord made the mistake of insulting you in front of him, you remember thinking how you never wanted to be on the receiving end of that, yet here you are.

You sigh, biting back the tears that sting the back of your throat. “I just want to sleep Cregan” you whisper and he doesn’t miss the way your voice quivers.

You hear him let out a deep breath, then the bed shifts and he’s getting ready. The sudden change in the atmosphere makes you sit up, bringing the furs up with you, protecting yourself from the bitter cold.

“Where are you going?” You ask, watching as he laces up his boots, his eyes flicker to yours for a moment but they don’t linger long.

“I have work to do. Don’t wait up for me” he tells you and before you even have time to try and even think of what to say he’s gone.

You don’t bother stopping the tears that fall so effortlessly from your eyes. A regretful sob broke through your lips as you feel yourself engulfed by unwavering guilt, the type that pinches at your heart leaving bruises in its wake.

You can’t find solace in sleep, not without Cregan beside you. So you wait, and wait a book in your lap but you pay it no mind as your eyes stay fixed on the door.

You questioned whether or not he had already found another woman. Filthy thoughts tainting your mind, and you know it’s silly. Cregan would never break your trust or heart like that, never.

The hours seem to drag, and you contemplate if you should go out and find him yourself to say your sorries and give him a well-earned explanation, but the Maesters told you rest is the best thing for the babe.

Then the heavy wooden door opens, and there he is. “I told you not to wait up,” he says, and you watch him intently as he takes off his furs and leather.

You want to speak but you haven’t the slightest idea of where to even begin, there are so many words that rattle around in your brain but none of them seem good enough.

He looks over at you, and if it weren’t for the anger that still tingles his skin he would’ve felt sorry for the way you seemed to go in on yourself.

“Have I done something? Offended you somehow?— hurt you?” He wonders, wincing at the way his voice trembles, and the sound brings tears to your eyes.

You shake your head, trying to string a sentence together but the only thing that comes out is a pitiful sob. Emotions collide in your chest.

“Then what is it y/n? Why are you treating me as if I’m a stranger?” He asks, sitting at the end of the bed.

You study the scars that litter his chest, the one that travels across his ribcage that you love to you trace with gentle fingers, and you yearn to be held by him once again.

“I’m so sorry,” you tell him, your hand splayed against your collarbones. You can’t stop the cries that escape you. You shuffle down to where he’s sitting, a careful hand against his shoulder. “I’m sorry Cregan- I can explain” you gasp.

His slightly calloused hand soothes the expanse of your back, he hates seeing you so upset. The painful expression that paints your face, how your eyebrows furrow together. He promised himself that he’d do anything in his power to prevent this.

He wants to be mad, but he can't not when your shoulders shake as you try to stifle your cries behind a shaky hand.

“Love, breathe,” he says, taking your hand in his as he guides you through deep breaths. He’s always been so good at that.

He brings your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently and you sigh at the feeling of his beard against your skin.

“Cregan, I-” you look up at him as he urges you to continue, worry laced through his eyes, “I am with child” you whisper, your eyes flickering down to where your hands lay against his lap entwined with his own.

“The ladies have said- told stories of how their bodies change, how they no longer look the same as before- their husbands, they-” you sob, not being able to finish the sentence, a desperate need to get him to understand. And he does, he knows what you’re trying to say, and it hurts him beyond words that you would ever even consider the possibility.

His hands gently cup your tearful face, and he gives you the most endearing look he could muster. “My precious wife” he starts, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “You are the light of my life, my heart is yours entirely,” he tells you, a sense of relief washing over him as you fling yourself into his arms.

It was silly of you to doubt his love, especially for you. “I know- I’m sorry,” you tell him, kissing his shoulder.

“How long have you known?” He asks, his hands grasping at your hips.

“I had a suspicion for a while” you confess, bringing his hands to your belly. You let out a breathy giggle at the way his eyes light up with excitement as his hand soothe the expanse of your stomach.

He presses a gentle kiss to your lips before wiping away the stray tears that fall from your lashes, “A pup of our own eh?” He says, a teasing look flashing through his eyes as he urges you to lay against the pillows.

His hand dips underneath your nightdress grazing along your thigh travelling to rest at the curve of your stomach, your bump was barely there but yet he knows the difference. He smiles at you softly, enjoying the way your breath hitches at his touch.

“I promise I’ll take such good care of you, and our little one” he says, love bleeding into his tone as he peppers your neck with kisses. Your fingers thread through his hair as you urge him closer to you, you had missed him more than you thought.

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talaok · 4 months

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Could you write about Pedro x Reader's first kiss? She's also an actress, and they became great friends while filming a movie together. Eventually, they fall in love... and, well, their first kiss happens. Just something really fluffy and romantic :) love u

Pairing: Pedro pascal x gn!reader

a/n: love you more <3 babe, also for some reason I wrote the beginning of this like it's the monologue at the start of a rom-com so don't mind that, i haven't written in a while, i need to get back into it

You weren't looking for love.

You weren't looking for anything really, just a new job, a new role, a reason to get away from the city for a while, and then... and then as always life got in the way.

They say love comes when you're least expecting it, and I guess they were right, because if there was one thing you weren't expecting, was to fall in love with the guy you spilled coffee on your first day on set.

But then again, already then you knew something was different, as he laughed while you stood there mortified, as picked up the cup for you, as he smiled like you'd just done him a favor, as he said "y/n, right? I already like you", already then, you had known something was different.

Pedro became your lifeline, he was the person who made you get through every day, he was the one who made you smile, laugh and even giggle like a teenager at the most inappropriate times, he was the one you'd go to after every rough day, and he was the one you'd rant to whenever you needed, and for him... for him you became exactly the same.

You were inseparable, on and off set, you were always together, but always just as friends. Perhaps you were scared of that deep, guttural feeling that was starting to settle in your chest, and perhaps he was terrified of the idea of making the first move, of confessing that you were an everlasting thought in his mind, that his heart skipped a beat at your every smile, he was petrified at the idea you could reject him, and nothing would ever be the same, but as it turns out, all you needed were a few drinks and a wrap-up party for your movie.

You had sneaked out into a quieter room because you didn't like parties all that much, and there was no chance in hell he was leaving you alone.

You were sitting on a sofa, resting for a moment, when you said: "so I guess this is the last time we'll see each other for a while"

And he'd frowned, turning to you

"What are you talking about?"

"well we won't see each other every day now that the movie's done, that's all" you shrugged, biting your lip,

And for some reason, that made him laugh

"sweetheart if you think you're getting rid of me this easily, you're sadly mistaken"

"oh-wh-" you smiled "I don't wanna get rid of you!"

"I sure hope so" he tilted his head, grinning

"of course not" you shook your head, fixing the collar of his shirt "You..." you trailed off, freezing as your eyes met his, and you realized how close you really were.

"I what?" he asked, the smile on his face decreasing as he too, started sensing the tension building in the room.

"You know, asshole" you murmured

"No I don't" he argued, his hand on your waist "What were you about to say?"

You tried taking a deep breath, but your lungs weren't really cooperating, and his hand felt very pleasant on your body.

"You... you're important to me Pedro" you confessed, your voice faint, honest.

And right then, right then he knew that this was the turning point, the moment he was gonna have to risk it all, or regret it for the rest of his life.

"you're important to me too y/n" he whispered, gently leaning closer, until his mouth was ghosting yours "Very important," he said, before inevitably, his lips met with yours and you both let go, let go of your fears, and opened up to each other, to love, to everything that could, and will now be.

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moonjxsung · 8 months

Text

Where the Storm Looms

*This fic is part 2 to “When the Rain Stops.” You can read part 1 here.

Pairing: Lee Minho x fem reader

W/c: 13k

Warnings: smoking, drinking, mention of cheating, mention of masturbation, mention of casual sex, brief mention of calories, nipple play, unprotected sex, bulge kink, creampie, squirting

Synopsis: Now living in the city he despises, Minho is determined to find you again- despite the sacrifices he’ll have to make.

18+. mdni!

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They say if you love something, you have to set it free. And if it comes back to you, it’s yours.

So what implication can be drawn if you go searching for it- for three months and 13 days straight?

Minho isn’t sure.

The city is just as grimy as he remembered it- teeming with the sounds of pushy street vendors, bumper-to-bumper traffic and conversations of plummeting stocks at every corner. The coffee is overpriced, and the people dress in gray slacks even on laundry day. The girls are pretty- they’re decent in bed, they work good jobs and they can carry a conversation well as long as it involves their respective companies or an ex-boyfriend.

But none of them are you.

Minho feels stupid for thinking about it this extensively. A random hookup in his bar as a result of bad weather conditions- one you never even bothered saying goodbye to him after, and yet he’s still hung up on you.

That stupid game. He should've never let you fix that arcade game. Maybe then you wouldn’t have stayed so long, wouldn’t have kissed him back even though he’s the one who initiated it. Wouldn’t have let him fuck you on the pool table, moaning his name over and over again like a prayer permanently etched into his memory. But he didn’t stop any part of it- in fact, he didn’t want to. Minho knows he wouldn’t have been able to deny you anything you asked for that night, not with the way you looked at him through wide sparkling eyes, scared you’d angered him, when all he really wanted was to keep you safe. Safe from the storm, safe from people with ill intent. He’d pour you a hundred cups of Diet Coke on the rocks if you asked, or be a chance card in another game of pool you’d inevitably lose at. He’d make love to you repeatedly on any surface inside the dive bar, kissing you every chance he got like it would be his last. Because you changed something in him that night- and he’s determined to find you again.

“Still waiting on that garlic bread. And we have another order for fettuccine.”

Minho nods once, drizzling a pan with olive oil and prepping the ingredients that sit in disarray on the counter in front of him.

Tales from the hotel kitchen.

So maybe getting his job back as a private chef was a harder feat than he’d originally anticipated it to be. But Minho’s sudden assimilation back into city life meant he had to make adjustments- sacrifices. And although he’s still technically the owner of the little dive bar 6 hours out of the city, he recently signed co-ownership off to Jeongin, who’s been practically running the place while Minho does some soul-searching in the city.

Of course, the soul he’s searching for is nowhere to be found.

Coffee shops, bookstores, convenience shops, dive bars... Minho recently read there are nearly 2 million people in this godforsaken city at any given moment of the day. That’s a 0.0000005% chance he’ll run into you again. Coupled with the fact he’s already run into you once before, and slept with you, the odds are considerably lower. But nonetheless, the objective remains.

Sometime after the initial run-in, Minho also realized he knows nearly nothing about you. You never spoke of an occupation, or a significant other, or even your favorite color. He does know you live in the city, you’re vulnerable against married men and you can use a screwdriver like a cellphone. The rest is left to his wandering imagination.

“Minho, your bread is burning,” a voice interrupts, and he snaps out of the daze he’s in to lower the heat on the oven. Minho’s sous chef Seungmin sighs in irritation, practically pushing Minho aside to retrieve the loaf from the oven himself.

“Do you want me to take over for the evening? You seem really distracted and we’re super busy out there.”

“No, I’m fine,” Minho says, his eyes darting briefly to the window across from him.

Dark rain clouds loom over the afternoon sky, but it doesn’t rain- in fact, it hasn’t rained once since that night. At first, he sees it as some sort of blessing, attributing the mostly-clear skies to your presence somewhere in the city. Perhaps where you go, the sun follows.

But he quickly realizes that it’s more of a curse, this constant storm looming over him, taunting him with promises of darkened clouds and rainfall, only for the nighttime to bring clear skies once again.

It never rains anymore. Sometimes Minho thinks he imagined you, that night in his bar.

Maybe he imagined the rain, too.

The ceiling of this apartment is in desperate need of some TLC, Minho thinks, as he lays in bed that night with hands folded over his chest. It’s riddled with cracks and imperfections, running along the drywall like a design choice. But it’s not a design choice- it’s a result of the shitty architectural integrity of this crowded city. Everyone’s so desperate to live out here they’d put up with leaky roofs and cockroaches before they’d live in the suburbs. Minho thinks back to his apartment in the suburbs, where his three cats are currently being taken care of by a friend, and the biggest pain point is patching up thumbtack holes when he moves things around. It’s spacious, a lot bigger than this dump, and it’s a hell of a lot cheaper.

There’s no set time Minho has dedicated to being out here. “When the time is right, I’ll leave,” he told his friend, averting his gaze to avoid raising suspicions about his intentions out here. But to most, it’s clear Minho is going through something. His hair is visibly longer, the silky ends of it now resting just above his shoulders. He can’t be bothered to care about what he wears, knowing very well that he doesn’t blend in with the other city-dwellers when he’s in jeans and a baggy t-shirt. But without the bar to dress up for like he used to, he doesn’t find reason in trying.

Minho’s also well aware that he looks like a complete lunatic, coming out to the city like this to search for a hookup. If your paths do cross, there’s a likelihood you’ll call the police and have him arrested for stalking. You could also have zero recollection of who he is, or that you ever hooked up with him. You could have a boyfriend, be married by now, or just not interested in Minho. Maybe you regret that night. Maybe you lied about being from the city. You could be on the other side of the world by now, and he’d have no clue.

But he feels it- he feels you, in this city, at every corner he turns. He sees traces of you in the people who smile at him when he passes them by. He sees you in the people who hold doors open for him, the baristas who make foam hearts in his lattes every morning, even the businessmen when they catch themselves admiring the beauty of the buildings on a smoke break. He sees you in all things good, when he’s reminded momentarily that the world has more to offer than boxing him in the confines of a dark bar out in the suburbs. And while he’s not completely in love with life all over again, it’s a start.

The hotel patrons give their compliments to his cooking, and he’s reminded of his days as a private chef again, chasing the sweet high of people fawning over his entrees and desserts. When he calls Jeongin to check up on the bar, he remembers the view out the window by the kitchen- nothing but a parking lot, empty most days, or plagued by truck drivers and prostitutes.

Sure, his apartment window in the city faces a brick wall, but he can escape at any given moment of the day to be part of the towering skyscrapers and city lights that stay on all night. It’s then that he feels bad for Jeongin, who doesn’t have the same luxury all the way out there.

Of course, Minho also remembers the sex from that night. It plays in his head on a loop, often echoing in his brain at the worst of times. The way you’d called out his name was all but intoxicating, chanting it in the empty space of the spare room like you’d done it a hundred times before. Your fingers looped through his hair, massaging his locks in praise while your moans did the rest. Your lips on his, smiling when he teased you about the game of pool- teasing him back, like the complex woman he knew you were.

He remembers the way your hardened nipples felt between his fingers, memorizing their feel with his nimble hands while he pressed his third erection of the night against you, a confession that this is what you do to me.

The way you took him with complete ease, undoubtedly craving him, too, gushing with arousal as he fit so perfectly inside you.

“You’re so big,” you’d said to him, and Minho isn’t sure he ever felt confident in his girth until it was inside of you, thrusting in and out like he was trying to make his semen catch, painting your walls white while you squirted on his still-hard cock.

He can’t get off with girls from the city unless he’s thinking of you and him, in the bar, bent over the pool table. He also avoids the spare room of the bar now, getting hard almost instantly at the sight of it.

It’s embarrassing, and he knows it, tucking his now-softened cock back into his boxers and reaching for tissues on his makeshift cardboard box nightstand. The shame washes over him as he folds his hands over his chest again, eyes locked with the shitty drywall ceiling. Have the cracks gotten bigger? He’s not sure of the large one to the left, caving in toward the window in the shape of a backwards L. If it rains, the roof will surely leak. How do you fix a leaky roof? Is it ever going to rain again? Where are you?

On a random Tuesday in the middle of the month, Minho runs into Jisung again.

He’s out by one of the tall buildings in the financial district, one hand shoved in the pocket of his suit while the other brings a turquoise-colored vape up to his lips.

Of course he vapes, Minho thinks. He’s just as predictable as he’s always been.

“Is that the Lee Minho?” Jisung says, blowing a cloud of strawberry-scented smoke into the air. Minho shrugs, saying nothing as he approaches Jisung.

“What are you doing all the way out here? Lost ownership of the bar or what?”

“No,” Minho replies, a stoic expression on his face. “I’m living here.”

“You’re living here? You? Avid hater of city life and all things that inhabit it?”

“Yeah,” Minho says, counting black spots on the concrete below him. “Not permanently. Just looking for something.”

“What are you looking for?”

Minho swallows momentarily. He knows he could bring up your name, and Jisung would probably know where to find you. After all, the two of you bonded over your love of the city before you almost went home with him that night. But he refrains, suddenly feeling a little jealous and overprotective. It’s the reminder that Minho was technically a second choice- maybe you’d just slept with him to get some relief for the sexual tension you felt with Jisung. You did lecture him when he cockblocked you, after all.

“Seeing if the apartments are better out here,” he settles on saying. “They’re not.”

Jisung chuckles. “Yeah, well, I could’ve easily told you that.”

He slides his vape back into the pocket of his suit, adjusting the buttons as he begins to speak again.

“When was the last time I saw you, anyway?”

Minho blinks nervously. His mind races with options of what to reply, but Jisung is faster.

“That storm!” He finally exclaims, clapping enthusiastically. “When we were stuck there while it rained fucking cats and dogs out there. You, me and Miss ‘hard to get’.”

“Right,” Minho says, his pulse quickening a little at the mention of you.

“Can you believe she backed out like that? I went back to that hotel with blue balls like you wouldn’t believe. I bet she’s a good fuck, too, the way she’s persuaded so easily.”

Minho grows irate, doing his best to refrain from lashing out at Jisung to defend you. The way he speaks about you like you’re disposable, like you weren’t only swayed by him because he puts on this act, one where he’s single and nice. Both polar opposite of the sleazy man standing in front of Minho right now.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jisung says. “I ran into her like a week after that, anyway.”

Minho feels his heart stop. He finally makes eye contact with Jisung, voice hitching in the back of his throat as he searches for words to say. What were you doing? What were you wearing? Were you with anyone? Did Jisung try to pursue you again? Was there any trace that you were as changed by Minho as he is by you?

“You did?” Minho queries.

“Yeah. She remembered me, for sure. Said she googled me and found out I was married. That’s the problem with women these days- they fucking google you. Who does that?”

Minho observes the way Jisung snorts with laughter, shaking his head like he’s not a serial cheater himself.

“Where was she?” Minho asks, quickly aware of the way the question comes off as a little too bold.

“Uh… I can’t remember. Think we were in the parking garage off 7th. She was all dressed up like she was going to work or something. Must be a private investigator with the way she stalks her potential hookups.”

Minho laughs internally at the irony.

“Why do you ask?” Jisung chimes in again, sounding a little skeptical of Minho’s behavior now.

“Nothing,” Minho says quickly. “Just curious.”

Jisung nods slowly, not taking his gaze off of Minho. He’s visibly tense, thoughts circling his mind as he tries to recall the buildings on 7th.

“I should get going,” Jisung says, pulling his vape back out to take another hit, much like the nicotine-addicted cheater Minho sees him for.

“Good catching up,” Jisung finishes, exhaling a cloud of smoke into his face. “Catch you later.”

And as Minho leaves, he turns back around to Jisung, pausing momentarily before speaking again.

“Oh, Jisung?”

“Yeah?”

Minho cocks his head slightly.

“Your wife really deserves better.”

The parking garage on 7th is a shithole. It’s a narrow, almost cylindrical building, filled back to back with rows of fancy cars. Minho remains parked on the third floor, sat in his car like he’s staking out the place, eyes darting over every passerby in hopes you’ll be one of them.

But they’re all middle-aged folks, blabbering into their cellphones with briefcases in hand, no sense of purpose for the life they’re living aside from money, and maybe their fancy cars.

He sighs, reaching for a cigarette and cupping his hand over the lighter to set it ablaze. Smoking is a recent development. Minho doesn’t think he’s chain-smoked like this since his culinary school days, when he’d spend late nights preparing for exams and practicing his plating techniques. It’s not that the cigarettes relieve him, nor does he even care for the flavor. But he does it as a form of sacrifice. The city keeps you from him, and consequently, he’s pulled back largely from things he actually enjoys, choosing to mirror the actions of the city-dwellers. Smoking, casual sex, drinking, dressing down, hardly ever eating full meals. He’s become reduced to a product of the disdain he feels for himself, spiraling further with every cruel reminder that you’re not his.

When his car stakeout passes the three hour mark, Minho is all out of cigarettes. He’s also starving, and dying for a beer. So he pulls out of the lot, most of the spaces vacant now, anyway, and starts the painful trip back to his apartment. The streets smell like sewage with his windows rolled down, but his own car reeks like a cheap casino. With one hand hanging loosely over the door of his car, Minho speeds down the crowded streets, groaning when he’s promptly halted by a red light. Cars press their horns impatiently as nobody seems to move. Minho glances to the right of him, scanning the streets that begin to darken as night falls. And then he sees it- a dive bar. It’s a city dive bar, of course, tainted by its rustic gentrifying decor and teeming with hipsters. But he’s sure you’re in there, knowing you probably regularly finish work and hit up the nearest bar to down Diet Cokes and chicken wings. In a frantic motion, Minho puts the car in reverse, using one hand to steer as he makes an illegal u-turn. The cars around him honk angrily, shouting profanities and pulling up to fill his spot. But he crosses several lanes to reach the bar, a sense of anticipation bubbling inside him already.

The place is much fancier than Minho’s, albeit much smaller. An open bar makes up most of the dive bar itself, a sleek laminate wood finish surrounding the series of draft beer dispensers. The wall above the bar is plastered in license plates from all different regions, and the patrons around all appear to be tourists judging by the way they take photos of it. There are several bartenders working tonight, the nearest one to Minho being a heavily tattooed gentleman with bleach blonde hair.

“What can I get you?” He asks enthusiastically, holding a pen and pad in his hand. Minho’s not sure he’s ever seen a bartender write down an order for a single beer.

When the bartender makes his way to the tap, Minho sits on one of the circular red stools. They’re a little too tall for his liking, swiveling around erratically while he catches his balance and glances around at the patrons. He’s the only one alone here, standing out even more in his loose jeans and an old jersey.

“That’s $12,” the bartender says when he returns.

“Can I just run a tab?” Minho asks, scoffing internally at the steep price.

“First drink’s upfront payment,” the bartender replies, flipping a tablet around to Minho for his payment details. Minho swipes his card and confidently smashes the ‘no tip’ button, earning a little eye roll from the bartender. These bars are nothing like his back home.

When the bartender moves away to attend to another patron, Minho swivels around on his stool, scanning the bar for a sign of you. There’s not a single cup of coke on any of the tables here. Everyone’s happily sipping away at whiskeys and vermouths, their drinks clutched closely in hand as they chat about their boring lives. Minho tunes in briefly to a conversation about someone’s broken toe and sighs, wishing so badly he had you to converse with. You’d probably laugh at all of Minho’s jokes about the people here, agreeing with his presumptions of them. See him? He’s definitely compensating. That guy there needs to cool off the vodka seltzers. She’s definitely not interested in him.

As he takes a sip from his mug of beer, it suddenly catches his eye. The arcade game, tucked away in the back of the bar like a little secret. It’s neglected, probably no one around old enough to know how to operate the thing. Minho rises from his seat, making his way to the game and smiling at the sight.

It reminds him of you, the giant black display of Galaga, decorated with whimsical drawings of aliens and Galaxian Flagships. He pulls out a quarter, slotting it in the machine, because of course you have to pay at this one, and slots it in, waiting for the thing to start up.

Only it doesn’t, the game not even emitting so much as a hum from the monitor. He smacks it a few times, partly in efforts to start it up, and partly to reclaim his last quarter. But it’s a moot effort- the game is completely dead.

Minho makes his way back to the bar, frustrated at the deja vu of broken arcade games and the memories they bring back to him.

“Your game’s broken,” Minho says to the bleach blonde bartender.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. That thing’s been dead for months now.”

“I put a quarter in. Swallowed it and won’t spit it out.”

“Yeah, it does that. Sorry, man.”

“Sorry? You should be. That thing shouldn’t be down here if it isn’t working.”

The bartender narrows his eyes as he mixes another drink for a patron.

“Yeah, well, people don’t usually try it. Again, sorry man. Not really anything I can do about it.”

Minho is angry now, his ears flushed a crimson shade as he speaks, not in any mood to reason with the bartender.

“Look man, just give me my quarter. Can’t you key the machine or something?”

“We don’t have access to it. It’s from some local vendor. You’re welcome to go find a few pennies on the ground if the 25 cents means so much to you.”

“What the fuck kind of behavior is that for a bartender?”

The other patrons and bartenders have noticed now, quieting down as they watch Minho down a few more sips of his beer angrily.

“Look man, you’re gonna have to leave. I can’t have you in here acting like this.”

“I want my quarter.”

“I can’t get your quarter, dude. It’s gone. Get out before I call the police.”

“Why don’t you hire someone to fix the machine, then? There are people in the city who do that, you know. I know someone who’d get it fixed in seconds. She’d be able to get the fucking quarter out, too.”

“Call the police,” the bartender says to another, and Minho raises his hands up in surrender.

“Relax, I’m leaving.” He chugs the rest of his beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as the other patrons look on in shock. Nearby, a different bartender has a phone clutched in his hand, ready to dial the cops like they’d requested.

“Tell me one thing,” Minho says before turning around.

The man says nothing, eyes narrowed in fear as he waits for Minho to finish.

“You guys sell Diet Coke here?”

The bartenders look around at each other nervously, confused at the question.

“We only have Pepsi,” one chimes in.

And Minho nods, understanding.

“Take care,” Minho says, waving them off as he finally exits the bar.

“I need you to come back for a little bit,” Jeongin says into the receiver one morning. He sounds panicked, like he might break down at any moment. Minho knows he wouldn’t request this of him if it wasn't something serious.

“Okay,” Minho replies. “What happened?”

“The place was robbed last night. By a group of guys. Nobody’s hurt, but they did have a knife on them. Cleared out one of the registers.”

Minho sighs, suddenly feeling awful about being out here. What is he doing out here when the business he owns is being threatened? Even worse, putting Jeongin and the other staff at risk while he embarks on the futile task of searching for what’s already gone? There’s no good explanation for it. It’s selfish- sure, he’s finally chasing after what he wants, but it’s a selfish task nonetheless.

“I can be there this evening,” Minho says, already mentally preparing himself for the six hour drive out there. “Just close up for the day. Make sure everyone gets home safe and knows they’ll be paid for the day anyway.”

Jeongin understands, hanging up on his end of the line and closing up the bar.

As Minho tosses his cell phone aside, he looks around the apartment, sighing heavily when he observes the state of things. His stuff is still stored away in cardboard boxes, the apartment looking more like a showroom than a space lived-in by him. The walls remain bare of any form of decorations, the tiny excuse for a kitchen is void of dishes and cutlery, even his toiletries are in travel bags, like he’s ready to go home at any given moment. And he just might be, after this week’s events.

The drive home is as excruciating as he remembers it. Exiting the city means sitting in miles of traffic, alongside impatient city-dwellers who somehow voluntarily make the commute everyday for their jobs. Minho briefly wonders if you’re in the traffic, too. You’re a little impatient, he remembers, thinking about how you demanded a phone charger from him that night in the bar. Only your impatience is something he’d gladly put up with in traffic like this, probably taking the opportunity to play his favorite songs for you and listen to you talk his ear off. He sighs to himself, wishing so badly you could fill the empty leather seat next to him, currently inhabited by empty cigarette boxes and discarded takeout boxes.

Six agonizing hours later, the sun’s beginning to set as Minho pulls into the familiar parking lot of the bar. Waning beams of sunlight reflect off the old bar sign, almost luring Minho inside as the nighttime chases closely after. When he unlocks the door and makes his way inside, it’s like he never left. The red booths are vacant, the peeling vinyl of their seats still scattered across the floor like he remembers. Bottles of alcohol neatly line the shelves behind the counter, which don’t reside far from the shiny mugs and glasses inside the cabinets. Minho runs a finger over the counter, well impressed with the state of the bar since Jeongin’s taken over. It’s impeccable, almost better than it was when Minho first left.

“Minho?” A voice calls, and a figure peeks from around the corner.

It’s Jeongin, who looks different in casual wear for the day, sporting a pair of sweatpants and a simple black t-shirt. He’s wearing his signature pair of thick framed glasses, running a hand through his hair as he takes a seat on one of the barstools.

“It was this register,” he says, gesturing to the one closest to Minho. “I think it was roughly $300 in there. They all had dark jackets and I couldn’t see their faces.”

Minho nods, opening the register to investigate, and then slumps back in the stool behind the counter.

“I’ll take the remaining cash to the safe. Let’s stay closed for a few days while I file a police report. They’ll probably want to poke around in here, and I don’t want any of the patrons to panic.”

It’s Jeongin’s turn to nod, making a mental note of Minho’s instructions. After a brief pause, he speaks again.

“How’s the city?”

“The city is…the city.”

Jeongin chuckles lightly, shaking his head.

“Are you working?”

Minho nods. “Not my private chef gig. But it’s a restaurant. I have a sous chef, which helps. It’s nothing special, though.”

There’s a moment of silence as Jeongin traces the table pattern with his fingers. He wants to ask more from him- he wants to know why Minho’s out there in the first place, why he even agreed to sign co-ownership off to Jeongin when this was his bar he was so proud of for all those years. But there’s seemingly no courteous way to go about it- any which way, he feels like he’s overstepping. Minho is usually on the quieter side, only confiding in his colleagues when it’s something that affects the business.

“Minho, are you…” he begins, his voice wavering in fear that he’ll unintentionally offend.

“Have you found what you’re looking for?”

Minho is silent, and for a second, it’s hard for Jeongin to gauge his reaction. His eyes remain locked on Jeongin’s pupils, trembling in discomfort as he thinks back to you. He thinks of the city, of the bar fight, of the hours spent in a dingy parking garage and the cracks in his apartment ceiling.

Jeongin begins to take back his question, disappointed in himself he’s even chosen to utter the inquiry. But Minho finally does give an answer, albeit a vague one.

“Not yet,” he replies, swallowing nervously before continuing. “You’ll be the first to know.”

When Jeongin leaves, he takes the cozy atmosphere of the bar with him, and the place now feels colder, more unfamiliar. Minho looks out the window at the darkness that envelopes the parking lot, feeling a sense of unease in knowing he’s going to leave it all behind again. This bar needs him, it needs stability. It needs someone to look out for the people who are vulnerable to sleazy married men or robbers. As he pockets the cash to transfer to the safe, he glances at the yellow Pac-Man game, sitting proudly where it has for the past three months since its repair. Little ghosts dance along the display screen, prompting users with ‘press A to start’.

Minho simply walks past it, knowing very well there’s little joy in a game that only brings back painful reminders. He makes his way to the back office, where the red leather couch and desk still remain. The cash is deposited in the safe, and the keys in the file cabinet- third drawer from the top.

Minho feels a gravitational pull to the spare room upstairs- he knows he shouldn’t, very well aware that he’s only hurting himself by picturing you up there. But still he does. Hands shoved in his pockets, he makes his way up the creaking stairs and through the little hallway.

The room is just as suffocating as he remembers it. The same old pool table sits in the middle of the room, and at the back where the arcade game previously lived, there’s a rectangle on the carpeted floor where it once sat, contrasting a bright untouched green to the older, worn down carpet. Minho doesn’t leave the doorway; he just stands, observing the room in all its mundane appearance. His eyes remain on the spot you’d previously hoisted yourself up to sit on the pool table, and he can almost see himself looming over you, too. From this angle, it doesn’t feel like it ever happened. It plays more like a cheap movie where a famous scene was shot. Like a figment of his imagination.

Have you found what you’re looking for?

He hasn’t, not yet. But seeing the potential of this old room, in the bar he owns, Minho knows it’s finally time to stop searching.

Back in the city, Minho’s days are numbered by the countdown. Two days until he’ll leave all this behind, for good this time.

The kitchen is busier than normal on this gloomy Thursday, more staff than usual working floor while others make trips up to hotel rooms for delivery.

Minho drizzles pans with olive oil in between plating a shrimp scampi, tonight’s special. The air is thick and fragrant with seafood and Parmesan cheese.

“I need a lava cake for room 302!” Seungmin exclaims to Minho in a rushed tone.

“On the cart by the door. Second row.”

Cooks work diligently in their respective areas, and Minho wipes his brow with the back of his sleeve. It’s a stressful role, no doubt, but he still feels a sense of sadness knowing he won’t be back to cooking like this once he’s back in town. He tries to mentally prepare himself for days of mixers and signature cocktails again.

“Minho, get out of here and go take a lunch,” Seungmin says as he reappears from behind the door. “That way the schedule doesn’t rearrange.”

Seungmin is a blunt sous chef, but he’s dedicated to his work. Minho knows he’ll have no problem working his way up to a head chef role one day. He appreciates his attention to detail and ability to work with difficult patrons, and he’d certainly entertain the idea of bringing him to work at the bar back home if he liked.

“On it,” Minho says, already pulling off his apron.

“Oh, and can you bring a Diet Coke to table 6 out there? I brought regular on accident.”

“Yup,” he says plainly, grabbing a clear glass from the clean stack and filling it at the fountain.

Minho thinks back to his apartment- this might be his last day at work, but he still has a generous amount of packing to do when he gets home. He’s relieved he kept most of his stuff in boxes, or else he’d easily be stuck here another week.

Minho counts boxes in his head, balancing the glass in one hand and his apron in another as he exits the kitchen to the seating area. He’s seldom out here, only really passing through when he gets in for the day. But he’s not in charge of serving guests, and the whole thing suddenly feels a little uncomfortable to him. Quiet jazz music plays overhead as tables fill the room with noise of their conversations, everyone dressed up with legs crossed neatly under white tablecloths.

Minho looks around frantically as beads of condensation on the glass wet his hand- where the hell is table 6?

A family sits at the back, every member paired with their drink of choice. An older couple sits closer to Minho, two cups of coffee steaming in front of them.

And by the window, two women deep in conversation- one of them passionately sharing tales of work or perhaps a lover.

And the other one, you.

Minho thinks he’s hallucinating for a moment, when he first observes you sitting there. You’re nodding as the other woman talks, a smile pulling on your face as she exaggeratedly makes a hand motion during her story. You’re not dressed like the other city-dwellers here, looking starkly more beautiful in a sweater and a pair of jeans. You’re the only one in here wearing jeans, aside from Minho. He smiles when he takes notice.

Another server passes Minho in a rush, shoving by him with a tray of food in hand.

“Oh sorry,” he says, eyeing him a little confused. “Did you want me to take that? I know you’re on lunch.”

Minho grips the coke firmly in his hand, shaking his head almost immediately. He’s never refused something so fast in his life before.

“No, I got it,” he says, finally taking the first step toward your table.

Minho glances down at his appearance briefly, fixing the collar of his shirt as he approaches you. He’s a little more dressed up for his last day here, a pastel blue button-up tucked into his jeans, his now long hair parted down the middle. He wishes he could tuck back into the bathroom and see himself more clearly, but he knows he’ll lose you if he doesn’t make his move now.

Minho’s thought of this moment so many times, replayed the conversation in his head like a speech he’s been waiting to give. He wants to proclaim his adoration for you, giving you a romantic explanation of how he’s searched for you all these months and never stopped thinking of you. And in an ideal scenario, you’d say the same, kissing him in front of all the restaurant-goers here and leaving back to town with him to live happily ever after.

But he’s never considered the idea of a friend being present. Or being crunched for time on a 30-minute lunch break. It’s all happening so fast, and his head spins with anxiety as he approaches you.

You’re still in conversation when he sets your Diet Coke down at the table a little too hard, hoping to get your attention. You don’t so much as look his way as he does, and he lingers by your table for a moment as he thinks.

“Do you need a straw?” Minho asks, eyes darting over your face briefly. Your hair is a little longer, too, but you look the same. He’s sure you’re not a hallucination.

“No thank you,” you say, finally glancing over at him to give a small nod.

And just like he’s lost for more words, you seem to be too, lips parting slightly as you keep your gaze fixed on his.

“Thank you for lunch,” you say to your colleague at the end of the meal, who’s been passionately talking about her recent project at work for the last hour.

You tuned her out after the first 15 minutes, being completely awestruck when the server delivered your requested Diet Coke to your table.

Either the brain fog from work is finally starting to catch up with you, or you’re simply too tired. But the server looks exactly like Lee Minho, the bartender you slept with a few months ago. Normally, you’d tuck away and hide at the sight of running into a hookup again. But Minho wasn’t just a hookup to you.

He’s lingered amongst your thoughts for the better part of those three months, the polite action of protecting you from sleeping with a married man and letting you seek shelter in the storm remaining some of the nicest things someone’s ever done for you.

He wasn’t just a hookup, not with the way he spoke of his hopes and dreams and asked about all of yours. And then he fucked you like a husband, the feeling you got from him bending you over the pool table like that still sending chills down your spine.

Your colleague pulls her scarf and coat on, nodding as she gestures to the door. The lunch rush has died down by now, and most of the tables are vacant as the streets bustle with people returning to work.

“I’m gonna grab a meal to-go,” you tell her. “I’ll meet you back at the office. Thank you again for lunch!”

Fortunately for you, she doesn’t question it, leaving you to order as she heads back to the office.

Minho is nowhere to be seen, only one server present on the floor as it’s more empty now.

“Can I help you?” A voice asks, and you’re met with the warm smile of the singular server.

“I… I wanted to give my compliments to the chef,” you say, sounding a little unsure of yourself.

“I’ll be sure to do that, thank you very much,” he replies, bowing when he finishes.

“I meant my personal thanks,” you clarify, and he furrows his brows in response.

“Uh… sure, I can ask him. Do you know if it was the head chef?”

“His name’s Lee Minho,” you say with a smile. “He’s probably the head chef.”

Minho’s sous chef runs his kitchen like the navy, you quickly learn, as he ushers for you to leave soon after Minho exits the kitchen due to the impending dinner rush.

There’s no time to catch up with him, only being able to utter a short “thanks for the meal,” as he waits for you to speak.

But he recognizes you, his gaze staying on yours a little too long as he nervously bows.

“Y/n,” he says in response, the action saying nothing and yet so much at the same time.

And you smile back at him, relieved he still remembers.

As Seungmin calls for him a second time, you pull a pen from the pocket of his apron, scribbling your address on a napkin from one of the tables.

He nods back at you, napkin clutched in hand, as he makes his way back to the kitchen.

And for a brief moment, neither of you can make out the implications of the action. An invitation for sex? A date to catch up? The details are blurry to both of you. But you hope he shows, and Minho already knows he wouldn’t miss it for the world.

As you fix your hair in front of the mirror that evening, memories of Minho play in your mind like they did after the night you spent together. You know you had to leave- it wasn’t something you decided lightly, but you and him are fated for different things. And who are you to intervene where the stars align? Minho deserves someone who will be available for him, someone uncomplicated and willing to inhabit the place he loves so dearly.

You, on the other hand, have a historical bad run with men, and so pursuing Minho would be uncharacteristic. But also unfair to him. It’s clear from that night that your worst traits will always remain the most significant parts of you- impatience, judgment and naivety. And while Minho comes off as curt, he’s anything but. He’s too good for you. You’re just a byproduct of this city- everything he despises. It would be over before it even started.

Minho shows at exactly a quarter to nine, knocking twice at the door as he waits out in the hallway for you.

When you unlatch the door, he perks up from nervously staring at the carpeted floor, adjusting his collar and clearing his throat. He looks more casual than you’ve probably ever seen him before, in a striped gray and black top, layered with a black collared shirt and dark ripped jeans. He also looks particularly handsome tonight, but also different, noticeably thinner in his face where his cheekbones protrude generously, his hair a little longer now.

“Hi,” Minho says plainly, his gaze fixated on yours in an almost trance-like state.

“Hi,” you reply, unsure of where to start. “Come in, please.”

You step aside, ushering him into your apartment and shutting the door behind you both. Minho looks around, impressed with the state of your apartment in comparison with his. There are cherry wood bookshelves lining the walls, filled top to bottom with stacks of old novels and textbooks. Colorful modern paintings decorate the walls, which are admittedly much taller than his own, and cozy lighting fills every room in the space.

Minho bows a little, handing you a bottle, and you smile in amusement as you scan the contents. A single liter of Diet Coke.

“You remembered,” you say, endeared by the simple action.

“So you don’t waste your calories,” he replies with a small smile, echoing the statement you told him so many months ago.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” you tell him. Minho takes note of the shakiness in your voice, a little relieved that you seem to be as nervous as he is. It’s certainly not a matter of picking up where you left off when you both have your walls up like this, but he prefers the silence to your absence any day.

You disappear into the kitchen, pouring both of you glasses of Diet Coke as Minho settles on the edge of the couch. He folds his hands in his lap and blinks nervously, trying so hard to remember everything he’s wanted to confess to you since returning here. But in this proximity to you, in your own home, everything suddenly seems like a bad idea. He feels dramatic, overbearing, trying to make sense of this. Maybe he shouldn’t have come.

When you return, Minho takes a deep breath, quietly thanking you for the beverage when you place it on the coffee table in front of him. And then as he feared, a silence washes over both of you.

You take a sip of your coke, waiting for him to speak, and similarly, he waits for you. You’d forgotten, briefly. That Minho is inherently a quiet guy. It’d been you who brought his walls down, challenged him to a game of pool and even instigated the argument when he told Jisung to leave the bar. As he blinks at you a few times, you realize it may be his way of asking you to do it again, to help him feel comfortable again.

“Your Italian food is on par with your chicken wings,” you say to him, finally breaking the silence. “Think you need to add shrimp scampi to your bar menu.”

Minho smiles, and the whole room seems to brighten up when he does. His eyes turn to little crescents, his grin flashing you the skewed front teeth you were so endeared by when you first met him. His presence feels like the bar did- safe, familiar.

“It’s not my best work,” he replies. “It’s just a temporary job. But I do have a sous chef here, which is a plus.”

“The one with the nice smile? I know, he almost kicked me out for asking to see you. He’s very deceiving.”

You and Minho share laughter, recalling how Seungmin yelled at you several times at the restaurant today. When your laughter dies down, he swallows nervously, unsure of how to proceed.

“Thanks for… giving your compliments today,” he says. He really wants to say ‘thank you for seeing me again’.

“I knew I recognized you,” you say back to him. “I was surprised to see you here in the city. I guess I just wanted some confirmation it was really you.”

“It’s me,” Minho says sheepishly. You smile at him, feeling a little sorry at the way his tone sounds so unsure.

“What are you doing in the city, anyway?” You ask.

Minho isn’t sure what to say. In an alternate timeline, he’d like to tell you he came for you. But he knows he’ll come off as a creep, and the last thing he wants is to lose you again.

“Just wanted a break from the suburbs,” he settles on saying.

“Do you like it?”

He toys with a frayed hem on the throw pillow beside him, shaking his head a little hesitantly.

“If I say no, you’ll think less of me.”

He regrets the words as soon as they leave his lips, not wanting you to think he came here for you to pity him. In fact, the reality is quite the opposite.

“I would never think less of you,” you assure him with a gentle smile. “You’re allowed to have your opinions.”

Minho nods, not entertaining the subject anymore.

“How’s the bar?”

“It’s okay,” Minho says, sighing a little as he thinks back to recent events. “It was robbed just the other night.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you say to him with widened eyes. “Is everyone… okay?”

“Everyone’s okay,” he affirms. “Just lost some money. I’m working with the police on it, so hopefully we’ll have someone arrested if we’re lucky.”

You nod at his words, feeling disheartened at the mention of the robbery. Although you’re not particularly fond of the suburbs, the bar is a sacred space for you, and knowing he and the staff were put in that situation makes you uneasy.

“How’s work?” Minho asks, and you chuckle at the question.

“Nothing special. I did get a promotion last month, but I’m only making a few dollars more than I was last time we met. Nothing to write home about.”

“We’ll congratulations anyway,” Minho says, raising his glass of Diet Coke. “Well deserved.”

“Thank you,” you say, clinking your glass against his and letting the cool carbonated beverage soothe the nerves still present in your demeanor.

“Oh, you’ll never believe it! I ran into Jisung out here,” you say to Minho with a scoff. “He tried to pursue me again, the bastard. I’m pretty sure he was even wearing a wedding ring this time. I had to tell him I found out he was married on-”

“On Google,” Minho finishes your sentence. “He told me.”

“You saw him too?”

“Yeah, just the other day. He’s just as obnoxious as he was three months ago.”

You smile at Minho, briefly reminded of the way you were able to bond with him as a result of Jisung’s antics.

“I never got to say thank you,” you say a little quietly, averting his gaze. “For that night. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you there to help me.”

He looks down, pondering your words for a moment.

“You left without saying goodbye.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to. Trust me. But I figured…” your voice trails off, trying desperately to decipher how to word your sentiment politely.

“Figured what?” He says, looking back up at you. His eyes tremble a little in anticipation for your reply.

“I figured we’re just different people.”

Minho nods, pursing his lips together as he replays your words.

“And by that you mean that you’re a successful member of the city, and I’m just a bartender.”

Your face drops at his words, suddenly panicked that he’s come here because he’s angry at you. You would never think less of him for being a bartender- hell, you wouldn’t even think less of him if he was unemployed. You’re not sure you could think less of him if you tried.

“That’s not what I mean. And you know that.”

Minho narrows his eyes a little, challenging you.

“Then what do you mean?”

“I mean,” you begin, sighing before continuing to speak. “That I’m everything you despise. I let people down. I’m not inherently a good person, the way you are. You know how I stormed in there demanding a phone charger? Fighting you at the bar because you wouldn’t let me sleep with a married man? That’s the kind of person I am. I’m impatient, and naive and I’m nothing like the girls you’re used to.”

“How do you know what I’m used to?”

“Come on, Minho,” you say, and the conversation finally begins to sound a little more natural between the two of you. “You said it yourself- I’ve never lived without the notion of wanting to migrate as soon as possible. Who’s to say that doesn’t apply to people, too?”

“You’re nothing like you say you are,” Minho interrupts, and you can feel yourself getting frustrated at his words.

“How would you know that? Because you slept with me in a bar? I’m not this dream girl you think I am, Minho. I was looking out for you. You deserve better.”

Minho says nothing for a moment, swirling Coke around in his cup and watching the bubbles fizzle away as they hit the rim of the glass. He shakes his head a little to himself, and then he begins to speak again.

“You want to know why I came out here again?”

You remain silent, already knowing what he’s going to say. But to your surprise, his answer is a little more complex.

“I came out here because I wanted to. I wanted to work as a chef again. I wanted new colleagues, I wanted a different view and I was tired of being stuck in that little bar.”

You don’t reply to his statement, waiting for him to continue.

“And do you know why finding you was something I held onto so dearly?”

“Why?” You ask, the question coming out in a shaky tone. He takes a deep breath before he answers.

“I wanted to thank you. I wanted to tell you all about it. To tell you that you were right- sometimes, simple isn’t better. Sometimes you have to go back and make amends before you can move forward again. I wouldn’t have done any of this if someone really cool didn’t walk into my bar and make it clear to me. I guess part of me just hoped you were changed by it, too.”

Your expression softens at his words, feeling awful for the way this conversation has gone so far. It’s not your intention to hurt him- in fact, you feel particularly protective of Minho.

“I came looking for you, too,” you say after a moment of silence, and Minho perks up at your words.

“You did?”

“Mhm,” you nod. “I visited your bar. Twice since that night. I asked for you both times. The guy said you weren’t there anymore. I think after the second time, I took it as a sign to stop trying.”

“Jeongin?” Minho says, furrowing his brows together in visible confusion.

“He was blonde, a little small. Freckles.”

“Felix,” Minho says, chuckling lightly. “He’s a new hire. Jeongin would’ve told you differently. I have co-ownership with him now.”

You nod, folding your hands in your lap.

“I was changed by it,” you say, finally letting your gaze meet his. “I never stopped thinking about you. But it scares me. In so many ways, you’re everything I tried to run from when I left the suburbs. I don’t think I was ever good enough for any of it- all I cared about was money, and my work and finding an apartment with a nice enough view of the city. I didn’t care about the memories I made there, or that there’s genuinely good people. I didn’t even visit my parents very often. You reminded me that there’s more to it than just that. There’s more to the past than its negative aspects. So thank you, too.”

Minho is quiet for a moment, his mind racing with thoughts of what to do- how to keep you around. But in this moment, it’s clear to him- he has to let you go. He said what he had to say. He’s done the search, all three months of it, and he found you. He validated his own emotions and made sense of yours- you were just as changed by it as he was. But maybe that’s enough- perhaps the rest is just wishful thinking.

“Looks like we felt the same about it, then,” he says with a small smile, sitting up from the sofa and making his way to peer out the large glass window in your living room.

“And by the way, you definitely succeeded with the view out here. Mine’s just a brick wall.”

You chuckle, making your way over to the window and standing next to him to take in the view, too.

“It’s nice, right? All of the east side is visible from up here.”

“See that down there?” Minho points. “Visited that dive bar the other day. It sucks if you’re wondering.”

“CJ’s? Yeah, it’s kind of a shithole. They don’t even serve Diet Coke.”

Minho chuckles lightly, a little sadness evident in his tone.

“You know, maybe if you swung by and fixed their little arcade game, they’d supply you some. Probably something to do with all the ABC’s.”

“The what?” You query, furrowing your brows together and chuckling as he speaks.

“The little gidgets inside. You know, with the pins.”

You pause to think for a moment, mentally mapping out the circuit inside.

“The EPROMs,” you say finally.

Minho feels his breath hitch in his throat as you utter the acronym. It sounds so unfamiliar, and yet so familiar to him at the same time. He suddenly remembers that night, in the spare room, hearing you say it for the first time.

“The what?” He replies gently, not removing his gaze from the window.

“The EPROMs,” you clarify, a little louder this time.

“Say it again,” Minho breathes, a small smile painted on his face now.

“EPROMs?” You question, turning to face him, visibly confused.

“Yeah, those. What’s it stand for, anyway?” Minho finally asks, turning to face you. You face him, too, endeared by the curiosity he’s displayed for that game repair since the first night you met.

“Erasable programmable read-only memory,” you explain, aware of how close he is in proximity to you now. His eyes flicker down to your lips and then back up again, his plump lips pulling into a knowing smile as you speak. He knows he’s wandering into dangerous territory now, but he can’t help it- not when it’s you who makes him feel like this.

“God, it sounds so sexy when you say it,” Minho says sheepishly.

And he knows he shouldn’t entertain it- he’s well aware that his intention is to walk out of here and get on with his life, comfortable with the knowledge that you’d sought him out, too. But he can’t help himself when you’re this close to him, talking circuit repair so intelligently and erotically.

So without another question to stutter, or a fight to be had, he closes the gap between you two, pressing his lips onto yours and kissing you one last time.

You don’t protest the action, instantly tangling your hands in his tresses and reciprocating with the same hungry, passionate kisses he delivers. Maybe it’s the long hair, or the ripped jeans, but part of you also wonders if he’s been dying to kiss you tonight as badly as you’ve been craving him. The flavor is reminiscent of the bar to you, on that pool table like the first time you kissed him. He tastes like mint, enveloping your tongue with hints of Diet Coke while he nibbles on your bottom lip between kisses.

Without any sort of end goal in mind, your hands snake down to his collared shirt, which you tug on hungrily, and then begin to push off his torso. Minho smiles into the kiss, reaffirmed that you want him just the same, and he pulls away momentarily to complete the task of pulling off his button down.

Underneath, his striped t-shirt is cut off generously at the shoulders, completely exposing his arms to you. You almost gasp at the sight of his toned arms jutting out, veins running along his forearms and flexing with each movement. Minho chuckles softly when he takes notice, amused at your reaction.

When his button down shirt is fully off, he kisses you again, hands finding their way to your waist as he pushes himself against you, desperate to feel you against him. You walk backwards, cupping his face between your hands and leading him toward your bedroom.

For a fleeting moment, you’re nervous to take it any further than this, the last person you slept with being Minho himself. You can’t remember which undergarments you wore, or what your bedroom decor looks like to anyone except yourself. But Minho’s kisses shut you up, his lips moving against yours with desire and passion, and you don’t want to do anything except this, right here.

When you’ve made it to the bed, you pull away, crossing your arms over your torso and pulling your sweater off over your head. You’re in a lacy black bra, you realize, because of course you thought to dress for him. Minho blinks a few times, crossing his own arms over his torso and finally pulling his shirt over his head.

It’s then that you realize you’ve never seen Minho without his shirt before- he wore that white button down in the bar, only allowing you to see a generous amount of his collarbones. But standing in front of you like this, he’s breathtaking, his toned torso and his sharp collar bones complementing his sculpted thighs and arms so perfectly.

When he takes notice of you staring at him, one hand flies down to his mid-torso, where he spreads a palm out over the skin, seemingly in an attempt to cover something. You take one step forward, gently placing a hand over his and moving it so that his torso is exposed again. And across his tanned skin, a pale pink scar catches your eye, not very noticeable from your previous distance, but definitely perceptible when you observe his body long enough.

“Minho,” you coo, running your hand along the scar and tracing it with your fingertips. “You’re beautiful,” you say to him after a moment, smiling up at him sincerely.

Minho’s heart almost stops in its place, overwhelmed with his emotions for you, to be here with you, the desire to make love to you eating away at his mind like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

And if it is, he’d die a happy man.

His lips crash against yours again, hands snaking down to your jeans, where he unbuttons them, your hands meeting his to help pull them down. While you take over, he unbuckles his belt, snaking the leather out from around his waist and undoing his buttons. It’s then that he pushes you gently against the bed, hoisting your legs up so that you’re at a comfortable angle, finally propping himself above you and working kisses down your neck. He nibbles your flesh between his teeth the way he did before, beginning to work purple bruises around your throat. And you let him, without protest, because you’re desperate for a reminder that he’s here, that he’s yours. Minho smiles against your neck when he feels you moan softly at the sensation, satisfied with the way you melt at his touch.

“Minho,” you call, and he brings his lips to press a chaste kiss to yours again.

“What is it, baby?” He coos gently, pressing a series of kisses to your lips before you speak again.

“I never should have left,” you reply, toying with a strand of his hair around your fingers in a pleading manner. Your chest is heavy with guilt, tears almost pricking at your eyes as he looms over you like this.

He chuckles softly, kissing you for a moment before grazing his lips over yours again, speaking just above a whisper.

“I’m here,” he says. “I’m right where you left me.”

And it’s your turn to kiss him, crashing your lips against his again as tears fall from the corners of your eyes. Minho takes notice when the salty taste of them dance along his tongue, kissing them back up your face and holding you a little closer to him. His hands wrap around the small of your back to find the clasp of your bra, skillfully undoing it with one hand and pulling away from you to discard it on the floor. It’s Minho’s turn to stare, running one hand down your clavicles until he’s grazing your nipples with his fingers.

You feel your breath hitch in your throat with anticipation, before he finally dips his middle finger down over one of your hardened nipples, earning a stifled gasp from you. He works little circles over your nipple with one finger, the gentle stimulation making you gasp into his mouth as he kisses you again.

And then he moves back to your neck, kissing over the bruises he sucked into your flesh, trailing lower and lower until he’s just above your breasts. You look down at him with bated breath, almost clenching at the way his lips exhale little breaths against your nipples, making them even harder. With his eyes on yours, he finally lowers himself, latching both lips around your breast and sucking.

Your back arches up into him instinctively, the feeling of his teeth grazing your skin sending divine shivers up your spine. In a sudden motion, his tongue swirls around your bud, the cold sensation causing you to moan fervently. He smiles with your flesh between his teeth, while your hands tangle themselves in his hair and massage him encouragingly.

It feels so primal, so natural to have his mouth all over you, your legs pressing together to calm the ache between your legs. He takes his time on one breast, only coming up to press a kiss in the valley of your breasts and then moving to give attention to the other one. You could stay here for hours, like this, if it wasn’t for the pulsing reminder in your groin that you want to feel him inside of you.

“Please,” you say gently, pressing your legs together and squeezing in efforts to relieve yourself.

Minho chuckles softly, letting go from your nipple with a gentle sucking sound, a string of spit hanging from his lips as he looks up at you with hooded eyes.

“I want to feel you inside me again,” you admit shyly, tenderly running your nails along the back of his neck. Minho’s lips meet yours again, and his hands quickly find their way to the hem of your underwear, sliding them down and pulling away to discard them on the floor.

He’s promptly reminded of how needy and vocal you are, smiling down at you as you pull his face back to yours and swirl your tongue around his. But truth be told, he’s just as needy as you are, equally reminded of how much he’s touched himself to the thought of this and secretly prayed he’d be able to make love to you again. And now here, his lips on yours, it’s finally happening, his rock-hard erection proof that it’s always been you.

As you arch up into him, one leg wrapping around his to push him even closer against you, your hand snakes down to his erection, palming him through his boxers. Minho groans at the contact, his lips parting a little as he winces in pleasure.

“You’re so hard,” you say with a smile, pleased at his evidently equal desperation for you.

“All for you,” Minho replies, running one hand down your stomach to rub little circles on your clit, causing you to moan in pleasure.

“Ah- fuck,” you breathe out, contorting against him, desperate for him to fill you up. “Please, Minho, want to feel you inside me,” you pant against him, pleading for the second time now.

He remains like that for a moment, working little circles onto your clit as he observes the way your eyebrows arch up in pleasure.

“Want me to fill you up?” He asks, cocking his head with yours as you grasp his forearm.

“Yes, please,” you reply, trying your best to stave off your orgasm until he’s inside of you.

And without teasing you any further, Minho pulls away from you to slide off his boxers, his cock springing up against his abdomen in anticipation for you. You prop yourself up on your elbows, in awe at the sight as he tosses his boxers aside and leans down to kiss you again.

“Lay down,” Minho orders sweetly, and you do as you’re told, exhaling once to calm your steadily beating pulse.

“Is this still okay?” Minho asks, caressing your shoulder with concern as you wait for his next move.

“Yes,” you say, giving a half smile to him when he rubs his thumb along your cheek lovingly. He smiles back at you, giving one small peck to your lips before hoisting himself up and wrapping one hand around his cock.

You watch as Minho wraps his slender fingers around the base of his cock, pumping a few times before leaning down to kiss you tenderly. The sensation causes him to breathe a few gasps into your mouth, Minho also trying his best to stave his release until he’s inside of you.

“Gonna put it in now, okay?” He asks, breaking away to part your thighs. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

But you don’t- not when you’re this wet for him, this desperate to finally feel him fill you up again, like you’ve fantasized for so long.

A strand of his hair falls into his face as he finally guides his cock inside of you, rubbing your clit as he thrusts in fully and bottoms out. You gasp at his size, almost having forgotten just how thick he is, the stretch making your head spin with pleasure. When he gauges your reaction, he begins to move with you slowly, giving gentle thrusts while you wrap your arms around his back.

The bed creaks as he moves in and out of your sopping pussy, emitting lewd sloshing sounds as he leans down to kiss you, your tongues and mouths doing much of the same. You can hardly kiss him back, your lips already dribbling strings of drool in fucked-out satisfaction from him filling you up like this.

“Fuck… baby… you’re so tight,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut in pleasure.

“Feels so good,” you breathe back, gripping his shoulder a little bit when he picks up his pace. “No one fucks me the way you do,” you say to him, and his cock twitches inside of you at the admission.

“Fuck,” Minho says again. “I dreamt of you for so long,”

“Me too,” you say, reaching up to move a stray piece of hair out from in front of his eyes between your heavy breathing. “I wish I came looking for you again. God, I wasted so much time.”

Minho kisses you, burying his lips in the crook of your neck to caress the bruises he’s already left.

“I never stopped searching for you,” he breathes out against your skin. “It’s you, it’s always been you.”

His words make your heart flutter as he continues to thrust in and out of you, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix with every thrust now. Your moans get louder as he picks up the pace, digging his nails into your waist as he holds you in place. Between kisses, he caresses your thigh with his hand, positioning it up and bending your leg at the knee beside him. You moan instantly at the new angle, his length caressing every inch of your pussy, his girth stretching you out with every thrust inside of you and tickling your pulsing clit as he moves against your hips.

“Good girl,” Minho says, smiling against you as he kisses you. “Take me so well.”

Your nails dig into his back as he thrusts a little faster now, the rhythmic motion sending shivers up your spine.

“I’m close,” you breathe out, and judging by the way Minho’s cock twitches inside of you, he is too.

“Will you do that thing again?” You ask in a shaky voice between moans, and Minho lets out a breathy chuckle.

“What thing, baby?”

But he knows very well what you’re referring to, having replayed it in his head every time he got off without you. You don’t respond to him, instead intertwining his hand in yours and bringing it down to your abdomen, where you sprawl his palm across your navel and give it a little push. Minho groans at the feeling of your warm abdomen under his palm, remembering the way you reacted last time. And he’s eager to please you, to do it exactly how you liked it before.

Without teasing you any further, Minho presses down on your stomach, observing the way you moan when he does, and then thrusts a little faster. He can feel his length sliding in and out of you under his touch, locking his gaze on the bulge in your abdomen that appears with every thrust.

“Min, I’m so close,” you say, gasping desperately and digging your nails into his back.

He presses down a little harder, burying his face in the crook of your neck and moving even faster, moaning every time he can feel himself move against your abdomen.

And as he brings his lips up to meet yours, you finally let go around him, making a mess of your sheets as you cum around his cock, your clit pulsing in syncopation with your entrance as he fucks you through your orgasm. Minho finishes just seconds after, emptying his milky white release inside of you, both your juices spilling into each other and coating the bed in your arousal. He doesn’t pull out immediately, slowing his thrusts for a few minutes as he kisses you much gentler this time, your lips still glistening with the exchange of saliva.

When he feels you shiver against him, Minho finally slides out, turning over to lay on his back and catch his breath. The two of you remain like that for a few minutes, catching your breath and wiping beads of sweat off your forehead as you do. After a moment of silence, he turns to you again, a worried expression on his face.

“I promise I didn’t come here to have sex with you,” Minho says. “I wasn’t lying about wanting to tell you all about it. I guess I just happened to-”

“Min, I know,” you say with a small smile. “I didn’t think that’s why you came here.”

He lets out a silent chuckle, and you mirror the action, smiling back at him before laughing silently. The two of you remain sore and wearied, your languid bodies a comfortable distance away from each other on the soiled duvet.

Still, Minho extends a hand out from beside you, palm facing up and shifting his gaze onto yours out of his peripheral vision.

Your hand meets his, intertwining your fingers together, the delicate embrace a reminder that he’s here, right where you left him.

“Can’t you just stay another week?” you say to Minho, leaning down to press another kiss to his already swollen lips.

You lie on top of him as he lays back on your couch, his hands tucking strands of hair behind your ear as he smiles up at you.

“It’s just for a little bit, I promise. I just have some unfinished business out there.”

“I don’t want to lose you again,” you say in a whisper, tracing the bridge of his nose with your fingertip.

“You won’t lose me,” Minho replies, his tone turning serious at your words. “You’ll never lose me.”

“What am I going to do without you?” You ask him, feeling yourself grow increasingly more panicked at the thought of being away from him again. You’ve spent the better part of three months searching for each other, desperate for some closure to this fleeting thing- and now he’s leaving, and you can’t help but feel like you’re doing something wrong by letting him leave like this.

“You’re going to be the woman you always have been,” Minho says with a smile, stroking your hair gently. “You’re going to work your job, and fix things and be absolutely remarkable wherever you go. And I’m going to finalize a few things out there and then meet you right back here in the city. And we’ll lie on this couch, and we’ll pick up right where we left off.”

You smile at him through pricking tears, feeling them begin to fall as he reaches a thumb up to wipe them off your cheek.

“Hey,” Minho says to you reassuringly. “You know- I was thinking a lot about the bar.”

You nod at him, trying to hold back the rest of your tears as he speaks.

“We have contract negotiations coming up next month. And I was thinking of… maybe…handing it off to Jeongin.”

You sit up a little, eyes widening at his words.

“Complete ownership? But you love that bar, Min.”

He shrugs a little, blinking a few times as he pauses.

“I want to cook. And I think being out here made me realize I need a change of pace again.”

“You mean like… moving out here? To the city?”

He lets out a breathy chuckle, throwing his head back a little before meeting your gaze again.

“Maybe. Just something I’ve been thinking about.”

You chuckle too now, cupping his face in your hands as you sit up to look at him.

“You know,” you begin, thinking for a second before continuing to speak. “This really cool bartender told me once that sometimes you have to go back and make amends before you can move forward again.”

His lips flicker down to your smile and back up to your eyes as you speak, a visible sparkle in your pupils as you look down at him. “Whatever you decide to do back there, I’m here with you when you go forward again. As a bartender, or a chef, or whatever you decide. I’ll be right where you left me.”

And he doesn’t have to ask you twice, knowing in his heart, you’re already here with him- every step of the way.

Minho leaves bright and early that morning, grasping your hand firmly in his as you make your way down the concrete steps of your apartment building to where his car is parked.

He looks more angelic than you’ve ever seen him, his smile illuminating the space around you as he holds you in his gentle embrace on the sidewalk. The two of you say nothing, only speaking through the tender touches of your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, face tucked in the crook of his neck as he holds you. He presses kisses to the top of your head, reminding you through hushed whispers that he’ll be back as soon as possible. And you know he will, feeling completely enveloped in his loving trust as he holds you, as he promises not to lose you again.

When he pulls away to look into your eyes, tears prick at the corners of your eyes for the third time this morning, and Minho chuckles lightly, reaching up to wipe them away with his thumb.

Before he can say anything, he feels it, finally.

The gentle caress of droplets on his face- not your tears, not his, but the sky above, showering you with little raindrops for the first time in three months and some days.

At first, Minho thinks he might be hallucinating it, when he looks up to squint his eyes back at the cloudy sky. You do the same, feeling the familiar kiss of raindrops on your skin. And then, as if the sky’s taking notice, it begins to pour, warm rain showering you both in the hazy atmosphere of the city sidewalk.

Minho laughs up at the sky, shaking his now damp hair as he looks down at you again. All this time he’s waited for the rain, thinking maybe he’d imagined it that night in the bar- the same night he ran into you. But as the raindrops graze his skin and glisten under the light of the city, he realizes it was very much real, as are you, standing right here in his arms. And like everything falls into place, so does the rain over the city, washing away the doubts he held onto for so long.

“It’s finally raining!” Minho exclaims, holding you closer to him as he tilts his face up to the sky again.

You watch him in admiration, laughing at the way he embraces the sudden downpour, also remembering the first night you met him because of the storm like this.

The city-dwellers around you begin to seek shelter under the cement roofs of the high rises, but you remain there on the sidewalk, warm in each other's embraces, content with the sudden turn of the weather. When he looks back down at you, his hair is now completely soaked, stringy pieces falling into his face as he continues to laugh.

“Minho,” you say through gentle laughter of your own. The rain comes down violently now, drenching the two of you as he holds you closer to him.

“Where have you been all my life?”

And he smiles down at you, the familiar beam of his giggle instilling the same safety and comfort as the first night you met in his bar.

“Right here,” Minho replies, leaning in to kiss you again.

“I’ve always been here.”

This time, you make no effort to escape the rain, comfortable in the way it looms over the city, much like how Minho looms over you- fortuitous, and with promises of new beginnings.

#skz smut #Lee know #Lee know smut #Lee know fic #stray kids hard hours #skz #stray kids #skz scenarios #stray kids x you #Lee minho #lee know scenarios #Lee know x reader #fanfic #smut #stray kids hard thoughts #stray kids x reader #stray kids x y/n #Spotify

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augustinewrites · 11 months

Text

today is the day.

katsuki’s feared it, dreaded it, and it’s finally arrived. the date on your calendar that is circled and underlined twice, reading:

housewarming party.

the smiley face you added doesn’t make it any less insufferable.

“looks good, babe,” katsuki hums, reaching around you to steal one of the appetizers you’re arranging.

“hey, uh-uh,” you scold, slapping at his hand. “those are for our guests.”

“i bought these ingredients,” he huffs. “i can eat what i want.”

the look on your face tells him otherwise.

“remind me again why we’re doing this,” he grumbles, leaning cross-armed on the edge of the island counter as he watches you work. he supposes having people over was inevitable, considering his friends now knew his address and never respected boundaries, but he didn’t understand why you’d want all of them over at once.

“because they’re our friends,” you remind him. “and it’s nice to have a simple, civilized get together with your friends once in a while.”

“you want to do something civilized? with those chucklefucks?”

you glance over your shoulder to fix him with a stern look. “friends don’t call friends chucklefucks, katsuki.”

“why not? it’s what they are.”

“one of those chucklefucks is ahead of you on the hero billboards, you know.”

the comment earns you a firm smack on the ass, katsuki rolling his eyes when you giggle. katsuki is a master of many things, but having patience when it comes to his friends is not one of them.

“okay,” you start, turning around and gesturing to your earrings. “look at these. what do you see?”

his brows furrow. “a couple ten thousand on my card…”

“no!” you laugh, even though he’s somewhat right. “they’re new earrings. new earrings, for a new mindset.”

you tap your temple, but katsuki doesn’t even pretend to agree your statement makes sense.

“that’s not how that works.”

“alright,” you sigh, placing your hands on his shoulders and leaning in to place a kiss on his frowing lips. “it’ll be fine, babe. besides, it’s too late now. i’ve already set out our good plates, so if we’re not inviting your friends over—”

“anyone else, babe,” he groans, resting his chin atop your shoulder “anyone.”

“oh? should i cancel and call your mom instead?”

_____

“hey! bakugou!”

you’ll probably make him sleep on the couch if he slams the door in their faces, so it’s with great effort that he sends them a tight-lipped smile and steps aside to let them in. “hey.”

denki claps him on the shoulder, slipping his shoes off but not putting them aside. kirishima quickly moves them to the mat before his friend can throw them at the electric dipshit hugging you in the kitchen.

yeah. this was going to be a long night.

kirishima, to his credit, presents him with a bottle of wine before heading in. “you ready for tonight?”

“absolutely not,” he scoffs, taking the bottle and inspecting its label. he doesn’t miss kirishima’s relieved sigh when his brows raise in approval.

the redhead then grasps his shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. “don’t worry. as long as no one asks kami about his new single or mina starts a game of uno, everything will be fine.”

_____

things were absolutely not fine. you’re a liar, kirishima is a liar, and kaminari is a terrible singer.

he’s almost grateful when the grazing board you’d carefully laid out starts to empty, because it gives him an excuse to step away and refill it (god forbid he let his friends starve).

but it seems you’ve beat him to the task, because when he opens the door to the pantry, you’re already inside.

“what the—”

you pull him into the pantry, poking your head out to make sure no one is following before shutting it tightly. you whirl around, hands on your hips and looking at him like he’s the crazy one. “why aren’t you out there?”

“i was looking for crackers,” he tells you, noting the pile of wrappers gathered atop the bottom shelf. “why aren’t you out there?”

he almost regrets asking when you exhale harshly through your nose, pressing your hands together and raising them to your lips. “because your friends refuse to use coasters.”

“oh, so now that they’re pissing ya off they’re just my friends?”

“yes!” you confirm as if that makes complete sense.

“well, you invited them,” he points out, grabbing the box of crackers he’d been looking for and tearing it open. he stuffs a few in his mouth before holding it out to you in offering.

you take a cracker, sinking down to the floor and hanging your head between your knees. “and i love them! but they’re…”

“a lot is what they fuckin’ are.”

when you pout, he reaches behind a few boxes of cereal, pulling out a bottle of wine.

“you hid wine in the pantry?”

katsuki settles himself next to you, letting you rest your head on his shoulder. “had a feeling your ‘new earrings, new mindset’ shit wouldn’t work.”

“you’re not gonna say ‘i told you so?’”

“no,” he chuckles, kissing the top of your head. “i will start looking at new apartments though.”

this time, you agree. “yeah, we definitely have to move.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #bnha fluff

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luvring · 5 months

Text

EASY SWEETNESS

itadori x gn!reader | insecure reader (about your laugh and... what you look like from an angle below? he's lying on your chest and you won't look down at him)

itadori’s a sweetheart without really trying.

maybe it’s just another one of his talents, you wonder—his way of making your heart skip a beat. compliments, gifts, how, with his back turned, his hand could find yours solely from the sound of your voice. it seemed to be as ingrained in him as the raw strength he held, or the recipe to his favourite late night noodles that he made every week; practiced yet somehow innate.

“you’re such a sweet talker, yuuji,” you deflected his compliment once (you had said something about not liking your laugh, and he had called it sweet instead, because there was no bad laugh, especially yours that he always wanted to hear), warmth tingling your face and ears.

“huh?” he tilted his head. “well, i guess so…wait, no? yes? it’s just the truth, though. is it sweet talking if it’s just being honest?”

you can’t help yourself from thinking back to that as he rests on top of you, favourite throw blanket covering the both of you and tucked beneath your feet so you wouldn’t get cold, and a movie you’ve both watched a dozen times plays on the television screen.

it was a comedy—one that yuuji happened to play in the background as he studied but, inevitably, distracted him from it. he told you it stuck with him, and it’s found its way back to viewership every few months when he feels like unwinding.

it was really only a matter of time before you took part too.

you’ve both got lines memorized from the words down to the pace they’re said, even the cut-offs by other characters and the noises playing in the background. you feel the rumble before you hear yuuji’s voice, smushed like his face against your chest, as he acts out the scene.

“hey, you think at some point we’ll have the whole movie memorized?” he asks, moving to look up at you with his chin resting against you.

and the thing about someone resting on your chest is that you have to look down when you speak, and the problem with that is that the angle isn’t all that flattering.

so you smile, eyes fixed on the screen yet not following a single word being said as you become aware of the angle of your head, and what you look like from a few inches away. “maybe. that’d take at least a few more dozen watches though, unless we’re talking active memorization.”

“then what about with active memorization?”

“hm…for you? i’d still say at least a dozen. movies are really long you know?”

“and you?”

“probably the same? like, if it’s just us two, that’s a lot of lines, and i don’t think megumi would be ecstatic to join. nobara, maybe.”

a character begins to yell at another as your fingers come to card through yuuji’s hair—yuuji, whose response seems to be silence until—“babe.”

“hm?”

“why won’t you look at me?”

you snort, fingers pausing so you can gently mess with his hair instead. “i look bad from that angle, yuu.”

and you hope, maybe, he’ll leave it there, move back to the memorization idea, pick the characters he’d act out best. it really isn’t a favourable angle for anyone, so maybe he won’t look much further into the way your lips form a tight smile, or the forced breathy laugh at whatever’s just happened on screen.

“no you don’t,” he says matter-of-factly.

“...yuuji, really—”

“i think you look nice from every angle.” yuuji rests his cheek against you again. and you let your eyes flicker down, just once, just to see him grin as soon as your gazes connect. “i like looking at you from anywhere, but especially here.”

you shoot him a look of disbelief. “that’s your favourite spot to look at me from?”

“well.” he shifts his legs and kicks the blanket a little, untucking it from beneath you. “any spot that’s super close is nice so i can really see you, and do this—”

yuuji grunts a little as he moves up to kiss your cheek, hands finding home beside your head—you can feel him grinning even before he’s moved away to look at you.

“and you say you aren’t a sweet talker,” you murmur, face warm and housing a stupidly lovesick grin.

“hey.” he pouts. “i’m telling you i’m not a sweet talker, it’s just the truth as your boyfriend.”

“sweet talker.”

“i’m sweet and a talker. not a sweet talker.”

“okay, sweetie.” you try to joke and scrunch your nose, the pet name awkward and foreign on your tongue, but yuuji only smiles again in response.

“yeah, that works too. should we start calling each other sweetie now? i think it kind of fits.”

“yuuji—”and you’re convinced he has a talent now, because even as he exaggerates the new term with a sickeningly sweet voice, it manages to roll off his tongue as naturally as every other compliment he’s said to the point that you think maybe you wouldn’t mind him using it—“yeah, sweetie?”

i'm gonna be so fr sweetness looks like a silly word to me rn. specfically when all capitalized...SWEETNESS... girl what is that

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #itadori x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #itadori fluff #didnt proofread im rawdogging this be kind to me

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shirefantasies · 6 months

Note

Can I ask for a request?

For the fellowship men? So they get wounded and their crush have to nurse them? And she is total calm with that like "Hun your leg is bleeding you have to take off your pants so I can treat the wound" and she's total obvious and didn't get the longing looks she get oder when he ist flustered and shiver because she touch his skin. ("Sry for the cold hands")

I’ll do my best! Tried to vary up the scenarios a bit 😉 thank you so much for requesting 😌 Warnings: some blood & injury mentions, minor language, some suggestive jokes!

The Fellowship When Their Crush Cares For Their Wound

Aragorn

"Won't you please sit down?"

The tender urgency of your words finally ran a shock through Aragorn, who complied. Perhaps it truly was no good to continue pressing on at the detriment of the group.

"Very well. We rest!"

"That was not so hard, was it?" You asked him, resting a hand on his shoulder. "Now, if you please." Pantomiming removing your shirt, you nodded his way.

Aragorn's brows furrowed, blue eyes fixing you with concern, questioning, as he sat and tightened his bootstraps.

"I saw that slash you took," you breathed, "let yourself be cared for."

Inhaling, he nodded, unlacing and shrugging down his tunic. Never had you made such a request before, but giving as you were, it made sense. Such nature was what inevitably drew Aragorn to you. Your touch was soft as you reached out to caress the skin above where he had been injured. Cleaned it just as gently.

"What?" You suddenly broke the silence, tilting your head and fixing Aragorn with an innocent bat of your eyes. You truly had no idea.

He shook his head, a smile playing upon his lips to swallow the wince of pain as you began wrapping his cut flesh in bandages. "Nothing. Only gratitude at the care of your heart and the ease of your hands."

You smiled back, sending Aragorn's chest leaping somewhere far deeper than the pain could reach.

Legolas

"You're bleeding."

"It is nothing, really," the elven prince tried to brush you off, but shaking your head, you stepped in front of him.

"Keep not your pride so tight about you," you chastised, hands upon your hips and a teasing look upon your face, "the dwarf can't see you. Come. Let me at least wrap it up for you."

Legolas's expression softened at your words, and with a slight nod, he followed. Wordlessly he removed his layers when you reached a spot off to the side, dark eyes never leaving you as he revealed the entirety of the wound, a slash near his collarbone. Unthinkingly, your hands went right to the area around it.

"Oh, Legolas, it's worse than I..." You paused, feeling him shiver. "I'm sorry, are my hands cold?"

"A bit," he replied with a bit of a smile, resting both of his hands over yours.

Flushing, you shake your head. "I am supposed to be caring for you."

Legolas just smiled at you. "Can we not have both? This is the least I can do."

"True," you teased, "I suppose it benefits us both, does it not?"

"Indeed," he nodded, "but mostly yet I know no other way to show my heart's gratitude."

Boromir

"I can hardly believe you!"

"Believe what? We are safe again," Boromir replied, a hand tightly clasping your shoulder.

"You are well aware what, you hero of a man," you shot back, waving a hand up and down his form, "now go and lie down for me already!"

"Oh?" His brows shot up at your words. "Is that how you like it?"

"No matter me, you've been wounded! Being surrounded upon all sides and grazed with arrows does that to a man. I saw the one that caught your side and while I'd like to hold you up as much as you need, first we'd best patch you up."

"Oh," Boromir said again, this time a bit dumbly as he lowered to the ground with a nod. His teasing tone quickly returned, however, "Yes, indeed, whatever you say. I forget what a great healer you are."

"Well, I certainly may not be the best, but there is no reason to burden oneself with wounds already inflicted. Not to mention it mostly got your back."

The moment Boromir exposed himself, he glanced back at you, catching the trace of your eyes over his skin. Your hands soon fell upon it, working quickly to clean and wrap up the bloody graze nice and tight. What surprised him, though, was the work of your hands after this, your fingers kneading the skin around it. Pleasure and pain rolled in equal waves through him as you did so.

"My apologies, does this hurt too much? I felt you start a bit just now. My brother just told me that we heal better if we're relaxed."

"And I believe that wholeheartedly," Boromir agreed with a smile, "please continue. I must confess I have never received such fine treatment before."

Giggling at his comment and eliciting a chuckle from him in return, you continued with a smile of your own.

Gimli

“Sit still!”

“I can still fight!”

“Like hell you will,” you shot back, stopping Gimli again with a hand across his chest, “I don’t care what you think you can do, you just could have been killed! Now stay there, please. I’m worried about you.”

Spoken considerably softer, those last four words were what halted Gimli’s protest the most, a glow of warmth and hope ringing out in his chest. His lips parted a bit in surprise. “Oh. Alright, then, do what you need.” For all his bravado, it had been a nasty case, his body slammed down so hard and his now-pounding head taking the brunt of the force.

“Thank you.” Reaching your hands up, you slid his helmet off first, tucking his hair behind his ears. You could feel the way he tensed up at your actions as you pulled one hand away to fetch your cloth. "Sorry, did that sting?"

He had to get out his head- all you were doing was taking care of him. "Not at all. Please-please continue." Perhaps his words sounded desperate, but Gimli barely cared when your hands were on him like that.

Speaking of which... You took firmer hold, tilting him by the chin to get a better angle with which to dab the warm fabric over the wound.

"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

Frodo

"Would you not like to do something about this?"

Frodo simply peered up into your eyes with his glistening blue stare, tilting his head inquisitively and tugging at his sleeves, which you then took a hold of.

"No, no, take this all off is what I meant."

"Take- take it all...?"

Hand crossing over your shoulders, you drew lines down in an impression of the chain Frodo wore, the impossibly heavy burden he bore burning into his skin at all times. "Surely you feel it. You must. Keep it on, I won't touch it, but please let me ease the pain."

Blinking, Frodo inhaled, nodded. "Very well. What will you do, then?"

"Just put some salve up there around where the chain is. Here, just take your shirt off a bit," you told him, fussing with his jacket but allowing Frodo himself to undo the top buttons of his shirt.

He glanced up, followed your gaze and saw it lie not upon the ring, but upon his, and visibly relaxed, a smile finally working its way to his soft lips. Nodding again, he sat back as your hand pushed the metal chain up from its place, spreading your healing concoction upon the opened skin. When your hand got lower, you could feel how rapid his heartbeat was thumping beneath skin and bone.

"Don't worry, really. All I care about is you." Did it pick up again?

"I am at ease, the first of such I've felt in some time. I cannot thank you enough," he replies with a shake of his head and a kiss to the hand you weren't using.

Sam

"Alright, Sam, open up your shirt."

"I beg your pardon?"

Shaking your head, you chuckled at his wide eyes. "I heard you got a nasty scrape, and if so, I've got just the thing for it."

Shock still swam in his green eyes, his fingers hovering over the buttons hesitantly as he glanced between them and you.

Flushing, you spoke once more, much more hastily as you held up the jar of medicine in question. "Oh! Er, well, if you'd rather someone else take a look, I can give this to Aragorn and he can-"

"No!" Sam cut you off, shaking his head. "No, no let's not trouble Strider, you're all right. Here we go."

Glancing back and forth, he sat down upon a rock and undid the top three buttons of his shirt, wiggling the fabric loose to reveal the wound you'd been told of. Your eyes wandered a bit before guiltily returning to Sam's; he smiled faintly as you dipped your fingers into the cool contents of the jar and reached back up to smear some on. Sam, surprisingly, did not flinch but he did shiver a bit.

"Oh, my apologies, I should have warmed it up a bit better first, shouldn't I?"

He sat up a bit straighter at your words. "Not at all, I can take it. Just...just startled me a bit is all. Don't worry your pretty head."

Merry

"Trousers off. Let's see it."

"Right now?" Merry loudly whispered, eyes going round.

"Yes, right now," you fussed, "or else you'll bleed out! Come on."

"Oh. Oh, the wound, yes. Bit of a close one there, wasn't it?"

You put a hand on your hip as Merry lowered into a seated position and undid his belt. "Had Boromir not been there with his shield, you could have lost your leg. What were you thinking?"

"Well, if you really must know," Merry shot back, shimmying his outer garments down to reveal a glistening red gash upon his right leg, "thought charging in might impress you."

He shuddered under the cleansing water you pressed against it, likely due to the cold. Your brow furrowed equally at the wound as it was at him, your eyes darting up to search his. "Impress me?" You replied incredulously.

"Yes," he agreed with a crooked, devious smile, "and with that first line of yours, I thought it'd worked."

Pippin

“Alright, take off your trousers.”

Pippin’s eyebrows shot up as his hands slid to his belt. “Is that what we’re doing? Well, all right then…”

Head tilted and brows furrowed in confusion, you fixed him with a look. “Of course we are, you got a huge gash above the knee. Lucky for you Aragorn harvested us a whole lot of poultice herbs the other day.” Your gaze slid between Pippin and your work of crushing the leaves as he sheepishly loosened his garments.

“Right, right, I knew that, yes. So the leaves are going to go down first, then?”

“Indeed,” you nodded, dabbing at the remaining dribble of blood before you began gently dabbing the poultice on.

Your eyes traveled back up to meet his, their deep green sheen bringing a shy smile to your face. Beneath your hand, he shuddered faintly.

“Sorry, does that sting?” You asked him, glancing again between your work and him.

Puffing out his chest a bit, Pippin shook his head. “Not at all. Not when I have the best nurse in all of Middle Earth to take care of me. Feels a bit good, in fact.”

Flushing, you gave a full smile at his words as you tied off his bandage. “Well, having the best patient helps, too.” Feeling a bit bold, you reached up and patted his cheek. “Let me know if you need anything else, alright?”

A wide grin spread across Pippin’s face. “Oh, I can think of something."

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ficnation · 7 months

Text

Chapter 4: Bon Appétit

Series: “Eat Your Heart Out” Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female! Reader x Will Graham Word count: 4,6k+ Warnings: canon-typical warnings, 18+, SMUT A/n: I'm really putting off the inevitable here sksksksk. Enjoy and let me know your thoughts <3 Btw this is my first time writing explicit smut (unedited)

This is also another late piece to @the-slumberparty Bingo Card event (prompt: proposal) - > Events Masterlist

Main Masterlist || Hannibal Masterlist

PREVIOUS CHAPTER || NEXT CHAPTER

When Will comes home that night after promising you he’ll only be gone for a few hours, he’s doing anything in his power not to look you in the eyes. He kept his word, coming back exactly three hours and twenty-six minutes later. You stare at him, intrigued. You don’t understand why he’s acting this way, but your mind screams at you that it can’t be anything good—it’s right, like always.

“I resumed my therapy with Doctor Hannibal Lecter,” he informs you after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. He still doesn’t look at you, as he takes off his jacket and boots.

“You did what?” You blink at him in confusion—utterly dumbfounded. The meaning of his words doesn’t even register in your brain.

“I’m going to keep on seeing Hannibal,” Will repeats in the same monotonous voice.

It hits you like a train, and your stomach churns at the thought of them sitting across from each other, talking about emotions and Will’s life. Your expression turns to one of disapproval as the man expected.

“After everything he’s done, after everything he put you through, why would you do that?”

Will doesn’t respond right away, and you can tell he’s struggling with his words. “There are things I need to learn about myself,” he says finally. “About what it’s like to be me.”

You stare at him, burning invisible holes in his head, trying to decipher what is truly happening here. The guilt that emanates from his person, the fact that he still can’t meet your gaze—it’s more than suspicious. The realization hits you even harder than the fact he wants to be anywhere near Hannibal Lecter.

“Why are you lying to me?” you ask, voice on the verge of breaking. You hate yourself for ever thinking that he trusts you completely after all those years apart. The tears gathering in your eyes are more angry than sorrowful.

For a moment, Will goes silent. The silence is thick, full of tension as the two of you remain in your positions—you watching him, and him with his back turned to you.

Then, he closes his eyes tightly, as if fighting against a headache. He finally speaks, but only after turning slowly to face you. You immediately notice the pained expression on his face, the guilt that drips from his very skin.

“I have to keep seeing him.”

You go to protest again, but the sound of your voice cracks, and no words emerge. Will doesn’t wish to ever hear this noise from you again. It feels criminal—being the one who caused it. His heart breaks in a way it never did before—it stings like someone delivered it one thousand cuts.

You both remain silent for what feels like an eternity. Will doesn’t look away from you, and your eyes are locked on him, on that misery and pain staring right at you. No one moves, no one blinks, no one probably even breathes. Everything is still, except for your heart which aches even worse than it did before. The silence gets so thick you can almost feel it—touch it. For the life of you, you don’t want to be the one to break it.

You want to speak, beg, convince him to stop these mind games, to give you an explanation you could understand. But you choose to keep your mouth shut, slumping further into the cushions of the armchair.

Will’s eyes don’t leave you. They remain fixed on you as if willing you to speak, to tell him something that would make all of this suddenly go away. Anything.

He wants you to read his mind, and understand his pleas, but you can’t— and even if you could, you wouldn’t. You don’t do anything, don’t even move a muscle and after a few moments of waiting, Will finally breaks the silence.

“I don’t want him to do this to anyone else,” he says. His words are soft and quiet, but they carry a weight that you feel in your chest.

“Yet you didn’t start with that. You chose to lie.”

Will sighs. He looks exhausted as if you’ve been here asking him questions for hours, even though it’s been twenty minutes at most.

“I didn’t want you to stop me. There, I said it,” he says. “It was hard. Harder than anything I’ve ever done. Can you just cut me some slack over here?”

You don’t answer right away. You don’t know what to think or what to say about this whole situation. It seems absurd, and you have to remind yourself that you might’ve paused your story with Will Graham, but for him time has passed, things have changed.

You’re not proud of the words that leave you next. God, you wish you could just catch them in the air before they have a chance to reach his ears and put them back in your mouth.

“Change your fucking tone, Will.”

You’re shocked with your own words, but Will doesn’t seem annoyed or offended, not like most people would. He’s still staring at you, but you notice the slightest hint of amusement in his expression as if this new side of you intrigued him rather than annoyed him.

“You don’t like me speaking to you like that, my dear?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. He makes no attempts to sound serious—just enough to make you laugh, but his words carry weight. He’s genuinely curious.

Will Graham just called you “my dear” and your whole face warms up at this term of endearment as you observe him fall to one knee in front of your person.

“What are you doing?” you choke out, confused, butterflies fluttering wildly in your chest.

Will takes his time to reply, his eyes scanning you and your reactions. He seems to enjoy the sight of you flustered, barely keeping up with what’s happening right in front of your face. His heart skips a beat more than twice in the span of a few seconds.

“I’m proposing.”

The words seem so absurd that you half expect him to break the tension with a quick joke, but he doesn’t. His gaze is glued to you, his words as serious as they can be. You don’t know what to say, don’t know how to react. Your mind is frozen.

“What the fuck, Will?”

Will grins at that and shakes his head as if he’d expected your reaction to be no different. He keeps his stance, one knee on the floor, as he stares at you affectionately—with so much love you’re surprised he doesn’t explode from it. The man is enjoying your confusion and the fact that he managed to pull it out of you. He’s not ashamed to admit it, either.

“That’s the kind of reaction I was hoping for,” he says quietly and in a matter of time, his hand is on your thigh, tracing invisible circles on the soft fabric of your pajama pants. “You were always going to say no for the first time.”

You blink at him, trying to coax out words from within you, but you don’t find any. That only makes you even more confused, and your expression turns to a frown. Is he really… asking you to marry him?

“I know, I’m quite the romantic.” He pauses, trying to stifle his chuckle. “Do you want me to ask you the usual way?”

“Will, are you serious?” you ask, your voice so gentle the words barely sound like they’re yours. Will only nods his head. “I don’t want you to ask at all. I want us to get married as soon as possible.”

He reaches down to grab your hands in his. “I never believed in marriage. I’m not sure if I do now either,” he admits awkwardly, playing with your fingers. “But I really want to hear people call you Mrs. Graham.”

Your heart jumps as he speaks as if you’d been waiting for him to admit those words for years. The words sink in slowly and your eyes become distant, as if you’d been taken back in time. A warm feeling spreads across your chest like you just swallowed a whole bottle of wine in one ginormous gulp.

“You know I can’t say no.” Your words are quiet and soft. He pulls you down onto his lap, his hands still around your fingers as he brings them to his chest. “Can I call you mine too?”

“Always,” Will replies, his voice low and quiet, but full of love and emotion. “It’s been you all along.”

A soft smile rests on your face as you look down at him. Your head is right above his, but you decide to close the tiny distance between you by leaning forward and pressing your lips against his. You feel your heart race as you do so.

“Did you come up with this to distract me?” Your voice is playful, but the air around you is thick and humid.

Will leans forward and wraps his arms snugly around your waist, hugging you tight. Your fingers play with his curls, his head back on your chest. The whole weight of him hangs onto you like all the sins in the world, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Maybe,” he replies, a smile tugging at his lips, even though he seems serious.

You can feel his body shift, and suddenly Will presses you firmly against the growing hardness inside his jeans. The whimper that pushes past your lips as you feel it through the thin layer of your pajama pants is downright desperate. You both can’t hide the fact that your breaths are becoming more irregular, muscles tensing under each other’s hands.

“I like being distracted like this,” you whisper, your nose nuzzling against his temple.

A low growl comes from the man’s chest. You’re close enough to the source of the sound to feel the vibration against your body. He presses his face to your neck, taking in the scent of your skin like he’s oxygen-deprived.

“Should I distract you too, Will?” you ask him quietly, tugging at his tousled hair.

“You’ve done enough, dear. I’m already distracted.” His voice is soft, and his words catch in his throat. Will doesn’t seem to have a single rational thought going through his head. It’s like all he can process is his need for you, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say this was a spell cast on him. “I want you.” His hand moves to your hip, and he presses into you harder, your breath catching in your throat. “Please.”

And who are you to deny him of anything his soul could ever want or need? You don’t wait for more encouragement as your fingers start working on hastily unbuttoning his shirt. They trace the smooth lines of his chest, the scars that mark his skin, and every little detail of him—every part of his history that he once saw as a defect. It’s not. It’s who he is, who he’s always been—his past is a part of what made him the Will you know and love.

Your fingers slowly make their way down to his belt and unclasp it too in one go. You graze over his hardness on accident, already feeling its heat through the thin layer. You let out a whimper and your whole brain starts to short-circuit.

“Slowly.” Will’s voice is hoarse and raw, his fingers digging deeply into the skin of your hip. “I want to see you.”

The man doesn’t waste any time in waiting for your reaction as his hand moves up to your face. His touch is gentle as it pushes back your hair, his fingertips rubbing against the skin behind your ear before they start pursuing the shape of your neck—every muscle and tendon.

“Slowly,” he repeats, and you can’t help but groan.

Nevertheless, you obey, letting your hands explore every surface of his flesh again like he’s the perfect puzzle that you need to solve. His own mirror yours, sliding below the thin layer of your t-shirt, grazing over your navel, and pushing upwards.

Every move you make leaves its mark, causing his body to tremble even more. His breath becomes so uneven, you think he might fall apart at any moment. The mere sound sends shivers down your spine.

“Yes, like that,” he mumbles, and his lips are right next to your ear as he whispers these words. His hand moves again and starts to tug at your shirt.

You help him remove it in one go, left in only your plaid pajama bottoms. Will’s touch is familiar, one you could never forget—not like the dozen strangers through the past few years, you never even remembered their faces come tomorrow morning. But his touch sets you ablaze—burns and soothes at the same time, it’s unforgettable.

Will reaches up to pull your head against his so that you’re staring straight at one another. His touch is gentle, but there’s an intensity to it that you can’t mistake. His lips slowly approach yours with such an intense need that you can read it in his gaze. Even though he doesn’t say it, you feel that this kiss is more than just desire—it’s a need to be as close to you as possible, to never let you go again. His tongue delves inside your mouth, and you sigh into it.

The feeling of your skin pressed against his leaves Will desperate, his mind so overwhelmed and in a haze, he can’t even form the words to describe the sensation. His hand keeps moving as if your flesh were an addiction. The sound that leaves from his throat is something so close to a purr—he’s almost embarrassed.

You feel his body tensing, his muscles flexing against yours, and your skin feels hot and all too sensitive. He’s taking advantage of this moment to touch you anywhere he can reach. His fingers leave no inch of your skin unexplored as he slowly begins to lower your pajama bottoms.

“God, you’re beautiful.” The sound of your voice draws Will’s eyes closed as he inhales deeply.

Will’s fingers glide down toward your legs, and he looks as if all his dreams are coming true at once. You see his eyes flicker open, and he looks at you with such intensity, such concentration, that it’s hard to breathe as you’re pulled along by an invisible force. He finally lets go of your chin so that he can drag your pajamas down further until they’re thrown across the room.

You take his hands in yours, placing them over your breasts. And it’s only when his teeth drag across your neck, from just above your collarbone down to the crook of your shoulder, that he loses it completely.

There’s no being slow or gentle when he pushes you away, standing up and pulling you to your feet. You take hurried steps back as he nudges you toward the bed. Soon enough, your calves hit the mattress and you fall back onto the blue duvet. You don’t even have a chance to take a breath, Will is hovering over you, elbows on each side of your head.

“You’re gorgeous,” he mumbles, looking deep into your eyes—so deep you’re afraid he can see the broken soul behind them.

You help him push his jeans and boxers down the length of his legs. The second they’re no longer an obstacle, Will’s fingers delve between your thighs, circling your clit teasingly with the gentlest of touches. Your lips part in a gasp, hands falling onto the covers to clench them in your fists.

“Will, please,” you plead between whimpers. He was the only one who could ever bring you to the point of begging, and you hope he knows it somewhere deep within.

The man faces you with glassy eyes, swiping the tip of his tongue over his bottom lips. He doesn’t need you to say anything more, he just nods feverishly and lets your fingers guide him inside. The sensation of your heat gripping him tightly makes him groan, lips falling agape. You wrap your legs around his hips, crossing them behind his back, and pull him even closer.

“Will,” you moan his name against his lips.

It spurs him on, makes him even more eager to please you. He draws back almost completely, then buries himself inside you again in one smooth motion. Your thighs tremble visibly, and it almost makes him smile. You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, fingers tugging on his curls.

Will rocks into you deep and steady, one of his hands digging into the meat of your thigh with so much force it hurts—but goddamn, you love this kind of pain. And he makes it feel even more heavenly when his thumb begins to trace circles over your clit.

It doesn’t take him long to take you over the edge—hard and fast—turning you into a mindless, hot, whimpering mess. You mumble his name over and over again as your heat pulses around his length, making him come just a few moments after you. He claims your mouth with his, making you taste your name on his lips. God, does it taste heavenly.

Night came quicker than you realized, covering the sky with bright stars and a full moon. Despite it, it’s not pitch black outside. The shimmering snow reflects the shining lights, fighting off the darkness well enough. It doesn’t make you feel any less threatened, even though it should.

You’re wrapped only in the blue duvet that covered the bed, as you lie on your side, facing Will, who’s already asleep. His bare thigh is right against yours, and the heat of his skin is almost impossible to resist. You let your eyes wander across his body, his physique—he looks like a sculpture, a masterpiece of flesh and bone.

Your body still aches from his touch, and you feel like you’re a puddle of emotions with the sole mission of holding love, affection, and desire for him. You’re about as far away from being “fine” as possible. You didn’t even get a chance to tell him you’ll be working together from now on. He doesn’t know he’s allowed back in BAU, and you wonder if you should leave him unknowing for as long as possible. It’s not your greatest idea, but the idea of him breaking beyond repair terrifies you.

You try to calm your heart as it races and skips a beat every time his body shifts—the smallest movement seems like it could wake him up. But as you lie there in the darkness, his hand reaches out and finds its rightful place on your thigh again, his fingers barely grazing your skin. The sensation makes you almost jump out of your skin, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Why are you awake?” he asks with half-closed eyes.

“Can’t sleep,” you reply softly, wanting to touch him back, but not sure if you should.

“I figured,” he murmurs. “You didn’t sleep much yesterday either.”

You sigh sadly, you didn’t think he’d noticed. His hand moves up your thigh, almost instinctively, until it touches you just below your hip. It stops there, and your eyelashes flutter at its warmth against your skin.

“You can touch me.” Will’s voice is so quiet it’s almost inaudible, and you don’t have to be told twice.

Your fingers slip under the duvet, so the fabric doesn’t block your touch, and you begin to trace the outline of his leg with the tips of your fingers. Will’s eyes finally open, and he looks almost nervous at the intimate touch—until you find the spot where he’s ticklish. He lets out an adorable whimper, so naturally, you laugh and keep going.

“No, no, please stop,” Will moans, trying to fight back his chuckles, squirming as he tries to get away from your touch. The whole time he’s half-smiling, his fingers digging into the duvet for stability. He tries to grab your hands, but it only makes you laugh harder.

You find another ticklish spot on the side of his torso and continue to tease him. Eventually, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much as you watch Will scoot back, out of your reach. Your sour mood from before is gone in an instant.

Will moves up so that he’s sitting up against the wall, practically on the edge of the bed, and he looks almost offended by your reaction. Your gaze shifts, so you can get a fuller view of him.

“I’m not as ticklish as you think,” he says, his tone serious, though you can still hear a tremble in his voice. “If you wanted to see me squirm,” he adds, “you could’ve found a different method.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, and you immediately pull the sheets up to cover the bottom part of your face, trying to hide your flustered reaction from his eyes.

“You’re so cute,” he says, his voice just a whisper, almost as if he was afraid that anything above a murmur could wake the dogs sleeping by the fireplace. “So adorable.”

Will’s hand rests on your head, his fingers playing with the strands of hair that cover your ears. You can feel him studying you—how your nose twitches and your eyes almost close as you wait for his next words. Something about it feels intimate as if he’s taking in every detail of your expression one by one. It’s been a while since he’s done that, you didn’t even realize how much you missed it.

“You can pull it down, you know,” he says playfully, his hand still in your hair. “This must be suffocating.”

“I know,” you say quietly, as you pull the sheets down from your face.

Will’s fingers interlace with yours, and you can feel his thumb circling your wrist.

“And yes, it is a bit suffocating.” You pull the sheets down to your collarbones, and a chill runs through your body as the cold air touches your arms. “Maybe you can warm me up.”

Will smiles—a small, sweet smile, with a bit of mischief thrown in. “Maybe I can,” his tone is playful as he pulls you close, your cheek finding a home on his chest, right above his heart.

After a few long minutes of silence and listening to the steady drum of his heartbeat, you turn to face him, resting your chin above his pec.

“We’re back on the team, you know?” you mumble almost mindlessly.

Will looks down at you, his expression gentle as he caresses your hair.

“I know.”

His gaze trails down your face and lingers on your lips for a brief moment before it shifts again. There are so many things Will wants to say, but he can’t bring himself to do it—he fears it would ruin these quiet, peaceful moments between you two.

You don’t question how he already knows that, choosing instead to voice your other thoughts—ones that’ve been on your mind almost the whole day. “What did Alana want from you?”

Will’s hand pauses against your face when you bring up her name, and for a moment he seems speechless, which is rare a thing for him.

“I…” He trails off but then speaks again as if he’s found the courage to say the words. “Alana wants me to stay away from Hannibal,” he says quietly, his fingers moving on your cheeks, your brows, your chin, as if his hand isn’t allowed to stay still for a second without touching the flesh it can. “She’s sleeping with him.”

“Why does she want you to stay away?”

“Because I tried to kill him.”

You don’t even blink at his confession, there’s no fear in your gaze—no ounce of surprise. There was a time in your life when this revelation would’ve shocked you, broken you in half, but after your father’s death, when you’re faced with it, it’s… easy to handle. Will expected this kind of indifference, he knew you well enough to know you wouldn’t judge nor be afraid.

“How?”

Will lets your question hang in the air for a long minute before he speaks. He takes a deep breath, trying to gather his thoughts.

“Not by my hand—not like that,” he starts. “Hannibal has a lot of… a lot of hold over me,” he pauses again, “he made me want to do it.” It’s probably the most vulnerable, the most genuine explanation Will has given anyone. He’s speaking to you from the heart and in pure honesty. “An opportunity fell on my lap to send someone after him, so I took it.”

You nod your head in acknowledgment—it makes sense to you. “It’s a shame it didn’t work out.”

A hint of a smile appears on Will’s face. He moves his fingers to the nape of your neck and to caress the lines of your ear—it’s something he always used to do when he was thinking and you were nearby. “Alana’s very upset with me.”

Will’s other hand slides over your thigh, his fingers teasing the skin, almost as if he was trying to test it, like a cat with a piece of string. He’s still thinking when his hand starts to move upwards, closer to your hip.

“Don’t take it to heart,” you advise him, leaving a soothing peck on his jaw. It was the best you could do.

“I’m trying.” He laughs in a low rumble, his hand moving between your legs and your whole body tenses. “I’m trying,” he says again.

The touch is so soft and gentle—almost teasing, yet your body seems to be craving it. It makes him nervous, but also excited, and when he closes his eyes his head just falls back to rest against the wall, his teeth showing as he breathes in deeply.

“Would you have done this if I…” his words trail off into silence as the man doesn’t seem certain about how to finish his sentence. He looks at you, his face revealing all the questions that he doesn’t dare to ask.

You grasp his jaw between your hands, encouraging him to speak his mind, but being unconditionally patient at the same time. He tries to say something again, then changes his mind. It’s as if he’s playing a constant game with you, trying to reach into your mind without opening his mouth like most people do.

“If you…”

“If I was still the same,” he mumbles out finally.

“Will, you are still the same person. Perhaps a little more broken than before, but it’s still you.”

Will stays silent and still for a minute with his eyes closed, his hand still between your legs. The tips of his fingers keep barely touching you, almost a caress, although a bit harsher than before. His lids flutter open, so you can see his face as it’s lit by the moonlight.

“There’s something I’d like you to promise,” he says cautiously as if every word is carefully thought out before he speaks it aloud. “Promise me that you’ll keep trusting in me... even if you don’t understand.”

Will’s hand moves up from between your legs so that he can touch your waist and hold you in place. The fingers of his other hand stroke your face down to the side of your neck, and you can feel how your heart starts to beat faster and faster with each touch.

“I will always trust you, Will. Just never lie to me again, have a little faith in me too.”

Will lets his eyes fall down to your lips again, and he can’t help but bite his own in response. As if he was trying to hold himself together but the urge to kiss you was almost too strong, the way his gaze kept shifting.

When his lips touch yours—it’s a long, slow kiss, deep and gentle at the same time. He holds you in place, your hips pressed against his as if he doesn’t want you to move, even a centimeter. And you don’t dream of being anywhere else but here—by his side.

“I love you, Will.”

#eat your heart out #smut #mdni #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #hannibal lecter x will graham #hannibal lecter #hannibal #hannigram #will graham x reader #will graham x hannibal lecter #will graham

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solarisfortuneia · 1 year

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— grace and coordination? who?

them with a clumsy reader. (ft. kaeya, thoma, tighnari, diluc, alhaitham, ayato, zhongli, childe.)

notes: pinkie swear this'll be the last repost for a while, bc i'm working on some new stuff mwah <3

kaeya's reaction to your mishaps depends on the situation. sometimes he's literal prince charming, the very picture of concern and worry. and other times, when you're not in a lot of danger— like when you've tripped down a set of four stairs, for example— he'll try really really hard to keep a straight face to protect your feelings.

over time, he'll develop a sense of when and where accidents are most likely to happen and take measures to either remove the obstruction, or guide you away from it entirely. however, if the situation is inevitable, he'll try his best to catch you. one downside though— or upside, depending how you see it— is that he'll always hit you with an overused, cliché line.

"looks like you're falling for me all over again, sweetheart."

this sweet, sweet boy is the most worried of all. initially, thoma thinks every scratch and every bruise is a consequence of something serious, but soon learns that they're most probably a result of your klutziness. even if you stumble lightly and regain your balance, he's instantly at your side, asking you if you're alright. he won't just take you at your word though, he'll check you himself from head to toe, and only then will he be satisfied.

he'll also carry bandages, antiseptic liquid, lotion, anything he thinks you might need. his pockets are endless. he'll even have small treats to console you after a bad fall.

"oh, dear! here, let me help you up. no injuries? good. here's a candy to cheer you up."

frankly, he's exasperated. and also very concerned. whenever you bump your head on a branch or fall backwards on your butt, he just sighs and shakes his head before helping you. he knows you're no careless fool, just very prone to unlucky incidents, so he'll spare you the lecture.

tighnari is a firm believer in the fact that prevention is better than cure. so, he'll make sure your footwear is comfortable and supportive and make you change if any parts of your outfit have the potential to be a tripping hazard. if you wear glasses, he'll remind you to keep your prescription up to date. all in all, he'll minimize the possibility of you tripping due to things in your control.

"you'll trip on that robe of yours if you walk outside wearing it. go put on something else, i'd rather not see you fall into a hole in the ground again."

diluc never expresses anything because he'd rather not come off as overbearing, but he's very careful with you. you can see it in the way he brings a hand to the edge of the table to stop you from hitting your head when you bend to pick up a spoon you knocked off the table, the way he keeps any sharp objects out of your reach, the way he's always scanning his surroundings.

he'll find himself doing all that even when you're not with him, and he'll be glad you weren't there to witness that. he'll baby proof his entire house just for you, and if he can, he'll baby proof yours too. he's the type to use the high quality silk handkerchief he carries around to bandage a scuffed knee.

"don't worry about it, cloth can be washed. the injury should be our first priority."

there is no question alhaitham can't answer and no puzzle he can't solve, except, of course, the conundrum of how you manage to stumble over air, or slip on a completely dry surface. he'll observe you carefully, try his best to figure it out but eventually he'll chalk it up to circumstances being arranged against you.

he takes matters into his own hands and just fixes said circumstances for you. beyond that, he knows he cannot do much. he has the uncanny ability to know exactly when you're about to do something where you'll end up with a bump on your head, even if you're miles apart. he's also not too worried, he knows that a tumble isn't the end of the world. the problem only arises when you don't get back up again.

he'll firmly refuse to go dancing with you though, both for his sake and yours. he'll turn you down gently and suggest alternatives.

"dance with you? i'm not sure that's such a great idea. how about we spend the evening at the café?"

kamisato ayato is grace, elegance and perfection. so it comes as a surprise to most of inazuma when they see that his partner is a walking disaster. he's fond of this trait of yours though; he thinks it's endearing. he's also very forgiving if you happen to step on his toes or bump into him. he has no issues replacing anything you break on accident too.

he knows he cannot personally keep an eye on you, so he'll have someone watch over you from afar to make sure nothing serious happens. that's not to say he won't tease you, no. even though he knows the answer, he'll always ask playfully about any recent 'misfortune' you've been a part of every time he sees you.

"ah, there you are. have you fulfilled your daily quota of disaster for the day? now now, don't give me that look, you know i'm just teasing~"

he's unfazed, really. he's seen many types of people and creatures over the years, from the most poised rulers to the most unsteady fawns. one thing he does do for you is carefully consider any gifts he's thinking of giving to you, and dismisses the item if it has pointy corners or is fragile.

zhongli's the type to fall with you so you're not alone. he was once a powerful archon, a little accident in a busy hall is nothing for him. and seeing him mimic you with a stoic face to help you feel better is always a treat to witness. then, he'll dust himself off as if nothing happened, and offer you a hand.

"think nothing of it, dearest. i simply wish to accompany you on any journey i can, even if it is a short one to the floor."

childe's first and foremost reaction is to laugh when you hit your head on a pillar right in front of you, then he'll chuckle at the face you make at him when you're offended. he can't help it! it reminds him way too much of his siblings.

he sincerely promises, with a hand over his heart, to kiss any boo-boos better. and he'll insist on lifting you in his arms, and won't take no for an answer.

"no buts! i'm carrying you home like this. after all, the best way to stop you from tripping is to make sure your feet don't touch the ground, wouldn't you agree?"

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xpeachesncream · 11 months

Text

seven with you | bands drabble (jjk)

↳ drabbles masterlist

yours (ft. the bands!couple) | drabble seven: it’s time for jungkook’s solo debut and you have a few feelings about it.

word count: 2.9k

warnings: cussing, mature language, oc experiencing jealousy and insecurity, oc is very supportive but inevitably feels insecure and scared, kook being protective of his family as always, soft and sweet unprotected sex, cowgirl 🤠, making out, neck kisses, sprinkle of breast play, pls excuse any errors as i quickly whipped this up!

a/n: anon, this is for you! 💞 ironically this is my 7th drabble for the couple 😅 hehe coming back to continue feeding into all the thoughts, fantasies, etc etc because of seven promotions. much love, hope you enjoy! so sorry if i missed anyone on my perm taglist, its been so long! i’ll be back again soon 🥰

"So, what's hyung doing? Is he still at rehearsal?" Kai asks on the other line as you sit on the hotel bed, scrolling through your laptop.

"Yeah, he's still rehearsing for tomorrow."

"Do you know anything about the video?" You chuckle a bit and shake your head as if your little brother can see you.

"Mm, no.. besides who's involved. He wanted to keep it a surprise."

"Interesting." Kai laughs. "You're going in blindly with everyone else."

"I sure am." You laugh. "But, it'll be good! I'll get to experience this with everyone. I know it'll be amazing no matter what."

"How come you didn't wanna be in the video?"

"It's not that, I just always told Kook that he shouldn't let me hinder his process. If he wants me involved, then he can get me involved. If not and he chooses to do his own thing, then I'll sit back and support as I always do."

"Truthfully, did you want to be in the video?"

"I mean.." You hum as you tilt your head to the side. "It would've been cute."

"Then, why did you say no?"

"Kai. I just.. didn't want him to feel obligated. Plus, to be frank, I wasn't even sure if I was comfortable. I think Kook could tell, and he didn't wanna force it after that. Or, maybe he just had a revelation and thought it’d be better off not involving me.” You joke.

"Nothing is better off without you, you know that. But, of course. I get everything else that you’re saying.”

"I trust his process, though. I always do."

"True." He laughs. "Okay, shoot. It's about to release." You keep your eyes on the laptop as the music video starts, keeping your brother on the line as he promised he'd watch with you. He was currently at the Choi residence while you ventured out to New York with Jungkook— supporting him from the sidelines for the beginning of his 'Seven' promotions.

You smile as you see Jungkook and Han So Hee together at the table, praising her for being so beautiful and flawless. You giggle every now and then at Jungkook, but then you start to fix on the little details;

The chase.

His effort— though a bit much that it makes you giggle, the effort is there.

The way he looks at her, waits for her at the end.

Holds her hand and walks along her side.

Maybe you should've said yes to being in the video in the first place, then you wouldn't be in this predicament. Though, she fits well. The vibe is immaculate.

Their dynamic? Strong.

Let's take a moment to be real: part of you felt a little jealous at her flawless execution, a little insecure observing how perfect she is. It seems a bit silly if you generally look at it since Jungkook was Jungkook. But, you couldn't help it. You still weren't used to it, even if you reminded yourself every day that your man was Jeon Jungkook.

Even if you reminded yourself of your story with Jeon Jungkook.

Kai is still on the phone, slightly pulling you back to reality with his comments about how 'good hyung looked in the video' and how 'they worked well together.' He must have been tiptoeing with his words, especially when he quickly flips the script and starts to mention the explicit version that still needed to be listened to.

You follow the lead, playing it on your computer while Kai sat on speaker phone. You can hear the audible gasps coming from his end, your own eyes widening at the switch in the lyrics, the sudden shift of the entire song.

Although you were incredibly proud of Jungkook for continuing to step out of his comfort zone, you felt yourself shrinking and shrinking—

Falling into the never-ending pit of insecurity, jealousy, assumptions, what if's, etc etc.,

It was past midnight. Why was rehearsal taking forever?

Felt like hours, and hours.

"The explicit version— I— Wow. There is a lot to unpack here. But, I can't even say that I'm surprised. Hyung pulls it off well. Wanna be like him some day. He just doesn't care what anybody thinks, and he's so cool." Kai laughs with Yeonjun in the background as they continue to listen to the explicit version with you. You hear a faint 'I don't think this version was meant for us' coming from Yeonjun, a small giggle leaving your lips at their commentary.

"Stop." You say just as Jungkook gives three light knocks on the door before tapping the key against the reader and swinging it open. "Hey, I'll call you back later okay? Jungkook just got back."

"Okay! Tell hyung congrats on the solo debut and that we really liked it!"

"I will. Love you."

"Love you too!" He says as he hangs up the call. Jungkook strolls in with a big smile on his face as he types away at his phone, small giggles leaving his lips as he approaches you on the bed.

"Babygirl." He smiles at and you places a quick kiss on your lips. "Was that Kai?"

"Yeah, it was." You give him a tiny, pursed smile. "He said congrats on the solo debut and that him and his friends really liked everything." Jungkook pauses before he responds because he's typing another message before shoving his phone back into his pocket.

"Aw, thanks. That's my guy. Can always count on him." You let out a tiny laugh before avoiding his eyes, silently looking down at your laptop and letting your finger swipe across the trackpad. "You didn't have to wait up, love."

"Of course I did. I needed to catch it at release." You look up at him briefly. "How was rehearsal?"

"Fucking tiring, but we got through it. I'm excited for everyone to see the performances." He smiles and sits next to you. "So, what'd you think?"

"You two were great together, Kook. It was great.” You simply state.

"We were, weren't we? She was so helpful. And I felt at ease, like I didn't have to try much. She was such a natural at everything, it made things go by a lot smoother.”

"I can tell." You respond softly— probably a little too softly because Jungkook's smile slightly fades. Then, the thoughts start to swarm again just as you look at him. You quickly divert your attention by subtly biting onto your bottom lip, looking towards the hotel window when cars are honking their horns out on the street.

Of course, they were assumptions.

But of course, they were stupid, silly little thoughts stemming from your insecurity; occupying every corner of your brain, making you believe this skewed perception, this-whole-thing-that-is-a-thing-but-not-really-a-thing-because-there-aren't-any-facts-to-back-it-up—

"Hey." He pulls you out of your thoughts by taking your chin and making your eyes meet his own deep, brown orbs. "Talk to me, baby. I can hear you thinking. D-did you not like it? It's okay if not, you know? You can tell me. I value your opinion more than anything"

"What, no!" You shake your head. "I mean, no, of course I loved it. I loved every bit of it. It's amazing, and you know you always blow me away with everything you do." You cup his cheeks and let out a soft sigh. "I really do think you're amazing. I just.. maybe part of me kind of regrets not doing this with you?" He lets out a small breath before taking your hands in his and placing a gentle kiss on your palm.

"Are you saying that just because you saw her in the video?"

"Maybe? And, it did look easy. Everything looked so natural, especially for her. You two meshed well. I—I don’t know. I’m not really sure where I’m going with this anymore."

"Hm." He hums before tapping your thigh and bringing you onto his lap. You brush the hair out of his face while he wraps his arm around your waist, laying a gentle kiss on your cheek. "Baby, you know when I told you about it, I could tell you weren't comfortable with the idea. The last thing I wanna do is make you uncomfortable or unhappy."

"No, I know, Kook. It's not your fault. Trust me. It was beautiful and I really enjoyed it. I just.. felt a bit insecure especially since you didn't push on it. I thought you realized I wouldn’t work. She was way better and you totally saw that. You had this vision with her, and the thought made me feel a bit jealous too. I guess."

"I know this is easier said than done, but don't be. I love you." He brushes the hair away from your face this time. "You don't have to go out of your way to stand out or catch my attention. You don't have to prove anything to me, anyone. Plus, part of me felt kinda dumb for implying the idea knowing how it'd make you feel and how much attention it'd bring."

"What do you mean?"

"I realized it was probably better off this way simply because I didn't want people to paint this picture about us, or to assume our relationship was a certain way. I know there's already lots of things to be said about the video or the song itself, about our story— but at the end of the day, they don't know us like we know us and I'd prefer to keep it that way."

Because even though the relationship is out there, it's not out there. Jungkook tries to keep things balanced, keeping things private as much as possible out of safety— to create boundaries between his professional and private life. He would always put you and Kai first, keeping your safety, your comfortability and your happiness a priority.

Over everything, anything.

The moment he felt your uneasiness while mentioning the video, he retracted. He never wanted to force you, or make you do something that was too out of your comfort zone. He didn't want to cross that line of putting too much out there because he was happy with how things were. It was enough, just enough. And that's all he needed.

You were happy, Kai was happy.

Why would he ever push and ruin that?

"You're right. I understand."

"I hope that helps put you at ease a bit, princess. You can always talk to me about it. There was really no other reason behind me not pushing the idea." He caresses your cheek. "Okay? Nothing else." He kisses your cheek, before your lips. He gently taps the side of your hips before adjusting you on his lap and having you straddle him full on. You wrap your arms around his neck while he stares at you in pure adoration, a smile painted across his lips before he speaks again— "You're my muse. You're in everything that I do, bits of you are sprinkled everywhere. Everywhere that I go, songs that I've created, lyrics scribbled on paper, doodles on my notebook— everything." His hands travel up your sides, giving them a tiny squeeze as he lets out a small exhale against your lips. "You will always be my muse."

"I'm sorry, Jungkook."

"Don't be sorry." He chuckles a bit. "Everything you felt was valid, and I always want you to come to me about these things." You rest your forehead against his.

"I really did enjoy it, though. You always blow me away with everything you do." You kiss him just as you wrap your arms tightly around his neck.

"Yeah?" He chases after your lips, large hands grazing your back as he holds you close to him.

"Mhm." You giggle before poking the tip of his nose. "And uh, the explicit version of the song— we listened to it right before you walked in."

"Cool, huh?" You laugh and shake your head.

"You're crazy."

"You know.." He smirks before biting onto his bottom lip. "Think there's a little bit more explaining I can do for that one. But, I think it'd be better if I showed you."

"Oh?" You watch as Jungkook tears his beanie off and tosses it aside. "I think that'd be good." He leans forward for another kiss— but this time, it's deep. Deep enough for Jungkook to take in a strong inhale through his nose, shakily letting out an exhale once he parts from your lips. He doesn't waste any time before he's kissing you again, tongue swiping against your bottom lip before easing it in. His fingers trace your bare skin underneath your shirt, tips digging into your sides again when he feels you slowly rock against him— his length growing incredibly hard beneath you.

"Yeah, it would be good. Right?" He lets out a small moan in between kisses, hissing when he feels your lips make their way down to his jaw, neck. His hands travel to the hem of the shirt you're wearing, slowly prying it off and tossing it aside. He continues to sit on the edge of the bed while you straddle him, your hands now fiddling with his shirt before he pulls it over his head and joins yours off to the side.

"You aren't tired?" You lay some lazy kisses along his throat, sucking and nipping gently on the surface while his fingers tug at the fabric of your panties.

"Nope, not anymore." You make your way back up to his lips, relishing in every kiss, every squeeze— every bit of Jungkook. Midway, he finally helps you out of your panties before shifting his sweats and boxers down enough to let his cock spring free.

"You sure?" You tease as you waste no time wrapping your hand around his member, pumping him a few times while listening to him let out a few moans.

"Positive, baby. Need you." He mutters as he signals for you to sink down his length. You do as told, slowly, easily, sinking down until he completely fills you up and bites his bottom lip. "Just like that. Right where you should be."

"Feel so full already, Kook." He chuckles as he adjusts himself better on the bed, tattooed hands traveling up your back, caressing your body, as he showers your tits with kisses. He takes a nipple into his mouth, tongue circling around the hardened peak before pulling back with a pop. Just as you continue to roll against him, he takes the other— giving his tongue a little more freedom to explore before sucking and giving it a quick pop. He continues to shower your chest with feathery kisses, moving to your shoulders and arms while you continue to set the tempo.

"So good— fuck." He moans. "You're doing so good, baby." He tightens his grip around your hips as he continues to praise you. "Just like that." He repeats. You whine, lips grazing his as you work him, ride him— feeling every inch of Jungkook inside of you. The way that your walls engulf him— squeeze him— with every roll of your hips makes it hard for him to hold on. Though, he can tell you're slowly tipping over the edge.

It's the way your face contorts in pleasure.

Your inaudible, silent moans.

The way your body stiffens when you work against him, relishing every bit of his cock before repeating the rhythm.

And he's right, you are close. So close. Jungkook pulls you into a sloppy, wet kiss before he slightly backs away to observe your face, you. He chases after your lips once more, biting onto your bottom lip and making you let out a moan that sounds like music to his ears.

The chase.

His effort.

The way he looks at you in pure adoration, easing you to the edge to see you in pure ecstasy.

Holding you close, keeping his hands on you at all times.

You continue picking up the pace a bit, causing enough friction against your heat. Jungkook calls your name, whispering sweet nothings against your lips as his hand rests on the nape of your neck— the other hand still on your hip. He starts to match your rhythm, your tone, thrusting upwards into you to fully tip you over the edge.

"Kook, I'm— I'm gonna— fuck." You whine as you become desperate, feeling the high settle into the pit of your gut. Finally, you tremble against him and moan loudly against him; hand squeezing his tattooed bicep, the other tangled in his black locks.

"That's it. Good girl." He caresses your back, continuing to thrust himself into you even as you try to come back down from your high. But now, he's there, and he's desperate for his own release. "You're my babygirl. You're everything to me. Everything." You moan loudly with him as he gives you one, two, powerful thrusts. "Everything that I do, everywhere I go. You're my muse. You're mine." He says against your ear, panting as he snaps his hips against you at a faster pace while holding you close; the sound of flesh against flesh filling the room. It's not long before Jungkook is coming undone, the aftershocks still rippling through your body. His cheek is pressed against yours as he pants and lets out a few whines, your walls milking every last bit of him until the very end.

"Kook." You whisper. "I love you. I'm so proud of you and I love you." He laughs lazily as he rubs at your hips.

"I love you too, princess. Good enough explanation for that?"

"Maybe." You giggle as you hop off and scurry off to the bathroom for a quick shower.

"I mean.. we can do more—" He trails behind you and welcomes himself into the shower.

"Jungkook, you need to be up in 3 hours." Your voice echoes in the shower and Jungkook scrunches his nose.

"And?" He laughs. "Running on no sleep is how I work."

"You're too much." You giggle when Jungkook turns you around and wraps his arms around you.

"Baby, baby, baby." He says smugly. "There's more that I'll need to show you, especially for the album."

"Jungkook." You try to scold him but you squeal when he has you wrap your legs around him and presses your back against the tiled wall— the night only leading to more sweet nothings, praises and genuine love. Jungkook loving on you, just as you with him.

Because, you are his muse. You are in everything he does, bits of you sprinkled in everything.

No matter the circumstance. No matter the day, time, year.

You will always be his muse.

permanent taglist: @spideyjimin @miinoongi @thebeebi @ggukkieland @bluesharksandfish @unicornbabylover @preciouschimine @codeinebelle @shesoldbutcute @jikookiekosmos @awhnamjoon @namjooningelsewhere @bunnybearrj @babycoffeefire @bri-mal @sintaethick @taejkjoons @love2luvya-blog @pb-n-juju @dianaxnyc @fan-ati--c @jungjoonie @jcsmae @favouritesblog @ppeachyttae @awseokjin @jjk1iscoming @moonchild1 @vantxx95 @genzslayer @knjeuphoria @jksjx @oogawooga222 @yoonqki @halesandy @chimchimmarie @chimsworldsstuff @persphonesorchid

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iceinwhb · 15 days

Text

Dark headcanon

﹅ contains; what in hell is bad, sensitive content, nsfw, explicit content, foul language, explicit lenguage, female Mc.

﹅ warnings; Dark headcannon, insane descrptions, unhealthy relationships, the softest is at the top.

He no longer had any idea how long it had been since he had last properly killed an angel. Perhaps too long to remember how to avoid instant death on the first hit.

Another army of wounded angels came out of their territory, weary from the constant fighting that hadn't changed for years.

Solomon's descendant no longer participated in the war, nor did he allow her to use any special skill. She only stayed in hell so as not to break the guidelines that bound her to him.

And it worked well for a while, until she became suspicious of the strange movements, and eventually, she realized what was going on.

He tried to hide it, but it wasn't long before she realized his intentions.

He still wanted to believe that if she spent more time in hell, maybe just a little longer, would learn to love it and stay. But the betrayal in her eyes, the feeling of him having cheated on her was still there.

She never said anything, and the more time passed, less she liked Gehenna. He couldn't follow her either, or even claim her because he himself condemned her, every day, to delay what might be inevitable.

But this time, at least that day, she had not avoided him. Her eyes did not leave him as he moved deeper into the room where he had taken refuge, so as not to feel that he was losing her.

“Let me go.” Her determination formed quickly, as he approached. “I want you to take me back to Earth. Reverse the deal right now.”

His brow furrowed, not only at the order, but at the strange feeling that plagued his chest.

“Hell…”

“It's your fault, not mine that the deal hasn't yet…!”

“If you can't deliver it, then you shouldn't have made a deal.” He tried to convince himself that this was the right thing to do, even if was wrong. “Or you're going to lie, and tell me you don't enjoy this place…”

“What the hell is there on earth that you can't have here!” He finally reached out, and touched her, not allowing her to move further away. “I saved you from dying back there, you can still die if you come back! You know exactly what you promised.”

“What I promised ended when you did what you wanted, you don't care about anything else!”

“Then go and ask any demon you find if he wants to help you. Go again, scour hell looking for just one…!”

The resounding smack on his cheek stung, especially since it was full of rage.

“Shut up!” he stepped back a few inches, trying to process the kind of feeling that was rapidly evolving, and looked at her again.

The silence was long, more tense than it had ever been, but no words could fix the mistake.

“Whatever you do, you're not coming back” He closed his mouth tightly and gritted his teeth, not knowing exactly what to hide, but already fury was beginning to rise in his brain, as the tingling in his hands began to rise. “At least I thought it would be different.”

“Don't you dare…”

“He and his lineage is always the same…” He held her again, unaware of how much the pressure of his touch had increased, as he threw her onto the bed. His body trembled as the high-pitched whine entered his ears. “But there will be no one who can take you.”

“Son of…” He held both cheeks with one hand, clenching her jaw tightly, the energy of fury continuing.

“Try it. Leave this fucking room and you'll see.”

“I'm sorry, but I can't stay.”

It was the first thing she did, politely, as she turned down the marriage proposal. She wasn't able to remember how many times considered Mammon's feelings after that.

In truth, she did nothing more than take care not to be rude, as her purpose in hell came to an end. She was more relieved to finally be able to come out to earth again, and feel like had a normal life, that even the excitement was more visible than could have imagined.

Didn't care that hell was safer, not quiet either, or that it could give her anything in return, after all, she was aware that once got out. She wouldn't remember anything.

Didn't want to be like Solomon, looking for a place in the heart of the demons because knew that wasn't her place. The reflection, as walked down the hallway of Satan's palace, ended.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to the figure, too large not to quickly identify. The clear eyes, with a hue as beautiful as gold shone in a different way than she knew, especially as the silence continued.

“What are you doing here?” she hugged herself, as walked in the direction of the greed demon, without a fear in the least. Eyes felt intense as it followed her, and immediately, the decompensation of familiarity when not greeted by a habitual smile appealed to her senses.

“You're leaving tomorrow, aren't you?” she laughed, as excitement rose in her head again.

“Yes, that's why I couldn't sleep and thought it was a better option… To have some peace, but if you're here…” She looked around, especially to the sides and frowned slightly, forgetting what was about to say. “Just…”

“Can we walk together?” She nodded absently.

“That's what I was going to do anyway.”

“Aren't you too happy?” Mammon seemed to notice the strangeness she felt at every turn, but the question only made the atmosphere more uncomfortable. Discomfort pounded in her brain, making her aware of the bad feeling that slowly clung to her flesh.

“I don't…”

“You know you're going to forget hell, and all the demons in it when you get back.”

“I thought they were all aware that I wasn't going to… I didn't do anything to make them think more of me, either.” She looked up, leaning closer to Mammon, but was unable to look him. “I never coveted a place in anyone's heart, and I never wanted to hurt yours either.”

“I always told you I'd give you anything you asked for.” Long fingers covered her wrist, gripping her hand tightly. “And I'm willing to give you anything as long as you stay.”

Her only response, at least quickly, was easy to get out of her mouth, with a clear denial that there was nothing better than hell.

That was the worst mistake she could made.

Tried to remove his hand a few seconds later, but failed to move his hand at all.

The last thing she remembered hearing was Mammon's deep voice, with a completely different tone to the assurance he exuded.

“I can't… forget you.”

It was dragging, full of feelings she couldn't understand. But she didn't need to because his thoughtfulness was extinguished when she suddenly lost consciousness and woke up in that place.

A year ago.

And every day she could clearly remember every movement, every gesture. The difference from what Mammon was, to the demon of greed who only looked at her from the other side of the room.

Like at that moment, where the clear, golden eyes were brutally digging into her skin, burning her nerves and digging a deeper and deeper emptiness, to the point that she could even feel cold.

She tried to understand it every time Mammon spent hours watching her, where she had gone wrong, or if from the beginning her fate had already been written by the demon who rose from his desk, with the slowness of a predator about to hunt, until he touched the barrier that separated them.

The hand was not on her skin, but she could feel the need it gave off, the desire to touch her again, and play as if her body was that of a doll for the enjoyment of whatever needs Mammon might have.

A soft smile rose to his lips, and his cheek hit the material of gold and diamond cage. He dared to savor the minutes as fingers slowly opened the door.

“Don't you think it's time for a bath? I'll buy prettier dresses today than last time, and change your place, sweet master.”

Her lips trembled, in sadness, but she made no visible grimace, for no matter how hard she tried, was unable to move the crystalline diamond because of how heavy it was, and also to escape because the hands were too strong to hold her, like a leash that would take her for all eternity if possible.

And at that point, when he carefully held her waist, she was already resigned to being an object that she hoped, would be discarded as soon as possible.

Beelzebub's eyes were lost in the flickering spotlight, with a dull light, and the humid atmosphere only increased the rapidity of his breathing, as his nose sank into the wet panties. The smell of semen and female cum was so thick it made him dizzy.

It was an addictive drug that he could not stop consuming more and more, more and more hours of his day until he completely stopped moving, the bittersweet smell, the salty taste of sweat, and the moans made him lose the thread of coherence that he didn't know when he had lost, or for how long.

Only rolled his eyes, drenched in lust as he looked at the body of the descendant of a man he had forgotten. Tears steadily filled her eyes, as the moans were muffled by the cock that was penetrating the back of her throat with desperation, while pussy and ass were filled by others.

The scene made him move his attention to the semen-filled bosoms, the same that also marked the panties and cheeks, full of deep bites and saliva his. He didn't need to get lost from sight because another copy, took it upon herself to lick the red, sore, and quivering peaks.

His copy's fingers moved to her pelvis, and deftly advanced on her clitoris, before his eyes connected with it, and with a mischievous grin, the Beelzebub overstimulating her parts, opened her lower lips. The copy of his cock was crushing harder on the small body, to the point of making her squirm and almost scream.

He moaned, raw, as his hand pumped the erection harder than he should have applied. He felt suffocated, and at the same time, ecstatic in madness and pleasure.

Came down from the cloud of pleasure as the precious semen was held between his fingers, and his eyes came back into view, where his copy had already cum in his mouth, burying it to the full.

They all came out at the same time, leaving a long line of white semen, with no space to stain when he finally stood up. He held her neck carefully, and swallowed her tongue, the taste so exquisite that he just clicked his teeth together again.

She screamed, but he kept stifling the sound as the blood touched the roof of his mouth. And when she pulled away, his nose followed the line of his neck, perversely enjoying the smell.

She was the king of gluttony's whore. He could smell it in every pore of her skin, so deeply that it stained even her soul.

“You smell soo good…” Too good to want to eat her in one bite, too good to want all hell to notice how much she'd taken and how very much his she felt.

He bit into the skin again, making her scream again, but even the sound impoverished his ability to reason, and heightened the mammoth pleasure. The piece of skin he had torn from the soft skin made him shiver. The softness in each bite, the sensation that scraped warmly across his throat.

It was a taste he had never tasted before. Beyond anything he could have tasted. He sighed, almost cumming again as the whisper burned in his ears, his name, in the bulging mouth that did nothing but tantalizes him, every bite until there was nothing left.

“Please, Beel.” He brought his eyes to the sound, and his mind paused for a moment. The lips were bruised, red, hot, bleeding.

The tears wouldn't stop flowing, and her body barely had the strength to move. She was so adorable that made him laugh, as he held her wrists tighter and his gaze bored into the dark, tired, on the verge of fainting eyes.

“Should I eat you now?” Her eyebrows furrowed, blood continued to drip, staining the white red, and her consciousness slowly faded. He smiled, as he ran his lips over her wrist. “Unless you finally choose to stay. By my side.”

She didn't speak. The silence became so grotesquely awkward, for seconds before another bitter laugh hit his throat.

His chest wouldn't stop pounding, and the shape of his body was becoming less easy to hold as remembered why they were in that place.

They had gone through Abyssos. Passing time as usual, until her excitement slowly faded and she began to want to go back somewhere else, desperate to get away and leave him abandoned.

He returned to his reason, got control of his body and breathed hard.

“Then eat and fill yourself with my cock until you agree. And if you deny it again…” He held her chin, to make her look him in the eyes, but her eyelids fell slower, even disoriented. “I will eat you.”

“Come to Paradise Lost, one last time” She never denied him the opportunity.

He only acted out of condescension, because his conscience was pounding with despair at the thought of losing another loved one, and being forgotten as if he were nothing.

That was the decline of the last drop of patience he could have. He wanted to respect her decision, but the dark thought that she, in particular, did not want to stay was stronger.

And then, once he managed to have her one day, to give her up, but he did not succeed. They walked together, talked, laughed, even the tender moments became a burden and finally, before sunset they ended up in the greenhouse. He offered her a last cup of tea and they continued together as if nothing would happen afterward, as if it was just another day, where he could see her later.

And when she stood up, slightly dismayed, she finally looked him straight in the eye. For a moment, there was clear hesitation, but instead, she reached over and hugged him.

There was a small farewell, the size of a sigh. She touched his face, held his cheeks, and said words he could not have forgotten, “I am grateful to have known you, and I would only like to stay. But this is goodbye, and I hope it won't be the last.”

“You can't go.”

The minutes went on in silence and continued for twenty after his first words were not a simple acceptance.

“I have to go, Luci.”

“I'm not letting you go.” Surprise came over her, slowly, obfuscating his chest, but it was no greater than the sense of loss that kept dripping out, unsteadily, and almost choking him, as he clung to the hands that were still on him.

“Lucifer.” She swallowed saliva, then looked at the door, thinking of a possibility he had already completely abandoned. He tried to stop her, but she only took a step back, avoiding him, wrenching the resignation from holding her even without knowing what would happen.

“You're going to die if you walk through that door.”

The silence continued, before she sat back in the chair, almost laughing, incredulous at what was happening.

“You're not going to keep me here forever. You know that.”

But even if she was sure of it, she wasn't aware of what it meant forever. But that didn't matter after a while, nor did the certainty of an eternity.

He was barely able to leave the room because each time, he found something different, with the same ending, before Gamigin fixed it again and again.

At first, he could understand the urgency to remain vigilant, and eventually, stopped weighing too deeply, because he was by her side, after all she would always live, no matter how many times tried to kill herself, like in that moment, where she was scratching hard at his throat, looking to cut it for having tried to disobey his words again.

He stopped her fingers, lowering them, and momentarily removed the restraint. She finally drew in a sharp intake of breath, coming back to herself. She moved her hands quickly, trying to pull away before salty tears filled her cheeks and came with a loud sob.

Lucifer moved his hands to her cheeks, as she finally seemed to give in and lick gently at the wetness, savoring the salty taste, then sucked hard, longing for the sensation, taking his full attention.

“Stop it, just let me go…” He brought her tongue to his mouth, and tangled his tongue with the other, which was trying to hide, and the tears continued to enter his palate, relentlessly.

The human body was too weak to resist, even when she tried and finally manipulated it to his liking, even touched hard, to the point of leaving nail marks on the soft, warm skin.

But it was not enough.

He grabbed her neck and pulled her towards the wall, the sound was dry, he repositioned the barrier, and his teeth dug into the flesh, mercilessly, as he removed the clothing, ignoring even the struggling that went on constantly, not giving up even when he tore the blood-filled shirt.

Before his eyes, there were only marks of the countless bites that sank into the skin, each time he made her own. There was no longer any place without scars. Even the fingers, hands, and thighs that struggled to flee from his grasp were marked as his.

Though at that moment she was not yet ready to stay, she would slowly realize that the only one she needed by her side was him, for he would not let her see and touch others.

“The only thing you have now is me.” Blunt teeth bit into his shoulder, as nails dug into the wound in his bleeding wings. “The only place you belong is these four walls.”

The little grunt of discord entered his ears, but it was useless when she continued to cry, without stopping, to the point of shaking off his need. The hand he still had available rose to the nape of her neck, and again, he licked away the tears, for he was unable to let her go.

“Only me, descendant of Adam.”

⛧✃✃✃⛧✁✁✁⛧✃✃✃⛧✁✁✁⛧

I dance to you so that it is not obvious that Leviathan is missing here, but don't worry. I'll write it later.

On the other hand… I don't know about you, but they are still very soft cuties (I also don't want to stress that I censure it too much, because yes, you can imagine how they ended with their own mc).

Aaaaaaaaaand… I think when I'm really fucked, sleep deprived and hundreds of wanting to sleep, I don't check well the coherence of the sentences, which is who, and for you guys it must have been a fucking shitty thing to read it, LMAO. I promise to check that for you guys, and even “render” my headcannons. For your health, and mine.

But right now, if I got something wrong, many apologies, (I love very, very, very much the beautiful people who did help me in the last poll. I need you guys too much, I will never leave you. <3).

Although… (I am a poll addict)

#whb #what in hell is bad #prettybusy what in “hell” is bad?#pretty busy #whb beelzebub #whb satan #whb mammon #whb lucifer #whb mc #whb mc x kings #Don't ask me where is Min

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