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humanpurposes · 5 months

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Mine All Mine

Michael doesn't have a lot of friends, nor does he want them. Now he thinks he might have found his perfect match, and he has no intentions of letting her slip away

Main Masterlist

Michael Gavey x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, Michael Gavey being a little shit (affectionately), possessive behaviour (yk the drill here)

Words: 7k

A/n: This ended up leaning into more of a cuter side, I definitely wanna do something creepier with him at some point! Also available to read on AO3.

He gets to the room early, before the tutor has even arrived. It’s his first tutorial of the year and his first ever at Oxford. He stands straight with his head up and his hands unmoving, a picture of neutrality. He has his problem sheet in his satchel and runs through the questions in his head, not because he needs to, not because he doubts himself, but simply because he can.

He doesn’t even like maths all that much, but he’s always been good at it. He had considered doing something a little less straightforward, physics or economics, but then what would be the point in getting into Oxford to be anything less than perfect?

He knows his tutor’s name from his schedule, Stephen Breyer. He arrives only a few minutes later and they go inside. The tutorial room is small, with three of the four walls covered in bookshelves. In the centre of the room there is a table, an armchair on one side and a small sofa on the other.

Michael takes the seat closest to the door. It puts him in a slightly more direct line of sight with Stephen. It also means his tutorial partner will inevitably have to climb over his legs to sit down and the thought amuses him.

“How are you finding it so far?” Stephen asks, unpacking a thermos flask and a notebook from his bag.

“It?” Michael repeats.

Stephen pauses and looks at him, slightly bewildered. “Well, the course, the college, Oxford. All of it.”

“Right,” Michael says. He takes his time taking out a pencil and his problem sheet before placing them on the table. He sits back against the sofa and rubs his lips together in thought.

He supposes it’s been exactly as he had expected. Lectures have been fairly straightforward, Lincoln college looks the same as it had in the prospectus, and so far, most of the people seem insufferable. So many of them have no sense of urgency, no drive to truly succeed because to them, Oxford is a rite of passage rather than an earned privilege. He’s met maybe one person he’d consider worthy of his time, and even then, Oliver Quick is only a literature student. He might as well get a degree in overthinking.

Stephen is looking at him like he is still expecting an answer. Michael stares back. He’s never been one to bother with smalltalk.

“Alright then,” Stephen says, then nods to the empty place on the sofa. “Do you know if–”

The door opens and a girl walks in, closing it gently behind her. “Sorry I’m late,” she says, eyes flickering around the room and settling on the space beside Michael.

He’s seen her before, in lectures, in the dining hall, walking around the college with her little group of friends. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were all Cheltenham girls by the way they talk and dress in the stupid outfits rich girls wear to make themselves seem like normal people.

He watches her as she walks towards him, the awkward little smile she gives him before she steps over his legs.

“Sorry,” she says again, falling onto the sofa. Michael almost winces at the sudden jolt of movement and the faint scent of a sweet perfume drifting from his left. “Had some trouble finding the room.”

“You’re right on time,” Stephen says, “we haven’t started yet.”

She’s better at the smalltalk than he is. She has a constant smile on her face and a bright look in her eyes, already having plenty of humorous anecdotes to share, despite the fact it’s only their second week.

As they go through the questions on the sheet, comparing calculations and answers, Michael is horrified to find that he’s a little nervous. His throat feels dry and he can feel his heart pulsing in his chest. It’s her fault, he thinks. Everything about her is distracting, the sound of her voice, the satisfied little hum she makes when she realises she’s got another question right. Her black tights, the way her skirt rides up her thigh when she crosses her legs.

He wants to think she’s vapid, a pretty face dressed up in black boots and a denim jacket, but to his dismay, all of their answers are the same, down to every detail in their calculations.

That is until they reach the last question. It’s terribly complex and he had almost struggled with it. Almost.

He steals a quick glance at her sheet and notices their answers are different. Because she’s missed a step, he realises. He feels a smile creeping across his lips.

He proudly goes through his working out, delighted at the surprised look on her face as she goes over her own sheet.

“I got something different,” she says with a shrug.

Stephen invites her to talk through her answer. Her voice is quieter and softer than it was before, but not as defeated as he’d like.

“She has you beat there, Mr Gavey,” Stephen says.

It’s like being punched in the gut. “What?”

“Overextend yourself a little,” he explains, drawing a line through the last few calculations on his paper. “Make sure to read what the question asks of you.”

His blood is boiling and his fists are clenched. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever been wrong. A dangerous impulse in the back of his mind wants to scream his throat raw and tear his paper to pieces.

Then he feels a warmth settle over his knuckles. She’s placed her hand over his.

“It’s a compliment, really,” she says to him.

He looks up at her, only more infuriated by the gentle expression on her face. But he knows better than to let anger get the better of him. It will only leave him feeling ashamed. So he forces a smile and nods. “Thank you.”

She smiles too, sweet and reassuring.

He can’t bear the humiliation. Once they’re dismissed he packs up quickly, practically storming out of the room before she even has a chance to stand up.

He spends the rest of the day in his dorm, looking over the same problem and pulling at his hair, because now his mistake seems glaringly obvious. How could he be so useless? So careless as to not even read the fucking question properly?

His room is on the second floor, overlooking the quad. There are always people around, walking between classes, sitting on the grass, their voices and the smell of cigarette smoke rising and drifting in through his window. He hates it. He hates the noise, the distraction.

But as he goes to close the open window he spots her. It’s only for a moment. She’s walking towards the library with her hands in the pocket of her jacket and her backpack slung over one shoulder. She’s not with any of her preppy friends, in fact she looks rather solemn.

He feels a slight twinge of guilt in his gut. Perhaps he had been a little unfair to her in their tutorial.

He keeps noticing her, especially at meal times and during lectures. Whenever he enters a room he finds himself searching for her, and if he cannot find her, he waits for her to appear. He plays guessing games with himself, waiting to see what outfit she’ll wear, the pretty mini skirt or a pair of faded blue baggy jeans. If she’ll be with her friends or if she’ll be alone.

He never approaches her. He waits for her to look at him, and once they’ve made eye contact she’ll smile at him.

He likes watching her, and comes to the conclusion that she is charming and polite, but not overbearing, and that’s what's so intriguing about her. She knows how to talk to people, even the most insufferable of their peers, but she’s not nearly entitled enough to truly be one of them.

It’s a Friday evening the next time they actually speak. The library tends to be quieter at this time and he has a textbook to look over before his next lecture. Only, when he goes to find the book, he discovers the last copy has been checked out a matter of minutes ago. Fucking typical.

He goes to stalk out of the library, debating whether or not he can be bothered to ask Oliver if he wants to grab a drink in The King’s Arms, when he sees her.

She’s alone, with her chin in her palm, writing in a notebook as she looks at the textbook open in front of her. He’s willing to bet that’s exactly the book he needs.

He approaches her slowly, waiting for her to look up and notice him, but she seems utterly absorbed in what she’s doing. Only when he puts a hand on the back of her chair and leans over her shoulder does she react to him.

He sees her jump when he gets too close. “Jesus Christ!” she hisses, clutching her hand over her chest.

“Sorry,” he mutters, still hovering over her. “Did I frighten you?”

She hums a laugh but composes herself quite quickly. She turns her head to look at him. “I’m guessing you want the book?” she says, her breath fluttering over his cheek.

He straightens his back so he can look down at her. “Will you have it for long? Only I think I’ll get through the reading quite quickly.”

“Oh yes of course, you’re a genius, right?” she says with a grin.

Irritation scratches under the surface of his skin, hot and restless. That’s how he usually introduces himself, but it’s the truth.

“We could just share,” she says, gesturing to the empty seat beside her, “that is, unless you don’t think I’ll be able to keep up.”

There’s something exciting about the way she holds his gaze, the hint of a smile on her lips.

She offers to go back a page so he can catch up and admittedly, he skims through, only writing down a few notes before he tells her to move on. He can find the book again if he really needs to.

He has to lean over his left arm rather significantly to read the book properly. She notices this, and pushing it closer to him, shuffling her chair over to follow. They’re close enough that he can smell her perfume again.

“None of your little friends around then?” he asks quietly, so as not to disturb the other students.

“What?”

“That group of girls,” he says, “I’ve seen you sitting with them in the dining hall.”

She brings her chin back to her palm but doesn’t look up from her notes. “They live on my floor. I don’t need to spend every waking moment with them.”

“Touchy subject?” he asks, perhaps a little too hopefully.

His heart leaps in triumph when she looks up at him. “No. I’m just not sure I’d count them as friends, necessarily.”

“Why not?” he asks.

“Not my kind of people,” she says.

“Why not?”

She frowns briefly. He thinks she might scold him for being so direct, for asking so many questions, for being too intrusive. But she doesn’t.

The textbook is forgotten. She tells him about the village where she grew up, a sad little place by the sounds of it. She spent most of her schooling surrounded by the same twenty or so kids.

“For a long time, I knew there was something people didn’t like about me,” she says. “I didn’t understand why. I was never rude or cruel, I just kept my head down and did my work. The other girls told me I was a freak, the boys used to tease me, pull my hair, tear pages out of my books. Mum said people hated me because I was clever. Dad said I should stop complaining. So I did.”

He can’t help but draw a comparison to himself. He can feel it when he meets someone new, the inherent distrust, the sense that there is something inherently unlikeable about him. In a way he likes that people are unnerved by him because at least it’s something he can control. He has never been one for friends or common ground, a consequence of being the smartest person in every room.

He watches her intently as she tells him about a private school a few miles outside of her village, a proper posh place, Victorian buildings and sprawling estates. For her, it was her one chance of escape, and while her parents worked hard to make ends meet, the only way she was going to get in was with a scholarship. So she worked for it, got all A*s in her GCSEs, started at the posh school, and from there, set her sights on Oxford.

“You’re rather deceptive,” he says.

She smiles at him. “It’s not like I lied. Were you expecting a daddy’s money brat?”

“There’s enough of them about,” he says.

She huffs a laugh and rolls her eyes. “Fucking tell me about it.”

They start to make a habit of studying together, at first it’s by coincidence, and then she gives him her number so they can organise themselves more effectively. They meet at the library every Friday to share a textbook or go over problem sheets, in preparation for their lectures. They even start to meet before their tutorials together, to compare answers and make sure neither of them are left out. Sometimes they go for coffee after their classes, and branch off to chat about things that aren’t maths.

He tells her about the grammar school he went to, that most of the boys there were rugby playing morons. He tells her about his family, his mum, his dad, the family cat that’s been around longer than he has. He tells her about his summer, running numbers for his uncle’s accountancy firm.

She tells him about the posh school, that starting at a boarding school was like being thrown into a different universe. Sure, she had been the odd one out and got the odd “povo” comment, but it was the first place where she had felt like she didn’t have to be ashamed of her own intelligence. She learnt how to fit in, to the point where he can’t tell if she actually likes her preppy friends or if she just puts up with them for the sake of it.

He starts to wonder if he could consider her a friend. He likes that she’s smart and sharp, the slight air of competition when they compare notes or go through a problem together. He likes challenging her, making her second guess herself, watching the way she squirms and tries to hide that she’s flustered. Just once, he thinks it would be fun to one-up her, but of course, she never slips up, and she never makes a mistake.

On Halloween she mentions a party at Magdalene College being hosted by one of her old school friends. Of course he’s sceptical. Hanging around a bunch of stuck up posh kids, who no doubt will all be in slutty costumes and getting off on each other’s egos, isn’t exactly his idea of fun. Although, part of him is intrigued to see her in a different setting.

So he agrees to meet her outside her dorm at 10pm exactly. He doesn’t bother with fancy dress, opting for jeans and a black jumper so that he can just fade into the background.

She appears with some of her preppy friends. They’re all in pastel dresses of differing colours, matching wings strung on their backs, glitter on their cheeks, a little pack of fairies. She’s in white mini dress that floats around her thighs as she moves, more like an angel.

She introduces him enthusiastically to the girls, already giddy from their pre-drinks, pink gin and rosé. None of them seem that interested by his presence and he grunts in response.

She links her arm through his as they walk over the cobbles, through the maze of ancient buildings to the dorm where the party is being held. She talks about everything and nothing. She tells him who’s going to be there, who’s been uninvited but might show up just to stir shit, how many girls are going to be there and that they’re all going to be trying to get into Felix Catton’s Calvin Kleins.

“Are you going to get with anyone?” she asks.

He makes a sound of disgust.

“Come on, Michael, live a little!”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think– I don’t know–”

She puts her hands on his shoulders and turns him to face her. “Have you kissed anyone before?”

He swallows thickly. It’s not something he’s ever been ashamed of before, now it feels like a weight crushing down on his chest. “No,” he says, simply, determined to remain indifferent.

“Get with someone tonight!” she says excitedly, “just for the fun of it, we’ll find you someone good.”

He hates the idea, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell her. Perhaps it seems like fun to her, but to him it seems like an impossibility, and he thinks he’d rather have the consistency of being unwanted.

The party itself is loud and sparsely lit by neon lights. He starts off on bottles of beer to ease himself into it, but seeing everyone else is doing pills and white lines, he thinks he might need something stronger to get through the night, especially when she keeps getting distracted. The angel is quite the social butterfly and insists on saying hello to everyone, even the people she’s never met.

He finds himself in a common room and reaches for a bottle of whisky and a cup when he spots her. She’s leaning against a wall, wings discarded on the floor beside her. A tall boy, wearing nothing but jeans, a pair of feathery costume wings and a horrible Carpe Diem tattoo on his forearm, has his hands on her waist. She’s smiling and giggling into his neck every time he goes in to kiss her. Of all the girls Felix could go after.

His skin feels tight. He fears if he keeps having to watch this little display he’ll retch his guts up, and yet he’s utterly hypnotised by it, the way she had her arms around his shoulders, the way her fingertips trace the base of his neck. And fuck, he’s never seen her look so beautiful.

He ends up downing the rest of the whisky straight from the bottle and most of the night becomes a blur after that. At some point he thinks he starts trying to talk to one of her pastel fairy friends. He doesn’t catch her name, and he wouldn’t care to remember it anyway. She plays with his glasses, tries them on and giggles hysterically. He thinks she must be completely off her face, considering the look of utter disgust she had given him at the start of the night.

Somewhere in the noise of the party she throws her arms around his neck and they sway clumsily to the overwhelming bass of the music. He thinks he feels her lips graze his cheek, his jaw, his neck, but where he can help it, he keeps his eyes on his angel. Felix has one of her legs around his waist and his hands halfway up her skirt.

Fuck this.

He pushes the nameless girl off him and storms over to put an end to the scene before him. He grips Felix by his shoulders to pull him off her, grabs her by the arm and drags her out of the dorm. He doesn’t look back to see if Felix protests, he’ll probably find some other throat to stick his tongue down.

She tries to shout over the music. “Where are we–”

“I’m tired,” he snaps, bringing his face in close to hers. He gets closer than he means to, pressing his nose and his forehead against hers. He’s breathing fiercely, he realises, desperate to contain the full extent of his anger, his jealousy. “I want to leave.”

She stares back at him with parted lips, and nods.

He feels better the moment they’re outside, away from the disorientation of the party. He takes deep breaths of the night air, cold and sharp in his lungs. He snatches off his glasses, runs his hands over his face and his hair to find himself drenched in sweat.

His angel tucks herself in against him, under his arm, huddling her arms around herself and shivering.

“Do you want my jumper?” he says. His voice and the words on his tongue feel strange. His limbs feel weightless as he pulls it off and helps her into it.

“Hmm, thank you,” she says dreamily, clinging onto his arm as they stumble back to Lincoln College. He burns where she touches him, her fingertips digging into his skin. He loves it, and hates that her hands were on someone else before him.

“You were getting rather cozy with Miranda,” she says.

“Who?”

“Lilac fairy costume,” she says, playfully hitting his arm. “Did you kiss her?”

His heart sinks. He presses his lips together but she doesn’t seem to pick up on his annoyance. “No,” he says with a tight jaw.

“Oh no,” she says, looking up at him with a comically sad pout.

“It’s not important,” he says.

“It’s your first kiss! Or should have been your first kiss. It’s important. Did you at least have a good time before you got tired?”

“No,” he says, “your friends are all imbeciles.”

They walk the rest of the way back to her dorm in silence. He makes sure she has her keys, holds her face between his hands and tells her to drink a whole glass of water before she falls asleep.

She leans into his touch with a sleepy smile. “Yes, yes, I will,” she whines.

The sound stirs a wanting in his stomach. Suddenly his heart is beating faster than it ever has before.

“And call me if you need anything–”

“Would you want to kiss me?” she asks.

His eyes flicker down to her lips. His hands are still cupping her cheeks. “What?”

Her eyes are wide and alert. “I just mean, I could be your first kiss, if you wanted to.” She places her hands on his wrists, tracing her fingertips over his skin, along his forearms. It’s such a simple touch, and yet he can feel it driving him slowly insane.

He imagines her hands running over the rest of his body, down his chest, his stomach, teasing over the growing hardness in his jeans.

“You’re drunk,” he whispers, terrified of how desperate his voice might sound.

She rises onto her toes, inching her face closer to his, drawing her nose over his cheek. “So?” she says, lips brushing over his skin, “I promise it’ll feel good.”

Their lips find each other in a simple movement. It’s easier than he thought it would be, following the movements of her mouth, letting his hands fall from her face and rest on her waist. He can feel her breathing, the little hums she makes as she kisses him and runs her hands through his hair.

He decides, in that moment, that she is perfect. She is bright and beautiful, passionate and kind, soft and sharp, everything he wants for himself, the only person he has ever felt a need for. That need burns through his bloodstream, goes straight to his head and makes his mind hazy. It tightens in his gut and only makes that wanting feeling in his chest feel emptier. His heart races, his trembling hands graze over the thin, silky material of her dress.

His glasses come askew. He feels her smile against his lips and it feels good. Really fucking good.

His hands clench into a firmer grip on her waist. He needs to keep her close, to touch her, feel her, know she wants this as much as he does.

Only she’s slipping away.

Her hands come away from his neck and the cold night air stings his skin in her absence. She pulls her head away, not abruptly, but that’s the pain of it. He leans forward to chase her lips but he has no choice but to let her go in the end.

She looks up at him with a vague smile. “See? It’s nice, isn’t it?”

Nice in the moment. Pure torture that he’ll have to spend the rest of the night clinging onto the memory, only able to imagine how good it felt.

After that night he cannot escape the thought of her, when he’s in his lectures, when he’s in the library, when he’s walking between classes, when he’s in the dining hall. If he’s with her he cannot help but notice every little detail about her, her clothes, her hands, the colour of her nail polish, every micro expression, every word, every laugh, every sigh.

And when he’s alone, he can’t help but picture her in that white dress, the sound of her voice, the feel of her lips. He can’t help but imagine what it would be like to run his hands over every inch of her skin and make her a breathless, whining mess. When he’s in his dorm, it’s inevitable that his hand will end up dipping into his boxers, stroking himself until he spills over his knuckles with a grunt or a whisper of her name.

He’s never known himself to be so distracted.

Worst of all is the rage that comes with the wanting. He hates walking into the lecture hall to see her chatting to someone else, seeing her with her preppy friends around the college or drinking with that old school friend in the King’s Arms. None of them deserve her. None of them. Does she even realise it? How long before she loses herself, before she decides she doesn’t need him?

He knows he’s not a sentimental person. He doesn’t have a lot of friends nor does he want them. People have come in and out of his life, but this girl is different. He feels a draw to her, a hunger that he can’t satiate with his own imagination. She is everything he wants for himself, and he has no intentions of letting her slip away.

As Michaelmas terms comes to an end, the colleges and libraries are covered with garlands and wreaths. Despite the lingering worry in the back of his mind, Michael is rather happy with his collection of outcasts, though poor Oliver Quick seems rather unhappy at being a designated Norman-No Mates.

He finds it easier to get her attention as the term and the workload progresses. They’ve had tutorials and summative assignments, and she’s finally starting to struggle.

And then there was the incident about the scholarship. One of the preppy friends let slip that she wasn’t paying for her tuition fees or her accommodation, likely done out of jealousy after she’d gotten close to Felix at the Halloween party. He was there for her with a perfectly good shoulder to cry on when half the girls in her dorm started teasing her for it.

He tells her that she doesn’t have time to get distracted with parties or friends who won’t help her succeed.

He’s sitting at a table in the library, ready for one of their Friday evening study dates. She’s late but soon hurries in, pulling off the thick red scarf she has wrapped around her neck and shrugging off her denim jacket.

He has the textbook open at the right page and places a Crunchie in front of her when she sits down.

“Did you know there was a college Christmas party tonight?” Michael asks as she takes down her notes. “We’re NFI, apparently. Not fucking invited.” He’d checked his pigeonhole, and Oliver’s for good measure.

In the corner of his eye, he sees her look up from her notebook.

“As if we’d actually want to hang out with those vapid cunts,” he says, laughing to himself. He turns his head to check if she’s laughing too.

She doesn’t look very amused. “Actually, I was going to ask if you wanted to come with me,” she says.

He pauses, hovering his pencil over his worksheet. “You got an invitation?” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” she says, “I was chatting with some of the literature guys the other day, you know Farleigh Start–”

“What the fuck were you talking to him for?” He asks in a voice like ice.

She stares at him with wide, almost accusing eyes. “What, am I not allowed to talk to anyone besides you?”

“They’re not worth your time so stop acting like a fucking bootlicker” he hisses. “They’re all self-obsessed and cruel, and I don’t know why you’re so desperate for their approval.”

“Desperate,” she echoes.

The silence of the library is screaming at him. He has an awful feeling in his stomach, like he’s done something wrong, like he’s pushed a little too far.

It’s Halloween all over again. He can feel her slipping away, and he can’t reach out for her, can’t hold onto her and make her stay where he wants her. He curls his fists as he feels his body start to tremble.

“I guess I won’t waste any more of your precious time then,” she says sharply as she starts to pack up her things.

“No,” Michael utters. He reaches his hand up as if to stop her but she stands up, out of his reach. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

She throws on her jacket, wraps her scarf around her neck and turns around, glaring down at him with sad, glassy eyes. “I need to get ready,” she says. “Enjoy the rest of your night.” Then she sweeps out of the hall with a cold rush of air and a slam of the doors.

Michael groans and lets his head fall into his hands. How had he managed to fuck up that badly?

He can’t think about the problems on the sheet in front of him, or think about the reading from the textbook. All he can picture is her in some skimpy dress, letting some sick trust fund baby put his hands all over her. It makes him want to tear his hair out.

He stays there until the evening has turned to night, until any other stragglers have left the library, to attend this stupid Christmas party or to make their own fun.

He can’t understand why she keeps trying to befriend the people who would abandon her the moment they got bored of her, the very same people who shamed her for her scholarship.

He’d never leave her, never let her feel anything less than worshipped.

When he finally packs up his bag he finds himself walking to her dorm. A few girls are leaving as he arrives at the building and he easily slips in while they’re busy chatting. He knows which floor she’s on, and then all he has to do is find her name on one of the doors… and there it is, under the number 205. Perfect.

He glances up and down the hall. It’s deathly quiet. He wonders how many students have already cleared out of their rooms, how many will be at this party, at the pub with their friends.

He can hear music on the other side of the door, a voice singing softly to a song he doesn’t know.

He brings his knuckles up and taps four times against the wood.

She seems happy when she opens the door, but her face falls when she realises it’s him.

He buries his hands in his pockets, keeps his chin down as he looks up at her. “I need to talk to you,” he says.

She sighs and purses her lips, but steps aside enough for him to come into her room.

It’s not as neat as he imagined, but it’s cosy. There are photos and posters all over the walls, clothes strewn everywhere, an opened makeup bag on the floor by the mirror, pieces of paper and used mugs on the desk. His eyes are drawn to her bed, to the colourful comforter tossed carelessly over the duvet and the pile of mismatched pillows. It smells like her perfume, and something else that is distinctly her.

A red dress hangs on the front of her wardrobe, her outfit for the party, he guesses. For now she’s dressed in her favourite pair of baggy jeans and a tank top, her hair slightly damp and her skin dewy.

She sits on the edge of her bed with her legs crossed. She doesn’t prompt him, but he knows what she wants to hear.

He stands in front of her, his knees almost touching the bed. He tries not to look at the cut of her tank top, the way it clings to her torso and teases the swell of her breasts.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “You were right, I was being unfair.”

She looks up at him, furrowing her brows and catching her lip between her teeth, like she always does when she’s thinking. It makes his stomach drop.

“You can be cruel too, you know that?” she says, “and so full of yourself, but you hold it against everyone else you meet.”

“But I’d never lie to you,” he says, “and I’ve never pretended to be someone I’m not.”

She keeps frowning. “Neither have I.”

He hums a laugh. He can’t help but reach for her, taking her chin between his fingers. She doesn’t flinch away, doesn’t question it when he gently strokes his index finger over her cheek. “Silly girl,” he says, “you care too much about what people think of you. You’re smarter than that, but you’re happy to hide it.”

Her breath hitches as tilts her head further back and lets his thumb drag over her lower lip.

“Michael,” she utters, pressing her palms against his chest, but not enough to push him away. Her hands grip at the collar of his jumper and she nudges her nose against his.

He doesn’t know where the sudden recklessness comes from. Perhaps it’s in the way she said his name, the way her eyes are gazing up at him, but every part of him feels hollow.

He leans in closer. “Why bother? Why do you want to dumb yourself down when I could just fuck you stupid?”

She leans in to kiss him and he indulges her, letting his hand settle against her cheek as they clash together in a mess of lips and tongues. It’s more frantic than the night of the Halloween party, wetter, clumsier.

She comes up onto her knees, snaking one of her hands down to the hem of his jumper.

“Have you fucked a girl before, Gavey?” she says between their kisses. He can feel her smiling.

“No,” he says, practically tearing his jumper and his shirt off, “but I’ve thought about it a lot.”

“Anyone in particular?” she says, palming over the bulge in his jeans.

“Who do you fucking think?”

His hands are on the buttons of her jeans, ripping them open, dragging them down her legs before she’s on her knees again. He slips his hand between her legs, against her clothed centre and she ruts against him like a bitch in heat.

With his other hand he grabs at her waist, impatiently pulling her tank top over her head to reveal a lacy black bra underneath. He can’t stop himself, planting firm, desperate kisses over the flesh of her chest as he undoes the clasp.

He tosses her bra aside and takes one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking and circling his tongue over the sensitive bud. He loves how she whines for him, how she runs her fingers through his hair and pulls when it feels good.

And then her phone rings.

She sighs in frustration before she shoves Michael away and crawls over to the table by her bed.

Michael groans at the loss, wanting nothing more than to grab her and pull her back across the bed. “Who is it?” he asks, adjusting his glasses.

“Could be Farleigh, or one of the girls, I said I’d meet them before the party–”

That’s all he needs to hear. In an instant he’s on top of her, pinning her wrist to the mattress so she can’t reach her phone, legs on either side of her body as he presses her down.

She writhes underneath him, unintentionally grinding her rear into his crotch. She tries to turn her head over her shoulder, but it’s hard when she’s caged in underneath him. “Michael! What the fuck are you–”

“When are you going to get it into that pretty little head that you don’t need them?” he says, letting his lips brush against the shell of her ear. He feels her shudder, feels her heartbeat racing against his chest.

“I know I don’t need them,” she says.

“Hmm,” he says, leaning back to undo his jeans enough to free his hard and eager cock. I’m not convinced.”

He takes his time pulling her panties down her legs, kneads at her thighs and her ass, pulls her hips up and parts her legs so he can get a look at her slick, glistening cunt. He’s almost fascinated by it, drawing his thumb through her folds, noticing how she reacts to his touch, the sounds she makes, the way she fists the bedsheets when he gets close to her clit, but just enough to keep her on edge.

“I could be so good to you,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to her shoulder, “so fucking good, so why do you act like you don’t need me?”

“I do,” she breathes, interrupting herself with a light moan when he presses firmly against her clit. “I do need you.”

“There you go, you’re starting to get it,” he coos, circling over her most sensitive spot with the pads of his fingers. He may not have the practice but he has the knowledge, and he needs this to feel good for her.

She responds beautifully, sighing and rocking her hips against him, and she just melts when he presses the tip of his cock against her entrance.

He has to push harder than he expects, pausing when she gives a little yelp of what sounds like pain, but she assures him she’s fine.

He grabs her hip for leverage, hissing through his teeth as he pushes in deeper. She’s so tight, so wet, so warm.

“You can move,” she says, letting her head fall against her arm. “Please, I need it.”

He starts slowly, focuses on the drag of his cock through her, the way she stretches around him, but he can’t hold back for long. Once he finds a rhythm he gets a little more reckless, snapping his hips against her rear, keeping his harsh grasp on her flesh as he fucks her into the mattress.

Her moans are heavenly and obscene. She’s given up struggling but she’s trying to look at him, trying to touch him but she can’t. She calls his name and it sounds so pathetic but so endearing.

He chuckles lowly to himself. “Silly little slut, didn’t know what she was missing, did she?”

“No,” she whines. He can feel her clenching around him and he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to last. “Fuck, Michael, it feels so good…”

He pulls out of her, only to turn her back and slam back in. Suddenly she’s all over him, running her hands down his torso, wrapping her arms around his neck. She has her face buried into the crook of his neck, grazing her lips, tongue and teeth over his skin.

It feels good to have her close, but he’s still not entirely satisfied.

He pulls away to hold her down again, one hand on her throat, the other on her stomach. “Mine.” he huffs as he picks up the pace of his thrusts. “All mine. Fucking say it.”

She places her hands over his, urging him to hold her tighter, press harder. “Yours,” she utters, “all yours.”

“Good fucking girl,” he groans, and feels her respond to his voice, cunt fluttering, back arching, another whine sounding in her throat— maybe she likes that. “My clever little girl.”

He feels her come undone around him, back arching as he lets out a breathless moan, practically squeezing him to his own release.

He pulls out and with a few strokes of his hand, paints her belly and her thighs with his spend.

She’s trembling, smiling, reaching out to touch him again, grabbing at his wrists and pulling herself up. She guides him to lay back in the bed and straddles him, tracing her finger over his lips, his jaw, along his nose to push his glasses up for him. He can hardly see through them, the lenses fogged up and smeared with sweat.

“That was fun, wasn’t it?” she says.

“Yeah,” he breathes, pawing at her hips, watching his cum as it drips down her body. He can feel a sense of pride swelling in his chest, the arousal in his gut starting to tighten again.

He gasps when she drags her wet cunt over his already hardening cock. “You.. want to go again?”

She tilts her head, looking down at him with that familiar excited look in her eyes as her mouth spreads into an eager grin. “You’re adorable,” she says, tracing her fingertips over his chest, down the lines of his abs, to the trail of thin hair on his navel.

She leans down, reaching between them to take his cock in her hand, moving with agonisingly slow strokes. When he tries to protest she silences him with little more than a peck on his lips, before she trails down to his throat. “I stand by what I said, Gavey, and you’re not leaving this bed until we’ve taken that ego of yours down a notch.”

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#michael gavey #saltburn #saltburn fanfiction #michael gavey fanfiction #michael gavey fanfic #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey x oc #michael gavey x ofc #ewan mitchell #michael gavey smut #my fics

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chlix · 8 months

Text

to do what i can do

pairing: seungmin x f!reader

genre: fluff, light angst

word count: 6.1k

warnings: insecurity, light angst, exactly three (3) uses of "y/n"

synopsis: after a conversation with hyunjin's girlfriend, you grow worried that you aren't putting enough work and attention into your relationship. seungmin dissuades you of this idea immediately.

a/n: literally never done this before so sorry if this formatting isn't standard. also ignore any spelling errors pls <3

Seungmin kisses you goodbye every morning. It’s like clockwork: he puts on his shoes, pours his coffee in a mug, kisses you goodbye, and is out the door. Both of you are routine-oriented people. You like schedules and organized silverware drawers. Ever since you first got together, Seungmin has been kissing you goodbye whenever you part ways, and nearly a year later that hasn’t changed. It’s sweet that he always remembers, and the fact that it’s practiced doesn’t make it feel any less sincere.

This morning is more of the same. You get up before him, as always, and put the coffee on. You check your emails while your breakfast cooks. Seungmin emerges just as the food is done (too late to actually eat it, as always) and goes to get his coat and shoes from the door. He loops back around to put his coffee in the cup you washed the previous night and leans down to where you’re sitting at the table to kiss you lightly on the lips. It’s so rote as to be unnotable, but it makes you smile anyway, your day instantly brighter.

“I love you,” you call after him, as you always do, and Seungmin waves as he leaves, throwing a “Be safe!” over his shoulder. And then the door closes, and you’re alone.

In a few minutes, you’ll go to work at your office job. Later, you’ll come home and make dinner. At some point in the day, Seungmin will text you to let you know if he’ll be coming home or not, so that you’ll know if you need to make one portion or two. You normally make two anyway, and just leave the second wrapped up in the fridge. If worst comes to worst, you don’t mind eating the leftovers. It’s far more horrible in your mind to not have food ready for him when he is home. It’s not that Seungmin expects food from you. He’s expressed multiple times that he can buy food on his way home. But you like cooking for him, and lately you don’t get much chance because he’s so busy. You want things to be perfect when he’s home because the time you get together is precious. You’re not obsessive about it, or anything. You’re not “playing housewife” as your friends sometimes say. It’s not a crime to want to take care of your boyfriend.

Right now is a bit of a hectic period, and you haven’t seen him much for a while. You were surprised he even had the time to come home the previous night, although of course you were grateful. When he does come home, he gives you his undivided attention, like you’re the only person on earth. It makes the wait worth it. And he kisses you goodbye every morning because he loves you, and you can feel it on your lips all day, and it assuages the loneliness you might otherwise feel.

Today you have lunch with Ahrin, Hyunjin’s girlfriend. You have good relationships with the partners of all the boys, but you’re a bit closer to Ahrin, maybe because you two are so similar. Ahrin is quieter than the other women, and is more content to observe rather than participate. She’s witty and sharp-tongued, but still kind, and has a gentleness to her that makes her easy to open up to. She calls you up and complains she hasn’t seen you in a while and asks to have a meal with you that afternoon. You haven’t been feeling work very much, and you do miss her, so you agree to take a late lunch and meet her a cafe near your office.

Ahrin is radiant as always, and you make small talk about your families before devolving into complaining about mundanities: annoyances at work and the price of fruit at the supermarket. As you’re speaking, you notice Ahrin is wearing a dainty gold necklace that you don’t recognize, and cut yourself off to ask about it.

“Oh, this? It’s Cartier. Hyunjin bought it for me,” she says, bringing a hand up to touch the small pendant like she’d forgotten she was wearing it. “He’s on this kick about couple’s jewelry.”

“It’s beautiful,” you say, and you mean it. It suits Ahrin’s softness and sophistication. He may have bought it because it was Cartier, but he clearly put some thought into it besides the designer label.

“Thank you,” she says, genuinely pleased. “I try to wear something he bought me whenever I go visit him.”

“Are you going to see him today?”

“I just come from there, actually. He took my credit card in his wallet, so I had to go get it back.”

“Oldest trick in the book,” you say.

Ahrin rolls her eyes. “I know. But it’ll work every time. I can’t help that I need it to go about my day.”

She doesn’t sound the least bit bothered. Ahrin and Hyunjin have been together for two years, and it’s a trick he’s pulled ever since they started living together, the “accidentally taking one of Ahrin’s things to work.” You’ve asked her before why she doesn’t confront him about it, but she says that she thinks it’s cute how he keeps coming up with excuses to see her, and anyway, she also likes having excuses to see him.

You also think it’s cute, if in a more wistful way. Seungmin is organized to a T, and he’s never needed you to bring him something he’s forgotten or vice versa. In fact, you can’t remember if you’ve ever visited him at work at all. You don’t think it’s that strange, though. It’s not like he’s made a habit of showing up to your workplace. Also, you likely wouldn’t have the time even if he’d offered. It does dampen your mood a bit though, especially as Seungmin texts you in the middle of your conversation that he in fact, would not be coming home today, meaning you would have to eat dinner alone tonight.

Ahrin notices the dip in your mood as you set your phone back on the table.

“Bad news?” she asks.

You swipe the notification away.

“It’s nothing. Seungmin just texting me about how busy they are.”

Ahrin hums in understanding. “Well, what can you do. At least it’s not as crazy as it was a few months ago.”

“Isn’t it?” You’ve been seeing less of Seungmin than you had in ages, and you’d assumed it was because their schedules had been bordering on unbearable lately. But Ahrin looks confused at your question.

“I don’t think so. Busier than last month, yeah. But they’re not filming anything right now, so the schedule isn’t as rigid. Seungmin hasn’t talked to you about this?”

You feel embarrassed, somehow. “He doesn’t talk about work much when he’s with me. He likes to keep it separate.”

“That makes sense. You should ask him to share his schedule with you, though. What if you need him and you don’t know where he is, or when he’ll answer?”

“I know where he’s at, generally. He tells me if he’s traveling. I just don’t know the minutiae.”

“You’re allowed to know. You should, for your own peace of mind.”

It’s not that it hadn’t occurred to you to ask. Seungmin told you his whereabouts if you questioned him, and he even volunteered information every once in a while, so you hadn’t thought much of it. And you didn’t suspect him of cheating on you ever in a million years. You knew he had other hobbies and friends as well- a whole life outside you that you weren’t privy to and didn’t need to be. But was it possible you were being a bit too aloof about your boyfriends daily habits? Why didn’t he share what he was doing, if he wasn’t at work? Why didn’t you know?

“I’ll ask him,” you say. “You’re right.”

Ahrin smiles encouragingly, and the topic is dropped for other matters. The odd feeling in your stomach doesn’t settle, though, and by the time you’ve finished your day and sat down to eat dinner, you realize you’ve unfortunately lost your appetite.

Seungmin calls you the next day to say he’ll be staying at the dorm for several days, and you tell him okay, thanks for telling me, I love you, goodbye. After you hang up the phone, you berate yourself for not asking more questions. You’re his girlfriend. You should be care that he’s leaving you alone for days at a time, you think as you drive to work. Maybe he’d been waiting for you to ask what he’d be doing or pester him for spoilers about the group’s upcoming plans. Maybe he wanted you to pout and whine about missing him and beg him to come home. You’d never done any of those things before, but maybe you should be. Maybe he’d called you hoping you would do those things and had hung up the phone disappointed.

The central problem of dating an idol is always a scarcity of time. They’re always busy, and because they’re always busy, you as a partner need to have a life outside them that is full and fulfilling, and sometimes those two schedules conflict. You can go long stretches without spending meaningful time together, and it’s hard to cope with, especially when they’re within driving distance of you, but still inaccessible. You know, though, that a scarcity of time does not always mean a scarcity of attention. You’ve seen it in Ahrin and Hyunjin, in the Cartier necklace and the missing credit card, that Hyunjin thinks about Ahrin all the time, and Ahrin knows that he does, is thinking of him just as much if not more. She can languish in the thought that even if Hyunjin is not with her, he desperately wishes he was, and when she wears his necklaces and bracelets and $500 hair clips, Hyunjin knows she is also desperately thinking about him.

You and Seungmin don’t have a system like that. Seungmin isn’t in the habit of buying you expensive gifts, for starters. He’s frugal with his money, hyperaware that one day his youth and fame will fade, and he won’t have such extravagant income. You’re similarly pragmatic, and you’ve never resented him for this. And that’s not to say he never spends money on you. He buys you flowers and takes you on expensive dates. He bought you a new laptop and headphones without you saying anything, and your closet is full of fancy dresses that are each tied to a high class outing you’ve been on. For each one, he’d bought himself a shirt and jacket to match. But those aren’t things you wear every day to show off. They’re for special occasions, specific memories. There’s nothing you wear or carry daily that marks you as ‘his.’

And honestly, you’ve never really thought about yourself that way. You and Seungmin are together, and you live together (by whatever measure your living arrangements currently count as), but you’ve never longed to be “branded” in a way befitting a pair of earrings or an oversized sweater. You wear his clothes at home, but never out. You don’t feel the need to show up to his practices and recording sessions. You’ve never even asked if you were allowed. If Seungmin bought you a Cartier necklace, you aren’t totally sure you would wear it.

It hits you like a freight train when you put it all together: You don’t care enough about Seungmin. You’re comfortable with him, you feel like you love him, but you don’t care about him the way you’re supposed to care about him. You’re not involved enough. But then, the same goes for him too, doesn’t it? He knows what you do for work, but he rarely asks you about anything other than a cursory how was your day? He doesn’t pester you for anything, doesn’t ask you to visit him or stay up for him when he comes home late. Aren’t those things that he should expect from you as a girlfriend? Why doesn’t he care that you’re so obviously neglecting him? When he kisses you goodbye in the morning, is that because he misses you, or is that just a habit formed over these past months, a meaningless part of the morning ritual he couldn’t resist if he tried?

You feel caught in a lurch, unsure what to do now. Seungmin deserves better than you, clearly. He deserves a girlfriend who actually gives a fuck about his life. But maybe, if you start making up for it now, he’ll forgive the past few months of you being so terrible. He’ll realize that you are an attentive girlfriend, and that you do care about him and that you love him, and you can prove it, you swear, it took you a while to realize what was wrong but you’ve got it all straightened out now.

You can change. You can fix this. You know you can.

-/-

The next time Seungmin comes home, you wake up first the next morning, like always. You go to put the coffee on, and you make breakfast, and you check your emails. Seungmin comes out, walks past you to his shoes and coat, and doubles back to get his morning coffee.

“Busy day today?” you ask.

Seungmin freezes in his movements, caught off guard by your question. He recovers quickly enough, and answers. “Not particularly. Vocal practice, some other things.”

“Oh, good. Do you think you’ll be home today then?”

Seungmin turns to face you, his cup abandoned on the counter, unfilled. “Is everything alright?”

“What?”

“Is something wrong? Do we need to talk?”

Oh god, it’s worse than you thought. Asking if he’s going to be home to eat dinner is enough for him to think something is amiss. Have you truly never asked him that before?

“Everything’s fine. It would just be nice to eat dinner with you, is all.”

Seungmin relaxes. He leans down to kiss you, but it lingers longer than normal, as if he’s savoring the touch, your attention. “I’ll do my best,” he promises. “I love you. Have a nice day.”

You absolutely blossom under his affection, the verbosity atypical for so early in the morning.

“I love you too. Be safe.”

“I always am,” he says, and presses another peck to your lips before pulling away. He finishes pouring his coffee, grabs his coat, and waves as he leaves. You sit at the table, vibrating with satisfaction. You’re doing it, you’re giving him what he needs. Maybe all hope isn’t lost for you two just yet.

Your sky-high mood follows you to work, and the day keeps getting better with the discovery of cupcakes in the break room. One of your coworkers’ kids just had a birthday, and they had way too much food left over. You take one back to your desk to nibble on while you work, and even the mundanity of your daily tasks can’t bring you down from how well this day is turning out. Around midmorning, it occurs to you that this is the perfect opportunity to do something else nice for Seungmin by bringing him cupcakes. They’re not filming, which means they’re not on diets, so he can handle a bit of sugar and frosting, especially if it’s a gift from you. You borrow a container from the staff kitchen to carry some cupcakes and decide to defer your own lunch to deliver them across the city.

When you get to the JYPE building, though, you realize you have no idea what to do. You’re fairly sure you’re allowed access; the other girlfriends pop in and out all the time. But it’s possible no one here recognizes you, since this is the first time you’ve shown your face around here.

Being spontaneous is cute and quirky, but standing around lost and embarrassed grows tiring within seconds. You give up and decide to text Seungmin.

Are you busy?, you send, standing awkwardly by the door and hoping security doesn’t throw you out. Thankfully, he responds quickly.

Not super. Do you need to call?

Actually I’m in the lobby of your building. Can you come down?

Typing, and then a pause. Then more typing. Eventually the message comes through.

Ok.

You can’t decode that at all. It strikes you for the first time that you may be bothering him by driving over here. You did ask if he was busy, though. And it stood to reason that if you had time for a 5-minute phone call, he had time to come downstairs and accept the gift you’d brought him. It isn’t intrusive. This is what people do for each other when they care about each other.

It only takes a few minutes for Seungmin to round the corner into the lobby. His face is creased in concern, even worse than he’d looked this morning, and he’s walking at a brisk pace to stand right in front of you.

“Hey,” he says. “What’s going on?”

You don’t know how to respond to his intensity, so you just hold out the container towards him. “I brought you cupcakes.”

Seungmin’s eyebrows furrow in utter confusion. “You…made cupcakes?”

“I didn’t make them. A coworker brought them in. But I remember you saying you liked cupcakes, and I had a free minute, so I thought I’d bring them over before they got finished.”

Seungmin accepts the box gingerly, as though it contains a nest of wild hornets, or lit sticks of dynamite. “You drove all the way over here to give this to me?”

Your doubts go from an inkling to a full-on tumult. “Yes, I did. I was just thinking of you…I thought you might like something sweet.”

You don’t mean to look dismayed, but Seungmin must clue-in to the fact that this isn’t the reaction you were hoping for. He shifts the box to one hand and laces your fingers together with his other.

“Thank you for thinking of me,” he says. “But you don’t need to go out of your way to bring me things.”

“It’s not out of my way. I had time.”

“Let me rephrase. You shouldn’t expend your lunch hour to bring me food. When are you going to eat now?”

“I’ll stay an extra half hour. It’s fine.”

Seungmin clearly isn’t satisfied with this. He tugs lightly on your arm, bidding you to follow, and you do, unsure of what else to do.

He takes you up a floor, and down a hallway to what seems to be a regular employee break room, where he gestures for you to sit down at one of the tables. You do, and he walks over to the fridge to get bottled water and brings back one for you, along with napkins and a knife from the drawer next to the fridge.

“If you aren’t going to eat lunch, you might as well share your spoils with me,” Seungmin says. He opens the container and takes out one of the cupcakes (and they are huge, to be honest, you kind of can’t believe they’re from a kid’s birthday party) and cuts it in half.

“Pick a side,” he says, and you do, and he carefully picks it up and lays it on a paper towel before sliding it towards you. He takes the other half, and you pick your desserts apart with your fingers. Seungmin tells an anecdote about Jeongin from their vocal lesson that morning. It’s…nice. You’re just spending time with your boyfriend, a quick stolen minute in the midst of your busy lives. The frosting is sickeningly sweet, and you find yourself reaching for the bottle of water without even thinking of it, and only later preen at the realization that Seungmin knew you would need to wash the artificial taste out and had brought you water preemptively. He knows you well enough to identify if something would suit your palette with only a glance.

Both of you don’t have much time to spare, so after fifteen minutes you wipe off your hands and clean off the table.

“I’ll bring the rest of these back upstairs,” he says. “They won’t last ten minutes once the others see them.”

“That’s fine. That’s what I was hoping for, actually.”

“And here I thought you brought these only for me,” he says, but his lips are curled up, teasing. He kisses you goodbye, like always, lips sugary-sweet and soft as cotton-candy. “Thank you for stopping by. I’ll see you tonight.”

Your heart grows three sizes. You’re on cloud nine. “Anytime,” you say.

That night you try very hard not to be an absolute freak about dinner. You cook nearly every day, so the cooking itself isn’t that special, but for some reason your usual rotation doesn’t feel good enough. Seungmin is coming home for the second day in a row, and you don’t want to reuse ingredients, or phone it in when you’d specifically asked him to come home. At the same time, a five-course meal is definitely doing way too much. You stop by the store on the way home and scan the shelves, before wrestling yourself into a compromise and getting ingredients for a meal you both enjoy, but you’re normally too lazy to bother after a long day at work. It’s nothing fancy, just time-consuming, but you’re in such high spirits that the labor doesn’t even feel harrowing.

Seungmin gets home a few minutes before you’re properly done, with the pot on the stove ticking down steadily as you wash dishes and spoons. Seungmin greets you as he walks in but vanishes quickly down the hall to shower and change into inside clothes. By the time he reappears, you’re all but done, and you’ve never been more satisfied with yourself as you dish the food into two bowls and set them on the table. Sure, maybe it’s “playing housewife” a little bit, but you don’t even care. If playing housewife is this rewarding, you might have to start doing it more often.

Seungmin raises his eyes as the dinner you prepared.

“Didn’t you complain that this is hard to make?” he asks. You shrug.

“Felt like cooking today,” is all you say. “No biggie.”

Seungmin sits down at the table, pushes his plate to the side, and looks directly at you. “Y/n. What’s going on?”

Anxiety shoots through you. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do. I’m not oblivious. You’ve been acting off all day.”

“Off?”

“Visiting me at the company? Cooking this fancy dinner? It’s not like you at all.”

“That’s not me being ‘off.’ I just missed you, that’s all.”

“Have I not been paying enough attention to you? Is that why?”

“No! I mean, you have. There is no ‘why’. Am I not allowed to miss my boyfriend?”

Seungmin looks distinctly unimpressed. “Nice try. Wanna go again?”

All your good humor from earlier is dissolving into your soup. “You’re mocking me.”

“I’m not mocking you.”

“I was trying to do something nice for you. I just wanted to spend time with you today. Is that so wrong?”

“It’s not wrong. It’s just unusual for you. When you told me you showed up at the company, I thought something horrible had happened, because you never visited me before.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“What doesn’t?”

“That I never visit.”

“Why would that bother me?”

All your anxieties are simmering near the top, threatening to boil over. “Because the other members’ girlfriends visit all the time. I know they do. They have security clearance and everything. But I never do. I don’t even know where you are most days if I wanted to visit you.”

Seungmin frowns. “You’re busy. You have a job you’re at all day, same as me. Some of the other members’ girlfriends work less or have other things going on.”

“Maybe that’s the problem,” you mutter. “Maybe I have too much going on.”

Seungmin looks hesitant at this. “If you feel you need to cut back, I’ll support you.”

“Is that what you want? Do you think I should work less?”

“No, I don’t. That’s not my decision anyway.”

“But I just…” You’re cracking, you know you are, you can hear it in your voice- “I just want to be there for you more. I want to be attentive.”

“You are attentive. You’re there for me all the time.”

“I’m not!” It bursts out of you more violently than even you expected. Seungmin is taken aback, eyes widening as you finally break. “I’m so aloof towards you, it’s awful. I never know where you are, or what you’re doing. I never ask you to come home to me. I don’t stay up for you. I don’t visit you. Other girlfriends have bracelets or necklaces they wear for their boyfriends, and I don’t do any of that. No one would even know we were dating, based on how we are now.” You suck in a breath, reminding yourself to stay calm. “I just don’t even know what you get out of being with me. I don’t do anything I’m supposed to do, and you keep letting me get away with it. And I thought if I changed, and I started trying harder, maybe I could fix it before you realize that I don’t deserve you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, humiliation and sadness making you feel dizzy and hot. Now that you’ve said it all out, it sounds ridiculous. It’s not as if you could fix a behavioral pattern with one good day. If your relationship really is rotten through, all you’ve done is draw attention to the problem and made it even worse. Contrasted with how you acted today, the past eleven months must seem downright hollow.

Seungmin sighs. “Y/n, look at me, please.”

You open your eyes and are horrified to see Seungmin looking absolutely mournful where he sits across the table. He looks so aggrieved, so weighed down, and a horrible rock forms in the pit of your stomach.

“First of all,” he says. “I don’t ever want to hear you say again that you don’t deserve me. It’s not true, and I won’t have you putting yourself down like that. You don’t decide what I deserve, I do. And I’ve decided you’re exactly what I want.”

You blink, confused at the turn of events. It’s a very Seungmin thing to say, yes, but in this situation, you didn’t expect him to double down on it so earnestly.

“Second of all, you’re not aloof towards me. I know you love me, and you care for me in your own ways. I also know you have a life outside of me that keeps you busy. I’m grateful for that. I would feel horrible if you spent a significant amount of your day just waiting around for me when we both know I can’t always be there.”

“That’s different,” you can’t help but interject. “You’re an idol. You can’t help that you’re busy.”

“You can’t help being busy either. Being an idol isn’t any more important than any other job. You have responsibilities too.”

You deflate, sagging in your chair. He takes this as license to continue.

“Third, I didn’t think you were the type to wear jewelry every day. If you want me to get you something, I can do that. I just didn’t want you to feel pressured to wear something just because I bought it and it was expensive. Someday, if we get married, you’ll wear my ring, and that’ll be enough for me.”

He’s right. You don’t usually wear jewelry every day, and you would feel bad about not wearing something he’d specifically bought you as a gift. You’re starting to feel more and more foolish as this conversation continues.

Thankfully, his itemized list ends there, and he leans forward, dark eyes fixed on yours. He doesn’t look angry, or upset, just focused. Leave it to Seungmin to mind-map his way through a relationship crisis.

“Can you tell me what brought this on? It’s unlike you to be insecure. If I’ve done something to make you think you’re not good enough for me, I’d like to know so that I can change my behavior.”

You let out a long breath, giving up the fight in the face of Seungmin’s rationality.

“I had lunch with Ahrin the other day. I was complaining about how you’re so busy these days, I rarely see you. Ahrin said you guys actually haven’t been that busy. It made me realize I don’t actually know your schedule, like what you do all day, much less outside of work. And I also realized part of the reason I haven’t seen you much is because I never ask to see you. You have no reason to spend time with me when it seems like I don’t even want you around.” Your voice trails off as you continue, shame sticking the words in your throat.

Seungmin hums, thinking. He lifts his hand up and stretches it toward you, your sign to extend your own hand so he can lace your fingers together. You oblige, and the contact settles you a bit.

“I have never thought for one second that you didn’t want me around. I don’t take offense to you not knowing my schedule either. I know I don’t talk about work much. It might be a flaw of mine.”

“Hyunjin is always playing these little games with Ahrin to get her to come see him. But I’ve always felt that you’d prefer I stay away when you’re working.”

Seungmin hesitates again. “That might be right. That’s not because I don’t love spending time with you, though. It’s the opposite.”

“I…don’t follow.”

“Whatever you believe, the other members’ partners don’t really come around all that much, but when they do come around, it’s not really a big event. They’re just spectators. Like when Ahrin visits us at practice, it’s easy for Hyunjin to pretend she’s not there and keep working. I couldn’t do that. If you were in the room with me, I don’t think I could be as focused as I normally am. I’d be distracted because all my attention would be on you and how you’re doing. That’s why I’ve never encouraged you to visit.”

A small hysterical part of you wants to twist his words somehow, to start a fight about him calling you a ‘distraction’ and all it implies, but you know what he meant. It’s a fairly big admission he’s given, that he couldn’t keep control of himself if you were in his eyeline. It’s…unexpectedly flattering.

“I fluster you that badly?” you ask, half-teasing, half-curious. But Seungmin answers you dead serious.

“Embarrassingly so. When I went back upstairs with the cupcakes, Minho-hyung didn’t give me a second to breathe before commenting on it.”

You find yourself grinning. “Really?”

“Don’t laugh at me. It’s unkind.”

“I’m not laughing,” you say, even though you definitely are. Seungmin rolls his eyes, but there’s no heat or embarrassment in them.

“You could at least be sorry about it.”

“I’m very sorry that I got you bullied by your bandmates,” you say dutifully. “I promise I will do my best not to place you in such a compromising position again.”

“You can visit me if you want,” Seungmin rebuffs. “I can take a little teasing if you really want to see me. My point is just that you shouldn’t feel like you have to because the other girlfriends do.”

“Okay.” You nod, then venture out into the part of the conversation you’ve been avoiding. “If that’s all true, why do you stay away so often? It’s okay if you just have other things to do, but why do you let me think you’re at work if you aren’t?”

You aren’t sure what he’s going to say to this. You believe in his loyalty, always, and you don’t think he truly intended to lie to you, but you still can’t figure out who’s to blame here, and how this miscommunication has persisted between you for so long.

To your surprise, Seungmin’s ears flare red. His grip tightens on your hand, like he’s fighting himself, but you can tell he answers you honestly when he says,

“I was worried I was imposing on you.”

You blink. “Imposing?”

Seungmin is no longer meeting your eyes, his gaze lowered to the table. “Like I said, I don’t want you to constantly be waiting around for me. I don’t want you to get used to having me around, and then when I go on tour, or get busy with activities, you feel my absence stronger. Then, when I come back, I become an inconvenience as you try to fit me into your life again. It’s hard, and it’s unfair. I thought it would be easier to try to keep the same level of involvement all the time, so that you didn’t miss me too badly when I was gone, and I didn’t annoy you too much when I came back.”

You hardly let him finish his sentence before you say, “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. You keep your attention from me so that I won’t miss you later? How does that make any sense? I miss you regardless. That’s the point of being in a relationship.”

Seungmin winces, and you decide to dial back your indignance. He’d spoken to you evenly, and you could do the same for him.

“Sorry. I just meant that you shouldn’t keep yourself away from me in an effort to spare my feelings. I know what I signed up for when we started dating. I know some times will be easier than others. I appreciate your efforts to mitigate that, but this isn’t the way. You being gone so often is all the more reason to be overt and intense when we do have time together. It’s fine to not want to spend all your free time with me, but don’t ever think wanting to be around me is imposing, or hurting me in some way, because it’s not.”

Seungmin looks properly chastised. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll be around more.”

“And I’ll ask for you more. We both need to stop holding ourselves and each other back.” You let out a little laugh. “We’re acting like it’s embarrassing to be in love or something.”

“Hyunjin said the same thing to me once.”

“Hyunjin is smart in exactly one area,” you acquiesce. “Ahrin is a lucky girl.”

“Comparison is the thief of joy,” Seungmin mutters. You lean forward over your cold dinner and press a kiss to Seungmin’s cheek.

“I didn’t say she was luckier than me.”

You both grin.

-/-

Next week, Monday. You wake up at your usual time, put on coffee, make breakfast. You clear your entire inbox because fuck the sales department, they can say whatever they need to say in the meeting this afternoon. You set your phone down and enjoy the warmth of the tea you brewed and watch the sun come up outside your living room window.

Seungmin gets up, gets his shoes and coat, and doubles back around.

“Good morning,” you say.

“Good morning.”

“Busy day?”

“Nope. I’m free after lunch.”

“Lucky. I have an awful meeting from two to four.”

“You’ll do fine,” Seungmin says. “Sales isn’t the boss of you.”

“They actually are,” you groan, and Seungmin laughs at your dismay. He kisses you goodbye, tells you to be safe. You tell him you love him. The front door opens and closes.

At around 1pm, your phone buzzes with a text.

Are you busy?

Eh. Why?

I’m in your lobby.

No way.

You grab your security pass and head towards the elevators, watching every floor tick down until it lets you out on the ground floor. Seungmin is sitting in a chair in reception, holding a white cardboard box. When he sees you approach him, he grins and holds it up.

“Got time for cupcakes?”

Your smile is so wide it’s splitting your face in half. “Follow me. The break room is on the fourth floor.”

-/-

“I didn’t even know you knew what building I work in.”

“I looked it up on NAVER.”

“Of course you did.”

“Why reinvent the wheel when someone invented the iPhone, y/n.”

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #seungmin x reader #seungmin fluff #seungmin angst #skz imagines #skz x you #skz x y/n #seungmin x y/n #seungmin x you #skz hurt/comfort

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fettuccin-e · 3 months

Text

Flying to New Heights

Summary: A flight delay means you're spending your night at the hotel bar, praying for sleep to come to you. Instead, a certain Captain Francisco Morales shows up, tall and broad and far too tempting. With undeniable attraction burning between you, you can't help the way you fall right into his arms.

A/N: Alright! I know it's been a while, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Life has gotten a tad crazy, but the Frankie thirst never stops okay? And this AU has been buzzing in my head for a little while now, so I just needed to get it out there. I hope y'all enjoy the porn. (dividers are by the lovely @saradika-graphics!)

Tags: Frankie Morales x Reader, Commercial Pilot!Frankie, Flight attendant!reader, afab!fem!reader, alcohol consumption but barely, this is essentially an excuse for porn so, oral and fingering(r!recieving), unprotected piv (pls wrap it up I'm begging you), Francisco Morales and his dirty mouth have struck again (w/c: 4.2K)

You love your job, you really do. Deciding to actually train to be a flight attendant was one of the best decisions of your life. Gone were the days of short-lived stints in retail, and you’ve never been happier for it.

You’ve lived the attendant life for a few years now, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’ve met some of your best friends through this job, seen some of the most beautiful places in the world, met celebrities on their way to new production locations and concert venues.

It’s the dream, you tell your family, during the rare moments you actually get to visit them. And it is. The perks far outweigh the cons in your profession, and you’re happy to be where you are.

That’s not to say there aren’t any cons though.

There are always rude flyers, unruly children, issues with luggage. The turbulence is never much fun, nor are the months spent without being able to go home at all.

There are always nights like tonight, where the rain made the flight arrive later than expected, and you’ve got another flight scheduled for the morning. Between jetlag and the copious amounts of airline coffee you’ve imbibed to remain bright and chipper over an eight hour flight overseas, there’s no way you’ll get more than five hours of sleep before you have to clock in again.

A nightcap in the hotel bar seemed just the thing to cool off. You haven’t even taken your uniform off, the thick fabric stretching across your skin, your legs exposed to the cool air as you sip on your drink. The alcohol burns a bit in the back of your throat, but you take comfort in it, trying to lean into the calming warmth it creates in your stomach.

“Can’t sleep?”

The unexpected voice rips you from your reverie, and fuck, what a wake up call. The voice is deep, a pretty rasp edging into the ends of his words, the warmth of his tone making you far warmer than the alcohol in your glass ever could.

Captain Francisco Morales. Even his name has heat swimming in your stomach, and you wish you had just gone to bed like a normal person instead of drinking at the hotel bar at midnight.

You can’t decide if the pilot is a perk or a con of the job, only knowing that he seems to pilot most of your flights, and is a fucking distraction during every single one of them. With his big broad shoulders and patchy beard, the crinkles around his eyes when he smiles and his insistence that you call him Frankie, not Captain Morales.

The whole “flight attendants fucking pilots” trope never really applied to you until you met Frankie. You’ve made it a point not to hit on him, no matter how much you desperately want to. It would be far too stereotypical, and with how fucking nice Frankie is, you’d feel like you’d be taking advantage of him. So you’ve kept your distance, talking to him kindly, trying to cross your legs discreetly when he flexes his damn hands on the plane controls, and doing your job like a normal person.

But as he crosses into your line of vision, sitting in the barstool directly next to you, you’re struck with the realization that you’re in unknown territory. There’s no distracting yourself here with other passengers, or your fellow flight attendants. You can’t excuse yourself to an airplane bathroom to splash cold water on your face and yell at yourself to get it together. No, Frankie is right in front of you, ordering a whiskey neat from the bored-looking bartender, and smiling at you so fucking prettily with those big brown eyes and big hands and oh god you’re not going to survive-

“Nah, the jet-lag is really getting to me this time,” you say casually, your voice working on its own accord. At least you aren’t staring at him dopily like some kind of imbecile.

He chuckles. “Same here. Flight go okay?”

“You got us here, didn’t you, Captain? I’d say that’s a success.”

“Then let’s hope I’m always successful,” he winks, and it takes effort to breathe normally. You giggle, and he smiles at you again, his eyes crinkling up.

“You have a flight tomorrow?” he asks, sipping at his drink.

“Yeah, unfortunately," you sigh. "10:00AM, which is making the whole ‘no sleeping thing’ even worse. Y’know, it’s really the airline’s fault if I collapse on a passenger." You grin at him, and he laughs.

“Oh, they should be so lucky,” he chuckles, and you could swear that you see just a flicker of heat in his eyes. A heat that turns into a raging inferno inside of you, spreading from your cheeks to the tips of your toes.

“How about you, Captain? Flying again tomorrow?” You need to keep your mind out of the fucking gutter, not that he makes it very easy.

“Yup. They’ve got me in the air at 8:00AM.”

“Oh man, and you’re listening to me complain about my 10:00AM?”

“Work is work, sweetheart,” he smiles at you, and you want to collapse into him at that very moment. Sweetheart. Coming from anyone else, it would sound smarmy, like a pick up line, but from Frankie, it just sounds warm and comforting. You want to be his sweetheart. “We’re all allowed to complain. We aren’t in any kind of competition.”

He sips his whiskey, his eyes feeling like they’re boring into your fucking soul. “And either way, we’re both in the same bar, at midnight, sleep nowhere in sight. We’re pretty much in the same boat.”

“If you say so, Captain,” you say, your body positively burning under his gaze. You hope that you can blame it on the alcohol.

He raises an eyebrow, “I thought I told you to call me Frankie, sweetheart.”

“Frankie, sorry.”

“No need to be sorry,” he says, taking another sip. You try to not watch his throat work as he swallows. You fail. “Think you just need more practice,” he mumbles into his drink, so soft you almost miss it.

“Practice?” you blurt, mind too distracted to think of an intelligent response.

“Practice saying my name.”

A laugh startles out of your mouth. “I have no idea how I’d practice that, Frankie.”

He hums, pretending to think. “I have a few ideas,” he murmurs, and fuck, you definitely aren’t imagining the heat in his eyes now. It’s blazing into you, and you have to press your thighs together to alleviate the ache between them, hoping that Frankie doesn’t notice. Or maybe you hope he does, as you watch those thick fingers wrap around his glass.

Fuck it. He’s hot, you’re horny, and God, you can’t take much more of this. “I’d love to hear all about them, Frankie,” you say, adding a little rasp to your voice that you hope sounds sexy.

Frankie chuckles, but it doesn’t sound like he’s making fun of you. No, he sounds surprised, like he can’t believe you’re flirting back at him. Confidence swims in your chest as red colors his cheeks. You gaze up into those warm, brown eyes of his, and fuck, he’s so pretty up close like this.

“You sure about that, hermosa?”

You don’t break eye contact with him, and his deep gaze burns into yours. “Positive,” you breathe, and Frankie’s smirk is absolutely devastating.

Captain Francisco Morales doesn’t do this often. No, he doesn’t do this ever. Fucking between flights is supposed to be a perk of being a pilot, but it’s a “perk” he rarely utilizes. One night stands have never really suited him; he gets attached far too easily, and with his job, he can never stick around for long.

But god you’re pretty. And you’re licking hotly into his mouth, and whining in the back of your throat like you’re fucking desperate for it.

He couldn’t help himself when he saw you, still in your little uniform skirt, nursing a drink at the hotel bar. He couldn’t help himself when he struck up a conversation with you, wanting to see your pretty smile and soft laugh that he only ever hears mid-flight. And damn it, he sure as hell can’t help himself from pressing you up against the wall of the hotel elevator, pressing one of his thighs between yours while your fingers curl into his hair and his arms wrap around your waist.

You wiggle down onto his thick thigh, and it creates the most perfect pressure on your clit. You whimper against Frankie’s mouth, and he groans with you, pulling you flush against him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and his voice is deep and gravelly, breathless from your fevered kisses. “I, uh, I don’t usually do this kind of thing.” His cheeks burn, but he doesn’t back away, just leans his forehead against yours and tries to catch his breath.

It isn’t a surprise, his confession. You’ve heard stories about every other pilot, about their conquests with flight attendants, or how someone saw one of them take their wedding band off when they got to their hotel. There are stories upon stories about every pilot you’ve flown with, except Frankie. And it’s intoxicating, knowing that he wants you enough to have you like this.

“Good. Me neither,” you whisper, and Frankie grins again. That boyish, devastating grin, and fuck, your clit is throbbing so hard that you could cum like this. You could cum, right in this elevator, Frankie’s thigh between yours and his tongue in your mouth, fuck-

The elevator dings, signaling your arrival to your floor, and Frankie jumps away from you as the doors slide open. You don’t take it personally, not when you’re instinctually tugging your rumpled skirt down. You glance up, and Frankie is already staring down at you, gaze blazing as he braces a hand against the elevator door, holding it open for you.

“Where’s your room?” he asks, and the question is casual, but his voice certainly isn’t. There’s promise in it, and you have to make sure your knees don’t buckle.

“Why don’t I show you?” you say, stepping toward him to press your bodies together. Frankie doesn’t answer, he only cups a hand under your jaw, dragging your face up for a sticky kiss. It’s so much better than a yes.

He breaks the kiss far too soon, but one of his hands makes its way down to your ass, squeezing the fat of it through your skirt. “Lead the way, princesa,” he grumbles, and how could you ever think to refuse him?

Maybe you’re a little too eager in your walk to your room, but Frankie doesn’t seem to fare much better. No, he’s just as desperate as you are, with the way he presses you against the door of your room the moment you close it. With the way he swiftly kisses down your neck, sucking your skin between his teeth as he unbuttons your blazer, shoving the fabric down your arms. The buttons of your white undershirt follow, and you keen as he sucks maddeningly at your pulse point, his mustache scratching at the sensitive skin of your neck.

As soon as you’re divested of your shirt, Frankie’s moving again, kissing his way down your chest. He drags his teeth against the soft skin of your breasts, and you dig your hands into his hair.

“Fuck, baby, you’ve got the prettiest tits,” he murmurs against your skin. It doesn’t sound like a line, no, it sounds like a prayer.

“Frankie, please,” you breathe.

He looks up at you from his position at your chest. “What, gorgeous?” he asks, coy, as if he doesn’t know what you want. What you desperately need.

“Please, just,” you use your grip in his hair to drag him back up to your mouth, and he goes willingly, groaning softly as his tongue meets yours again. “Please fuck me, Frankie,” you whisper, and Frankie groans like he’s dying.

“Take- take your clothes off, baby,” he mutters, and it sounds more like he’s begging than he’s commanding. “Take your clothes off, and get on the bed.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

You have to make sure you don’t trip on your way to the bed as you kick off your heels. You tug your skirt and nylons down your thighs, making sure to wiggle your ass a bit more than normal as you bend over to tug them the rest of the way down your legs. You smirk at Frankie’s soft groan behind you.

The air of the hotel room is slightly cold, but as soon as you kneel on the bed, arching your back in a shameless display of your desperation, Frankie is burning hot above you, and you can’t feel the cold at all. Frankie’s thick, calloused hands palm your ass, and you moan as he spreads you apart, staring unabashedly at your aching cunt.

“Can I eat your pussy, baby?” he grumbles from behind you, and the fact that he’s asking permission to eat you out is making you so much hotter, making you clench around nothing.

“Yes, yes, Frankie, oh please-” you whine, and Frankie barely lets you finish your sentence before he’s dragging his tongue in a long stripe up your dripping pussy. “Fuck, Frankie,” you groan, and he moans into you, sounding like he’s enjoying eating you out just as much as you are.

His nose drags maddeningly through your folds as he brings his lips down to your clit, sucking it into his mouth and swirling his tongue around it in circles that send pure pleasure sparking endlessly up your spine. You arch your back into it, pressing yourself into his mouth, and Frankie groans again. The vibrations of it against your clit make you jerk wildly, whining high as you clutch desperate fingers into the pristine white sheets of the bed.

Frankie tries to keep you still with one of his big hands pressing into the small of your back. His other hand makes its way to your pussy, and you don’t even realize, not when he’s licking into you so feverishly, until there’s a thick finger pressing into your achy entrance.

“Frankie, oh my god-” you gasp wetly, his finger so much thicker than one of your own. It’s been so long, too long, since you’ve had the touch of anything other than yourself. Your tiny, traveling bullet vibrator doesn’t feel like this. You can’t stretch yourself like this, you can’t drive yourself wild like he can.

He moves his finger around inside you, searching, searching, while he licks softly at your clit. “Where is it, baby?” he mutters against you, and you have to force your brain to work at least a little bit to decipher whatever the fuck he means.

His finger is still searching, stroking against your slick inner walls, and you can barely gasp out a, “up, up,” before he’s finally touching that sweet spot deep inside you. You can’t hide it when he does, gasping out a high pitched moan as pleasure rockets up your body.

“There it is, sweetheart,” he says, “good girl.”

And fuck, how do you hold yourself together when he says things like that. He licks again at your clit, but plays with that spongy spot inside you, abusing it. You’re so slick and hot, it doesn’t take long before he’s pressing a second finger into you, then a third. And his fingers are so fucking thick, breaking you apart and pressing into that wonderful spot inside you. Your vision is blurring at the edges as he plays with you like a practiced instrument. How is he so good at this? Your body barely feels like it’s your own, just Frankie’s; his to play with, his to fuck. God, he’s ruining you. It’s never been this good.

“Frankie, Frankie-” you whimper his name like a prayer, and his fingers move fast into you, jackhammering you into the mattress. You whine as he breaks his mouth from your clit, but he keeps his fingers pressed deep inside of you as he leans over your trembling body.

“C’mon baby, c’mon baby,” he mutters, moving his fingers inside you so roughly that you could swear he’s trying to break you in two. “What do you need, sweetheart? What do you need to cum all over my fingers, huh?”

“Just keep-” you gasp between shuddering moans. “Just keep talking to me, fuck, please-”

“Talk about what, gorgeous? Talk about how hard I am for you right now? How hard you always make me?” You whine at his words, and you can feel his smirk against the skin of your shoulder. His fingers move into you even harder, if that’s even possible. “Fuck, princesa, you have to know how fucking sexy you are. Make me so fucking hard whenever we fly together. Fuck, watched you bend over to pick up your bag once, right in front of me. Had to fuckin’ jerk my cock as soon as we got back to the hotel. Can’t help it around you baby.”

You feel like you’re underwater. Frankie’s voice is deep and dark in your ear, and your pussy is so fucking sensitive. You can feel your orgasm burning relentlessly in your stomach. Just a little more, just a little-

“Thought about taking you to the back of the plane, mid flight. Thought about fucking you hard, stuffing this pretty pussy, making you go back out to work with my cum dripping down your thighs. You want that, sweet girl? Fuck you’re so pretty, so pretty baby, you’ve gotta cum. Please, please let me fuck this pussy. Be my good girl, cum all over my hand.”

You don’t think he means it like a command, but you follow it anyway. You moan, throaty and wet, into the sheets as your cunt clenches around Frankie’s fingers, hips twitching as he presses reassuring kisses to your shoulder. You turn your head blindly, and he leans forward to meet your lips in a bruising kiss, his fingers buried deep inside as you gush all over his hand.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” you whisper against his lips, repeating it like a mantra, and Frankie whimpers, needy and so hot that it makes you want to cry.

“Okay, baby, okay, I’ve got you,” he says, and you know he does.

When Frankie presses the blunt tip of his cock against the opening of your sensitive pussy, you both groan. You push your hips back just as he pushes his hips forward, and the tip of his cock is just as big as the rest of him. Which, of course, means fucking massive. You have to breathe through the stretch of him inside you as he sinks deep, deeper, deeper.

“Doing so fucking good, sweetheart. Jesus fuck- ah- so fucking tight baby- fucking beautiful- oh fuck-” Frankie mutters, sounding just as overwhelmed as you feel. It feels like forever until he bottoms out, his hips pressed against your ass as he hunches over you, hot and big and all man. It’s a dream that you’ve had before, but the reality is so much better than anything you could have ever imagined.

“So- you’re so big, Frankie,” you whimper, and Frankie groans behind you. “Need you to fuck me, wanna feel it tomorrow, please, please-” and he does. He pulls his hips back, just to shove himself back in, and the drag of his fat cock against that spot he found earlier has tears springing unbidden to your eyes.

“Yes! Oh my god, like that, just like that-” you’ve never talked this much before during sex. But his unyielding thrusts, deep, deep inside, have you babbling wildly.

“Christ, you can’t talk like that, princesa, gonna make me blow my fucking load-”

“Want it, fuck Frankie, want you dripping down my fucking thighs, wanna gape open after you fuck me, oh god-”

Frankie fucks in harder, and it’s like every thought you’ve ever had flies out of you. His chest and stomach press into your back as he holds you still, thrusting desperately into you, harder and harder.

The bed is creaking, a rhythmic squeak that mixes in with the endless sounds of your keening whines and Frankie’s moans, and the obscene squelching of your pussy around Frankie’s cock. Your wetness drips down your thighs as Frankie bullies his way inside. He’s hitting that beautiful spot inside you, so perfectly, so overwhelmingly perfect, and fuck, tears are dripping down your face as you clutch onto a pillow, only able to squeak out pitiful whines of “Frankie, Frankie,” as he destroys you.

“So fucking gorgeous for me, god, bebita, fuckin’- fucking tight, fucking strangling me. Been too long, honey? Too long since you got fucked like you deserve?” Frankie growls into your ear, fucking you like a god damn animal.

Frankie’s lost control above you, which he just doesn’t do. He’s always in control, always, he has to be in this profession. But it’s like you’ve stripped him bare, literally and figuratively, to the most primal parts of himself. You’re so fucking hot and wet and tight around him, whining and throwing yourself back on his cock like it’s the best you’ve ever had, and he’s losing it. Losing it far too quickly, and he’s going to cum far too quickly.

“C’mon, baby, give me another one,” he groans, “squeeze my cock with this perfect fuckin’ pussy, wanna, wanna feel it.”

“Touch my clit- oh please, please, Frankie, ah- ah” and he does, the moment the words leave your lips. He reaches underneath the both of you, not breaking the rhythm of his hips driving into yours, and rubs two of those thick, calloused fingers against your throbbing clit.

“Fuck- yes, just like that, just like that, oh my god.” You’re slurring your words, so stupidly drunk on the feeling of his cock filling you over and over, of his body radiating heat above you.

“Gonna take care of you hermosa, make you cum like you deserve, so fuckin’ beautiful crying on my cock,” Frankie says, rubbing your clit hard and methodical. “Never gonna get enough of you baby. Gonna fuck you in every hotel we ever get, fuck you at the terminal, fuck this pussy in the god damn cockpit, oh shit-”

And you’re screaming, outright screaming into the sheets as the thread in your stomach snaps, your pussy clenching and gushing all over Frankie’s giant cock. He’s still mumbling into the cook of your neck, mindless mumbles about how pretty you are, how perfect, as you tremble through the most powerful orgasm of your fucking life. It’s devastating, it breaks you apart and puts you back together all at once, and you just have to trust Frankie to hold you together in his strong arms.

“Where do you want it, huh baby? Please, please, you’ve gotta tell me, oh shit-” Frankie whimpers, and it’s a damned good thing you still have enough brain cells to understand what he means.

“Inside, inside, 'm on the pill, please, please fill me up.” It’s fucking risky that you both didn’t even think about a condom, but with a man like Frankie, it’s hard to think about anything.

His hips still, his cock pressed inside so deep that it feels like he could be in your lungs, as he fills your pussy with his cum. He bites harshly into your shoulder, but it doesn’t fully muffle his whimpers as he crashes through his orgasm. Your eyes flutter shut. You wish you could bottle those sounds and listen to them forever.

Your knees slide out from under you, leaving you laying flat on your stomach, and Frankie follows, holding himself against you as you wait for your breathing to slow.

“That was…” you whisper into the quiet.

“Fucking amazing.”

You can’t suppress your giggle. “Took the words right out of my mouth, Frankie.”

He tucks his face into the crook of your shoulder, and you can feel his pretty smile, before he’s lifting himself off of you, and you realize how cold you are without his heat.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” he says, and you can’t bring yourself to do anything more than nod. Frankie rushes quickly into the en suite bathroom, and you can hear the sink running for a moment, before he comes back. A warm, wet rag makes its way down your back, over the curve of your ass, and between your legs. He’s ridiculously gentle as he wipes you down, and it’s wonderful.

Once Frankie deems you clean again, he climbs into bed next to you. He wraps his arms around your placid body, tugging you close. “Didn’t take you for a cuddler, Frankie,” you murmur, but you only snuggle closer, relishing in his deep chuckle.

“I’m usually not.”

“You don’t do this often, though?” you say, dragging a finger down his chest, your eyes already fluttering shut.

You feel Frankie’s lips press to your forehead as he murmurs, “I think I’m willing to let this,” he hugs you against him softly, “become a new habit.”

You smile, and you lean up to kiss him gently. “I wouldn’t mind that at all.”

#*runs away again for another month*#Frankie the man that you are #always here to pull me out of a writing slump #frankie morales x reader #frankie x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x fem!reader #triple frontier x you #triple frontier fic #triple frontier smut #triple frontier x reader

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f1byjessie · 3 months

Text

A PICTURE IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS ━━ LN4.

sometimes the right words are hard to come across, and sometimes everything you need to say can be captured in an image.

( lando norris x photographer!reader )

━━ part two.

Friday evenings are typically spent in the comfort of your flat. Normally, you’re half paying attention to reruns of whatever shitty reality TV happens to be on and half scrolling through social media to keep up with the ever-fluctuating trends of content as per your job requirements, all the while eating your body’s weight in takeaway. It’s not the dream, but it’s certainly a dream.

Tonight, you plan on amending things to include going through the pictures of Bali’s stunning beaches that Lando’s been spamming you with throughout the day, but beyond that, you have no intentions of deviating further from your norm.

You’re actually really looking forward to it. Though you’d rather cut off your own hand than admit it to his face and give him new ammunitions to tease you with, you miss Lando during the winter breaks. So much of your year is spent having him nearby━ a near-constant presence buzzing with the inability to slow down let alone stop━ and when he isn’t around, the silence seems louder. There’s no one else who manages to annoy you the way he does, and it’s just not the same without him.

To make matters worse, between your new job, Lando’s travels, and the scheduling conflicts that have arisen in turn, you haven’t had a chance to catch up with him beyond a few back-and-forth messages about his current escapades. So you really, genuinely, truly are looking forward to it.

Garrett Ward throws a wrench into things.

You have mixed opinions of Garrett. He can be very sweet, and he’s gone out of his way to make you feel incredibly welcome in your first week with the Manchester City team. He makes good conversation and seems genuinely interested in what it is you’re doing, often asking questions about your equipment and process, which is a nice change of pace from most other clients you’ve worked with in the past who rarely give two shits about anything beyond the final product. But his reputation is… concerning.

Garrett Ward is infamous in English tabloids for being a notorious womanizer.

There are several articles that come to mind, but the most damning of which is from 2019, before his trade to Manchester City, detailing with very incriminating photos how he’d been seen entering a club with two women and then leaving just a few hours later with a completely different pair. You don’t want to assume he’s the same man now as he was back then, nearly a full five years ago, but you’ve been working in the sports industry long enough to know that athletes can have anyone and if they want then they will have anyone━ there is no shortage of temptation.

And you are not arrogant enough to assume you would be the outlier.

Which makes his interest in you feel less like friendly curiosity and more like something you need to be wary of.

It’s also why━ as you make the trek through the Etihad Campus car park━ you feel dread begin to pool in your stomach as you answer your ringing phone. “Hi, Garrett.”

“Y/N!” He exclaims excitedly, sounding like he hadn’t just seen you barely ten minutes ago in the weight room. “I meant to catch you before you left, but you were outta there so fast I wasn’t able to.”

And there’s probably a reason for that, you want to say, but you hold your tongue. “Yeah, I usually try to be pretty quick about it.”

There’s an awkward pause left open as if he expects you to say more, and when you don’t he clears his throat. “Erm, well, I was actually just calling to see if, perhaps, you would like to grab dinner with me this evening.”

You don’t. At all. It’s one of the last things you would like to do. There are plenty of other hellish things you would willingly rather subject yourself to before sitting down and sharing a private meal with this man━ jumping into the Thames is one of them, and letting Lando drive you around on the autobahn in his Spider is another. Both could very easily result in death, permanent disfigurement, or any other number of horrible outcomes, but neither includes Garrett.

Your hesitating silence must be an answer enough for him, because he chuckles again and adds on quickly, “No strings attached, I promise. It’ll just be two friends getting dinner.”

All you want to do is get cozy on your couch in your pajamas with a kebab from the place down the street and watch pretty people deal with their pretty people problems on TV. You don’t think that’s too much to ask for, but apparently, some higher power does.

“I suppose that’d be alright then,” you agree tentatively, speeding through the stages of grief as you mourn the initial plans of your Friday evening━ the easy, simple, comfortable plans. “Shoot me a message with the time and place and I’ll meet you there.”

“Awesome!” Garrett cheers. “See you later then.”

The peaceful silence that awaits you after you hang up feels like it’s mocking you. Too bad you can’t flip off silence.

“Look, the truth is, City is looking at trading me at the end of the season if I can’t clean my act up.” Garrett’s voice is quiet as he admits the reality of his future to you, but it breaks the silence of the world around you like a gunshot. “And not just loaning me out━” he adds, a twinge of something akin to anger noting his tone, “━but fully trading me. They’re saying that my image makes things too hard for them and the only way they’ll consider re-signing me is if I can either keep my name out of the tabloids or try to clean myself up.”

In Garrett’s defense, he technically did hold true to his promise of just two friends getting dinner. Things were actually going quite well, too. The restaurant was a little more high profile than you would’ve expected for a casual meal, but that can easily be passed off as the luxurious lifestyle and expensive tastes of a pro athlete who can certainly afford it. Expenses of your meal aside, he’d been good company, asking after the ways of working in Formula One and then finding similarities in his football career that made it easy to chat about the struggles and stressors of professional sports.

But you can recognize that this is where it’s all beginning to go downhill.

He’s announced it completely out of the blue as you’re walking back to the garage where you’ve both parked your cars. On top of that, his pace slows and you’re forced to slow down as well to match it until you both eventually come to a halt in the middle of the pavement.

You feel for him, in all honesty. You understand the difficulties of contract negotiations and how easily they can fall apart. The fragility of Formula One contracts is its own special brand of tricky and you’ve seen many friends move on to other teams in the blink of an eye just as they’ve begun to settle down and make their mark where they are. You can’t say for certainty that you understand the mechanics of football contracts to the same degree, but you can imagine they have their own fragile fine print.

But the chill of a January night in Manchester is brutal, and you’ll be the first to admit that your outfit does not protect against it. You don’t really want to be having this conversation in general, because you’ve known Garrett for all of a week which makes you acquaintances at best, but you especially don’t want to be having it now, out here in the cold when all you want to do━ all you’ve wanted to do since this afternoon━ is curl up in something warm and comfortable and pretend the world outside your flat doesn’t exist for a few days.

“I’m not sure what this has to do with me if I’m being honest, Garrett.”

He shrugs. “I just thought you might be able to help.”

You shove your hands in your pockets in a desperate attempt to keep your fingers from going more numb than they already are and shake your head at him. “I don’t know how exactly you think I can help you with that. I’m a photographer, not a PR officer.”

“My agent thinks it would be a good idea if I showed the media that I could hold down a steady relationship. Prove to them that I’ve changed my ways, and have matured.” He shrugs again, nonchalant despite being the one to bring this up in the first place.

“Have you?”

He makes a face, something between a flirty smirk and a suggestive wink, “Well, I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Garrett.”

“Look,” he crosses his arms and levels you with a look that fills you simultaneously with more rage and annoyance than a single person has ever made you feel before. “It would just be for a couple of months, and then we could stage an amicable breakup and that would be that! It just has to be long enough to show everyone that I’m not the same as I used to be.”

You give him a look right back, hoping it conveys how appalled you are by his audacity. “Okay, but why me of all people? Christ knows you probably have a list of women in your contacts who would jump at the chance to pretend to date you for a few months.”

His face pinches up in disgust. “Yeah, but they’re all former hookups, and I mean, they’re kinda psycho about me to be fair. If I tried to end things, they’d probably go to the tabloids themselves and smear my name with the worst things they could come up with.” He shrugs again, and you’re starting to find that you hate it when he does so. “I need someone willing to just play along for the time being and who will be discreet when things are over.”

“And you think I’m that person?” You scoff. “You’ve known me for a week!”

Your voice echoes and it reminds you once again that you’re having this conversation in the middle of a random street in Manchester. It’s cold and dark, and you’ve been attempting to bite back your frustration since the moment Garrett called you. You’ve been as nice as you possibly can be for this man, shy of bending over backward to worship the very ground he walks on, and you’re so close to your limit that you think if he shrugs one more fucking time━

He shrugs. “Well, yeah, but you know how this industry works. So I know you can be trusted.”

You take a deep breath to try and retain what’s left of your quickly slipping composure, before you say, “Garrett, this goes beyond unprofessional. I could potentially get into a lot of trouble for this. You’re technically my co-worker, if not my client by proxy. It’s not a good look for me to be getting with the athletes I work with, considering my entire career is based on working with athletes.”

He makes a befuddled face as if asking what that has to do with anything. It occurs to you that he’s probably never had to worry about the ethics of hooking up with someone when most of the women who are interested in him would do everything in their power to spend a night by his side whether it’s morally just━ or legal, for that matter━ or not.

“That doesn’t seem to stop you from being all cozy with that Nor-whatever guy,” he grumbles.

“What?”

“That driver,” he repeats. “You post him all over your socials, like, all the time.”

You tear your hands from your pockets and throw them up in the air, “Because that’s my job?!” The stupidity of the man before you is genuinely baffling. He’s been asking about your job all week long but the way he’s talking now makes it seem like he didn’t catch onto the fact that your entire career is centered around media and the creation of content made with the explicit intention of being shared.

“I am quite literally paid to take and post pictures of him per my contract with McLaren,” you continue. “And even if I wasn’t, he’s my best friend?! I’ve been working and traveling and spending the majority of my time with Lando since 2019 so of course I’m going to be close with him. Do you not post your mates every once in a while?”

“Yeah, but it’s different. All my mates are guys, so nobody thinks I’m dating any of them when I do it.”

You scoff in disbelief. “I cannot believe this right now. You know, for a moment, I briefly considered helping you. But you’re actually exactly the type of prick the tabloids say you are.”

He takes an intimidating step closer, and his voice drops an octave lower. “I would reconsider if I was you.” You’re not short, but Garrett isn’t either. He’s one of the tallest players on the Manchester City team, and the way you feel now with him staring you down makes you wonder if this is what it feels like to be his opponent on the pitch.

It’s fucking terrifying.

But you’re fucking livid, too.

Your jaw clenches and you bite out sharply, “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“What it means,” he starts, “is that if you don’t help me, maybe I slip a word about something or other to my boss who slips a word to his boss who is, also, your boss, and suddenly, whoops!” He gives you a cocky smirk, so sure of himself that it makes you feel like your blood is literally boiling. “He’s not your boss anymore. In fact, nobody is your boss anymore, because your ‘slip in conduct’ was very inappropriate and made several players uncomfortable, which doesn’t look very good when trying to get jobs elsewhere in the industry.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Well,” he fucking shrugs. “When you say it like that, yeah. I guess I am.”

You cross your arms, your hands clenched into fists so tightly that you can feel your nails digging painfully into the flesh of your palms. “You’re a real bastard, you know.”

“You’re not the first person to tell me that, love.”

If only it were legal to kill a man━ Garrett Ward would be six feet under and picking worms from between his teeth.

You weigh your options, though. You’re not sure how much weight his word actually carries. For all you know, he could tell his boss, they could bring you in to discuss things, and then you could explain it all from your point of view. Garrett is a notorious flirt and you doubt it’s the first time he’s tried to pursue someone who isn’t interested in him. You doubt it happens very often, but it has to have happened at some point. Not to mention, his reputation regarding women is bad enough that Manchester City is already giving him an ultimatum, so you probably have a chance, and the worst-case scenario is that you amicably part ways with the team and that’s that.

But realistically there is a worse worst-case scenario, and it’s pretty damn close to what Garrett is threatening. Losing this side gig wouldn’t really be too much trouble. It would put a dent in your savings, and you’d have to be a bit better about how you ration out your groceries and other necessities around the flat, but losing your job at McLaren? Being blacklisted from the industry entirely? That’s life-destroying. You would lose everything━ all the blood, sweat, and tears you shed to get where you are would be for nothing.

All because of a prick in sky blue.

“Fine,” you utter from between gritted teeth. “I’ll help you. But I won’t post you on my account. I won’t bring you home to my parents. I won’t go round to your flat and I certainly will not have you round to mind. You get one kiss to make it official to the paps, and then nothing more.” You take your own threatening step toward him, and a vindictive part inside you shines with malicious glee when he shifts ever so slightly backward. “If you try anything else, I will run to the papers and drag you through the mud worse than any of your little psycho groupies ever could.”

He scoffs, “You’d ruin your career.”

“But I’d tear you down with me,” you reply.

He takes a moment to think, staring into your eyes and weighing how serious you are. Whatever he sees staring back at him must be convincing enough because he sniffs, nods, and smirks.

“Deal.” He leans down, “I think I’ll be taking that kiss now. Make sure to really sell it, yeah?”

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @leclercsluv @f1luvur @formulaal @a-disturbing-self-reflection @starlightpierre

━━ a/n: i feel like i say this every time, but i am seriously blown away by how well the first part of this was received! like, seriously, thank you so much for the kind words everyone said about it! hopefully this second part lives up to the hype of the first, it's a little denser, but the events are important to establish for the rest of the story so it needed to happen!

#formula 1 #formula one #f1 #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #social media au #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #ln4 #oscar piastri

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msafterhours · 26 days

Text

Saccharine | Act Two

Male Reader x (G)I-DLE Yuqi

[Act 1] Act 2 (~14.7k words) [Act 3]

Note: this is not intended as a standalone story. If you haven’t already read Act One, I’d highly recommend doing so before reading further so that you don’t miss out on important context.

As the dawn of the final day of 2021 breaks over the horizon, you finish acquiring the answer to your earlier inquiry. Apparently, nothing awaits, as for the first time in a long while, swaths of darkness have been painted over your hours of slumber. It’s been a stark contrast, even compared to the mundane manifestations that have previously filled insignificant periods. Especially for a mind as active as yours, it’s become an unwelcome disruption to your expected existence, plunging you into a deep fatigue that you’ve been unable to shake. And to top it all off, another disruption awaits you upon awakening—this time landing squarely in your inbox.

ASong4You: I’m going to be with Soyeon the whole broadcast, so if we’re going to meet up again, it’ll have to be at or after the afterparty ASong4You: Should I look for you somewhere?

For as much as she dislikes being called cute, it’s honestly adorable how straight she’s playing this. As if it’s completely normal to have someone make you see stars upon the first time meeting them in person. But the truth of how rattled she is reveals itself in the vulnerability she’s exposed. So, you might as well pretend to play along. Somewhat.

TurnThePage: Don’t worry, I’ll make sure it’s easy to find me at the afterparty TurnThePage: We’ll see how it goes from there

The read notification acts as enough of a response for you, and you close the app. Until a realization hits and you reopen it.

TurnThePage: Also bring me my fucking scarf

You see another read receipt and the beginnings of a message, but then, a pause. You immediately know; you can hear the laughter she’s undoubtedly doubled over with—the memory echoing in your mind clearer than the chirps of the birds outside your window.

ASong4You: Fuck no, this thing’s comfy as hell TurnThePage: THAT’S THE POINT ASong4You: Alright fine, but only if you ask nicely

You nearly do as she asks, but pride jumps in front of the word “please” in your mental dictionary and refuses to allow you access. So—just like you’ve always done—you pivot.

TurnThePage: What if I come gift wrapped with a little bow on top

This time, the memory echoes resonate through your mind long before your phone vibrates with a response. The clarity is borderline concerning, but you cast it aside as you return to her response.

ASong4You: Then you just might get me to do as you ask TurnThePage: I still don’t get why I have to do something to get my stuff back ASong4You: To be fair you never had to give me it in the first place TurnThePage: To be fair, they’re still there, aren’t they?

Read? Yes.

Replied to? Of course not. All you’re left with is a protracted silence that paints a picture worth a thousand words.

TurnThePage: You know what, maybe just keep it for now TurnThePage: You never know when you might need it, especially at this time of year … ASong4You: I swear to god I’m going to give you bruises that’ll make mine look like fingerprints in comparison TurnThePage: Wouldn’t want it any other way.

What a way to start the morning. Your routine passes by in a flash, leaving you facing a familiar screen and the unfamiliar dilemma of what to do with a few hours of free time. Your mind casts itself back to her earlier statement and her plans for the day, inspiring an idea that influences your plans for its remainder. While you may have professional obligations at this event, there’s no reason you can’t benefit from some personal profits along the way. So, you send a few quick emails that net quicker responses, and from there, you’re off to the races. You stockpile a selection of questions, feebly attempting to justify this personal project’s importance, and, a few hours later, you leave. Well ahead of schedule; just in case.

You arrive alone, head held high as you greet the familiar security staff who wave you right on by. This time, you're more selective in your choice of targets—more specific in the questions you ask them. You keep the conversations short, just barely long enough to glean the necessary information without claiming a spot amongst their memories of the night. No more than an hour passes before you know exactly where every performer will be and when they'll be there, affording you clarity on where you want to be and where you need to avoid.

Your efficiency is quickly rewarded as once again, even though you have hours until the broadcast goes live, the performers begin arriving in droves. With your opportunity fast approaching, you tap into the vast repository of knowledge you’ve gleaned over the past couple of years and make a few stops along the way towards your destination. Once your hands are full of items that you know idols tend to request during waiting periods—water, fans, phone chargers, etc.—you step into the waiting room reserved for an absolute all-star lineup of idols tonight.

One by one by two by one they arrive until ultimately you’re flanked by five. Some of the hottest faces in the industry—figuratively and literally—sit around the table with you, shining brighter than spotlights as you all share war stories and discuss the year in retrospect. Hwang Yeji, leader of ITZY, is happy to share about her members’ Christmas craziness and her own ambitious New Year’s resolutions. Kim Minju, Music Core host and alleged actress, shares about her particular difficulty facing the struggles that all the IZ*ONE members must be feeling post disbandment. An Yujin and Jang Wonyoung, maknaes of the aforementioned group and mega stars of their new one IVE, provide their own insights on the struggles and successes of the past year of their lives. But it’s the sixth member of the conversation you have the most questions for. Because Cho Miyeon is the one who sits alongside you as you ask her question after question about the time spent since she last stood under the spotlight seven months ago.

Under this pretense of an interview—some project about this year being the liberation from lockdowns and what it means to those with fans around the world—you foster familiarity and fondness in the hearts of these fellow aspirants, these industry peers that a fool might allow themselves to call “friends”. Your initial questions are precise, measured, and specifically aimed towards achieving one goal in particular: endearing yourself to the ally of your enemy before your date with the devil. Even as the performers come and go, changing outfits and patiently sitting until their perfect faces are painted enough to be “presentable”, you keep the conversation alive. At first, you keep the flame lit with convenient kindling, sharing stories you’ll happily let leave this room and asking questions you prepared well in advance. However, the group’s congregation precedes two hours of waiting for the broadcast to begin—and that’s not even mentioning the two or so more that’ll pass before they’re scheduled to go on stage. In an effort to hold back the darkness, your stories become less selective and secrets begin to slip past your lips amidst the sea of words pouring out from all involved. You respond to a question about how you choose the topics to write about, then add on an explanation of how you choose what not to write. From there, the conversation shifts, and Yeji ends up sharing a dream that’s been haunting her—one about love and loss and the end of life. You share your sympathies and nearly get far more specific about your own experiences before you catch yourself and course correct, leading the conversation elsewhere. The IVE duo puts forth quite the interesting tale of adapting to dorm life with their new quartet of members and the difficulties of rewriting their tendencies from living with the IZ*ONE members. Once again, you share a similar story and then a bit more, telling of your own shock when your editor had recently been fired and the difficulties of finding a suitable replacement. Not every thread of conversation ends up involving you, but many do, leaving you with an ever-shrinking suite of “safe” stories to share. It truly is a lovely interview. It's also the least important reason you're there.

You’re fascinated by how the conversation ebbs and flows, especially as Yeji leaves for her group’s performance and the IVE duo departs twice to do the same. It leaves you with further opportunity to inject a deeper sense of intimacy into the conversation, inviting the others to join you in confiding your concerns. Minju seems all too happy to oblige in one such moment, divulging to you and Miyeon the depths of her fears of irrelevancy in an industry so cutthroat—especially with a future so unclear. Before you can even begin to offer a response, Miyeon—someone who’s had no need to initiate a conversation due to the frequency of questions directed towards her—speaks up, sharing her own struggles in the aftermath of Soojin’s departure. You offer her the respect of absolute silence as she reassures Minju, revealing the significance of the impact losing only a single member had on her and empathizing with Minju’s struggles in facing a similar feeling but with such greater magnitude. It strikes you suddenly how precarious the platform of popularity must be for these rising stars to feel such fear in the face of the unknowns awaiting them on the other side of midnight. Once the magnitude of the moment has lessened, you offer what empty empathy you can before deciding on a more tangible course of action: deleting the recording, erasing the entirety of three hours of a potential transcript in an attempt to protect their privacy. Both immediately offer their genuine gratitude as they look to you with shock clearly visible in their eyes, refusing to allow you to diminish the significance even as you put forth a paltry attempt to brush it off with a claim that you can use some old recordings or something. Eventually, you all drop it and move on, even if they don’t share your reason for doing so. They never realize why you’re so willing to lie, why you couldn’t care less about the recording. Only you truly know that you’ll never be able to forget this conversation.

In hindsight, you'll find it funny how everything unfolded. Coming in, you intended to be memorable. You wanted to be likable. You needed Miyeon to smile upon hearing your name. In all aspects of your planning, you succeeded. You just never accounted for the effect she'd have on you.

The missing trio returns shortly after, and the conversation thankfully returns fully to simpler topics, allowing you a brief respite. You can’t help but let your posture slip as well, resting your head on the back of the couch as your body slumps to the side. It isn’t until you feel the couch shift slightly that you realize you’ve halved the distance between you and Miyeon, who seems to adjust her own position on the couch. But she doesn’t pull away. She moves closer … just slightly. Not enough to close the gap, but enough to tease the possibility. Even for you, someone so perfect at performing the part you need to play, it’s enticing—even more so when considering the events of the past week. With your current position atop the peak of anticipation, a strong breeze could be more than enough to unseat you, and instead there’s a raging storm of possibility seated less than a meter away from you, demanding you detour away from your current path. Somehow, you manage to resist your urges, reminding yourself you’ve come too far to divert from the opportunity at the end of the tunnel. As tempting of an unknown as Miyeon might be, you know you’ll never forgive yourself if you miss out on the opportunity to know her.

What is it about her that leaves you desperately investing time and effort into figuring it out?

How does she seem to have the most specific comments at the most opportune times?

Why the fuck is Song Yuqi the reason you can’t sleep at night?

Regardless, it ultimately matters little, as it’s minutes later when you rejoin the conversation and less than an hour before the quintet is called to get ready to perform. You stand as well, offering them thanks for their time and well-wishes for their performance before mirroring their hopes to see each other at the afterparty. Miyeon is the last to leave, reaching back to close the door and holding your eyes for two moments longer than you’d expect before shutting it and leaving you alone.

-x-

Roughly ten minutes later, their performance comes on the broadcast and you enjoy the f(x) homage before quickly tuning out upon its conclusion. With another two hours to go before the broadcast’s end and the subsequent mass exodus to the hotel hosting the afterparty, you concede to your fatigue and decide to rest your eyes. One set alarm later, the world around you fades and you drift off into the darkness. Upon your arrival in dreamland, you’re surprised at the darkness’ refusal to disperse, leaving you blind within an expanse of eruptions. On one side of you, you can hear the crashing of lightning as a thunderstorm rains down its wrath, while on the other, you can hear the crackle of flame as it spreads and ignites vast swathes of this obscured landscape. No matter where you try to look or turn, the dueling elements match your movements, perfectly mirroring one another as they come ever closer. Just as you’re about to melt under their might, you are quite literally saved by the bell as your alarm clock rouses you back into reality.

Only five minutes of the broadcast before the real party starts. Literally. You stand, stretch, then step out of the room riddled with remnants of secrets shared over the past six or so hours. Within the halls of the venue, you can hear the voices of the groups as they sing their final performance of 2021, leaving you alone among the staff and solo performers. Solo performers like Miyeon, whose gaze immediately captivates you as she confidently closes the distance.

“Hey you. How’s it going?”

“Doing good, kinda just still getting my bearings after waking up,” you answer, intentionally letting a yawn escape to sell the point. “What about you?”

“Well, I was looking for Soyeon, but I think my other members might have left a long time ago. Maybe I’ll see them at the afterparty but … wait, did you say waking up? What have you been doing for the past two hours?” Miyeon asks, jealousy spreading across her face as she arches a judgemental eyebrow.

You put forth your best sheepish expression as you explain, “Ah, gotcha. But, uh, yeah … I watched your performance—you were amazing by the way—and then decided to take a nap. It’s been a long day, so catching up for a couple of hours was very helpful.”

Miyeon’s eyes roll and arms cross as she scoffs, “Lucky you, I’m still exhausted!”

“I mean, I’ve heard caffeine can’t fix everything,” you say, teeing up your suggestion as you capture her eyes once more. “But it’s definitely worth a shot.”

“Or two,” she immediately adds, smiling in a way you can’t help but mirror. “You think anywhere’s going to be open tonight?”

“Speaking as a self-aware coffee addict myself,” you dramatically declare. “I’m absolutely sure someone was smart enough to stay open and cater to those in desperate need.”

You feel the corners of your lips climb up your cheeks as her eyes light up, brighter than a flash of lightning as she responds, “God, I hope you’re right! Then let’s go; you want a ride?”

“Of course, after you! We’ve been here for far too long.”

Your conversation from before resumes seamlessly, allowing you to speculate with her about the inevitable insanity that’s sure to define the upcoming countdown. From within the tinted windows of the company car you can see the last nightfall of 2021, a year you’ll define by shadows and the lights that cast them. It’s borderline hilarious how backwards this entire year has seemed, with your capitalization on lockdowns leading to terminally online fans thrusting you into the spotlight while (G)I-DLE’s scandal forced them to take a step back into the darkness. Some might take this opportunity to reflect, maybe even celebrate their growth and accomplishments; you know, ask the world to give them their flowers or something. Not you. You’d rather guarantee tomorrow’s bloom by spending today sowing seeds. So, you make absolutely sure to get Miyeon’s drink order right before you run inside and order the trio of drinks. One for you, one for Miyeon, and one for her manager. Just in case, because you’ll never know when you’ll need to cash in on the priceless value of a good word.

Later—a week, month, year from now—you won’t remember the words shared in the back seat of the car chauffeuring you to the hotel. Some matter, more than usual, but none of them resonate soundly enough to derail the train of thought chugging along through your mind: why does Miyeon, this wonderful girl who smells faintly of roses and whose cheeks get rosy pink near the end of her drink, tolerate her transgressions? You want nothing more than to ask, but you keep your cards close to your chest, knowing that now isn’t the time to reveal your hand. You’ve come too far to risk going all in now.

You need not test your patience for long, for shortly after your brief diversion, you hit a cluster of traffic outside the hotel—an impeccable indicator of your intended timing. Even from a distance, you can see the ever-shifting stream of stars shuffling into the hotel’s lobby, where you’re sure that a whole galaxy of partygoers awaits within. Almost immediately, you shift the conversation towards the delicacies on display, getting Miyeon’s perspective on her peers and their approach to parties. On one hand, it’s fascinating getting insights directly from someone within the ecosystem rather than interpreting the ripples that reach the edges of the pond. On the other, it creates the exact kind of conversation you’d hoped to inspire—a cautious yet fervent discussion of many of the quiet things everyone’s dying to say aloud. And with a significant number of idols across a multitude of generations congregating in the area, you have plenty of kindling to keep the passionate conversation ablaze, all the way through the line of cars and even up to the entrance itself.

You arrive together, head down slightly as you whisper back and forth with Miyeon, continuing your soft scrutiny of the other arrivals. Once inside, even though there’s a sea of individuals milling about, your eyes immediately find your intended target. Near one of the back left doors out of the main hall stands the only person who matters—a short little blonde wearing a cute black dress and an expression so shocked you’re surprised the whole building hasn’t short circuited. You find satisfaction in the surprise in her eyes as she desperately attempts to process your arrival. In that stunned countenance, in the vulnerability visible, you find your victory. You find the moment you’ve dedicated the entire final day of the year to. Now to find a drink.

After bidding Miyeon a fond farewell and wishing her luck in finding her other group members, you take your leave and begin wading through the crowd, intent on reaching a high-visibility area. You can't even make it over to the punch table before her hand is clasped around your throat.

No words are spoken. None are necessary. You knew the implication of your actions. You knew full well the exact contents of the message you'd send by arriving with another member of her group. And as you look down at her, you're met by the fire in her eyes burning bright blue, hotter than you've ever seen. Her seething expression presents a question. Your shameless smile presents your own. Somewhere along this charged connection between you two, a spark ignites the fuse. There's no backing out now.

It's only a matter of time before you two burn this whole damned building to the ground.

“Hey, glad you could make it,” you say, as if this whole situation were the most casual thing in the world.

“Just for once, won’t you fucking listen?” she asks, pulling her hand away and balling it into a fist as her voice drops dangerously low. “I know you think you have your reasons for hating me and I’ll even concede that some of them might be valid, but you have no reason to hurt her or any of my friends. So fuck off.”

You don't offer a response—at least not directly. You brush past her, gesturing for her to follow as you make your way towards your original destination: the bar and, most importantly, away from the center of the crowd.

Your tone is hushed as you speak, drawing her closer to you. It’s not a visual you’re especially fond of, but a necessary sacrifice in the name of privacy. “I’m not gonna stand here and lie to you by saying that my reasons for talking with Miyeon are entirely altruistic,” you concede, pausing for a moment as you smile at the bartender and give him your order. “But I am speaking the truth when I say I have no intentions of letting her get caught in the crossfire. Unlike some, I’m considerate enough to keep innocents from getting involved.”

You turn back and witness her reaction, drinking in the delicious disbelief as she declares, “How dare you! I give everything to make sure they’re not affected by my actions!”

Someone else might have believed her, but you know better. “What about the audio tech you punched while filming with your members?”

You find another flash of vulnerability in her eyes, but in a blink, it disappears, hidden behind her defenses. “That was the third shoot in a row he’d made a mistake and clearly he wasn’t listening to the previous warnings!”

“And the outfit you ripped in half mere hours before performing?” you ask, taking your drink from the bartender and sliding him a fair bit more than its cost. You give him a certain type of smile and he nods in recognition, swearing silence and allowing you to dedicate the entirety of your attention to the interrogation at hand as you resume walking towards the fringes of the lobby.

“The stylist showed up hungover with multiple botched outfits for our first ever awards show!” she fires back as she follows close behind.

Another sip. Another step. Anything to create some semblance of distance away from the crowd. “And the CUBE employee guidelines? The list of rules that every new hire needs to know in order to protect themselves from you?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she huffs, but the sudden hurt in her eyes reveals the truth behind her lies.

“Alright, I’m sure you have plenty of excuses ready, but I think you’re intentionally avoiding the obvious question,” you say, stretching out the silence with another slow swig from the glass as you continue to walk. “Don’t you think that the best way to protect your friends from collateral damage is by not causing it in the first place?”

Her eyes avert once more, refusing to acknowledge you or the truth. “It’s not that simple. Just—god fucking damnit—please don’t rope her into this. I don’t know who’s told you those stories or what they’ve told you, but …”

She trails off suddenly, cut short by the singsong sounds of a familiar friend’s words on the wind. For once, you have no trouble finding her eyes as both of you tense upon hearing Miyeon’s voice in the crowd, moving in your direction.

“Well, it’s been fun, but I know that she’s looking for you, so—”

“I’m not done with you yet.” Her voice cuts in, ending your sentence as her eyes sweep across the room, scouring the sea of stars as she searches for the voice in question. “You’re coming with me—I’ve been here before and I know somewhere private we can finish this conversation.”

You raise your hands in mock surrender, smiling wide as you respond, “Very well, princess. Lead the way.”

“Do not fucking call me that,” she growls, grabbing your arm and all but dragging you towards a pair of nondescript doors amongst many others decorating the wall. Her surprising strength aside, you’re happy to oblige, following in her footsteps as the proximity lets you catch a whiff of something unfamiliar on the lips you’d so closely acquainted yourself with. With a sudden realization, you receive an unspoken answer to the question of what she’d been doing prior to your arrival; you discover what’s fueling the fire behind her eyes. You realize that she’s running on liquid courage as she quietly opens the door and pushes you inside. All the bright lights fade as she slips past and the door closes behind you, plunging you both into darkness.

Your mind’s still working in overdrive as you stand in the darkness, but as you place your drink down and break the silence, you can’t help but test just how long her fuse truly is. “Really, a supply closet? Could you get more cliché?”.

Even before she turns on the light—even before she turns and you see the fire in her eyes—you know your words have acted as a final spark just based on her posture alone. Because she does turn on the light and she does turn to face you. But she doesn’t look at you the same way. You’re no longer the threat you might have been ten minutes ago. No, when she looks at you now, she wears the cruel confidence of a huntress ready to strike. Guess who that leaves to play the part of the prey.

“Here’s the fucking problem.” A single step forward, shortening the gap between you two. “You have so much shit to answer for …” Another, and she’s halfway to you. “But I’m so fucking sick of hearing you talk.” Once more, and you have to hold your breath to keep from fanning the flames of the inferno looking up at you. “So I’m gonna make you forget every sob story you’ve heard about me.” She continues, pushing her body against yours until you’re backed up against the wall. “Because I’m not the Disney villain they make me out to be …” Her hand wraps around the back of your head, pulling you close as she whispers in your ear, “I’m so much fucking worse.”

Her fangs flash for a moment before plunging into the side of your neck, nearly piercing your flesh as she hungrily sucks at your skin. Immediately, your hands latch onto her sides, desperate for any semblance of a tether to reality as your adrenaline skyrockets and your head spins. You try to snake a hand up her shirt—try to find some possibility of going on the offensive—but she immediately pounces, smacking it away as her own hands start exploring.

“Oh, not so tough now that I’ve got you right where I want you, hm?” she taunts, denying your ability to catch your breath or muster a response as she crashes her lips against yours. It’s so unlike you to be caught without an answer—so unlike you to be the one without a plan. Last time, things were under your control, but this time, any inhibitions you might have expected her to carry seem to have been left at the door. This time, she’s the one with hands up your shirt, scratching and clawing and exploring every centimeter of the chest that contains your pounding heart. Your hands shift down, finding a perfect fit as you cup the curve of her ass and lean into the kiss. The sweetness of cherry clashes with the familiar burn of hard liquor, adding to the endless list of sensations vying for your attention.

Your eyes finally snap open as her lips unlatch from yours and her hands pull away, allowing you the briefest of moments to inhale some much-needed oxygen. Even in her silence, you feel her emotions emanating throughout the room. Temptation. Jubilation. Vexation. Exhilaration. Oh, and lust. So much fucking lust. All it takes is the tiniest raise of her eyebrows and a hint of a smirk to fuel the flames as she sinks to her knees. There’s a dark edge to her words as her eyeline meets your beltline and she chuckles, “Wow … looks like someone’s excited to see me.”

You can’t help but let out a small laugh of your own as you wonder how you’ve let things get this far. It’s you. It’s her. It’s the fact that you’re about to do this in a fucking storage closet of all places. The fact that you managed to survive meeting her and still came back for more. None of the choices that’ve led you to this moment have been correct, but you’re already flying Bad Decision Airlines, so why not fly first class? “Aren’t there more important things that mouth should be doing?”

Her eyes roll with the poise of a practiced gymnast as she deftly unbuckles your belt and unbuttons the top of your slacks. The ungodly glint in her eyes gleams once more as she leans forward and captures the zipper between her teeth, dragging it down as she looks up at you with wicked intent. Go ahead, you hear through unspoken words. Keep pretending like you’re in control—like you’re not putty in my hands.

Your pants hit the floor, and you’re concerningly convinced that your pride’s soon to follow. Her hands glide up your legs, ghosting over your calves and teasing your thighs before snaking their way inside the underwear your cock has been straining against since you first laid eyes on her. Immediately upon contact, you can’t help but shiver. Not because of the cold—that’d be impossible with this much heat in the room. It’s the culmination of the anticipation that’s been building within you all week, no, for months now. If not longer. … Definitely longer.

And it’s all been leading up to this: your cock pulsing with anticipation as she drags your underwear down and takes it in her hands, letting her warm breath wash over it as her tongue runs over her lips and she reaches out to—

You both freeze, locking eyes. She sees the conflict in your eyes. You see the concern in hers. You both stop—separating as she rises from the ground and you get dressed in a hurry—because you both heard the same songbird from before, this time singing your name as she searches through the crowd.

“What. The. Fuck.” Her not-quite-question hangs in the air, acting as accusation, bewilderment, chagrin, distrust—nearly a whole alphabet of bad vibes—all at once.

You raise your hands in the air, attempting to act innocent for once. “Hey, I wouldn’t lie to you.” Obviously, that’s a lie and it slips seamlessly off your tongue. “I had no ill intentions when getting to know Miyeon better and growing our professional friendship.” That’s a lie too. “I was genuinely enjoying talking with her.” That one … isn’t?

Ultimately, her skepticism never leaves, but she forces herself to do so. After taking a quick peek out of the door, she slips out, rejoining the ever-shifting mess of a crowd that continues to speak so many words while saying so little.

-x-

Shortly after—specifically after finishing your drink—you do the same, sneaking out and finally joining the New Year’s Eve party in earnest. You rub shoulders with a couple managers, compliment the dress of a soloist, and even round out the numbers for one group’s drinking game.

Once you finally step back and return to the periphery to get a refill, you get a wonderful view of the lobby and the celebration of the industry you’ve spent the past four years trying to conquer. Surface level analysis would likely call it beautiful; those with a bit more insight might point out the darker components that keep the machine running smoothly. But as entrenched as you are, you know the truth can be found somewhere between the two extremes. Nights like tonight, where the honest truths spoken earlier drown out the honeyed lies you hear all around you, remind you that the pressure exerted by the spotlight on these young stars surrounding you can produce truly resplendent diamonds. And looking out across the floor, it brings a smile to your face to see so many shining so brightly.

It’s just such a fucking shame that leverage is only found in the darkest rooms of the penthouse suite. As much as you’d like to linger on the line of thought, a familiar flash of brilliant blonde in the corner of your eye cuts it short. A quick glance confirms your suspicions: it’s a bad idea led by the best of intentions.

“Hey, you,” a bubbly voice calls to you.

“Oh, hey Miyeon,” you say, allowing the warm smile to naturally develop even as you struggle to silence your internal screaming. “How're you?”

“I'm good, glad I finally found you!” she exclaims, shining brightly as ever. “What’ve you been up to, enjoying the party so far?”

“Oh, you know. Mostly just making the rounds, getting to know people better. Listening to their jokes, laughing at most of them while finding few of them funny,” you say, sharing a shocking number of words for them all to be true. “What about you?”

“I found my pseudo-siblings! It’s always nice to catch up with Sana and Jiwon, especially since it’s been a little while since a big in-person event like this has happened,” Miyeon explains, smile unwavering even as you see her mind cast back to the past two years. “But all that aside, I wanted to introduce you to my groupmate and very close friend, Yuqi.”

Your eyes lock. Your breath catches as your throat dries up. Somewhere in the background, the music shifts to a slower song and you can even swear that the lighting changes slightly, casting a golden glow on her face. Maybe it’s all just your imagination.

What’s undeniably real is the smirk she wears so well, silently presenting you with a question even as the arch of your eyebrow presents your own. For once, she drapes herself in shockingly steady confidence, causing you to almost feel proud of how well she’s hiding the shared history between you two. This time she’s the one who shatters the brief silence, bowing slightly as she says, “It’s a pleasure to meet you! I’ve heard nothing but good things.”

You mirror her bow, painting on your own smile as you respond, “The pleasure’s all mine; I’ve heard so much about you too. How’ve you been enjoying the party so far?”

You watch as her smirk widens, showing hints of the predatory smile she wore not too long ago. There’s no stopping your own expression as it morphs to mirror hers. Both of you know full well how much danger you’re putting yourselves in—how little subtlety there is to the game you’re playing. Each of you toes the line of letting slip your little secret, but neither of you seems to care. Instead, she simply says, “Oh, it’s been fine so far. Uneventful compared to what’s coming.”

“Indeed,” you volley back. “This is my first time at one of these New Year’s parties. Do you know if there’s usually a big event around midnight?”

“Isn’t there always?” Yuqi asks, chuckling incredulously as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Some people definitely stick around for the countdown,” Miyeon explains, her smile warm and welcoming.

“And the others?” you ask, clearly offering the bait for Yuqi to pounce on if she so desires. But she’s not the one to do so.

“There’s a reason the invitations suggested booking a room in advance,” Miyeon adds, allowing the implication to hang in the air as hints of humor find a home in her smile.

“Then I should be glad I’m so good at following directions,” you jest, refusing to grant Yuqi the satisfaction of allowing her to stare into your soul as you hold Miyeon’s gaze.

“Indeed,” you hear Yuqi growl from behind surely gritted teeth. “It’s so nice to come to one of these parties and not have to worry about unexpected circumstances.”

“Normally I’d agree,” you begin, finally flashing a genuine smile in her direction. “But what better time to have fun than tonight?”

“Fun?” she echoes, ghosts of a smile teasing the corners of her lips as her competitive spirit rises once more. It’s impossible to miss the unspoken challenge in her words; she’s daring you to define your definition of fun, like she’s dying to know if it matches hers.

"Isn't that what these parties are about?" you reply evenly, ever the professional. "A chance to let loose without the scrutiny of the public eye."

Her laugh is hollow and haughty as she shakes her head, seemingly in disbelief at your response. “You’ve clearly never been to one of these parties before.”

“Even the tiniest of leaks is too much of a risk for everyone here,” Miyeon explains amiably. “Too much to lose, nowhere near enough to gain.”

“At least not on this floor,” you add, allowing the unspoken words to speak volumes as you raise your glass for a toast.

This time, the humor reaches Yuqi’s eyes as her icy demeanor begins to thaw. “Now you’re getting it.”

With a clink of your glasses, the conversation shifts, weaving its way from topic to topic as the three of you discuss the cities you most want to visit, music of all languages, first impressions, and so, so much more. Expectations be damned, it isn’t anywhere near the clusterfuck you’d feared it’d be—if anything, it’s nothing short of really fucking fun. The chemistry you three share is vivid without straying into volatility, and as much as you hate to admit it, the conversation is at its most vivacious during the interactions between yourself and Yuqi. You, for once, hold nothing back: sharing stories freely and firing off joke after joke without a second thought. Miyeon acts flawlessly as the bridge between you two—quietly contributing to most of the conversation yet eager to jump in on a topic she’s excited about—acting as the light that allows your duet to shine. That, of course, leaves Yuqi as your partner in this performance, but not the Yuqi you’ve come to know. She seems different in this environment—less ferocity, more sincerity. As much as each of you still has a part to play, the lack of tension makes her all the more enthralling, drawing you in as her genuine laughter slices through the intoxicating haze permeating the party. But the shocks don’t end there.

The first time Yuqi tells a joke, you’re caught so off-guard that you can’t help but burst into laughter. The second time, you’re more prepared, yet you’re still left in stitches. And the third—where you end up saying the punchline in unison with her—strikes all of you out. Tears form in the corner of your eyes and stream down the faces of the other two, leaving you all gasping for air even as you laugh so hard it hurts. As you regain your composure, you look through blurry eyes and catch a flash of something in Miyeon’s expression. It’s hard to pin down—a quirk of the mouth or a twitch of the nose—but there’s something hidden somewhere under her radiance that you fear is recognition. It certainly doesn’t help when she excuses herself for a moment, leaving you and Yuqi alone as she goes to refill her drink.

“I never would have thought you’d be a fan of the NBA,” you admit, turning and meeting her eyes with ease.

“Funny you should say that. I’d never have imagined you’d be someone who loves hot pot too! There’s this place in Beijing that’s to die for; you’ll have to try it sometime,” she says with an effortless smile. On instinct, you smile back, but just like that—a single mention of China—and you’re back in the real world.

The one where her vile actions are afterthoughts and her victims’ faces are forgotten. “Maybe I’ll have to go there next time I’m in the country,” you say, shrugging nonchalantly as you struggle to quell the surging storm.

The one where she’s been invited to these kinds of parties from day one while your invitation has been four years in the making. Her eyes twinkle excitedly as she asks, “Oh, have you visited before?”

The one where she seems incapable of losing while even a chance of victory costs you everything. “Twice, actually,” you explain, sighing deeply. “Once to Beijing, and once to Hangzhou.”

The one where she’s gotten under your skin, leaving you defenseless as she holds a gun to your heart. “Sounds like some bad memories,” she comments, a combination of curiosity and concern across her countenance as she refuses to let your gaze escape hers.

The one where you’ll do anything to hide the shameful fact that you wanted nothing more than to exactly what she wanted and scream her name that night in Hangzhou. So, you make sure she’ll forget you ever mentioned it. “Well, the last time I was in Beijing was almost four years ago, when someone spent well over ten minutes verbally assaulting a poor production assistant. So there’s that.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you can feel their edge sever any connection that’d been built up over the course of the previous conversation. Her casual posture is cast aside as recognition and resentment both register, leaving only a smothering silence in the space between you two. Those eyes—sparkling just a moment ago with genuine interest—harden into smoky quartz. The edges of her lips thin and tighten, the earlier cheer fading into a cold, impassive line.

"You're judging me for something that happened four years ago?" she counters, voice low and coated in disbelief. “Most people would have forgotten something like that by now.”

“Most people don’t have the petrified visage of a poor stylist recounting your misdeeds burned into their memory.”

“Is that so?” she deadpans. “Tell me, was it Xuě? Lìlì? Who told you that story?” You meet her questions with silence, and she immediately pounces on the opportunity to continue on. “You don’t even know. You’re desperately clinging to a long dead justification and attempting to bring me down alongside it.”

Your blood returns to a familiar boil—the type only she can bring out of you—as you respond, “My sincerest apologies for the lapse in memory, but who are you to speak of justifications? The reason I can’t remember her name is because I was too stunned by the vitriol you were screaming into some poor man’s ear one room away from me!”

“He’d sabotaged my schedule, trying to make me miss an evaluation just before the final lineup was decided! He was trying to ruin my career!” Her reply climbs in volume, threatening to draw the attention of everyone in the vicinity as your tempers begin to flare and clash against one another once more.

“And why do you think he wanted to see you fail?” you ask, whispered words slipping out in a single breath. From your lips, a question. To her ears, an accusation. In both your minds, you know full well that the only part that matters is that it’s the beginning of an impasse. So now, you’re both stuck staring, waiting for the other to make the first move.

You just happen to be the first to do so. “We need to stop this; we’re getting nowhere, and we’re never going to get anywhere,” you say, exerting tremendous effort to keep your voice steady even as the pounding headache threatens your rhythm. “At least not on this floor.”

The look she gives you is incredulous, but you know her too well to miss the signs of intrigue hidden just beneath her mask. “What the fuck are you on about?”

“We’re both staying here, right?” you ask, pausing for a moment and earning a nod of confirmation. “Then we have a chance to truly make tonight memorable … maybe even have some fun along the way.”

“I don’t think I like where this is going,” she says aloud, but her eyes silently plead for you to continue.

Your smile stretches wide as the words tumble past your lips, uncontrollable and dangerous as your mouth moves faster than your mind. “I think you will. I’ll message you my room number and we’ll go our separate ways—you can tell Miyeon that I was too tired to stay or something. You’re welcome to visit my room at any time, but if you decide not to, we’ll both have a quiet New Year’s Eve.”

“That isn’t much of a game,” she says, eyes narrowing in anticipation. “There’s a catch, isn’t there? There always is with you.”

“Of course, why play without stakes?” you confirm, laughing hollowly as you continue to dig your own grave. You’re too far in at this point—too invested in the lie to let it slide now. The game you two have played has always been dangerous, but now, with your pride on the line, you’ll accept nothing but a victory. You can’t lose to her. “I know that you’re coming back with a new album soon. If you manage to make it to midnight—if you win—I’ll make sure you shine brightest in the most glowing review I’ll ever write. And that’ll be it. We’ll both leave this hotel tomorrow and go back to our normal lives, pretending that none of this ever happened.”

“And if I don’t?” she asks, trying her best to remain calm.

She’s always brought out the worst in you. “Then you’ll come to my room and we’ll finally finish what we’ve been building up to for months.” It’s about time you showed it. “But I’ll write an article dragging the whole fucking group through the mud in the harshest condemnation you’ve ever seen, and the only consolation you’ll have is that only you and I will know it’s all your fault.”

“You wouldn’t,” she immediately retorts, but one look at the unhinged dance of flames in your eyes and she knows better than to test your resolve. “Fuck. You would. You absolutely fucking would. Why are you like this?”

It takes you a moment to gather your strength, but you reach deep into your bag of tricks and pull out a neglected yet powerful weapon: the truth. “Because I’m tired of seeing you escape the consequences of your actions. I want to see you make a decision that matters for once. And honestly, I’m just curious if you’re going to be able to sleep at night knowing you missed the chance for me to make all your dreams come true.”

You see hints of the ghost of her competitive spirit once more in her eyes, but it remains mostly hidden, obscured by the smolders left in the wake of the fire that burned so bright. “Yeah? My dreams are pretty hot.”

“Yeah? Mine too,” you fire back a moment later than you should, seriously unnerved once again by the specificity of her words. “Seems like we’ll both have to bring our best when you visit my room.”

“You’re so, so wrong …” she whispers, words exiting her mouth as if unbidden, captured by a phantom and transported to your ears against her will.

“I’ll leave you with your thoughts,” you whisper, leaning close to personally deliver your parting remarks into her ear. “Now, be a good little professional and smile as you walk away. You wouldn't want people to get the right idea about us, would you?”

You send one last synthetic smirk her way before departing, making your way towards the elevator as you check the time: a bit past ten, which means you’ll have to wait less than two hours for your answer. As you ride up to your floor, you send her your room number, closing the app before checking to see if she’d read your message. As you exit the empty elevator and see a flash of color in your periphery, your mind races with potential ideas. You immediately jump back in, hitting the button for another floor as you decide on a couple of places you’d like to stop by. Your mind is made up by the time the doors open once more, and you begin your preparations in full.

Regardless of the outcome, it’s going to be a long night.

-x-

No one ever views a high-tension elevator ride as a descent. Why would they? After all, the person closer to the top literally has the higher ground. However, the grimacing visage of the lone individual riding down towards another's room tells another story entirely, one that unveils just how little control they have over the situation.

The stop is sudden, shattering their reverie. A chime pierces the silence. The doors part, revealing a mockery of a red carpet and an empty vase before them. The figure exits, walking as slowly as they can bear. They reach an intersection and avoid the right choice. They walk towards the door in question. A single step. Then another. A third. A fourth. A fifth. A stop. A turn. A sigh.

An extended arm. An icy feeling. Cold metal. Another turn. Another sigh. An unlocked door. As expected.

The handle twists and the door swings open, revealing the dimly lit interior. What little light fills the shrouded space is amplified by the faint scent of rose. One sense is clear. Anticipation. The other is crystal. The sharp laughter of its inhabitant. Taunting. Beckoning. The lone figure allows the door to slam. They walk forward, braving the abyss.

-x-

The absurdity of the whole fucking situation hits you as you hear the hinges creak, ripping a cackle from deep within as you lay atop the bed. The door slams, and the soft sound of footsteps lasts only but a moment before emerging from the hallway is none other than the guest of honor, Song Yuqi. You capture her eyes and brace yourself for the heat, but the stare that meets yours is anything but. Her bloodshot gaze struggles to find your eyes as her eyelids fight an increasingly losing battle against the pull of gravity. Even as her sagging shoulders straighten slightly at the sight of you, it’s impossible to miss the lack of grace she normally displays. “Long nights?”

“And longer days,” she responds, clearly fighting back a yawn even as she paints on an insipid smirk.

“I know the feeling all too well,” you say, hints of sympathy beginning to seep through into your speech. “Come, share a drink with me. Maybe it’ll help ease your mind.”

Your words seem to inspire a slight awakening in her as she looks around and truly witnesses your handiwork for the first time. In your hand, a glass, with an identical twin on the bedside table alongside a bottle of your favorite wine. Scattered all around the room sit petals of rose, carefully arranged and lying so patiently as they paint a picture of your intended mood. You expected her to be here. You can only wonder if she ever believed differently.

“I could, but that isn’t why I’m here,” she says, sashaying across the room and leaning in close. “Besides,” she continues, overtly tipping your wine glass, allowing its contents to paint your shirt a dark burgundy. “We really need to do something about those dirty dirty clothes.”

You refuse to break eye contact, but your muscles tense at the chill running down your chest and staining your skin. Your hand shifts in a wordless challenge—one she’s all too willing to partake in—tipping the glass back towards her and causing a free flow once more. Admittedly, the effect of the sanguine liquid isn’t as dramatic flowing down the silk of her black dress as it is on your white shirt, but the view of her cleavage coated in crimson sends your heart rate into the stratosphere.

“We really do.” Your words barely have to travel as you stand and close what little distance remains between you two, casting the wineglass aside as you pull her into a passionate kiss. Her whole body melts into yours as your tongues clash, both of you fighting for superiority even now as you slowly push her back. You can feel the force of her heart, frenetically beating against her ribcage like a drum even as you both stumble and crash towards the bathroom. Once within, you push open the shower door, haphazardly turning the handle somewhere near the top as the deluge drenches you both. The sudden cold is a shock to both of you, earning simultaneous gasps as you watch the water coat her flowing golden hair before descending upon the midnight silk of her dress.

As the temperature rises, so too does the heat. Her soaked attire begins to cling to the curves of her body, and you're more than happy to do the same. Your hands grip and grasp at her breasts once again, savoring how perfectly they seem to fit against your palms. Hers find your hair, tugging insistently and intertwining pleasure and pain in the way only she seems to have perfected.

“Ffuuucckk.” The groan she elicits from you slips past your lips and behind hers almost instantly, sending shockwaves that resonate into the kiss neither of you has allowed to break since the water's initial shock. You barely have to wait before your moans are mirrored as she murmurs back, “God, the way you—fuck—how can you …”

The most minute of mercies is all you're willing to offer as you detach from her lips, instead tracing a perfect mirror of the path you'd taken sometime between a couple days and a lifetime ago: starting right behind her ear before nibbling on her earlobe, the lightest of kisses on her cheek and along her jawline, past the reminders of your indecencies, then finally all the way down the throbbing vein of her neck.

“I need to be inside of you,” you say, searching for her eyes and finding them somewhere amidst the storm.

“Right fucking now.” She finishes the sentence for you, nodding in agreement and gripping the hem of her dress as you tear off your belt.

Some part of you deep within sends a prayer of gratitude to the shower’s architect as you utilize the vast expanse of its luxurious interior to slam her into one of the drier walls outside the direct flow of the water. Her once-slumped shoulders heave from a lack of air and anything but a lack of anticipation, eyes wide and wild as they invite you to approach. You're all too eager to accept, planting one hand on her shoulder as the other reaches past your waist and finally frees your cock from the confines of your clothing. After blindly pulling her well-drenched panties to the side, you look her in the eyes once again—make sure that she knows the precipice you stand atop and that she's willing to jump with you. With the smallest of nods and not even a hint of hesitation, she steps up to the edge alongside you. Together, you take the plunge.

Immediately, the friction overwhelms your senses as you push into her, earning echoing moans from you both as you shudder at the sensation. “Fucking hell, you're incredible,” you growl, unable to silence the admission as you desperately focus your entire being into slowly progressing deeper.

“Keep fucking going,” she’s quick to growl back. “Don't you dare fucking stop until you're fully buried inside of me.”

"Of course, princess,” you manage to say even as you struggle to breathe. “Your wish is my command.”

"Fuck you, stop calling me that," she hisses through gritted teeth. "If you wanted a princess so bad, you should have invited Miyeon."

"But darling," you declare, drama dripping off your words. "I thought you wanted me to stay away from your friends? Or is it different now, now that I've got you exactly where you want you? Do you want them here to watch as you whimper and writhe under my touch, wetter than the ocean yet begging for more?"

“I fucking hate—” You cut her loathing short as you bury yourself to the hilt, ripping another round of moans from you both. Even as the heat between you two and in the nearby pipes rises, you can't help but revel in it, savoring the taste of your victory. You give her no chance to conclude her thought as you up the intensity, slamming your hips into hers at an ever-ascending rate.

While one hand remains bound to her breast, the other finds a home tangled in the soaked strands of her hair. Intentionally or otherwise, your hold on her tightens as the vice grip of her cunt further suffocates your shaft, granting you both the friction you've been desperately craving. The water quickly becomes the second biggest drowning hazard as waves of pleasure threaten to overwhelm you both—pushing you to the edge of ecstasy and tempting you to tip over it. “Holy fuck,” she sobs, voice strangled, scratchy, and nearly silent beneath the downpour. “You—you—”

This time, you're kind enough to allow her to attempt to continue, but her verbal communication skills fail her entirely. On the other hand, her body seems all too willing to tell you the whole story and a bit more. She's absolutely gushing around your cock as she clings onto you with more than just hands, seemingly unwilling to crest the climax without you in lock-step behind her. Unfortunately, the universe seems even less willing to cater to her requests than you are, sending her careening off the clifftop without even a morsel of remorse. The spectacle is sensational, leaving you so close to finishing alongside her, but you’re anything but done here.

It takes a herculean effort, but you manage to pull out of her, causing her eyes to shoot open for the first time in forever as she stares daggers into your soul. Your view is incredible: you see her makeup, running and ruined as her tears fall alongside the shower's flow down her face. As much as you'd like to suffer under the scrutiny of her stunned stare forever, you have a better idea. You toy with her slight frame once more, flipping her around with ease as you push her face first against the shower's glass wall. Within seconds, you're back inside her, thrusting like a madman as cries of ecstasy escape her once more.

“You like that?” you taunt, mind racing a mile a minute as your thoughts try to keep pace with your thrusts. “Like the preview of what's to come?”

“What … the fuck … are you talking about?” she gasps between broken breaths.

"Oh, you couldn't possibly have thought that this would be the end, did you?” you ask, expecting anything but an answer as she looks over her shoulder and you watch the danger in her stare dance behind her eyes. “No no no, next I'm going to take you back out there and fuck you against the window so that anyone who looks up is met with the glorious sight of how much of a slut you are.”

Even through her streaks of tears—born of both pleasure of pain—your inciting yet inviting words are met by both defiance and delight alike. Her voice never wavers as she warns, “I fucking dare you to try it. You're just as likely to get burned as I am.”

Your eyebrow arches, intrigue clear in your expression as you comment, “I thought we agreed that we both like to play with fire.”

“Keep fanning the flames and you just might find out,” she says, the amusement in her smirk standing strong even as you continue ravaging her insides. Somewhere—hidden amid the seabed beneath the waves of pleasure rocking her body—she even finds the audacity to wink and you both find yourselves wearing a certain type of smile. The type you both wear so well; the one only worn in each other's presence.

The shower's flow and slapping of skin keeps the silence at bay as your serenade of sin shifts from semi-verbal back to solely physical. Her lower lip finds a familiar home between her teeth as you turn her to face you once more and choose to plant your own pair atop one of her swollen nipples. You're all too willing to nip, suck, and tease at the sensitive nub, elevating her moans even further until your profusion of pleasures pushes her past a fever pitch.

“Fuck me damnit,” she demands, accentuating her point with a roll of her hips that sends a spike of dopamine through every inch of your body. “Fuck me and don't you dare fucking stop until I cum all over your cock again.”

Your mind wants nothing more than to retort, but your body has higher priorities, using that precious oxygen to power your thrusts as you lead the chase towards your shared climax. It'd be a kindness to give her exactly what she wants, but for once, you're willing to indulge her desires, especially since you conveniently seem to want the same thing. So, you fight, prolonging the burn in the hopes that you can bask in the flames of her desire a little longer, long enough to let it scorch you to cinders until there’s nothing left but the ashes of your self-control.

You only have to stretch your efforts across a minute at most before you’re met with a familiar sight. Even though you've only seen them twice before, you immediately recognize the signs of her oncoming orgasm—the shaking of her shoulders and the hiccups in her throat that convey an uncannily familiar feeling. “I'm close,” you whisper as you rest your forehead against hers. “Where should—”

“Inside!” she rasps, straining to choke out every word. “Do it damn you—I want to feel you shaking as you shoot every last drop inside of me.”

“Jesus fucking christ—” Your reply comes to a sudden end as you cut your words short, knowing better than to ask for mercies she'll never give. Instead, you do your best to cling to whatever coherence remains after the damage her words dealt, desperate to experience the absolution that only the statuette of sin in your arms can offer. And offer it she shall, as it's only moments later that her orgasm overtakes her, suffocating your cock with her tightness as the pace of your thrusting is brought to a near stop. Any grievances you might have had are gone in an instant as the sight of what you do to her sends you soaring over the peak after her, twitching and thrusting until you bury your entire length as deep as she can take. Rope after rope of your cum act as the strokes of a brush as you paint her insides white, defiling her in a wholly new way that neither of you could possibly enjoy more.

Eventually, your orgasm comes to a stop, but you refuse to. Neither of you gets a moment to rest as you instead resume fucking her, sending shockwaves up her spine and down your shaft as overstimulation brings you both to the familiar convergence of pain and pleasure. Every alarm bell in your body rings in unison, begging you to grant it respite from the overwhelming sensitivity as you continue to fuck your cum into her. But just as you've always done when it comes to Yuqi, you ignore every warning sign in sight as you keep thrusting, continuing your assault long after she's burst through her breaking point once more. Her third orgasm hits harder than the previous two combined, forcing you to keep her upright as you give her everything she's ever asked for and more.

Her shaking form eventually stills and you finally yield, granting her the most miniscule of mercies by withdrawing your cock from her. She immediately slides down the glass of the wall, collapsing onto the floor as you try to steady yourself and stay standing. In your efforts to do so, your hand finds the shower's handle and you cease its flow, allowing the echoes of your extended recoveries to resonate throughout the space.

Black spots cloud the edges of your vision as your muscles ache in the best kind of way. A minute later, when your sight finally returns in full, you're met by the picturesque sight of Song Yuqi—one of K-Pop's brightest rising stars—burnt out and panting at your feet as she too tries to come to terms with what just occurred. After another minute, you finally bring your breathing under control, but she's the first to find her voice.

“You … holy fuck,” she whimpers, gaze still hazy as she searches for yours.

“Yeah,” you say, eternally grateful for the eloquence gained through years of writing experience. “I've never …”

“Yeah?” she asks, rubbing her eyes and finally lifting the fog. “Never what?”

“Any of it—hell, all of it—nothing's ever come close to what just happened,” you admit, offering her a helping hand she’s more than willing to take. “Don't you dare lie to me and say you're any different.”

“No, never,” she tells you, allowing the truth to finally be out in the open.

With so little distance between you two, there’s nowhere to hide as you hold each other close, daring the other to be the first to break. There’s something in her eyes that threatens to bind or blind you—something you dare not confront. Not tonight. Maybe never. So, under the weight of her stare, you allow yourself to be the first to look away. “We should get out of these clothes before we catch something serious,” you murmur vaguely in her direction. “I’ll lay everything out to dry; you take a shower and I’ll follow suit once you’re done. That sound good?”

“Something like that.”

Her monotone delivery leaves you with nothing but questions, but you know better than to allow yourself to search her face for answers. Instead, you step outside the shower, dripping moisture all over the floor as you finally strip out of the saturated suit you’ve sported since sunrise. Once naked, you turn to her and try your best not to stare as you take her bundle of clothes before she steps back into the shower. It’s only a brief moment, yet it’s the first time you see her fully bare, leaving even the most inspired corners of your imagination looking like a child’s scrawling in comparison to the artistry that is her body. While you’re sad to see her go, you love to watch her leave—eyes glued to the slight bounce of her ass and rippling of her toned thighs as she walks out of your sight and under the water flow once more.

As she washes away the traces of your transgressions, you do your best to lay everything out to dry. You hastily unfold her balled up dress and lay it out across the bathroom sink, then make your way back out to the room and lay your own clothing across the table and chairs in the corner of the room. You can’t help but crack a hint of a smile at the rose petals still lying in wait, but your eyes truly come to a halt upon the wine entering your view. Barely even a decision is made before you’re striding across the floor, stopping only once the bottle is within reach and the cork has been yanked out once more. The glasses you’d requested are forgotten as you instead drink straight from the bottle, savoring the flavor as its contents dull your senses and wash away your inhibitions. It’s a familiar feeling and a far better friend than you’d like to admit.

You barely even have to kill time before you hear the shower cease once more, giving you your cue to reenter the bathroom and be greeted by the goddess’ mortal form once more. The simple act of her standing there is a gift to you as your perspective presents you with a view of her perfectly smooth skin acting as the backdrop to the droplets’ descent, her towel telling the stupefying story of her subtle curves as it hugs her hips in an impossibly tight embrace. Your eyes fight gravity as they yield to temptation, traveling up the tense muscles of her back and past the sharp edges of her shoulders, continuing ever upwards until they pass her long locks of brilliant blonde; continuing still, all the way until you catch a glimpse of her eyes in the mirror and how they've been observing you ogling her.

“You should hop in the shower. I still need to dry my hair,” she suggests, surprisingly sparing you the shame of having been caught staring.

“Yeah,” you say weakly, averting your eyes and walking away. The heat of the water immediately relieves your tension, allowing you a moment you refuse to use for reflection. Instead, you rush through your cleaning routine, barely registering any external stimuli as you singularly focus on your sole goal. When you shut the water off a couple minutes later, you’re met solely by silence. When you step out of the shower, you’re met by your reflection as the only other inhabitant of the bathroom. And once you’re fully dried off and step back into the bedroom, you’re met with a sight shocking enough to restart your heart. She’s there, on your bed, hair splayed out like a curtain of gold laid upon the pillow as the familiar pink and red of rose petals laid delicately atop your skin, obscuring your view of her chest and cunt.

“This won’t do …” she drawls, dissatisfaction salient in each sultry syllable as her eyes lock on to the destination of roughly all of your blood flow. “You’re not nearly hard enough for me.”

With a single, impossibly deep breath, she blows away the rose petals, revealing the obsidian lace of the lingerie she somehow dried during your shower. Without hesitation, your body begins to address the object of her anger, growing painfully hard and even more so as she curls a single finger, beckoning you over with a look that could set the Han River ablaze.

You’re all too happy to oblige. As you draw closer, you notice her freshly applied makeup: smokey eyeshadow and ruby red lips that paint a crystal-clear message in your mind. She’s not here to fuck around. She’s here to fuck you within an inch of your life.

The bed is more than large enough for two, and as you lay beside her, you amend one of your earlier observations; while her bra has remained dry, her panties are absolutely fucking soaked. You turn to her, opening your mouth and intending to ask her how she did any of this, but a single finger laid upon your lips locks them and keeps you silent. Her lithe form easily climbs atop you, straddling your hips as she leans in, giving you a fucking fantastic view of her cleavage once again as she nibbles on your earlobe.

“My fucking turn.”

With a roll of her hips, she grinds against your shaft, making your cock burn with sensation as the lace drags up and down the sensitive skin. At this angle—you beneath her as she coaxes everything she wants from you and more—you’re caught under the cruelty of her grin as the light casts shadows that accentuate rather than hide her beauty. Another roll, another realization. She’s got you cornered—physically, mentally—she might as well have a gun to your chest and yet, there’s a thrill coursing through your veins. When she captures your lips, she does so with a ravenous frenzy, teeth sinking into your lower lip and pressing until they’re dripping with the blood she craves. There’s no mistaking the fact that you’re the prey she’s been hunting. All that’s left to decide is whether or not you want to escape, and you’re leaning towards no.

"Are you scared?" she asks. It doesn't sound like a question. It sounds like a challenge.

"No," you answer truthfully, knowing full well that in the midst of this chaos—this maelstrom of ash and anticipation—fear has no place. “I can handle the heat.”

“Can you now?” Her laughter is a wicked, dancing flame that sears your senses as you witness her smile run ruthlessly red as she licks the remnants of your blood off her upper lip. “If that’s the case …” she trails off for a moment, reaching back and grasping your length with the unimaginably smooth skin of her hand. “Then don’t come crying if you end up getting burned.”

In the next breath, she takes yours away, sinking onto your shaft with a devastating aggression. Immediately, your lungs begin to tense and strain, desperately searching for air amongst the shallow gasps you sneak in between the slamming of her hips. It’s futile. When she feels like this—hot, wet, and walls wrapped around you so impossibly tightly—you’re better off attempting to offer up a prayer than trying to seize control.

Her onslaught leaves you reeling, back arching and fingers digging into the curves of her hips as you chase an even greater high. She’s relentless, unyielding, as if she refuses to allow you even the slightest opportunity to halt her momentum. Even as she gasps in exertion, it still adds to your torment, sending you tumbling ever closer to the edge of pleasure and pain alike. Her nails rake down your chest, carving molten mementos of her insatiable desire that you won’t soon forget, yet the more these sensations blend beautifully amidst this consuming chaos, the more irresistible it becomes. The way she rides you is primal, rough, yet somehow, unmistakably her. Demonic laughter echoes throughout the room as she rolls her hips ruthlessly, yet still it brazenly teases a promise of the pleasure to come.

Her body moves rhythmically against yours, riding up and down the length of your shaft at an incredible tempo as your heart rate soars ever upward. Your vision is pulled in a million different directions as every aspect of her figure demands your undivided attention—the ghosts of her fingertips as she delicately traces the lines of your abs, the faint hint of her nipples poking against the constrictive fabric of her bra, the unrestrained glee in her grin as she triumphs over the echoes of fatigue and maintains her ceaseless assault. Ultimately, your wandering eyes come to a stop at the sight of her evocative visage, long locks framing her face like a curtain, shielding the rest of the world from the harrowing beauty of this huntress whose sight searches solely for you. You can sense the wicked satisfaction in her gaze, a feral delight in seeing you under her control. Her voice is a low purr that vibrates through your core as she leans in even closer. "Scared now?”

"Never," you choke out in response, swallowing hard as her breath cascades over the sensitive skin of your neck.

She chuckles lightly, "We'll see about that."

You respond not with words, but with a tighter grip on her hips as you sense an opening and thrust up into her, disrupting her tempo with ease and issuing a silent challenge. She gasps in response, and there are hints of flushes—flashes of hunger—across those features hidden in shadow. Her satisfied smirk fades from her face, displaying instead a delirious delight that makes your pounding heart skip a beat. “Such audacity,” she murmurs, subtle signs of mirth showing in her shaking voice.

She’s quick to adapt to the new tempo, moving in perfect synchronization with your thrusts instead of attempting to seize back sole control. Somewhere along the thread that’s inexplicably tied you two together, you find harmony, allowing you to match each other’s strikes with dangerous precision. Her hands climb your body, tangling themselves in your hair and tugging harshly enough to send shivers down your spine. You cling onto her as if she’s the only thing keeping your consciousness intact, fingers digging into her hips deep enough to bruise as each stroke causes an explosion of sensation across your entire being. It’s an intricate dance of power and pleasure: intoxicating, addicting, and—just like she’s always been—impossible to resist.

Amid the rasps of fuck and you and I and oh my god and yesssssssssssssssssssssssssssss, you see a flash of inspiration in her eyes, warning you even before she acts that she’s up to no good. A groan of frustration is ripped from your chest as she slows the pace, leaving you burning with a desire for more pace, more friction, more her, but if the look of bliss on her face at the long, slow strokes is any indication, you’re likely to be left wanting. It’s even worse when she stops entirely, hand wrapping around your throat, desperate for air even as she refuses to allow you any. It gives you a second to stare, to really take in the sight of her as she studies you right back. Even like this, the “flaws” in her appearance—hair disheveled, bra crooked, panties tugged aside, makeup marred by exertion—only serve to further showcase her perfection, leaving you hungry for more. You relax your clenched fingers and grant her hips the slightest of respites as you reach behind her back and unclasp her bra, finally freeing her breasts and their stiff peaks that call your name. Her panties present a bit of a conundrum, but you’re so intoxicated by the image of her you refuse to be reasonable. You muster up your initiative as your hands slide down her sides and rip them to shreds, finally revealing her in her glorious entirety.

“Those were expensive, you know,” she spits, but the words don’t hold as much venom as they normally do.

You shrug, wrapping your hand around hers on your throat as you reply, “So was my scarf.”

And then you both get back to trying to fuck the other into an early grave.

There’s a tempest of wills clashing—her burning desire against your ceaseless refusal to relent—that elevates you both past any limits you might have believed you’d had. The size of your hand dwarfs hers, but there’s an undercurrent of understanding, even as she so clearly communicates the threat she poses. Her eyes, shrouded in shadow, catalog every twitch of your body beneath her. She releases her grip on you before pushing herself up against your chest, bracing her palms as she arches her back in the most alluringly seductive way. The freedom granted to your airflow is for naught as the sight of her leaves you without breath, thought, or any way of slowing the climax you’re suddenly hurtling towards.

“You’re so fucking hard for me,” she whispers, cruelty and craving alike coloring her countenance as she captures your eyes. “Why don’t you tell me what you need? If you ask nicely, I might even give it to you.”

“In your fucking dreams,” you fire back, a feral smirk spreading across your face as the opening notes of her melodic laughter play for you.

But her song stalls as her breath hitches, hiccups of pain and pleasure overpowering her as you feel the quakes overtake her. You wrap your arms around her back, pulling her close as her orgasm overwhelms her, coating your shaft and gushing down your thighs as she reaches the pinnacle of euphoria. Her teeth sink into your shoulder, seeking stability instead of sanguine satisfaction as her moans send vibrations across your skin, sweeping you up in the ecstasy she’s experiencing. You groan in agonizing pleasure as you meet her atop cloud nine, wincing at the magmatic flow of your white-hot cum shoots into her. In each other's arms you find incomparable pleasure, traveling together all the way from the ninth circle of hell to the seventh heaven.

You stay inside her longer than you need to, long enough for both of you to catch your breath. With a regretful groan, you pull out of her, opening up the floodgates of both of your cum to flow freely down her beautifully bruised thighs. You look to her, desperate to call for a draw, but instead you’re met with the face wearing the weight of weariness and shadowy eyes that seem to see right through you. Before she can even offer a single word, she collapses, tumbling to your side and laying her face against a pillow before going still.

-x-

After a brief confirmation of a pulse, you pull the sheets and covers over her, leaving her in silence before heading into the bathroom and cleaning yourself up. Upon your return, you’re anything but surprised to see that she’s gone, drifted off to dreamland, taken by tranquility. The sight steals your breath away, stunning you as your mind grapples with the notion that this peaceful sleeping angel inhabits the same body as the devil who rode you ‘til rapture mere minutes ago. You muster up a couple crumbs of courtesy as you quietly move through your hotel room, pulling on an old pair of jeans and a shirt you’d rather hide beneath the hoodie you instead hang on the door before sneaking out into the silence of the hallway.

You take a left, then a right, pause, then walk past the vase you’d raided earlier and choose to descend as the elevator doors close behind you. On the back wall sits a mirror and trapped within stands your reflection, staring through you as you study yourself. Your practiced posture protects the truth of the present—prevents the outside world from seeing the fatigue pervasive throughout your system. You’re shaking out of your reverie by the sound of a ding and the sliding of doors, revealing your desired floor behind you. You back out, refusing to break eye contact until the doors do the deed for you. You sigh, turn, shake your head, then trek forwards towards your destination. Ahead—beneath a wooden slab stained with stories—sits a suite of stools, empty and for the taking. You mount one and offer a small nod to the bartender, who seems surprised by your presence, though not your appearance.

“Long night?” he asks, grabbing a glass and setting it atop a coaster as he finds the answer in your eyes long before you vocalize it.

“I mean, yeah,” you chuckle, running your finger around the rim of the glass. “In all the best ways. Surprise me.”

His eyebrow rises as he catches the glass you slide back to him, pondering for a moment before turning and scouring the shelves. “Oh yeah? Then how come you’re here, especially now? Don’t get many visitors this late after hours.”

“There’s, uh …” you pause, considering how much honesty you want to offer before resigning yourself to sharing it in full. “There’s a girl in my hotel room. You can guess what we did there, but she’s asleep now and I don’t want to be there when she wakes up.”

“That’s a new one,” he responds, hints of a surprised smile spreading across his face as he slides back the glass, now containing a connoisseur’s drink of choice. “Though I’ll admit that still doesn’t tell me why you’re here.”

“Thanks,” you say, picking up the cup and swirling the liquid around, allowing the aroma to saturate your senses as the dark liquid sloshes around and splashes the frozen orb within. “Honestly, I’m hoping that with a little time, I might just find it at the bottom of this glass.”

“Then happy hunting, friend. Let me know if I can get you anything else,” he offers before turning to resume his cleaning.

“Will do,” you reply, raising your drink in thanks as the snug solace of silence settles over the space. A sip, a thought. Another, for naught. Try as you might, you can’t seem to wrap your head around why you feel the way you do. Theoretically, this “should” be the perfect justification for you to rip her next promotion to absolute shreds. You “should” be foaming at the mouth at this opportunity, the chance for you to give her what she deserves. This is the stuff of dreams, right? It “should” be.

You “should” be a lot of things. Conscience-stricken should not be one of them. Yet here you are. Regretful. Hesitant. Weak. Everything you shouldn’t be. Everything you hated being. Everything you swore you’d never be again.

And somehow, Song fucking Yuqi has the power to bring all of that out of you.

You’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this. About her. More than you’d like to admit, yet likely not as much as you should. But it’s only here, in this drunken stupor amidst the forgotten hours of the night, that you finally take the time to truly reflect on your relationship thus far. You’re one of many who’s watched her shine brightest under the spotlight’s glow, but one of few who’s seen who she is in the dark. You’re aware of the disdain lurking behind every easy smile she gives, yet the taste of her cherry lipstick is more familiar than your morning coffee. You’ve heard all the honeyed lies she whispers so freely, but no one else knows how sweet she sounds when screaming your name. You might be the only one who knows she’s a nightmare masquerading as a dream, but you’re undeniably unsure whether it’s one you want to wake up from. So many thoughts, but not even a hint of the truth you’re hunting for.

But then, somewhere in the haze, you finally find the missing piece: it’s the hypocrisy of it all that drives you mad. It's the fact that she gets to have her cake and eat it too; the fact that she gets to grow her fame without growing as a person. It's the fact that you had to get your first editor—your friend—fired because he was limiting your creative freedom. It’s the fact that her group can undergo a massive scandal and have it all swept under the rug in less than six months’ time. It's the fact that you've had to abandon the unknown groups with the most compelling stories because they're not the ones who generate views. It's the fact that you've had to budget for the price of your ambition while she can max out her social credit without a second thought.

Worst of all, it’s the fact that you’re stuck wide awake in the lost hours of the day with nothing but her on your mind while she sleeps serenely in a suite paid for by the fruits of your labor. You've long since come to terms with the fact that she's living rent-free in your head; now you're just disputing her claim to the master bedroom and both parking spots. The possibility that you might be living in your worst nightmare—that you might have become an afterthought—fills you with an icy foreboding that even a thousand scalding showers couldn’t thaw. And there’s still nothing you can do about it.

If you’re being honest, there might never be.

You slam back the rest of your drink, desperate to display a degree of decisiveness wherever possible. You’re gentler when you set it back on the coaster, but there’s still enough force to cause the bartender to turn.

“So, did you find what you were looking for?” he asks, looking down at the glass before meeting your eyes once again.

“Can’t say I did,” you chuckle darkly, pausing for a moment before sliding it back to him. “But it couldn’t hurt to check again.”

Continued in Act Three …

(I’d like to express my appreciation to @capslocked for both their direct and indirect contributions to this fic. They’ve been the biggest catalyst for my growth as a writer the past couple months and I can’t thank them enough for their time and patience. Once you’re done with this fic, please do yourself a favor and go read “Starlet” if you’re in the mood for more Miyeon & Yuqi content. Once you’re done with that, please do me a favor and bully them into writing Part 2, tyvm!)

#kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #yuqi smut #yuqi fanfic #idol x reader #idol x male reader #gidle yuqi #gidle #yuqi #song yuqi #slow burn #gidle miyeon #miyeon

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gurugirl · 10 months

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A Balancing Act | Ch. 1*

Series Summary: Harry is a famous, rich, handsome, pop star and he’s been in therapy since his boy band days. When he meets Y/n, a beautiful and successful artist, he cannot take no for an answer when it comes to her. He’s determined to make her his even if he has to bend the rules a little at first.

Chapter Summary: Meeting Harry Styles at the hotel she was staying at was a surprise. But to have him invite her to his room for a drink was unexpected.

Warning: smut

Word Count: 17,748

Commissioned by @cinnamonone (thank you!! xoxo)

A Balancing Act Masterlist

Harry remembers the days when he used to go into his therapist’s office for his sessions. But after fame hit the paps knew where he was going, learned his schedule, and he was constantly bombarded. And of course, the fans caught on so there’d be screaming people trying to get his attention as he hopped from his car to the back entrance.

Lately, though, she’d been coming to his house instead. She charged more for in-house visits but Harry wasn’t bothered by the extra cost. Her time and flexibility were worth it to him so he’d happily pay the added fee.

They normally sat in his office together for the sessions. It was always like chatting with a close colleague when he’d have her over. Harry would usually have pastries and green juice or matcha to share and they’d talk about their week. She’d even talk to him about hers a little. Which always made him feel so comfortable around her. It invited him to really open up and he learned to be vulnerable with her over time.

He'd been seeing her since his One Direction days which meant in-person visits weren’t always possible if he was traveling, but Pat took a lot of late-night calls and FaceTime time sessions over the years. And Harry trusted her more than he trusted most people. She’d earned his trust. She’d heard his deepest, darkest secrets and knew all the dirty details about all of his past loves and flings. She wasn’t a sex therapist but she often gave him advice that helped him in that department.

And today she was doing just that. Listening to him drone on about his last lover, the older woman with two children who left her fiancé to be with him. He felt bad about everything in their relationship – from the beginning, he knew it wasn’t going to last and it was only meant to be a quick fling. But then he did develop feelings (Harry loved to fall in love and it was usually quite messy) against his better judgment. And then when she left the father of her children it became even more complicated.

“I just felt like I owed her. She’d given up so much for me and it was crazy of me to feed into that. I should have told her then and there that we wouldn’t end up together but I think a part of me just wanted to have the stability. But instead, it just dragged on for too long.” Harry had recently seen her at an event and she ignored him, just as he ignored her, but that didn’t mean it didn’t affect him because here he was in therapy with Pat talking about her.

Pat tapped her pen on her notepad and nodded. She’d heard all this before. But the guilt he felt was continually bubbling up and pouring out in their sessions even though they’d been broken up for the better part of a year.

“Harry, let’s talk about that. The stability part. Do you feel like you still need to be in a relationship to be stable? We’ve worked on this in the past and it sounds like that’s still a constant in your romantic attitude.”

Harry knew he was someone that just loved being with someone. Long-term, a week, a night… he just enjoyed the attention and he loved giving attention. And he was good at it. Well, he gave a lot of himself even if the relationship wasn’t serious. That’s just how he was.

“I know I need to be more confident to be alone and not have someone in my bed or my life all the time. I mean, I haven’t even had sex in like, a month.”

Pat laughed and shook her head, “I know Harry. And probably the whole world too. I know how hard that is for you – to never be able to have any privacy even if it’s just something fun," she paused as nodded, "And so a month... That's not really that long, but I’m assuming you’re referring to the model you were with in Tokyo about month ago? Pictures of you two were plastered everywhere.”

Harry nodded and chuckled, “Oh yeah. That was just… we were drunk so I wasn’t careful but I had fun ya know? I just want to be able to have fun and not deal with the public knowing that we probably fucked. Or all the weird speculation. It’s not anyone’s business. Sometimes I make mistakes and get caught in public but it’s tiresome. I want to be able to go out and do normal things but I can’t.”

Again, these were all things Pat knew about and had heard verbatim. She truly felt for him, though. Was even protective of him as if he were her son. Harry was so charming and likable and just a genuinely nice person that it was hard not to feel like he needed protecting at times.

But what could she do? He was a grown man now. A grown man who enjoyed love and all the kinds of things that went with it. But more than that he loved his job. Which was where the biggest problem lie. Harry’s job was a drawback for most people he’d attempted a relationship with. Some could handle the long distance, the frequent flights and stays at hotels, eating and dressing and showering on the road, screaming fans, women and men throwing themselves at him, stalking him, feeling entitled to his attention when he was out in public eating breakfast.

And he’d never give any of it up for a relationship. But that didn’t make it easy. Harry hardly remembered what it used to be like before he became famous. He was catapulted into the limelight as a teenager and was in one of the most popular boybands the world had ever known. But when he went off on his own for a solo career, assembled a talented group for his band, cut off his long hair, and began writing songs and crooning in well-fitted suits in small venues and theaters his fame rose year by year. Every album he put out was more popular than the one before.

With fame came flocks of fans. Who were willing to do nearly anything to get a glimpse up close of the charming boy with big green eyes, sweet dimples, and a deep voice. So yeah. Relationships suffered.

“You always have the option to just stop. Finish off your contract and then forget about fame. But you don’t want that. So doing normal things in public will be hard while you’re so famous.”

“I know. I wouldn’t want to stop. I love what I do. Just wish I had more privacy.”

“But I’m proud that you’re not isolating like you did for a while there. Wouldn’t even answer my calls for some time. Remember? You’re doing okay now, though. I think you’re improving. Your fame continues to grow and you are adjusting to it.”

Harry nodded, “Yeah. That was a rough go. Not being able to see family or close friends during the pandemic really got to me. I am still surprised by how I responded to that all that. Doesn’t feel like that was me, you know? Feels like such a long time ago.”

“It affected many people in ways they hadn’t realized it would. People who had never struggled with depression or drug use before had to fight for their lives to get better.”

“Yeah… I was just alone with all those thoughts. Missing… her. I even called her one night. Don’t remember the conversation because I had taken sleep pills right before but saw that I’d called her the night before when I looked through my phone. Realized it was bad then.”

“Camille?”

Harry shifted in his seat and sighed. He didn’t like to say her name. That had been the hardest breakup. Because he really loved her. It no longer stung like it used to but he thought of her often, “She had a boyfriend of course. Still does. And he’s far better for her. Can go with her whenever and wherever. And I couldn’t because I was so busy. And she couldn’t come with me either because she’s got her own acting and modeling career. Just… I’m okay with that all now. But there were nights when I was alone in that big house and I couldn’t stop picking apart all the things that went wrong between us.”

“Too much time to think. Even I dealt with overthinking and dwelling.”

Harry glanced at Pat and smiled, “We’re all so similar. Us humans. Even we can surprise ourselves at times by torturing our brains and combing over details long past.”

Pat was proud of how insightful Harry was and how far he'd come.

. . .

Harry’s next show was in Chicago. He was getting himself pumped up for stage time. His outfit was being tailored once again, his hair styled, a bit of bronzer and highlighter, moisturizer on his arms and torso, lips stained a deep berry shade, nails painted lavender…

Music and his fans and being on stage were Harry’s favorite things. Well, he had another favorite thing that he could have that very night. It was easy when he was on stage and singing his heart out. A little eye contact and a raised brow to the cute curvy girl with the big tits at the front of pit, a hand wave and a wink, a tequila ordered for the pretty blond in the balcony seats he had a good view of, or calling out the tall guy in the middle of his concert and continually flirting with him in front of thousands (millions after the videos made it to social media). It was easy. Harry just had it so he could really have his pick, for the most part. If he wanted.

And like every one of his sets, at the end he was exhausted yet pumped with adrenaline. Meeting some of his lucky fans and taking pictures backstage was par for the course. Nothing out of the ordinary for a night after a concert.

But he had another show the following evening and so Jeff was giving him the signal it was time to head out and get back to his hotel so he could call it a night. The morning of a show was always early for rehearsing, a good workout, an ice bath, meditation…

Harry was ushered into the back entrance of the posh hotel he was staying at and used the freight elevator to get to the top floor to his room without anyone seeing him. Which he hated. He hated having to hide and duck away from fans. Hated being treated like a big secret no matter where he went. But on the other side of the coin, he cherished his privacy so it was necessary.

Jeff left him alone after Harry settled into his suite. He had the TV on and was about to call his mom because she’d be up at that time, but then there was a knock at his door. It was past 12:30 am so he couldn’t imagine who it would be.

Harry slowly opened the door to see a hotel employee standing with a bouquet of flowers, “These were sent here earlier, Mr. Styles, but we forgot to put them in your room. My apologies for the mistake.”

Harry took the bouquet and smiled at the young man, slipping him a tip and telling him not to worry.

Pulling the card out of the flowers he put the lovely bouquet down on the buffet and opened it to find out who it was from.

“We miss you, H. Hope you’re well. Love XX”

It was his ex. The one he’d wasted nearly two years with. He’d gotten to know her children and this card was meant to pull at his heartstrings with the ‘we miss you’. And it worked. The guilt built up again. He didn’t miss her or their relationship, but the guilt he carried for everything that happened to them during and even after was upsetting. He just wished his life was truly private like a normal guy. And then maybe he could move on and get real closure.

And against Jeff’s advice, Harry decided to go down to the hotel bar by himself which would be open for another couple of hours. A drink would help. Maybe a chat with someone nice. He hoped there weren’t any crazy fans down there but he’d rather risk that than sitting alone in his suite for another minute.

The bar was mostly empty. There were a few couples at tables, some individuals sitting and drinking at the bar. Harry grabbed a small table near the front with a good view of the bar and was greeted quickly to get his order.

He looked around casually and realized no one seemed to notice him. It felt nice. A moment of peace in public without anyone snapping photos or taking videos.

Across from his small table was a woman he suddenly took note of. She was dressed smartly. A silky green blouse tucked into charcoal trousers. She was looking at her phone and sipping a cocktail of some sort. She was pretty with delicate features and he couldn’t help himself when he noticed her pretty round bottom taking up the stool she sat on. Harry wasn’t a pervert but he had the perfect view of her. He was just a man after all and he appreciated beautiful women and men at times.

The server brought his drink to him and grinned widely, “Enjoy your whisky neat, Mr. Styles.”

Suddenly the woman turned her head and made eye contact with Harry. Her eyes widened before she quickly looked back down at her phone. She recognized him. Harry knew right away. But he was intrigued that she looked away. He decided to get her attention.

“Wish I could do that.”

The woman lifted her head and turned to look at Harry, confusion on her face as she looked behind herself and then back to Harry, “Sorry, are you speaking to me?”

Harry chuckled, “Of course I am.”

She set her cell phone down and tilted her head as she turned toward him, “You wish you could do what?”

Harry nodded toward the cell phone she had on the table, “Scroll through social media so casually.”

She stitched her brows together as she looked down at her phone and then back to Harry, “What makes you think I was scrolling through social media?”

Harry laughed and he guessed that was a fair question, “You’re right. I guess I don’t know what you’re looking at. Sorry if I offended,” he lifted his glass up toward her and then took a sip.

She smiled and lifted her own glass and then took a sip in response.

But now Harry was very interested. He wondered what she was looking at but also found her response to be refreshing. Instead of fawning she was smart and snappy with him. Even though she clearly recognized him, she wasn’t giggling and asking for an autograph or a photo.

He stood up and took a chance to ask if he could join her. He knew it was gutsy but he was rarely turned down and the woman was intriguing.

“Mind if I sit here with you? A little company is nice.”

Now Y/n was very much feeling her nerves peak when she realized Harry Styles was sitting next to her table. And then he’d made conversation with her. She was surprised he was speaking to her at all and now here he was asking to sit with her. She had no reason to say no. So when she nodded and he pulled the stool out that was closest to hers and placed his whisky on the table she swallowed down the bubbling nerves and called on her natural self-confidence. She was a confident woman. She was successful and lived a good life that she worked hard for. She was smart and grounded. But she was also hyper-aware that she was not his type. So even if for the briefest moment she thought she caught him looking at her ass she had to have been wrong.

Their conversation was surprisingly fascinating to her. She imagined he’d have a lot of things to say but she didn’t realize he was such a deep and interesting person. His insight was very spot on and he was sensitive and a good listener.

When the server came over and told them it was last call they both ordered one more drink. Y/n wasn’t ready to call it a night and neither was Harry.

“So, what are you here for, in Chicago, exactly?”

“Oh, there is an art show this weekend. I, uh… I have a bunch of my pieces at the Carrie Secrist Gallery right now.”

Harry paused. She mentioned she was an artist but he didn’t realize she was here for work, “Wow. Really? Carrie Secrist Gallery,” he said the name of the gallery quietly as if to catalog the information, “So will you be here tomorrow night again?”

“Yes. Booked the room for the weekend. I leave Sunday afternoon. Hopefully, my work gets all sold so I don’t have to repack and ship it back home.”

Harry nodded and watched her lips as she spoke and then her eyes. He couldn’t stop from letting his gaze drop to her plush lips. And Y/n noticed it too. It had her palms sweating. Maybe it was just the alcohol.

“Would you want to come to my show tomorrow evening? I can get you some really good seats – two if you’d like to bring anyone. I’d love it if you came. Maybe after we could do this again,” he gestured around them.

She was momentarily stunned. It was so out of the blue, unexpected. But it was also only an invitation to his concert. Which… still… this was a personal invite from Harry Styles and an opening to see him afterward which was quite something.

His green eyes and the smile on his pink lips were so close to her. She felt like suddenly with the way he was eyeing her that perhaps there was more to his invite. She’d been pushing that feeling down since he asked to sit with her but now it was glaring. Obvious. It was obvious that he was seeking something else. Maybe a quick one-night thing before he left for his next destination.

“What time would I need to get there?”

“Show starts at 7 with the opener.”

“Hmm… the gallery where I'm showing my art doesn't close til 7. I’d be getting there too late-“

“Well just come after that’s over. I’d still love to see you even if you’re a little late.”

She nodded and tried to rationalize everything. Could she really do this? Perhaps it was nothing at all but this didn’t feel like nothing and her instincts were usually spot on. She had no reason to say no except that he was super famous and what would it all look like logistically? But looking back at his face she just saw a handsome, confident man. There didn’t need to be any strings attached or consequences. It could be fun, “Sure. That could work. But it would just be me. Anyone I’d want to bring wouldn’t be able to make it in time for tomorrow night.”

Harry’s grin widened and his famous dimples dug into his cheeks, “Even better.”

. . .

Y/n had a hard time sleeping that night. She was hoping to have a couple of drinks to wind down after the adrenaline of the gallery showing. Her evening had been excellent. She sold some of her most expensive pieces, had a fabulous dinner with the curator and a couple of other artists, and then met and had drinks with Harry Styles.

The following day at the gallery she was on fire as well. Her good mood was contagious and every one of her paintings sold. She was asked to dinner again after the gallery closed but this time she declined, citing a concert to get to as her reason for skipping out.

She received a text halfway through her day as promised with a link to the details of her ticket retrieval at the will-call window. Lifting her phone up to the person manning the booth she showed them the QR code and watched on as they called someone and got off the phone, “Just wait here for a moment. Someone’s coming to get you.”

Being ushered into the back of the venue and then through a hallway she followed behind the man until he finally led her to an area with balcony seating and a good view of the stage, “Mr. Styles has said anything you’d like is on him. Can I get you a drink?”

Y/n still felt like it was so surreal to be here at a Harry Styles show on personal invitation and now being offered something to drink. On. Him.

“Is chardonnay on the menu?”

The man nodded and left in the blink of an eye.

Harry wasn’t on the stage yet. The opener was just finishing up and the crowd was full of young girls dressed in brightly colored, outfits. Lots of feathers and fringe and glitter and rhinestones.

The man returned with a glass of chardonnay as Y/n looked out over the crowd and leaned over the balcony. She wasn’t sure what to expect when she arrived but her spot had a good view and she was happy she wasn’t down amongst all the pretty young things in front of the stage below.

The moment Harry came on the energy in the room was thick and everything was all about Harry. Fans with signs, lots of screaming, and most everyone sang along.

She couldn’t help but to dance and sing a little. The excitement and his enthusiasm spilled over everyone. Including her. Y/n noticed that it looked like Harry was watching her from the stage. He’d look up toward where she was with a grin often enough that it made her wonder. She thought perhaps he was smiling and looking toward someone else but it was definitely her because she watched as he mimicked her awful attempt at dancing by twirling around and shaking his hips exaggeratedly. She felt her face grow warm when some of the fans began to look up toward the balcony where she stood. Luckily there were other people where she was (who she later found out all had tickets from members of the band – a sort of VIP section for friends and family) so it wasn’t immediately obvious it was her he was grinning at.

The entire concert felt like a whirlwind. Harry’s charisma and style of entertainment were so contagious and exciting. Y/n felt like she was on adrenaline as she was being led backstage. The area was bustling as well. Lots of fans, mostly young girls, a table with small bites and beverages, and sitting areas.

She saw a couple of the band members taking photos with a group of people and then she heard shrieks and turned toward the commotion. There he was flocked by a group of fans and taking photos with one or two at a time. His smile was dazzling, genuine. She noted that he’d changed out of his stage outfit into a pair of basketball shorts and a sweater. He looked so casual in his outfit, yet there was no mistaking that this man commanded the room. That he was the star everyone wanted a piece of.

Y/n decided to keep herself occupied and look around while she waited for Harry to free up a bit. She wasn’t quite sure he’d really be seeing her afterward like he mentioned the night before. And the text she received earlier with the ticket details came from an automated six-digit number separated by a dash in between. Which made sense because he probably didn’t want her to have his number.

But she’d stick around to at least say hi.

“You came. Thank you,” Y/n turned to see the man behind her, with his handsome grin looking right at her.

“Oh, well, of course! Figured why not? It was a great concert by the way!”

They chatted for only a few minutes before they were interrupted again. Harry gave Y/n a look of apology, “Meet me at the hotel bar in like an hour?”

“Okay. I will try to be there in an hour,” she was going to just say absolutely yes, 100% she’d be there but that all sounded a little too desperate for her taste. She preferred to keep things level. And who knew if he’d even show up?

In her room, Y/n went back and forth between changing into something more comfortable or just keeping her current outfit on. She decided to keep on what she had and instead freshened up her hair and dotted on the smallest bit of undereye concealer.

It had been a while since she’d been interested in anyone. And she didn’t know what Harry wanted but the night before she was picking up certain vibes. She could be wrong. Perhaps she’d misread the whole situation. But she thought it could be fun to get out a little. Try and move on from the trauma of her last relationship. She tried not to think of it when she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Moving on had been something she’d been attempting to do for a while. A fun night with a handsome pop star could help a little. If that’s where things led. Hopefully.

At the bar, she ordered soda water to start. She didn’t want to get sloppy, just in case it turned into something more than just a friendly chat. It was around the time Harry said he’d meet her. She’d give him a little leeway since he had just gotten finished putting on a concert for thousands of adoring fans.

But when another thirty minutes had passed she checked her phone to find that there was nothing from him and no sign of his cute dimples in the bar anywhere either.

She waved at the bartender, “I’ll have a glass of house chardonnay please.”

She figured she might as well have one more glass of wine for the evening before calling it a night.

Looking at Instagram while she waited for her drink she realized she had a dm. It was from Dante. An artist she hit it off with at her last showing. They’d been messaging back and forth a bit but nothing had come of it. He lived a few hours away from her so getting together again hadn’t really been brought up. Except now.

Hey, I’ll be heading your way for an art exhibit soon. Would love to catch up in person if you’re free. Would you be interested in seeing me again? I’ll let you know when I’ll be in town when I find out more.

Smiling she began to type her response when the bartender placed her glass of wine down along with an envelope with her name written on the front.

She looked up at the young man in question

“Concierge handed this to me right after you ordered.”

“But how did you know this was for me?” She lifted the envelope up and flipped it over to open it up.

“Because I have your credit card with your name on it when you started your tab. Plus they described you. It’s from a very special guest I’m told.”

A very special guest.

She pulled her lips into her mouth to hide the grin that was about to take over as she looked around the bar, still, with no sign of Harry.

Pulling out the contents of the envelope she took a sip of her wine.

Sorry, I ran late. Take a drink in my room with me? p1900 - H

Blinking her eyes she felt her pulse pick up as she folded the note and tucked it into her purse. She gulped down another bit of chardonnay and grinned to herself, already having completely forgotten about Dante.

So she had read this right. The nerves in her belly bubbled up as she waved at the bartender, Check please!”

After making a pitstop at her room to really “freshen” up she realized that the floors stopped off at 8. After that was P.

Penthouse.

Hitting the P, she leaned her back into the wall as the elevator took her to the top floor.

The moment she stepped out of the elevator she was greeted by a man, “Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Oh!” She suddenly remembered who she was dealing with. Harry Styles, a world-famous, A-list pop star. Of course, he’d have security. “Yes, I uh… Harry invited me up-“ She reached into her purse and pulled out the note, “Here.”

The man unfolded the note and then looked at her with a smile, “Y/n?”

So he’d told them her name…

She nodded as he handed the note back to her, “Follow me.”

She figured this was something Harry had done before; had people brought to his room. The occasional one-night stand. Some fun for the weekend.

The man knocked at the door and only a handful of seconds passed before Harry was standing in the doorway, wearing the same after-concert outfit he’d been wearing when she left the venue earlier.

He smiled at her, “Come in,” and then looked at the man, “Thanks, Shamus.”

The suite was huge. That was no surprise. She’d seen a few nice suites in her days. Being an artist wasn’t always so lucrative but she was always invited to the good after parties. She had a lot of artsy fartsy friends, some very well-off.

“I’m really sorry about being so late. I just got caught up and then before I realized the time it was too late. I’m glad you were still at the bar.”

“Yeah,” she said as she walked around toward the sitting area with the large woven rug and plush couches, “about that… what if I wasn’t in the bar? I was about to go back to my room.”

“Well, then I guess we would have missed one another. That would have been a shame.”

“But you have my number. You could have reached out.”

Harry scratched the back of his neck as she sat down. She was acting far more confident than she really was. But this was part of what she did. She was constantly put into situations where she needed to be confident and sell herself. Her art was an extension of herself. So when she needed to make some sales at shows and galleries she learned just how to do that. Her art sold itself for the most part. But there were enough people who wanted her story. Sometimes, she was what sold her piece. She’d do whatever it took to not be a starving artist anymore.

“I know I could have. But… I hope you don’t take offense. I have a rule not to give out my number so easily. Not that I think you’d use it to do anything but I’ve just had some really bad experiences. People I’ve trusted have betrayed me and changing my number is something I have nightmares about,” he laughed as sat down next to her on the couch.

She laughed with him. She actually could sort of understand it. Being a woman was like that in a way. Giving out her number to someone could be risky. It was a gamble to have her information out there with someone she didn’t know well.

“I’m not offended. But I really thought you’d changed your mind. Though, in all honesty,” she stretched her arms overhead with a yawn and leaned back into the very shockingly comfortable couch, “I was sort of looking forward to my bed. I’m exhausted.”

Harry leaned back and draped his leg over his knee, “I know what you mean. If I were you I’d much prefer a comfy bed than to spend any time with me either,” he laughed and then put his arm along the back of the couch, “but really… if you’re tired, don’t feel pressure to stay. I am glad you’re here, though.”

There it was. He gave her the choice. So he could have the green light. The thumbs up. He was clever. Telling her she didn’t have to stay but also letting her know he wanted her there. The ball was in her court.

“I’m curious as to why you think I’m interesting enough to invite back to your room for a drink, of which I’ve not yet been offered,” she teased with a chuckle. She didn’t want to seem like some pushover but at the same time, she felt a little flirty. She’d had such a good night at the gallery and she hadn’t been alone with a man nearly as attractive as Harry in… well, she’d never been alone with a man as attractive as Harry. And he was very much giving off the air of flirty himself. The way he kept putting his finger up to his lip, the eye contact, his arm reaching across the couch behind her… His body language was a dead giveaway.

“You don’t think you’re interesting?”

Y/n smiled. He was good. Of course that was a good line to use on someone he didn’t know. She was wondering something very specific that he’d yet to admit. That she was there for some fun. A quick romp. He had a need that he wanted filled and so did she. The reason he’d asked her to his room was for that. Yet he insisted on playing coy.

“I know I’m interesting. But you don’t know me. So why is it that you’ve asked me here?” She raised her brows at him as he stood and walked to the buffet across the room.

“I felt comfortable with you from the start. It’s nice to have a conversation with someone new once in a while. Not someone in the industry,” Harry turned back with a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in his other, “and sorry I didn’t offer you a drink. Wine?”

Nodding her head she watched as Harry sat back down next to her, a little closer this time as he uncorked the bottle and poured two glasses.

Clinking their glasses together Harry sat back into the couch again. The silence had been a little awkward as he poured their drinks and Y/n was feeling a bit unsettled. She wasn’t sure what to say. As confident as she normally could be, this was getting very real and her mind wouldn’t stop wandering to what would be happening in thirty minutes or an hour from then. Would he be really going all in with her? Trying to get laid? She wouldn’t mind it, not at all. She’d happily let Harry Styles fuck her if he wanted. But would he be thinking about how her thighs and her tummy were plump and soft (mushy really was the better descriptor)?

She’d looked up his past exes because what else would one do before meeting up one on one with Harry Styles? She knew it was a bad idea but once she got a peep of some of the women he’d been with in the past… well, she certainly didn’t fit that mold. She didn’t think she was ugly. Not at all. But she wasn’t a model. She wasn’t a hot body, lush-haired, perfectly put-together wealthy woman of the world.

She was an artist. She made a good living nowadays, but nothing crazy. She lived in the Midwest USA and would go six months without getting her haircut, much less even visiting for a style. She dressed cute, she thought, but not high fashion. Not with leather, and silk, and cashmere and braided linen… Her makeup style was a crapshoot. She wore a nice, tinted moisturizer (with sunscreen because she couldn’t be bothered with the extra step), cream blush, mascara, and if she was going out, red lipstick. That was her bold makeup move. Red lips. Contouring was a foreign concept to her.

“The wine is good. Thanks,” she said lifting her glass up before taking another sip.

“Oh yeah. I enjoy a little wine once in a while. Not really much of a connoisseur but this is one of my favorite red blends.”

Y/n nodded and looked down at her glass. He was obviously feeling the nerves as well. She felt him shift next to her as he put his arm back behind her on the couch again.

She thought about just putting the moves on. Getting it over with. But then he started to talk.

“Tomorrow afternoon I fly out to Brazil. Haven’t been there in a while. Feels like with the pandemic everything just stopped. Glad to have things sort of going back to normal. Ya know? But… What about you? Do you live near Chicago? You mentioned you live in the suburbs.”

They chatted a bit, revealing small things about themselves little by little. Eventually, she even wound up telling him her age and that she’d been in a long-term relationship that ended tragically but she didn’t give him all the details. She didn’t want his pity. But it felt natural to tell him a little bit more after he opened up to her about his last girlfriend and how it was his longest relationship but that he had felt stuck in it halfway through. That she had kids and how difficult that made everything.

Y/n knew who he was talking about as well. He didn’t need to say her name because she’d googled it all beforehand.

And she was aware that she wasn’t as old as his last girlfriend. She was only about a year older than Harry was but he was so sincere and mature that he felt older. Yet, there was a playful edge to him that was refreshing. And he was an excellent listener. Just as he had been the night before.

That was another reason she felt comfortable revealing small things about herself to him. He acted like what she was saying was worth being heard. He didn’t look at the clock on the wall, or let his eyes glaze over in boredom as she spoke. He asked her questions about what she’d said, remembered her sister’s name when she mentioned that she had two nieces, and even asked her about how her art show went – remembering the name of the gallery.

“And how did it go tonight at the Carrie Secrist Gallery? Did you get all your pieces sold?”

She laughed at his question – the way he said the name of the gallery. She thought he was probably showing off a little. He was naturally very charismatic and charming and she was falling for it hard. He’d bump his knee into hers every so often and his eyes never left her face which had her skin growing warm. He was flirting in the most subtle way.

“It went well! Actually, I sold all of my pieces. I did give a discount for one of them to be displayed at a restaurant because I figure that’s like advertisement, right? But yeah. It was a really good night.”

Harry cocked his head to the side and she noted how he watched as she sipped her wine and licked her lips. He wasn’t being coy anymore. His obvious gaze was his way of moving it along.

She stared back at him and felt her skin start to prickle with nerves. It was bold to look him directly in his sharp green eyes when he was sat so close to her. She watched as his lips turned up in a small smirk and he leaned in closer, “What perfume are wearing?”

She had to pause to think. It was her travel perfume. She liked nice scents and had a few back home but when she traveled she didn’t bring her usuals with her because they were too costly to risk being broken. And normally when she was traveling it was because she was participating in an exhibit or show and that meant she would wear very little of anything scented. Mostly out of respect. Like being on an airplane and wearing a beautiful spicy perfume that you’d put on before a date. You just wouldn’t.

“I think it’s like… um… I honestly don’t know the name. It’s a sample of something that I bring when I travel. Like a powdery, clean scent. Something nonoffensive. Would hate to lose out on a sale because I was wearing some wild cotton candy, musky, floral perfume or something,” she laughed.

Harry nodded with a small smile as he watched her mouth move around her words. She couldn’t help but notice how he looked from her lips and slowly brought his gaze back up to her eyes.

“What about you? You smell nice.” It was true. He did smell good. Clean and a little bit masculine. It was definitely some kind of cologne.

He looked down over his t-shirt and scrunched his brows in thought, “You think? Felt like I might be smelling a bit off.”

Y/n shook her head with a grin, “No. You smell nice. Clean.”

“Well, I did shower after the show. I get so hot and sweaty on stage. Sometimes the outfits don’t breathe at all. Just like, my hot skin trapped under saran wrap is what it feels like,” he laughed as he spoke but the visual had Y/n’s mind going into dark and dirty places. Perhaps he’d said it on purpose.

She stayed quiet as she sipped the last bit of her wine and then leaned forward to place the glass on the table in front of them.

“Would you like another bottle of wine? Or… something else?”

Clenching her jaw she looked at his empty glass next to hers.

Or something else…

“Well, I don’t know about having more wine…”

“Okay. Me neither to be honest. Also not quite ready to go to bed just yet. Do you want to like…” he pulled his lips into his mouth and raised his brows as he bumped her knee with his.

He didn’t need to say it. She knew what he meant. She kept her eyes on his with a grin on her face as he leaned in so close she could smell the wine on his breath, “Is it okay if I kiss you?”

She was compelled to pull him toward her and put her lips to his instead of answering him verbally. She’d been watching his pink lips wrap around his words in the unique way he moved his mouth for long enough. They looked smooth and she was curious how they’d feel against hers. But the moment she felt his tongue slip out and wet the bottom of her lip she felt her mind go blank except for the thought that she was kissing Harry Styles. Sitting in his hotel room way past her bedtime with security outside of his door and an empty bottle of wine on the coffee table at her feet.

His hand moved to the back of her neck and pulled her in closer, to which she happily allowed herself to be moved toward his body. Her own fingers flitted into his thick hair, the curls winding between her fingers, just as soft as it appeared.

To her surprise (and delight) he didn’t try rushing from kissing to trying to take her clothes off. In fact, he continued kissing her and pressing his tongue into hers and lapping over her lips, squeezing the back of her neck with one hand and her soft hip with the other for longer than she might have ever kissed anyone before. His mouth against hers was erotic and wet and a bit eager even. As if he hadn’t kissed anyone in a long time. But she matched that energy because she actually hadn’t kissed anyone in a long time.

He pinched her thigh a bit harder as she moved closer, her blouse-covered breasts brushing against his taut shirt-covered chest. She knew he was in good shape because she’d seen the pictures of him wearing open vests and jackets baring his well-built upper body while prancing on stage. Tonight’s outfit showcased how beefy he was with a well-fitted t-shirt and leather pants. A reminder of where she lacked.

As his hand slid upward to the curve of her waist she pulled away a little, really not feeling like he’d enjoy her extra bits once he touched them, “I… sorry…” she shook her head and sighed, feeling embarrassed.

Harry’s lips reached for hers again, brushing them softly over hers, “Sorry for what?”

But his mouth on hers was intoxicating and the way he was still grabbing at her and pulling her in made her forget what it was she was worried about.

The truth was that Harry loved what he saw and the way she felt so soft and plush under his hand. Her mouth, her hip, her waist. And she smelled pretty and her eyes were making him lose his mind. He wanted her in his bed and on his cock (if she’d allow that). Her voice was soft and feminine and she was smart and funny.

Harry had no trouble finding someone for the night. He’d been very lucky since his One Direction days but fame was like that. It also didn’t hurt that he was handsome with a deep voice and a big cock. But recently he decided to start being a little more choosy. Perhaps to find someone he could spend more than a night with. It was hard to do, though. Because he was on the road a lot and most people couldn’t keep up with his lifestyle unless they could go on the road with him. Which was usually an impossibility.

And after Y/n had left the venue a young woman was flirting heavily with him; batting her lashes and touching his arm, and giving off all the signals that she was a sure thing. Normally he’d have just stuck with that and had a good time with her for the evening. That was the easy route. A pretty girl very willing and eager whom he could send away after without feeling too bad. Did that make him a bad person? He didn’t think so. It was just sex most of the time. He was always safe and respectful and the kind of sexual tension that would build up while he was singing and dancing (and honestly that was when he was feeling his most attractive and confident) was normal after every show. It wasn’t like he had sex with someone new after each concert. But the option was always there.

But tonight he really wanted to see Y/n again. The cute girl was the easier option, but Y/n was the kind of woman he wanted to keep with him until morning. Let her sleep in his suite and have a couple of rounds with her. There was no way to know if it could ever be more but she was something different. His therapist, Pat, had told him to stop going with what was easiest. To take a step back and look for more substance. She told him he was clearly looking for something deeper and while there was nothing wrong with a bit of fun, deep down he needed more. And he knew she was right.

Harry’s hand roamed upward to the underside of her boob and even with the blouse and the bra covering her flesh he could feel how soft and heavy her breast was. He wanted to tear her shirt off and take a look but he’d let her lead the way because she seemed like she knew what she wanted when she slid her palm over his thigh and close to his crotch. Harry was solid and already thickened under his shorts, which was quite obvious from the way the fabric tented outward. He pulled her in closer again, hoping she’d grasp him over his shorts.

But instead, when Harry pulled at her she lost her balance and so the hand she was slowly moving upward as she worked up the courage to palm over his obvious erection suddenly was planted firmly over his cock, her hand trying to steady herself so as not to crush him under her palm and so she didn’t fall forward into him like she was about to.

They both parted from the kiss, Harry laughing and Y/n apologizing and quickly removing her hand, “Oh my gosh! Are you okay?”

Harry was more than okay when he looked into her pretty eyes and saw how flustered she was, how swollen her lips were from kissing, and the way her eyes were blown out.

He put his hand over hers and pulled it back to cup over his hard dick, “As you can tell, I’m just fine,” he grinned and looked down at the state of himself and her eyes followed him. She knew he was hard, she felt it when she fell into him. Which was quite exciting now that she was having her hand guided over him, he squeezed around her fingers so she had to tighten her grip around him. She panted and looked up at him. He was girthy and the way his dick was stuffed under his shorts, bent a little bit as it was constricted by the elastic. She could tell he was hung. Very much so.

“Do you want me to… can I?” She asked, licking her lips and looking back down at his big bulge and Harry leaned back, putting his arms back along the couch.

“If you want. But if you do that then be warned that I am gonna want to return the favor.”

A laugh was forced out of Y/n’s nose as she looked back into his eyes curiously, “Be warned? As if that would be a bad thing?”

Harry shrugged, “You never know.”

Y/n bit her bottom lip and slowly tugged at the elastic of the shorts he had on to reveal he was sans underwear. The shock of seeing his thick deep pink tip so quickly had her gasping unexpectedly and pausing her motion. She could tell he was big just by the way he felt, but seeing it bare before her eyes…

Looking back up at him he nodded at her to continue so she pulled at the material, pushing it down and then finally getting a full at him, long and pretty, hard as a rock. He was fully engorged and heavy in her hand when she slid her palm over him. Yes, this would do.

Getting to her knees on the floor in between his legs she kept her hand on him, not wanting to let go. It was unbelievable that she was holding Harry Styles’ thick cock in her hand and he was hard for her. She clenched her thighs just imagining what it might feel like wrecking her insides because it would.

She licked her lips and leaned over him slowly, leisurely pumping him upward. Spitting over his tip she looked up at him and pressed her mouth to his slit with a tiny peck and used her hand to coat his cock with the saliva. She spat again to give her hand more glide and on her upward stroke, her palm squeezed around his frenulum. Harry moaned and leaned his head back. His pink lips parted.

Positioning herself more comfortably she lowered her mouth again to the underside of him, licking upward until her tongue glided over his tip and she popped his bulbous crown into her mouth and sucked. He reached down to put a hand into her hair and grunted as she got lower over him.

He tasted good. Of course, he hadn’t come yet but he was clean and smelled nice. She was never a fan of the taste of come but she was certain with Harry, she’d gulp him all down with a smile on her face despite whatever he might taste like.

Harry loved getting head. He didn’t always ask for it, and he didn’t technically ask for it this time either but she wanted it and he wanted to feel her warm mouth and plump lips wrapped around him since the night before when he first met her.

He was not disappointed either. She was taking him in well. He knew he wasn’t easy to take all the way, which was part of the reason he didn’t always ask for a blowie. But Y/n was good. He tried not to tighten his fingers in her hair, wanting her to go at her own pace but he did grasp the back of the couch with his free hand and found himself letting out a pathetic whimper when she swallowed around his tip.

She was enjoying this. She was pretty good at giving head, though it had been some time, she was a bit rusty but it was like riding a bike really. After a few swallows and deep strokes, his tip hitting the back of her mouth and making her gag lightly, she began to get the hang out of it again. And he was clearly enjoying it.

She was making a bit of a mess too. Drooling and coughing… the fabric of his shorts that was pressed under his balls was wet. Which reminded her…

Using her free hand she began to roll his scrotum in her palm gently. His balls were round and full and heavy and when he gasped she could tell that was a good sign.

“Oh my god… ffffuck, Y/n!” Harry couldn’t help it when he tightened his fingers in her hair. He was going to come already. A little bit embarrassing but she was good and the noises she was making and the way she was sucking him in, wet and warm… plus… he was getting a very good view of her with her mouth wrapped around him. Drool dripping down her chin and she’d look up at him every so often and that was doing him in. The fact that she was pushing him down her throat so deeply and then looking up at him as she gurgled around him was making him lose it.

Now, Harry was a bit dominant in the bedroom. Well, a lot actually. He didn’t always show it, especially not with one-night stands or with someone he’d just met. He liked to ease them into it unless they were clearly into it. And there was something that told him she liked it a bit rough. So when he pushed her down a little further and her eyes rolled into the back of her head as she moaned around him he coughed out a gasp and clenched his teeth to hold himself back. He wanted to have her on his cock like this for a while longer but she was conducting his perfect ideal for a blow job.

“Open that throat up for me, baby… gonna choke you with my come…” he panted his words and watched her closely as she hastened bobbing up and down over him. He took a risk to say what he wanted and she liked it. He had a feeling she would.

Y/n moaned at his words and the way he handled her hair and pushed her down over him. His sudden dominant display was welcomed and felt her arousal drip past her thong onto the insides of her thighs when he told her to open her throat for him. It was the hottest thing she’d heard in a long time.

And she did choke on his come. Salty and bitter, with an edge of sweetness. She swallowed and around him coughed as he flooded her throat. Tears poured from her eyes as she gulped him down the best she could and listening to his moans and grunts was satisfying to her.

Eventually, he released her hair and let his body melt into the couch as she licked him clean until his cock was softening in her mouth. He watched her when she sat back and wiped the back of her hand over her mouth with a small smile. The tears on her cheeks were mixed with streaks of black from her mascara and her mouth was puffy and wet.

“Come here,” Harry grasped the front of her neck and leaned in as he pulled her close so he could kiss her hard. She put her hands over his thighs to steady herself as he pulled her up and then moved her onto the couch under him. He pushed her down and lowered himself to her neck and licked upward toward her jawline, “Let me see you. Want to see your tits and your pussy. Can I, Y/n?”

She nodded as he pulled at her top. She sat up a little so he could pull the material off and she was quick to undo her clasp at the back. She was wearing a bra that was slightly complicated because her breasts were large and heavy so it was quite the device. She doubted he’d be able to figure it out fast enough.

“Holy fuck…” Harry groaned as he put his large hands over her tits and caressed the soft skin before lowering himself to attach his mouth to her left nipple and then her right one.

She hissed when he pulled at her nipple, sucking it into his mouth and squeezing gently at the other side. She hadn’t had anyone play with her tits in a long time. She’d really been missing intimacy. He sat back a little and pressed her boobs together before dipping back down to use his tongue all along her smooth flesh, tucking the wet muscle in between her breasts and licking upward toward her neck.

He continued kneading her tits as he settled himself onto his shins and sat back and looked at her face, “So fucking pretty.”

She arched her back, causing her hips to roll upward and Harry looked down to her hips, moving his hands down to the waistband of her skirt. He massaged her soft hips and watched as the material of her skirt lifted the slightest at the way he was squeezing her. He clenched his jaw and looked back into her eyes and raised his brows as if to ask her permission to keep lifting her skirt upward. She’d already nodded in response when he asked her moments ago but he wanted to know if she’d changed her mind or not.

Y/n brought her hands down and lifted the hem of her skirt up to just the part where her thighs were wholly exposed but her panties weren’t in view yet. Keeping her eyes on his she pushed at his hands to lower them so he could finish the job if he wanted. It was her way of giving him permission to pull her skirt up so he could see her.

And it wasn’t that Y/n was super confident in her body. In fact, if there was anything she was insecure about it was her weight and her body. She did well to push down the anxiety she felt about that and didn’t like to make it known she felt self-conscious, but she was. And here was Harry Styles between her legs and looking at her half-naked body, finally getting a view of her panties as he lifted her skirt. She knew she was wet between her legs already and watching the expression on his face she held her breath hoping he wasn’t grossed out by what he saw.

She watched him lick his lips as his brows set in a serious expression. He shot his gaze up to her eyes and then back down to her wet panties. She breathed a gasp when she felt his finger slip along the topmost part of her thigh just under the crotch of her panties, “You’re wet.”

She gulped hard. She knew there was nothing she could do to hide how wet she’d gotten from sucking him off. But when he thumbed at her thigh and collected her arousal before sticking his whole digit into his mouth and licking it clean, she dropped her mouth open in surprise.

“Mmm… do you know one of my favorite things to do is to put my face in between a woman’s thighs and make her come on my tongue?” He licked his lips again and pressed his thumbs to the elastic of her panties, pushing just under the fabric over her hips as he looked at her.

“I… no. I didn’t know,” was all she could respond with. She was anticipating what was to come and she couldn’t believe it so her brain wasn’t quite connecting with everything else at that moment.

Harry kept his eyes on hers as he began to lower her panties. He wanted access. Wanted to get his mouth on her and have her shaking and coming, getting his face all wet, dripping down to the couch below…

When Harry pulled the fabric down to her upper thighs he shifted to pull the material down and off her legs. He needed to have her spread apart for him so the panties needed to go.

When he finally allowed himself to look at the soft skin and the bit of hair she had all around her warm and wet pussy he closed his eyes and moaned when he gripped onto her hips, letting his fingers sink into her skin.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good. Okay? You want that, Y/n?” He yanked his shirt off over his head, revealing his well-defined chest and scattered tattoos. He must have planned on making a mess.

She nodded and looked down over her body and back into his eyes as he lowered himself over her. He went in tongue first and closed his eyes as he made the first lick upward through her slit and coated his tongue in her.

She moaned softly but then he quickly reached a hand down to the leg that was nearest the edge of the cushion and gripped onto the underpart of her thigh, making her spread out for him as he nudged into her further, lapping and sucking at her.

“OH!” She panted as his lips lowered to her entrance and his wide nose swept over her clit as he shook his head and pulled at her so he could push in further.

She grabbed onto the back of the couch with one arm and her other hand pushed into his soft hair. She rolled her hips upward and moaned at the way he felt on her, but he kept pushing her back down which was driving her nuts, in the best way. He was going in like a starved man and forcing her hips down to keep her still.

Harry wasn’t shy to eat pussy or do it his way. He found that women generally enjoyed the way he did it. His objective was always for it to feel good and for whoever was on the receiving end to come. And he really wanted to make Y/n come because of how good she’d just sucked him off. Swallowed his cock halfway down her throat and choked on his come. He wanted to give her something in return because he wanted to show her how good he could be. Hoped that he was better than anyone before him (because he liked being the best at everything he did).

“Oh, shit, shit, shit, shit!!! God! Harry, f-ffffuck!” When Harry shifted and stuffed two fingers inside and began to pump them in and out as he kept his mouth over her clit she knew she was gonna be a goner. Because this was her own go-to move when she masturbated.

She had a slim dildo she used that was curved and hit her insides nicely and loved combining that with her clit sucker[TK7] . It always got her off and Harry’s mouth and fingers were hitting all the spots she needed.

Going into this with him she figured it could be fun. Might get some pleasure, perhaps something to think back on fondly. She hoped for more than just that (if he could give her an orgasm that would have been preferred) but was prepared for just some fun but doubted an orgasm or anything like what was happening. The man was just as charming with his face between her thighs as he was talking and singing into a microphone. The humor and his charisma didn’t stop on stage. Harry was good. And sexy.

She stiffened as her muscles began to vibrate. Harry seemed to know that she was coming as he pumped his fingers into her harder and faster and continued slurping at her clit.

Only when she began to come down did she realize how loud she’d been. Her moans and cries were sure to have been heard by anyone standing near the door. Her slight embarrassment was quelled when she felt Harry’s lips still sliding over her pussy as he moaned. She was a mess and from what she could see of his face, that was too.

Pressing at his forehead as she giggled her words, “Harry! Okay… okay!” She wiggled away from him.

Harry sat up and looked down at her with a small smirk on his damp face. His eyes were hooded and he looked like he was ready for more, which she was not expecting. Figured he’d gotten what he needed and would have her on her way.

But instead, as he stood up she noticed that the strain at the front of his shorts was back with a vengeance. After pulling his shorts off, he pulled at her hand, helping her stand, and wrapped his fingers around hers as he led her to the bed.

She watched him walk in front of her, tall and well-built. A tush she could bite into. Would love to sketch and paint him in bronze, pink, olive, and brown. His thick dark hair, the lean neck holding up his big, yet handsome, head. Broad shoulders and a smooth back, strong, meaty thighs atop his sinewy lower legs. She could do his frame justice on a canvas. Add in a bit of gold and red, and plenty of dark, fine strokes to delineate his muscles. She’d use her script brush for the scattered hairs…

His mouth met hers and erased her thoughts and her gawking at his naked physique. The first thing that was apparent was the way he tasted. Like her pussy. She was not quite expecting it. She’d been out of the game like this for a bit and so kissing someone was already a fairly exciting prospect. But to have it be Harry Styles and then to have him taste like he’d just eaten her out? Now that was never something she’d had on her radar for sexual conquests. This felt like a bucket list item that would always just stay there, on the list. Except it was so far out of her realm of possibility that it never would have made it to such a list. But as it were, here she was, being pulled to his bed, his cock hard and long next to her, his mouth damp with her arousal, and then what?

“Take your skirt off for me, love.”

He didn’t ask her. He told her.

She knew that once her skirt was pulled off she’d be completely naked. In front of Harry Styles. With that body. But she complied. Bringing her skirt down over her hips and thighs until it fell into the floor in a small pile. She looked down over herself but tried not to think about the way she looked naked to him. He didn’t seem to mind her extra bits. In fact, he seemed to be rather enjoying her as she was. But she couldn’t help the way she felt so exposed.

He bent down to kiss her again, his fingers running into her hair with one hand and his other hand moving down her back and to her bottom, squishing her flesh and rutting his hips into hers.

Harry parted with a gasp and held her out so he could look at her, “You’re so fucking hot, Y/n. Climb on the bed for me.”

Her whole body was vibrating. The way he was looking at her had her nervous and vulnerable. She sat her bottom on the bed and watched him as she scooted into the middle of the mattress. Harry stood at the foot of the bed and watched her. He wasn’t shy about where he let his eyes roam. Right between her sticky thighs, over her belly up to her big tits.

“Lay back and spread your legs.”

She wasn’t used to being told what to do during sex. Her husband was the last man she slept with (years ago) and he wasn’t commanding in bed at all. This was all a first for her but it made her feel something she hadn’t really felt before. Being bossed around this way was exciting.

So she did as he said, putting her back on the comforter and hesitantly spreading her legs apart, bending at the knees and putting her feet flat onto the blanket.

She felt the bed shift as Harry climbed up next to her and he put his hands on her shins and looked at her shiny pussy.

His small moan vibrated through his chest as he looked the pretty girl in her eyes, “Can I fuck you? Is that all right?”

Y/n nodded quickly and shot her eyes down to Harry’s cock. She couldn’t believe he was so hard again. But she felt like that was probably somewhat of a compliment, “I don’t have any condoms, um-“

Harry crawled over her, his thighs spreading between hers, causing her legs to part further, “I have some. Are you on birth control?” He grazed his mouth over hers and as he pressed his lips to hers she felt his cock against her pelvis.

Panting her words and rolling her hips upward, “Yes I am.”

Harry’s lips slotted between Y/n’s as he settled his hips against hers, slowly putting himself through her labia to feel her first. Without having to put on a condom. He knew it was necessary but to be able to feel her warm against his skin, wetting it, the hair scratching it…

Y/n gasped when his cockhead nudged at her entrance before he slid up through her crease and it bumped into her clit. It was salacious. Almost as if he were testing the waters to not put on a condom. Her body and her mind were beginning to synch up into lust and want again. He’d just given her an orgasm but she was on her way to that point of no return once again.

And Harry never went without a condom with a one-night stand or a quick weekend fling. Of course, once the relationship was established there was no need but never before had he wanted so badly to enter a woman without really knowing if he could trust her or not. She said she was on birth control but how could he know?

Reluctantly he got off the bed to grab a condom from his suitcase and paused next to the bed to roll it down from his tip to his base.

Y/n watched. He was thick and long. The hair at his base was dark and masculine. He crawled back in between her legs and kissed the insides of her thighs and lapped upward quickly over her pussy one last time for good measure before positioning himself over her with his shaft in his hand, aiming himself at her cunt.

The room was lit with only one lamp and the bed was soft underneath her body. She couldn’t quite believe that she was in that moment, with Harry Styles above her. She hadn’t had sex with anyone since her husband. But here she was, with a man’s cock pressed at her entrance, waiting for her to finally give permission so he could push into her. So he could fuck her. So Harry Styles could fuck her.

Rolling her hips upward slightly and grasping onto his lats, “Please.”

Harry panted out a breath as he fit his cock into her, the initial entry needing a bit of force to squeeze his thick head past the threshold of her tight muscle. She gasped at the widening of her opening. It felt good to have a man poking into her rather than her silicon dildo for once.

She held onto his back for dear life as he doused himself in her. She was soft and thick and tight. It was incredible and warm. His strokes were long, slowly sinking in deeper and deeper with each rock inward.

“How’s that feel?” Harry’s cock was feeling very good, he hoped the noises she was making were a good sign. He thought it was but wanted her to be more vocal.

“Oh my god, Harry… fuck that feels good.” She purred.

Harry put his hands over her tits and continued fucking into her, his thighs giving him leverage for each plunge.

“Yeah? You like that? Tell me what you like, baby. What do you need?”

Her mind went blank as his long dick slicked in and out of her, spreading her, touching her deeply… What did she like? What did she need? It had been so long and never had she needed to vocalize it before.

“You, Harry,” She hissed when he bucked his hips inward, a deep thrust that sent her body surging upward from the force of his drive.

“Me? Oh baby, you have me, can’t you feel that?” His words came out pinched in ecstasy, “But talk to me. What do you like?”

Slowly moving a hand upward to her neck he wrapped his fingers around and squeezed only the slightest as he continued rolling his hips into her. He tweaked one of her nipples with his other hand and she gasped as her lips parted.

“What about this? You like when I do this?” He dug the pads of his fingers into the side of her neck before loosening but keeping his hand over her throat.

She nodded quickly, not expecting to have enjoyed it but she did, “Yes.”

“And this?” Rolling her nipple between his fingers and giving her a good hard jerk of his hips inward she grunted and nodded again.

“Good girl. You like it a little rough then. Let’s see what else we can learn…” he spoke as he gripped her neck solidly, but still giving her space to say no if she needed. He leaned over her, his face directly above, “Open your mouth.”

She complied and parted her lips.

“Tongue out.”

She jutted her pink tongue past her lips and Harry spat down into her mouth and then cooed at her as he watched his saliva drip down her tongue and into her throat, “I can tell you like that too. Is that right? Are you my dirty girl?”

Moaning and feeling her body floating away from her brain she nodded, “I’m your dirty girl.”

Harry sucked in a sharp breath at her words. It was just what he wanted to hear.

“You are, aren’t you? My dirty girl likes getting fucked nice and hard,” he punctuated his statement with a harsh thrust, “Choked, spit on… Fuck baby I think you might just be my favorite girl. What else do you like?”

She was officially stunned and gushing from his words. And his cock too of course. But the way he was talking to her and showing her what she liked made her feel like a new woman. It was an experience she wouldn’t soon forget.

“Aww… poor thing. Having a hard time speaking, dear? Need some help?”

She gurgled a moan and nodded. Her belly was on fire with how deep his cock was. Everything around her was fuzzy.

Suddenly Harry pulled out and grasped her hips, pushing her to roll to her front, “Hands and knees.”

She whined as she pushed herself upward, spreading her legs and pushing her knees and palms into the blanket below.

“Shh, shhh… no need to cry, baby. Daddy’s here.” It was a risk. To say it. To call himself Daddy. But it was his favorite. He loved being called Daddy when he was fucking anyone who was even just a little bit submissive. And Y/n was quite submissive but he had a feeling she didn’t even know it. Based on how confident and cheeky she was when he met her and when she got to his room earlier he knew he had the potential for a brat on his hands but for her to also be a bit submissive? And this pretty? He’d hit the jackpot.

He smacked her bottom, both sides with a solid whack causing her to jump and groan, her head lolling downward as she reared back, her pussy and ass on display for him.

“And you like that too don’t you pretty girl?”

She nodded her head and moved her hips back again, most likely searching for his cock to fit itself back into her but he needed her to start talking a little more.

“I knew you would. But I need to hear your words my lovely little thing. Can you talk to me? Do you want more spankings? Or do you want something else?” He grinned as he squished the plump flesh of her thick bottom, the view something he’d sear into his memory and bring with him on tour until he could have her again. He knew he’d want to see her again after this.

“Fffuck…” she moaned softly. She didn’t know what she wanted. She just wanted whatever he was doing to continue. She was absolutely loving it. And the Daddy thing? She had never called anyone Daddy before. Not even her own dad. It would need to grow on her.

Harry grasped the base of his shaft and dragged his tip through her folds gently, up and down, pressing himself at her center and she pushed back to make him go in but he backed away, smacking her bum again and making her jolt.

“Ah, ah, ah… Tell me, baby. Tell me what you want. I need to hear it from those pretty lips.”

Y/n swallowed as her heart raced and not just from how turned on she was. From nerves. She was surprised by the reaction he was pulling out of her. But she did want a couple of things and there was something in how dominant he was being that made her feel like she needed to comply.

“Fuck me and spank me. Please.”

Harry smiled and slid his cockhead into her folds again, “Yeah? I love it when you say please. Makes me very happy. I’ll give you what you want. But I want something from you too, Y/n.”

Harry watched as his tip parted her shiny crease as he pushed upward, spreading her arousal all around.

When she stayed silent Harry brought his free palm down to her bottom, the smack sounding in the room, “Well aren’t you going to ask what I want?”

She gasped and took a breath, “Sorry. What do you want?” Her words were coming out breathy and light.

“I need you to keep telling me if you like something. And ask me if there’s something else you want. Understood?”

“Yes.” She nodded her head and bit her lip, waiting for him to slip inside again.

Harry removed his palm from her bottom and gathered her hair between his fingers and pulled her head up gently, “Can you guess what else I want? What else makes Daddy really happy?”

Shaking her head and peeping the word no Harry leaned in to speak into her ear, “I just gave you a hint little girl. Let’s see if you can use that brain of yours to figure out what I like.”

Her eyes fluttered at the feel of his breath at the back of her ear and his fingers pulling at her hair. It wasn’t registering to her what he wanted. He gave her a hint?

“Come on… I know you can figure this one out. It’s not that hard. Or are you kind of dumb when my cock is right here, nudging into you? Hmm?” He pushed in the smallest bit, allowing his tip to tuck into her for a moment before bringing it back out.

She whined and licked her lips. It was true that it was hard to think when he was handling her the way he was.

“Sorry. I’m not sure.”

Harry’s dark baritone vibrated off her ear as he spoke, “S’okay. We’ll take our time til you figure it all out. Do you want Daddy’s cock?”

She nodded quickly and Harry chuckled as he spoke, “Yeah? Well then tell me, dear, who’s cock do you want?” He nudged in again, prodding her crease and pushing just into her opening. It was taking all of his resolve not to just hammer into her at that point.

But hearing him say that, it clicked. She knew what he wanted, “Yours, Daddy.”

It felt odd coming out of her mouth. She wasn’t sure if she liked it but the moment he stuffed her again with his large cock she keened and moaned and knew that he deserved to be called Daddy if that’s what he wanted. He gave her what she wanted so she’d give him what he wanted.

“Yes… good girl. I knew you could do it, baby,” Harry spoke through gritted teeth when he sunk in to the hilt. He pulled back and then fucked into her quickly. His pace soon became harsh as he let go of her hair and pounded her from behind. Smacking her bottom with his palm every few strokes her flesh grew red slowly and her moans grew louder.

“Oh! Yess! Ffffuck!” Her body was rocked forward at each strike of his hips into hers. The sound of skin thudding wetly and smacks of his hand to her flesh were loud in the room.

Harry held onto her hips, squeezing tightly as he gave her bottom a break from the strikes.

“My dick is coated in your cream. Ffuuck little girl. Goddamn best girl I’ve had. Can you rub your sweet little pussy for me? Put your fingers where you need them. Show Daddy you’re a good girl.”

Harry’s deep voice and the sound of his fat cock penetrating her wet hole were egging her on as she brought her hand between her legs to get herself closer to the edge as she rubbed her clit.

His engorged cock twitched when he felt her fingers brush against his balls as he thumped into her over and over again.

She began to see stars as she sputtered inarticulate words. Harry was going in hard but he felt so good inside of her. The way he was holding her hips kept her grounded as his balls whacked into her on each thrust. She could feel how wet his scrotum was from her arousal soaking him.

But then her eyes popped open and her whining and choked moans halted when he released one of her hips and put his fingers over her bum. On her anus. She hadn’t expected it.

Harry slowed his movements as he spoke, “Oh did that surprise you? How am I supposed to keep my hands off your tiny hole here,” he rubbed it as he spoke, still fucking into her deeply but slowly now, “when she’s looking directly up at me all empty and needy?”

She felt liquid drip over her bottom when Harry spit down onto her puckered hole and rub his saliva around, “Can I? Just a finger. It’s going to feel so good.”

Y/n panted and nodded, “Okay.”

Never once had she done anything sexual with her bottom. She’d never played with herself there, nor considered having anyone do it for her either. Her husband had certainly never tried.

More spit was rubbed over the hole and she felt Harry’s finger slowly push in as she continued rubbing her button and Harry continued filling her cunt with his heavy cock. It felt odd. Not like being fingered in her pussy. A very different sensation but it wasn’t bad. Well, she’d say that it was actually pretty good in combination with everything else.

“Relax for me. Let me make you feel good.” His finger fucked into her ass as he slowly began to increase the tempo of his hips.

“Ahh!” She squeaked out as he dipped into her cervix and she clenched over his cock and his finger at the ache.

“S’okay. M’cock’s getting in there deep, isn’t it? Do you want me to stop?”

Shaking her head she spoke with her words coming out in punches between his thrusts, “Please! Don’t stop! Need you!”

She did need him. Needed him to keep doing what he was doing. Needed his dirty words, his big cock, and his long fingers. She was going to come if he continued.

Harry panted and groaned at what he was seeing and feeling. Not only was she making him feel so good, but watching her pussy being fucked and her ass being fingered was a dream.

He slid his finger in and out gently and he could tell that she was starting to relax a little. A good sign. He’d love to fuck her bottom one day. Get her nice and open and just wreck all of her holes.

Harry’s long, fast strokes into her pussy were devasting her insides. She knew she’d be limping the next day but that thought only excited her.

Applying just the right amount of pressure to her clit as she rubbed, feeling Harry’s finger slipping in and out of her, and with the way his cock was working into her so deep she could no longer stop her body from shaking and her lungs from gasping for air loudly.

Harry felt her walls squeeze and pulse around him as he continued rolling his hips into her steadily, fucking her through her orgasm, her moans and gasps, her fingers at her clit, and her thighs shaking… he smiled as he threw his head back to feel it. To feel her in her orgasm. Her soft insides, wet, and contracting around him.

“Fuck, baby… it’s that good is it?” Harry looked down at the scene below. Absolutely filthy. His wide cock parted her fluttering pussy as it gripped him tight. Her arousal was slathered over him.

As she began to loosen up and he could tell she was done he gently pulled out, both his cock and his finger, “Good girl. Can you lie on your back? I’m almost there. Just need a little more. Want to make you come one more time.”

Y/n gulped and adjusted herself onto her back, “I’m not sure I can come again.”

Harry climbed over her and put his palms over her tits again, “You’ll come again.”

She watched him as he allowed his gaze to look over her body. She really wished he wouldn’t look too closely like he was. She felt a bit embarrassed. Being chubby was always something she contended with for as long as she could remember. As confident as she conveyed herself in her day-to-day, the truth was that once her clothes came off she felt well below average.

Harry gently brushed his fingers along her cheekbone and slowly pushed back in, the front of his thighs pressed into the back of hers.

The feel of him re-entering her was sharp and achy. He’d already done quite a number on her. She was positive she wouldn’t have another orgasm. Impossible.

“I love how you feel. Fuck, baby.”

He angled himself so he was pushing down into her, splitting her pussy and pressing deeply.

“Ahh!” She hadn’t expected the way it would feel when he pushed her hips upward and fucked down into her. It was tight and he was long and it pinched the smallest bit but when she looked at his face she saw ecstasy. He was definitely close.

“So tight isn’t it? Taking me so good, Y/n. Wanna feel you come once more. Just squeezing the fuck out of me again so when I come I can feel you milking me, sucking my dick into your cunt, begging for my come.”

Y/n moaned at the words. It was hot. Harry’s strong body and his roughness, and the way he spoke were so hot.

He moved his hand from her cheek down to her neck and softly squeezed, “It’s so messy down there sweet girl. Just drenching me. Can you hear that?” His question was punctuated by the noises their bodies made together. His lengthy prick pushing into her and dragging back to the tip before impaling her again. Over and over. The slick sounds of his condom coated in her, spreading her open. Her body felt it all. She had been so sensitive after her orgasm and now her insides were aching in delight. The feel of him wide and thick inside and then deep as he dipped all the way in sent zips and currents through her body.

Harry enjoyed the way his body felt inside of her. It was lavish and soft and warm and she was so wet for him, so needy. Her big tits were swaying as he thrust deep and her nipples were peaked. He loved how she looked with his hand over her throat. He wanted to do so much more. Preferred it far rougher but this was their first, and perhaps only time. He didn’t generally enjoy scaring them off on night one. A few rounds on separate occasions and he’d show what he was really into. He hoped this wouldn’t be their last time. He felt like she’d enjoy what he was into. Felt like she might be too. She liked to be choked a little. She called him Daddy even which was making him lose his mind. She’d be into the idea of playing into his breeding kink too he bet.

And that thought sent him so deep into his fantasy he began to feel his orgasm swell into his balls. Just imagining her plush body and wide hips taking him like he needed. He needed to fuck a lot. He normally masturbated about twice a day when he didn’t have someone to come inside of. But when he was in a steady relationship he’d drain his cock all day long when there was time for it.

He could just see Y/n’s cunt dripping with his come and he’d make her lie flat and keep it inside of her so it would soak into her. The idea that she could get pregnant by him. Fill her with his sperm and make her body grow thicker and softer with his babies. Her tits would swell and engorge.

But that was just a fantasy. Now he was fucking so hard and so deep into the hottest woman he’d had in a long time. Her plump hips and soft pussy were begging him for more. Even though she insisted she couldn’t come again, he could already tell she was getting even slicker for him. Her body preparing for her third orgasm. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head and her mouth was wide open.

“Y’gonna come for me, little girl. Come on Daddy’s cock. You can do it. I know you can. Can feel you fluttering around me already. So needy for more aren’t you?”

The words she wanted to say were yes and don’t stop, please! But instead, she gurgled and choked her moans when his pelvis rubbed over hers, offering her clit the friction needed. A few more of his harsh strokes and the way their bodies connected, rubbing and pushing into one another had her button being worked just like she wanted.

Harry coughed out a laugh but then groaned when he felt her begin to shake, “Oh, baby. Ffuck… thought you said you couldn’t come again? Hm? Look at that…” his strokes were long and deep as he felt her body give way to another orgasm. Her spasming cunt squeezed his cock deliciously and Harry pumped himself into her so she could come properly while getting railed and having her clit stimulated all at once.

And just as she was beginning to relax Harry finally released. He choked out a moan and stilled his hips, pushing in so his cockhead was pressing deep into her, wishing he was coating her insides, filling her with her sperm. But as it was, this was not bad either. In fact, even with the stupid condom, it was really good. The best. He hissed as his cock throbbed inside of her, his long dick pumping his come out to the tip and into the condom.

She felt him twitching inside of her as his orgasm shot through his cock. He was a glorious sight to behold above her. His panted breaths and mouth dropped open as ecstasy took over his features. Her pussy was doing that to him. It made her smile as he stilled his hips and let out a low rumble. She did that to him. She’d made him come twice in one night. She made Harry Styles have two orgasms and he gave her three. Unheard of. Absolutely insane.

Her chest was still rising and falling heavily as Harry opened his eyes and looked down at her. She felt it, the way he looked at her. How connected they were. This wasn’t just sex. Or maybe it was, she really wouldn’t know because she’d been out of the game for some time. Perhaps this was just how he was with everyone he fucked. Made them dreamy and drowsy and feel things deeply for him. His charm was off the charts. Perhaps it was just that. Maybe nothing more.

Harry leaned down kissed the edge of her mouth and then pressed his lips firmly over hers, his cock still half-hard inside of her. He could get used to this. She was so open with him and somehow they just worked together. And even though this was all physical, Harry couldn’t help but wonder if this connection went beyond the physical. He did like her. A lot. Already. But that was how he was. He’d fall in love and then fall out of it just as quickly. He had to be careful. Not to hurt himself. Not to hurt her. He gazed down at her with a tired smile.

“Stay the night. Want you again in the morning. Would like to have you here with me in bed. Keep me warm.”

She swallowed and her heart thrashed in her chest. He was too good. This man could make anyone fall in love. She knew it. But she wasn’t going to say no. She likely would never have the chance with him again. And if the following morning was anything like what had just happened, well, she quickly found herself nodding, “Yes. Okay.”

. . .

She felt her thighs tingling and her hips were aching when she squinted her eyes open. She couldn’t read the clock on the table next to the bed. Her vision was blurry but the sun was peeking through the cracks of the curtains. It was morning. And the only reason she’d woken up was because Harry was lying behind her. He was moving the slightest with his chest pressed against her back and his breath on her neck.

She lifted her head and Harry perked up when he realized she was awake, “Good thing you’re awake. Was getting lonely here,” he spoke as he softly grazed his hand up over her tummy and then indulgently squeezed at her breast.

She swallowed and croaked out her words, “I would have slept longer I think.”

“You can go back to sleep if you really want,” he suddenly shifted and rutted into her bottom and it was then that she felt his stiff cock pressing into her. She wasn’t sure she was ready for more of him, “Um… I’m a little sore-“

“Yeah? Did I go too hard for you last night?” Harry continued pushing his cock into her cheeks. They were both naked so the sensation of his warm, big, prick pushing into her plump flesh was quite salacious.

“I actually loved it. Never thought I’d like anything like that…”

“Mmm… loved it you say? And you’re sure you’re too sore for one more? I can go in gently and make you come again. One more for the road?” He kissed her neck as he continued humping her. His cock was already leaking he was so hard for her, so needy for her pussy again.

Harry was quite convincing. And she was already getting turned on by the way he was pressing into her and kissing her neck. And he wanted her again?

“Well, if you can be gentle then I think I’d like that.”

Harry smiled into her neck and massaged her breast in gratitude before bringing his hand down to her hip and pulling at her so he could see her pussy lips peeking out between the back of her thighs when he backed up just a bit and stroked his cock through her soft labia.

“You’re already wet for me, baby. So needy for Daddy’s cock even when she’s sore. Gonna take good care of you okay?”

Pressing his tip to her entrance he groaned when he realized he needed a condom. He felt like soon enough, if she wanted to stick around, they’d forgo the safety measure. He wanted so badly to fuck her raw but it was too soon, “Fuck. I need to grab a condom. Stay right here.”

Harry was back behind her in only a handful of moments. She’d already begun rubbing her clit in preparation for him. She wanted to make sure she was fully aroused and ready for his wide cock.

“Good girl. Keep rubbing yourself like that. See how juicy you are already? Perfect…” he nearly purred as he pushed into her tight muscle. It was especially taut as he snapped forward and his wide crown finally popped into her. Once he had the swollen tip inside of her he pushed in until he was met with a bit of resistance. She was extra sensitive and snug but the sensation was incredible as her soft walls squeezed around him, the deeper he got the tighter it felt.

He was slow and gentle just like he said he’d be. He massaged her tit and kissed her neck and her jaw as he slowly rolled his hips into her.

“S’like fucking an angel. Your pussy is so goddamn perfect, baby. M’obessessed. Your body,” he pinched her nipple, “your tits, your lips,” each part he commented on he fucked inward with a slightly harder push, just to make his point as he lowered his hand down the curve of her waist to her hip, “your fine ass. All so perfect.”

Y/n breathed his words in as his cock drove into her deep, filling her so fully and perfectly. Those things had never been said to her before. Not in that way. She slipped her fingers back and forth over her clit and the tips of her fingers were grazing his cock as he fucked into her slowly, deeply. Everything was wet and perfect. He was right. This did feel perfect. Felt better than any other fucking ever. Harry was so good in bed. He hit all her spots (mentally and physically).

“I need it. Harry, I need it so bad,” she surprised herself as she moaned the words.

But suddenly Harry stopped, pushing his cock as deep as it could get and he grabbed her chin and turned her head so she could see him from her peripheral, “Call me Daddy when I’m fucking you. Be a good girl and I’ll let you come again.”

Why did she find that so hot? So fucking appealing? She had no idea. It was like something had been turned on inside of her that she had no clue was lying there beneath the surface. Maybe it was just Harry. But whatever it was she’d be fantasizing about this and needing this dominance in bed from any future partners.

“Sorry. Yes, Daddy. I’ll be a good girl.”

Harry groaned and released her chin and began to pump into her plump folds and she sped up her fingers as he spoke into her ear, “Say it again. Say you need me.”

She swallowed and her face was boiling hot as Harry’s long cock pressed into her guts and then backed out, punching her walls apart with each plunge, “I… fuck… yesss! I need you, Daddy. Please…”

Harry choked out a groan and smacked her bottom, “God I’m gonna imagine those words coming from your mouth every night. Say it again. Louder. Come on baby…”

Her voice was shaky like her thighs as her brain began to unravel and her orgasm started to spring out from her center, “I need you, Daddy! I’m your good girl!” She moaned as loudly as possible and Harry smiled with his cock happily coated in her.

Just then a knock came to the door, “Mr. Styles?” Someone spoke from behind the wood.

“Fuck,” Harry spoke lowly. He never stopped rolling his hips into hers as he shouted, “I’m busy!”

“Sorry to bother you. But we’ve been trying to call you all morning. We have a package delivery for you from the Secrist Gallery. Shall we just leave it out here?”

Everything paused. Y/n craned her neck to look at Harry and when their eyes met she saw his dark pupils and wet pink lips, messy hair. He was an angel, grinning at her, “Just leave it out there. I’ll be out soon.”

“Secrist Gallery? Did you-“

Harry pushed his mouth to hers and began to thrust again, speaking against her lips, “Keep rubbing that pussy for Daddy. It’s time to come. Need you to come.”

Her half-melted brain complied and as Harry increased his pace their bodies began to slap together, wet noises coming from them on each stroke. Harry kept his tongue in her mouth and his fingers pinching her nipple as they writhed together.

She felt him slicing into her, his cock suddenly harder than steel inside of her and her fingers slippery over her clit. He was shaking, holding back his release and his kisses became sloppy, wet, wide-open-mouthed, tongue all over her lips and inside of her mouth.

She inhaled sharply when the dam broke. She moaned into his mouth and he moaned into hers as they both came at the same time, she pushed against him to get him deeper inside and he stuffed himself into the hilt, his balls thick and bursting tucked up against her as he spilled into his condom. Her vision went dark and her ears began to ring as Harry continued to kiss her, lick her, suck the life out of her.

It was insane how hard she came. She had never had a man so effortlessly work her up and make her come like Harry had. Wave after wave of electricity zipped through her body as she pulsed and sucked his cock in, gripping around him.

Eventually, they stopped moving and began to breathe again. Heavy pants and soft coos fell from their lips. The afterglow was incredible. Harry hadn’t felt it like that before. And he hated that he had to leave. That he needed to send her off and go away to his next destination.

When her brain began to fit itself back together inside of her skull she turned again to look at him as he slid out, “Did you buy a painting? Of mine?”

Harry rolled onto his back and smirked at her, “I did.”

She laughed and smacked his chest, “Which one? Why didn’t you say anything? How did you do it? I didn’t see you at the gallery.”

Harry sat up and pulled at Y/n’s arm, needing her closer, “I had one of my assistants go and take a photo of each one. I picked the one I liked the most. You named the piece The Lonely Dark. Love it. I loved a lot of them. But figured for now just one will do since I’ve got to have it shipped to LA.

The Lonely Dark. A sort of nod to her husband. What had been and the way she felt at night when she was alone with no one. She swallowed and Harry kissed her cheek, “Is it okay that I bought one? Is that weird?”

Y/n laughed and shook her head, “No. I’m flattered that Harry Styles wanted to buy a painting of mine. I’m gonna tell everyone that you own one of my pieces now.”

“Yeah? Maybe I’ll invite you to my house in LA when I get back to the States after the next leg of my tour so you can see where I’ve hung it.”

She pushed at him in jest, “Yeah right. Don’t tease. You don’t actually want me at your private home.”

Harry grabbed her hand and brought it up to his chest with a frown on his face, “Why wouldn’t I?”

Shaking her head she blinked her eyes, “Because. You’re Harry Styles. I’m some girl from the Midwest who paints. I’m just saying, don’t say things like that when you don’t mean it.”

“But I meant it. I really like you, Y/n. I want to see you again.”

It was unexpected. She didn’t imagine he’d actually be inviting her to his home or telling her he wanted to see her again. But she was so stunned by his admission that she couldn’t think of anything to say except, “Well then you’re gonna need to give me your number.”

Chapter 2

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marthawrites · 7 months

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"don't shut me out. please"

I hope it is not too late for me to join the celebration ☺️ Congratulations! 💕👏🏼

Thank you sooososo much! You are such a gem and I appreciate all of your fandom love more than you know! I did my best to include a (one shot appropriate) slow burn, angst, and a happy ending. I hope you enjoy this ride MWAH!

Summer's End, Autumn's Beginning

Modern Aemond Targaryen x fem reader

Word Count: 6.3k+

About: A chance encounter with Aemond leads to a whirlwind of emotions. Over the next few months you both fail, in yourselves and in the relationship, and learn from the mistakes.

Includes: Chance encounter, age difference (references to Aemond x Alys) mentions of cheating, allusions to cheating, angst, second chance romance, and smut featuring vaginal fingering, possessive sex, and unprotected protected vaginal sex

Note: Hello lovely reader! This is the longest piece I've wrote in quite awhile - whew! I also feel like it's one of the more ambitious one-shot fics I've worked on/completed. Reader is non-descript. As always, please, enjoy!

There were two things tied for number one on your five-year goal list.

First, be out of your city apartment (preferably as a home owner and not a renter)

Second, have a dog.

They went hand in hand. One couldn’t happen without the other. So, it was a hard tie and you weren’t willing to budge on either. Until then, to take the edge off your self-proclaimed animal loneliness, you volunteered at a local shelter two nights a week. Mondays and Wednesdays.

While your day job wasn’t a doctor, lawyer, or professional athlete – ones that your family pushed you to have while growing up – it still paid decently and had the potential for career advancement. And! You were able to live on your own. Not having a roommate was worth the dry job description. Besides, your boss was fair and most of your co-workers were friendly; a win win, really.

Tonight, Monday, you finished your shift, went home to change, then headed out to the shelter. Even though it was all volunteer hours you valued punctuality and did your best to get there around the same time each night.

“Hey! You made it!” Arryk called out to you when you stepped inside the building. Chaos sparked all around. He did a great job running and maintaining the schedule, and with the help of volunteers alongside regular staff, it was, more often than not, smooth sailing. Tonight, however, it appeared quite the opposite.

“Hey! Yeah, a few minutes later than usual, sorry!” You said as you walked over to him.

He waved a hand brushing off your apology. “No worries. We had a few people call in today. So, since being short staffed we’re definitely running behind. I know you normally help bathe the dogs with Baela tonight, but can I ask you to do something else instead?” He winced slightly with his question, unsure of your answer. He knew how much you loved Baela and cleaning the dogs!

You squinted at him suspiciously. “Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked, crossing your arms. “You know I won’t administer shots. If I could get over my fear of needles I’d be a veterinarian and not an office worker like I am!” You scrunched your brows before one, all on its own accord, arched up dubiously.

“Ha!” He laughed. “No no no, I know. We have six dogs that need walking tonight. And I don’t think Targaryen can handle all of ‘em.”

“Helaena? She’s back?” You asked, eyes bright with surprise.

“She’s still away for that college trip. It’s her younger brother, Aemond. Have you met him before?”

You’d heard Helaena talk about him, of course, but you’d never met him. Shaking your head, you peered around the shelter looking for anyone else with the Targaryen tell-tale silver-blonde hair. No one caught your eye. “I haven’t. But, I don’t mind.”

“You are a lifesaver!” He praised. “He’s down the west hall getting them ready. Depending on how long you're here afterward, there might be another couple who could use a second walk. Terriers. You know how they are.”

“Happy to help, Arryk!” He was a good guy. You’d always liked him.

“Aemond’s tall, towheaded as the rest of his family, and has an eyepatch. You can’t miss him.” And with that Cargyll switched tasks and got right back to work.

Turning and walking down the west hall, you were happy to say, chaos began to fizzle out. This hall had the larger dogs; no wonder Aemond wouldn’t be able to walk all six at once. Even with the slow turn of summer to autumn sunset wouldn’t be for another three hours. Assuming all went well you’d be able to walk the second batch of dogs, too.

Down the aisle were five opened doors with each respective dog ready for their walk. Their leashes were hooked onto the door so they couldn’t run amuck. You patted and scratched them, earning yourself more wagging tails, a few happy barks, and some excited licks. Looking to the end of the hall you saw someone who you assumed was your evening walking partner. He was kneeling, talking soothingly to a great big senior hound, while clasping the final buckle of their harness. “Hello, uh-, Aemond?” You called out feeling slightly self-conscious.

Still kneeling, he turned his head to look up at you. Any softness in his single eye quickly hardened to match the rest of his sharp features. “Hey,” he said, caught off guard by your presence; someone he’d never seen calling him out by name. “Is there something I can help you with?” Slowly, in a single fluid motion, he stood up and the aged dog kept his eyes on him the whole time, panting happily.

Whoa. He was tall. And, at first sight, incredibly good looking: dressed in casual black clothes, long silver hair tied into a braid, with a scar along the left side of his face that you had to tell yourself not to stare at. His mouth was a unique shape, too, and you weren’t sure if he was merely waiting for a response or if he was smirking the tiniest pout at you. “Hi,” you said again with a nervous laugh. You told him your name. “Arryk sent me. Said you could use some help with the walk tonight?” ‘Play it cool, dummy. He’s really handsome, so what? He could be a huge asshole. Play. It. Cool,’ your inner voice said.

Did he have a mechanical eye beneath his patch? The way he looked at you, then, made you feel like he read your thoughts. “Ah. I could certainly use the help,” he said smoothly with a small curve of lip, turning his attention to the three dogs at the front of the hallway. “Wanna take those three?” He asked, looping the big dog’s leash around his wrist. “I mean, you can have any of them as long as I get this guy. He’s my favorite.”

Your pulse raced a little too fast. Clearing your throat, you smiled in an attempt to ease the butterflies in your belly. “I don’t mind. Why is he your favorite?” You turned and began to unclasp leashes from their doors; happy tips and taps of claws growing louder at the pups’ excitement.

“Reminds me of my girl at home,” Aemond replied, adoration clear in his voice. “Big and old, a little stinky, a little slobbery. The best kind, really.”

“Aw, that’s very sweet. I don’t have any pets. I get my fix here,” you laughed. Holding all three dogs in one hand, you pulled the door open with the other. Except, it didn’t open. On instinct, you tried again hoping Aemond didn’t notice.

He strode up next to you with the rest of the dogs in tow, smirking at you for real this time, as he said, “it’s a push door.”

You knew it was a push door. Fuck. He gave you a knowing glance over his shoulder as he walked out, waiting for you to follow along.

II.

You didn’t see Aemond on Wednesday and you couldn’t deny your disappointment when you left for the night. Come to find out you two had been volunteering at the same place for months – only on different days. He tended to be there Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Monday had been a chance encounter. One you couldn’t shake out of your head.

Before leaving tonight, however, you took a selfie with Aemond’s favorite old hound. You’d exchanged numbers but hadn’t an excuse to strike up a conversation. Yet. Now, with the selfie as an excuse, you opened a fresh text thread and sent him the photo along with:

Someone missed you tonight!

While buckling up in your car and getting ready to reverse out of your parking spot, your phone dinged with an incoming message:

Very cute. Will you be there on Monday? Maybe Cargyll will assign up walking duties again.

Your belly flipped. Truthfully, you weren’t expecting him to message back – especially so quickly. Before you could stop yourself you sent back:

Yup! See you then?

And he sent:

I’ll find another excuse to be there.

Feeling a little bold, you replied:

Excited to see you again! You have these adorable dimples when you smile. Maybe I’ll see those, too?

When nothing came through for a few minutes, you feared you might have gone too far. It was just a little innocent flirting, right? Nothing bad? And then:

Maybe so. See you Monday.

Smiling, you didn’t send anything back. It’d be your luck to say something dumb and rub him the wrong way.

During your first walk, as soon as the ice broke, you both clicked really well. Hopefully – just maybe – things would flow like that again. The connection you felt, something akin to a liveware, couldn’t have been one-sided. He had to feel a spark of it, too; even if just a little.

You drove home, made dinner while facetiming one of your friends from uni, and when she asked about the spark in your eye you told her about your friend Helaena’s younger brother.

III.

“I seriously cannot believe you’ve never seen The Lord of the Rings. The Hobbit trilogy was a little silly, but watchable. But you haven’t even seen that?” Aemond asked clearly aghast at your lack of understanding his reference.

Tonight, you both got walking duty again and neither of you complained. And, this time, he regarded you with a softer look in his eye than his original sharp glance. He was dressed in dark casuals again and you hated (loved?) how good he made them look. His hair was in a bun and his eyepatch stayed firmly in place. You wanted to ask him about it but weren’t sure if you should try it yet. Instead, you rolled your eyes and laughed. “You’re making it sound better and better the more you talk about it.”

“That’s because it’s the best.” The dogs pulled both of you along and you had to walk brisker than normal to keep up with them and Aemond’s longer legs. He seemed unaffected by it.

“So, you recommend I watch it?” You asked playfully.

“No,” he started, very serious. “I recommend you read it first and then watch the movies.”

If you had more breath in your lungs you’d have giggled – not laughed, but giggled. Something about the way he said it, and the totally serious look on his face, tickled you. “Will you watch them with me?”

The question appeared to catch Aemond off guard. He looked at you, lingering over your pinkened cheeks and smirking lips, before finally making it back to your eyes. Just when he opened his mouth to say something in reply, a completely unrelated thing stole his attention. Sometime during your bantering you’d made it back to the shelter, and a tall dark-haired woman called out, “there’s my sweet Aemond. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you and you haven’t been answering your phone.”

If you thought Aemond attractive, this woman made him look like any regular ol' Joe. She was elegant, warmed by a late summer tan, and had raven dark hair cascading down her back; truly a vision of enchantment. When she sauntered to him and pressed her body to his, you felt like a voyeur watching the embrace.

“Alys,” Aemond breathed quietly. “What do you want?”

“You know what I want,” she answered as she trailed manicured fingers across the front of his chest.

She had a timeless look to her, the kind that concealed her age. She could have been anywhere from twenty-five to fifty, you thought. You really hadn’t a clue. All you knew, now, is that you should finish your task alone.

Aemond’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. Posture tense. “I told you I was busy tonight–”

Before you could stop yourself you cut him off with an awkward wave. “See you later, Aemond.” And, with that, you walked inside before you overheard anything else they might be saying to each other. Turning to glance over your shoulder one last time, you were met with a look of deliberate triumph from Alys; she had the greenest eye you’d ever seen.

It was haunting.

Driving home, you felt stupid. Aemond was just a guy you just met. It was silly to think someone like him would be single and even sillier to think your innocent flirtations would be working on him. You had half a mind to delete his number. Or, at the very least to delete the short message thread of your texts.

Instead of making dinner like you normally did, you called in delivery and facetimed with your friend as you waited. She immediately knew something was off and you were quick to tell her everything that happened.

Twenty minutes passed and you were starting to feel better. It’s not like you two hooked up or even kissed. It was just a chance meeting with playful banter. Nothing to get shook up about. “Food’s here. Thanks for listening to me. I’ll talk to you later. Love you!” You said as you got up to answer the door.

When all else failed, your favorite food could always make you feel better.

Turning the tv on and sitting down amongst your couch pillows and blankets, you were getting ready to dig in when your phone rang.

Aemond.

Your insides did a weird flip and hunger disappeared entirely from your mind and belly. Should you answer? Let it go to voicemail? Turn the stupid thing off and completely ignore him? Right before the final ring, you decided. “Hello?”

“Hey,” he said, immediately sounding relieved. “I’m sorry about that. I wasn’t yet ready to call it a night with you.”

“It’s no biggie,” you replied. Lying. “I didn’t want to interrupt anything–,” you paused, searching for something else to say to soften the edge of your voice, “–the dogs were getting tired anyway.” God. It sounded stupid even to your own ears.

Aemond sighed through the phone. You wondered if he slid his hand down his face or through his hair. It sounded like he did. “No. Alys is… it’s complicated. She’s my ex and–”

“ –you don’t have to explain anything to me,” you said, cutting him off. “Really. It’s fine.” Despite it being a phone call, you tried to smile as if it would blunt the dismissal of your tone.

“I mean it,” he said. “I really wasn’t ready to say bye yet. What do you say you skip your regular Wednesday night plans and grab a milkshake or something with me?”

Your insides flipped again but for an entirely different reason this time. You knew it: the sparks definitely weren’t one sided. The firm set of Aemond’s jaw and the rigidness of his shoulders flashed once more in your mind’s eye. Since your break up with your long-term boyfriend you’d been on a few dates, but none of them lead to anything worthwhile. With how you and Aemond clicked, however? This date might lead to something more than a hook-up (or, attempt at a hook-up. Some men truly had no game). “Are you sure…?” You asked after a moment. “You and Alys looked pretty comfortable–,”

“ –I’m sure,” it was his turn to cut you off.

“Alright then. Let’s do it.”

IV.

It'd been two months since your first milkshake date with Aemond – the first of many dates. It was a guilty pleasure of yours and apparently one of his, too!

Your first kiss, first time meeting his elder dog, Vhagar, and first time meeting his family were all memories you cherished.

The more you learned about Aemond’s relationship with Alys, the more you understood it "complicated". Including Targaryen drama, Targaryen business, and a list of other things you had a hard time following. It didn’t matter anymore, though, Aemond reassured you. Things were done between them and he only wanted you; proving it to you with fingers and mouth until you begged for a break.

A lesson you learned from your last relationship – one Aemond learned from his, too – was to be careful with love. As much as you genuinely enjoyed him and his company, a barrier stood between you that neither dared yet to cross.

Love.

Each day you fell for him a little more; you were scared to admit it. The scar of heartbreak healed slowly. Could you truly trust Aemond with that part of yourself? With the very essence of your heart? It’d been two months and you still weren’t entirely sure.

If he felt the same he’d say something, right?

Autumn blanketed the lands with brisk air, rainy days, and rolling fog. As days grew short and nights long, you and Aemond spent more time at your apartment or his quarter at the Targaryen estate. Your apartment was the clear favorite. Living alone had its perks: never having to worry about nosy family or friends who showed up unannounced.

And thank God you didn’t live with anyone else.

"Mmh… fuck, baby, I've been thinking about this all day. I can't get enough of you. Let me make my girl feel good," he said against your mouth as one of his hands moved up the inside of your thigh. "Are you wet already? I bet you are," he chuckled, fingertips tracing your slit. "Mmm… I knew it. Your clit is sooo needy, isn't it?"

Shit. Those hushed words, the glint in his eye, his rasped tone… you happily indulged him in whatever way he wanted. And him, you. Fingers, mouth, cock, he quickly learned what tricks made you melt.

As much as he loved having you ride him, or bending you over, his absolute favorite was fucking you into the mattress. You sprawled out beneath him, hair messy and fanned out around your head, legs wrapped tight around his waist, fingernails on his body… he could never get enough of your blushed face beneath him, trembling and arching as he pushed you to peak after peak.

Your sheets had never been cleaned so often in your entire life.

It was particularly rainy today and you were both finished with everything on your to-do list. Aemond sat on the floor in front of you as you lounged in your overstuffed chair. You told him you'd read the Lord of the Rings as long as he read it to you. He didn't even pretend to be annoyed by your bargain. He read to you from his own collection, claiming he liked the worn feeling of the pages better than a new book's pages.

Like any proper reader Aemond started with The Hobbit. You enjoyed it more than you thought you would. More so than the story, however, you enjoyed him reading aloud to you – he had the loveliest voice. You were about half way through The Fellowship of the Ring and the story continued to get better.

But, all afternoon, Aemond's phone never stopped going off. It seemed like every few minutes it would ping with some kind of notification. "Who's blowing you up?" You asked, annoyance creeping into your tone.

Stopping mid sentence, he looked. "Alys," he sighed as he scrolled through the various messages.

You tried to not look over his shoulder to the texts. You really did. But there was something about Aemond's shift in posture, and the air around him, that made you suspicious. "What's going on?" You asked in your best nonchalant manner.

"She's asking if I have some of her clothes at my place still," he answered and you swore you saw pink spread atop his cheeks.

That caught you off guard. "Why would she have clothes–"

And whatever else you were going to say was abruptly cut off.

There, in a new string of messages, was the single text line, "I miss you, baby boy," followed by at least three photographs of Alys in lingerie and various stages of undress.

"What the fuck Aemond!?" You asked, anger and hurt instantly warming your blood. "What the hell were those? Are you fucking joking?"

"I have no idea why she sent–"

" –is that why she left clothes at your place? Couldn't let her go for real? Jesus Christ I can't believe you." Anger flushed your face and bittered your words.

"Listen, please. Hear me out, bab–"

" –oh fuck off, Aemond, you don't get to 'babe' me around anymore. In fact, just leave."

He looked as hurt as you. And shocked. A hundred emotions played across his chiseled features. "No, really. Let me explain," he pleaded with eye and tone.

You weren't having it. You were cheated on before and he knew it. It made your own hurt cleave even deeper. You really fucking liked him. Maybe even loved him. And this whole time he had you and Alys? "I'm seriously about to get really fucking angry. Leave. Now."

He stood and left. Silent fury screamed around him like a whirlwind. He didn't even give you one final look over his shoulder.

He shut your door with a deliberate click.

You curled up in your blanket alone as fat ugly tears streamed down your face. You couldn't be bothered to grab a tissue for your snotty nose.

Aemond's leather jacket was still draped over the back of your couch and his book still lay on the floor. Your crying somehow turned uglier at the realization.

Eventually you dozed off. With Aemond, you always had your phone on silent so you didn't hear all his missed calls and texts.

The following month went by in a blur; you drowned yourself in work. You also stopped volunteering because you didn't want to give Aemond the opportunity to meet you there. By some feat of strength you ignored all his attempts at talking – and by proxy, apologizing.

The only thing you said to him was a single text:

I need time. Please understand

Part of you wondered how it affected him. His calls and texts became sparse until they eventually stopped.

Helaena asked where you'd been and you felt horrible lying to her. So, you didn't. After telling her the story she sighed and asked if you'd want to grab tea. You agreed. Meeting her at a local cafe allowed you to air out your feelings; laughs and tears alike. She was kind, and sweet, and supportive without being passive. She loved her brother but knew he had many of his own issues. You'd been friends for over a year and this was the first true heart to heart you shared.

Upon returning home you picked up the Fellowship and tried to read from where Aemond left off. But, it wasn’t the same without him and it only made you cry. Again.

VI.

The following morning, despite your car's newer model, it barely wanted to start for your drive to work. By a stroke of luck you made it there fine. And, made it back home that evening, too. But that was the end of your luck. It needed to be picked up and taken to a shop until a mechanic could see it.

Carless, you had to rely on Uber or public transportation. Yuck.

A few days of stress passed and now you were done for the week. Thank God for weekends. Unfortunately your groceries were extremely low and you would need to make a trip in the morning. You sighed and used it as an excuse to order pizza.

After waking up and a breakfast of (the last, and past its sell-by date) packet oatmeal you got around to make the walk to the nearest grocery store. Knowing you'd be walking home, too, the list was small. Carrying bags up two flights of stairs was hard enough, much less carrying them home a mile!

On the way back it started sprinkling. Great. Just great. You started walking faster with hopes of making quicker time than your leisurely stroll to the store. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, you heard your name called. Was that…? Stopping in your tracks you looked across your shoulder to the side of the road and saw none other than Aemond. You knew his car and voice anywhere. You didn't have to see yourself to know a dozen emotions played across your face.

"Hey," he said gently, his own features a mirror of yours.

"Hi," you said.

"Why are you walking in the rain with groceries?"

Slumping your unintentionally scrunched up shoulders, you sighed. "Stupid car died on me and it's been with the mechanic for almost a week."

He smiled softly. So soft. The outside of his seeing eye crinkled and emotion rushed to your chest. Your gut. "You're way too good to be walking alone. Let me drive you home at least?"

You didn't resist. How could you? "Alright. Sure. Just dropping me off though, okay?" Guilt panged your chest. Did he feel it too? Could he read it on your face he knew so well?

"Alright," he answered, expression falling just slight. You might as well have stomped on his foot with how it affected you.

I miss you. I love you. I'm sorry. Can we try it again? Can I hold your hand? God I love your hair in a ponytail. You smell good. Did you see the trailer for that new horror movie? I miss you. I love you. I'm sorry. It all turned around your head like a fucking rotisserie chicken. It shouldn't be so hard to say any of those things to him. But it was.

You didn't say anything on the short ride home. Neither did he. His right hand flexed a few times and you wondered if he was having a hard time, too.

"Can you get it all upstairs?" He asked as he pulled into an empty spot and parked, looking across to you with horribly concealed emotion.

"Yes, but…," you trailed off momentarily, trying to read his face. "I still have your book and jacket. Wanna come up and grab them?" You asked hopefully.

He killed the engine faster than you could blink. "Yes! So that's where they've been. You could have mentioned it sooner," he said slightly accusingly, grinning at you with a spark of playfulness.

Leading the way upstairs to your apartment, you unlocked the door and disappeared inside. After placing your items down and grabbing Aemond's, you turned to look at him standing in the doorway. He leaned against it. Waiting. Quiet. He glanced around with a wistfulness that made your throat tight. You watched him watching you and your home until the air became awkward – was it half a second, a few seconds, longer? You weren't sure.

Slowly you walked over to him. Your gaze flickered up at him as you handed his things back. "Were you ever going to tell me the truth?" You asked. "Did you think I really wouldn't find out? Why did you stick around if I wasn't good enough?"

He blinked. Taken back. "You never even gave me the chance to explain." His jaw feathered before it tightened. His eye hardened.

You grabbed the door, fixing to close it on him. Now that you started talking – unloading pent up questions which kept you tossing and turning at night – you couldn't decide if you wanted to slam it on his face or yell. "I told you how I was cheated on! And you did it anyway! I trusted you, Aemond." Your voice thinned, sounding shrill even to your own ears.

One of his hands braced on the door so you couldn't close it on him. "So this is your revenge then, huh? Punishing both of us? Why don't you trust me?" Hurt and fury simmered in the lovely hue of his eye. A storm. No, a hurricane. "Alys and I have been done for months. Months. Even before you and I met. I'm sorry for what she did but I can’t control what she does. She was playing her wicked games trying to sabotage us– you and me. Don't shut me out. Please."

He pleaded, every pore and line of his face begging for forgiveness. As each word came off his tongue they clicked into place in your head. He meant it. He was telling the truth. Before you could stop yourself your fists balled into the front of his shirt, pulling him down so your mouth crashed up to his. "You mean it?" You asked through the kiss.

Instantly he leaned down into you, and instantly he held onto your waist pulling you deeper against him. His other hand cradled the side of your face daring to curve along the shape of your skull. "I mean it. Yes I fucking mean it," he answered against the kiss; breath stealing yours away until it left you in a little moan.

You pulled him inside and shut the door, locking it. You moaned as he nipped and bit at your neck. Your heart thumped wildly. He sucked at the sensitive skin, again and again, pulling away just before leaving a mark. "God, Aem,” you whimpered. Goosebumps covered your body. The only thing on your mind was him.

"Fuck, I missed you. I missed you so much." His hands were somehow all over you all at once. His mouth trailed, and dragged, and kissed over any exposed portion of your skin. He happily pulled off layers of your clothing to expose more and more of your soft, warm, saccharine flesh; intoxicating him. After weeks of your separation the last thing he wanted to do was to push too far too fast. “Can I take this off?” He asked before taking your shirt off.

“Yes,” you replied breathily. “Fuck it. Take all of it off. I missed you too. So much,” you said as you helped pull his clothes off, too. He pushed you against a wall. You kissed. Heavier, and hotter, and hungrier. You pushed him against a wall.

He gasped as he smirked. “I love when you act all tough when we both know I can have you squirming under me in minutes,” he growled, pupil swelling. The dimples at the very corners of his mouth betrayed his amusement, however, as he once again pushed you against the wall. You were both only in your underwear, now, and his lean body on yours had you aching. “My tough girl… how quickly do you think it’ll last when my fingers are in you?”

“Why don’t we find out?” You asked defiantly, knowing damn well it wouldn’t last long at all. By now you were both down the hallway and your bedroom was only a couple feet away. You needed him. Now. And judging by how fucking hard he was he needed you too.

The next moment went by in a blur and before you could catch yourself you were sprawled out on your back atop your bed. Aemond made quick work of moving you both inside, and made quicker work of pulling your panties down. He groaned as your thighs immediately spilled open for him. He dragged two fingers up your slit and circled your clit with your arousal. “Shit–,” he hissed. “Never make me wait so long to have this pussy again. Do you understand me? Never,” he said as he worked your already swollen clit. He played with it just how he knew you liked it and your cunt’s tiny wet sounds sent his cock throbbing. “Answer me.”

Tension built in the low muscles of your belly. Your legs began to tighten already – one of the tell-tale signs of your approaching climax. How the hell could he push you there so quickly? “N-never! Ahh-h never again!” You replied, voice light, and sweet, and tantalizing as any sin Aemond ever knew. “Please, Aemond, I want to cum…!”

He shoved those same two fingers into you. “Good girl,” he said as he curled those fingers. “This pussy is mine. All fucking mine. Give it to me,” he said huskily as he worked them in and out of you. It was sloppy and wet. Borderline obscene. Each time he slammed his hand against you he was mindful to press the heel of his palm against your clit and your mound, knowing how the extra pressure sent your pretty toes curling.

You cried out his name as your eyes clenched shut. The tension in your belly snapped and a wave of glorious bliss washed over you. Sweat sheened between your breasts and along your lip. You arched, quivered, shuddering in the aftermath of his intensity.

Aemond’s mouth crashed to yours and you threaded your fingers through the roots of his hair. It was still in a ponytail and you had no mind to take it out, you just had to pull him deeper into the kiss. He tasted the salt of your sweat and groaned. “Relax your pussy, baby, you’re clenching me really hard. It feels amazing but I don’t wanna hurt you pulling out,” he said tenderly, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck.

“Sorry,” you giggled. “Just feels too good.” You tried to steady your breath and relax as he laid beside you, continuing to kiss your neck and shoulders. When your spongy walls finally eased around him you were sad to feel him withdraw. Stress melted away from your subconscious and you wanted to thank him for the pleasure. You wondered if your eyes said it while he looked at you.

Leaning up, he discarded the final piece of his clothing and sighed in relief as his cock sprang free. He got between your thighs and looked down at you hungerily. “Look at you all doe eyed already. See? I knew you couldn’t stay tough for long,” he said, smug, as he lined up with your drenched cunt. He held one of your legs up against him, and you pressed the other against his side.

When you left for the store this morning you had no idea your afternoon would go in this direction.

He pushed into you. Inch by inch he sunk into you and soon he was as deep as he could be. A moan escaped both of you, and a throatier one left him when his free hand tugged at your bra. It was one that clipped in the front. He popped it open and rocked into you as soon as your tits spilled free. "You're so sexy like this."

With your body already sensitive from your first orgasm, and now with Aemond building a rhythm between your thighs, you weren't going to last long. "You feel so good," you purred, eyelids heavy. "Fuck I missed you."

Another sound left his chest and when you wrapped your legs around his slim waist you swore you felt goosebumps pebble all along his skin. Or, maybe those were your goosebumps on your legs. Whatever the case, Aemond leaned forward and kissed you again. "I missed you too," he rumbled. "Gonna let me fill this pretty pussy with my cum again?"

You two made good use of your birth control and you weren't about to deny him – or yourself – the pleasure of being thoroughly fucked and stuffed. "Y-yeah," you stammered, smiling.

Aemond mumbled something incoherent into your neck, and if your brain wasn't foggy from his perfect fucking cock you might have caught what he said.

He leaned up and supported himself on his forearms, pressing his forehead to yours. "You're my girl. You're my fucking girl. You're my fucking girl," he repeated again and again until the pace of his thrusts grew sloppy. Somehow the sloppiness of it, the neediness and urgency of his voice, sent emotion swelling in all of you.

Heat collected and grew out from your spine, webbing throughout your entire body. You clung to him desperately. You rolled your hips up into him and shamelessly grinded your clit against his pelvis as he drove in and out of you. It was all too much. You crumbled beneath him and let orgasm take control of you. The depths of your body squeezed and convulsed around him, holding him tight and soaking the fullness of his length with your slick. He never stopped or paused his thrusts.

His own peak followed. Once he was as deep as he could be he released everything he had into you. He stayed there, both of you panting through little moans, until he no longer twitched between your stretched walls. Slowly, he pulled out, and slowly, his seed dribbled out of you. Grinning, he rolled onto his back and scooped you against him.

"Let's stay here like this all day," you mumbled happily, fingertips trailing up and down his abdomen and chest.

"You'll get no argument from me," he said.

Quiet minutes passed and the sound of his heart nearly put you into a trance. "I'm sorry for how I acted," you finally admitted.

All the while he'd been petting and trailing his fingers through your hair. He didn't stop as he answered, "and I'm sorry for not trying harder." He kissed your forehead and held you tighter.

"Let's try it again. For real this time. With the titles and commitment and everything."

"Are you asking or telling me to be your boyfriend?"

You smirked. "I'm suggesting."

Returning your smirk, he pulled you atop him so you could straddle him. "You're all mine," he said with a dark eye. "My perfect girl."

Leaning down, you kissed and nipped his bottom lip. "Are you already hard again, Aemond Targaryen?"

A chuckle rumbled somewhere in his chest as his touch dented into your hips to hold you at just the right angle. With a roll of his hips he pushed himself up inside you again. "Whose cock is this?"

You gasped, eyes darkening with another round of lust. "Mine."

"That's right. Yours. Not anyone else's. It's fucking yours."

You rode him until your tits were covered in fresh hickies and you were filled with another load of him.

Yours. His. The second chance you both needed.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider a follow, and/or reblog, and/or letting me know as it all makes me vvvery happy! ♥

To be added or removed from the taglist, hit me up!

Masterlist

Main taglist: @watercolorskyy @melsunshine @girlwith-thepearlearring @arcielee @barbiedragon @dreamsofoldvalyria @chompchompluke @fan-goddess

Aemond taglist: @darylandbethfanforever9 @bellaisasleep @aemondsblog @khaleesihel @sirenofavalon @sahvlren @doublesparrows @aemonds-fire @nikstrange @abbyandizzysmum @lost-and-founds @castellomargot @okfashionista @avidreader73 @snh96 @boofy1998 @evermorre

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #modern aemond #aemond smut #aemond fic #aemond imagine #request

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forthevillains · 2 months

Note

Okokok this is gonna sound weird, BUT, pretty please hear me out 😘

So imagine being Albert Wesker's "childhood friend" Like when he was a teen he'd sneak out to spend time with you every so often if he had a bit of free time in his busy af schedule. Idk what to do about this idea from there. I just think it's kinda fun. Maybe he's secretly a yandere lol. No idea.

That’s such a good idea!

The fact that Wesker would have someone to talk to without Spencer knowing at all. Like he’d be so excited to actually have a friend he’d risk his everything only to get to see you. As smart as he is, it wouldn’t be that difficult for him to create a plan, but making it work with all the people around him would be much worse.

Alex surely caught him at least once, questioning his intentions, curious on why in the hell would her brother go out during such a time while they have so much to do. Wesker was tense the whole time they were talking, he felt stupid, it all looked and sounded much better in his head, but when he said "I found a friend.” - he cringed at himself. No matter this reaction though, as much as Alex used to tease the hell out of him and even make fun of him, she was still his sister and he was closest to the family she’s lost years ago. Something about Albert being able to make connections with people after all that’s been done to him is still on her mind and so she lets him go, having his back whenever Spencer asked of his whereabouts.

Wesker would sneak out more and more often, the more he got to know you, the more he wanted to be with you. It became something he couldn’t live without, seeing you smile at him every now and then, interested in him. If you asked about his parents he would go quiet, so you made a mental note of not asking about his personal life again. You became the talker and did he love listening to you. He got to know the smallest of things, everything about your own family… He made sure to remember every detail about you, especially the type of places you liked so that he could take you there when you guys would get older. It was the first time for him having a friend like this so he cared for you like for no other.

I can imagine Wesker getting really fixated though, after some time, he wouldn’t know whether its love or obsession he’s feeling, but deep in his guts he’s aware that it’s no good, not for him, not for you. He’s destined for big things, he has so many lives on his hands. He’s nothing like any other teenager, he has an important duty (and trust that sometimes he hates it very much). Though you always make him feel like a normal teenager, like a normal human being… And that’s special to him, by treating him like a decent human - you’re making him feel special.

And even when he loved to spend his time with you, everything good in his life apparently had to come to an end. You left, because your parents insisted on moving away and that was when you and Albert got separated. It hurt, both you and him, but in his case it was hard to move on. So hard he just couldn’t do it. He’d feel sad, always thinking of the times spent with you, away from all his problems and now it was all gone. While you were quick to find new friends, he became so lonely that not even William or Alex made him feel better.

You haven’t come back in years, in almost two decades. And Wesker was still thinking of you sometimes, even though he was somewhere completely else. He changed physically and mentally that’s for sure, now that he was captain of S.T.A.R.S. with even more responsibilities than before. He became cold, stern and hardworking man with clear goals in his mind. He didn’t include you in his plans anymore, even though he wondered where you were a lot, he wondered if you got married and had kids, he wondered if you thought about him the same way he thought about you. Obsession it was indeed.

One day however, you ran into him, on an accident. You didn’t see it coming as you were texting your co-worker of an important matter when you found yourself basically walking into his muscular form, immediately dropping your phone and if it wasn’t from him - you’d be lying on the ground right next to it.

"I’m sorry-“ you were ready to leave, but he stopped you before you could go any further. You were familiar, everything about you felt that way and when you looked up at him, all confused, he recognized those eyes. It was as if the time stopped for him, finally seeing the woman he liked when they were young, someone who overlooked all his flaws and made him smile almost each time they met.

"What is it?” You turned your head to the side, narrowing your eyes in curiosity and only then has he realized that he’s been staring at you through his shades and not saying anything.

"Y/N…” he only muttered your name, completely taken aback by the sound of your voice. He couldn’t believe that he was seeing you now. "It’s been so long.”

You don’t get what he means at first, but when he takes the sunglasses off to get a proper look at you. "Al-“ before you finished saying his name he pulled you in for a hug, wanting nothing more than to feel that you’re real. He only used to hug you when you initiated it, but now it was his turn, he felt as if it wasn’t real at all, that it was too good to be.

No matter the shock, you hugged him back after a while, wrapping your hands around him, taking a note of how much bigger he got over the years. He’s grown to be a handsome man to say the least.

"What are you doing here?” You asked when you pulled away, giving him a small smile.

"Going to work.” He made it up. He wasn’t going anywhere now that he’s learned that you’re around. He’s not gonna make the same mistake of letting you go now that he has more control over his own life. It might feel crazy to some, but he wanted to keep an eye on you, getting to know your habits, where you worked, where you lived and he wouldn’t wait for you to tell him yourself, it’s already been too much time without you. He wanted to make up for it now.

"Oh alright! Sorry, I must be wasting your time,” you apologized.

Wesker shook his head though. "Of course you’re not.” He was so gentle talking to you that if someone has heard him they probably wouldn’t even recognize him.

"Well in that case, we should catch up with each other. Are you free this evening? I’ve got so much to tell you!” There you were, the girl he used to know, immediately showing him your interest even though you haven’t seen him in decades. He couldn’t even say no to you, immediately cancelling whatever plans he’s had to make sure he’s indeed free in the evening. This time you’re not getting away from him, he’s going to make you his at some point. He’s been stupid enough to let you go once, he’s not gonna do it again;)

#albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #oneshot #resident evil #resident evil wesker #wesker x reader #wesker x you

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gentlyweeps-world · 4 months

Text

Promise?

summary: In a different universe that Logan’s contract wasn’t extended.

pairing: logan sarge x reader

warnings: angst 😕

next part

LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO

It was obvious, it was obvious from the start that he wouldn’t last a year in Formula One. Everyone knew that. Everyone knew he was the laughing stock of F1.

Was it fair? No, certainly not. But he also needed to prove his worth, unfortunately for the two of you he couldn’t.

You knew something was wrong when summer break hit, he was more down, less talkative, not smiling as much.

He wasn’t acting like your Logan, your Logan who would make horrible Dad jokes but love them, your Logan who always needed lemonade, your Logan whose eyes would twinkle when he smiled and laughed. No, he was completely different.

“Hey baby, is everything alright?” You ask softly one night, it was after dinner, you two were sat on the couch with a movie playing, you weren’t paying much attention, you think it was a random Marvel movie.

Logan looks up at you with a smile on his face that seems off somehow, it was obvious to you it was fake.

“Everything’s fine, babe. I just have a lot going on with the team right now.”

He reaches over to gently squeeze your hand, then quickly retracts his hand back to his lap, resuming scrolling and typing on his phone.

Something was really wrong, that was the first time you guys had remotely held hands in days, you haven’t hugged, or cuddled, or even kissed.

“Logan- baby, I know something’s wrong, please talk to me..I’m here for you..” You say a bit more desperately, wanting Logan to truly open up.

Logan continues to give you a fake smile with a reassuring tone.

“I swear, everything’s fine! I’d come to you first if it was anything serious.”

He sighs and places down his phone, leaning back. His voice sounds more tired than normal which you found to be strange since he didn’t have anything scheduled for the evening.

“Logan..” You say, tone wavering, “I’m not stupid, I know you stay up scrolling through endless hate posts and comments, I know you stay up thinking what you did wrong with Formula One, just please talk to me..”

The smile completely fades. Logan was silent for a bit. He never really expressed himself like this, especially when it comes to negative thoughts. He finally spoke.

“Honestly, I’ve felt like I’m not good enough. I’m working so hard to be a decent driver, but nothing is happening. I know James won’t extend my contract, I don’t deserve it”

Logan’s voice seemed more tired than before. It was really rare to see him in such a vulnerable state, especially to you.

“And- and I want to deserve you, but I can’t right now. You’re too good to me and I don’t deserve that, I’m a shit boyfriend and a shit driver, I’m ruining everything I touch” He says, voice breaking as he finally looks into your eyes, showing fear and shame.

“With how everything is going- with my career, one of us is going to end up with a broken heart…” He adds on, letting out a deep breath.

You immediately notice how much pain you could feel in his voice, he always seemed to cover up his emotions with humor and playfulness.

“No. We’re supposed to support each other, no matter what.” You say with a worried expression, reaching your hands out to grab his, but he only pulls away.

“Logan- baby please, you never give up, I know you, this isn’t like you, please Logan! We can work this out, you could go into Indy or- or something different..” You say desperately, voice breaking as tears start to well up in your eyes.

“No Y/n, you can’t save everyone! I love you- I love you so much, but I don’t want to bring you down…I’m at the lowest point of my life and I don’t want to drag down the only thing I love too” Logan says, getting up and off of the couch as he now stands in front of you, tears forming in his eyes as he fights back the breaking in his voice.

You start to feel a sharp pain in your chest as you see all the emotions running through his eyes. Logan never acted this way, and you’re surprised that in these moments, he would be the first to break out.

Logan walks a few feet in front of you, with his back towards you. You can hear the pain in his voice, the pain of a broken man. It’s something you never thought to see, and it’s something that hurts you greatly to see him like this.

“No- please no, no, please Logan..” You sob out, tears starting to fall down your face as you fully register the severity of the situation.

“Please baby, I don’t care what happens I want- I need to stay by your side..” You whisper out, eyes full of desperation and sadness.

Logan turns around, seeing your tears and he steps closer to you. You immediately see the desperation in his eyes, as he reaches his hands out and gently grabs you around the waist. His eyes seem to fill with tears as he pulls you close to him, he holds you against his chest as the pain in his voice is only drowned out by his crying.

“I’m sorry” is all he says, his voice broken and shaky.

“You deserve someone better, someone stable, someone more successful, who doesn’t screw up, I’m so sorry Y/n, I’m sorry baby..” He whispers out shakily.

You grasp at his shirt as you both cry into each others arms. You didn’t know what to say, you didn’t know what to do.

What were you supposed to do? Maybe you two could fix it- that’s what you hoped, but deep down you knew that wouldn’t happen.

“Can I kiss you one last time..?” You ask, barely pulling away from him to look into his eyes.

Logan wipes some of your tears, giving you a soft smile he finally responds with a whisper, “Please..”

He cups your face in his hands, gently tracing the outline of your face. His eyes look at you so loving, yet so regretful.

He pulls you back in for one last kiss, it feels as if he’s never kissed you as passionately before. You feel his body tremble, and you’re sure you are too.

You both slowly pull apart, he rests his forehead against yours, letting out a slow breath.

“I’ll always love you. Remember that” Logan whispers out.

“Just promise me, we’ll find a way back to each other, please Log..” You say softly, looking back into his eyes again once more, trying to search out his emotions.

Logan wipes the tears away and nods again.

"I promise. I will find a way back to you, no matter what."

He wipes away the remaining tears on your cheeks, taking a deep breath, and leaning into you for another kiss. This time it feels more passionate and intimate, as if saying a goodbye for good, at least for now.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

radio 🪩: I’m sorry. I cried. That’s all.

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overtrred28 · 4 months

Text

Joining the club | Jen Beattie x reader

Summary; 2023 and the start of 2024 seem to have something in common already; everyone in the WOSO community seems to be getting engaged. And when you bring this up to your long term partner Jen, it seems she has nothing to say, or does she….

Pairings; Jen Beattie x famous!reader

Words; 2.5k

Warnings; pure fluff, swearing

A/N; It seems to be the season of getting engaged and even though I am way off getting engaged and very very single, I thought I would pretend and imagine that I was getting engaged to the one and only Jen Beattie. There is also a lack of Jen fics on here and I feel the need to write one for her. Enjoy!

First it was Steph and Dean all the way back in January. Lynn and Marley finally did it back in May. Then in June it was Emily and Kat, and Katrina and Clara just a few days after. Kristie and Sam finally revealed theirs from September after months of teasing. Chloe Kelly and Millie Bright got it within the same week, sharing photos with their partners around christmas. And finally a surprise from Ellie and Daan on the first day of a new year.

It seemed 2023 and now 2024 was the time for engagements in the world of women’s football and you were quite caught up in all the news.

“Oh my god babe, another one!” You let out a gasp as the post from Ellie and Daan popped up on your instagram feed, stopping your pre-dinner scrolling as you paused and assessed the picture. It was from a few days ago, and you were seeing it now because you had been away with Jen and her family, avoiding social media to spend time with them and only now catching up.

“What?” Jen’s voice called from the kitchen, you jumping up from the couch with your phone and running quickly into the kitchen.

“Look.” You aggressively shoved your phone into her face and she adjusted to the bright light as she tried to look at the photo.

“Oh wow, congrats to them.” Jen smiled quickly before turning away and back to the food on the stove. You frowned at her quick response and disinterest at the post.

“Do you not think it’s funny?” You asked with a small laugh from beside her.

“What is?” She asked whilst moving around the kitchen to find the rest of the ingredients for your dinner.

“That everyone in the footballing world seems to be getting engaged at the moment?” You asked again and she didn’t respond with any excitement, again.

“Oh, guess I didn’t notice.” She shrugged and continued to stir the pot. You opened your mouth to talk again but she got there before you. “Could you grab me some bowls, love?” She asked while keeping her eyes on the pan. You paused for a second before grabbing two clean ones from the dishwasher and placing them next to her. “Thank you.” She smiled at you briefly before beginning to dish up the pasta that was now done.

“You’re welcome.” You snapped out of your trance and silently moved to grab some glasses and the wine from the fridge. She waited for you to finish pouring your drinks before she grabbed both bowls and headed for the couch, you following close behind her.

“What are we watching tonight, love?” Jen asked as she sat beside you on the couch, now both holding your dinner and the wine glasses on the coffee table.

“I don’t mind, you pick.” You shrugged before taking a bite of your food and now it was her turn to frown at you, normally you always took control over what to watch together.

“You okay?” Jen asked simply and you nodded silently while eating and staring at the screen in front of you. “ Okay, how about Bridgerton? We still haven’t finished season two.” She suggested and once again you nodded silently from beside her.

You weren’t sure why you were feeling slightly off after Jen’s reaction to the post and your comments, but you still snuggled into her on the couch after finishing your pasta and wine.

The episode finished and you could feel the both of you drifting off after a long day. Jen had been back at training after winter break and your schedule had been hectic since returning from time off. You were an actress and your new movie was about to come out so all the promo shoots and interviews were now in full swing, though you were grateful it began in London so you could still go home to Jen every night.

You met Jen a few years back at an event in London you had both been invited to, catching her eyes from the other side of the room and instantly knowing you had to go talk to her. You knew who each other were, an actress making her name in the world and a famous sports star who silently followed each other in their respective lines of work. One conversation and you knew there was something there, and so did she. You both knew it would be hard with your professions and the distance you would have at certain times, but you wanted to make it work, somehow keeping it from the public eye for two years before hard launching it on your anniversary and sending both sets of fans into a frenzy.

“Ready for bed love?” Jen spoke softly into the dark living room, smoothing your hair softly.

“Definitely.” You yawned and sat up, rubbing your tired eyes as Jen stood up and held a hand out for you. You smiled at the gesture and met your hand in hers, pulling yourself up and making your way to your bedroom together. You both had already showered when you got home earlier so all that was left to do was to brush your teeth together.

Your night routine was almost the same every night, no matter what was going on in your separate lives, you always spent those last few minutes together before crawling into bed. So once you both finished in the bathroom, you hopped into bed on your chosen sides but made your way closer to the middle and each other, Jen opening her arms to you as you laid your head on her chest.

“Sorry I’ve been quiet, tired.” You mumbled into the darkness against Jen as she drew small circles against your back.

“It’s okay, me too.” Jen looked down at you to meet your soft eyes.

“I love you.” You smiled and snuggled into her chest once more, eyes drifting closed.

“I love you too.” Jen placed a kiss against your head before closing her own eyes and drifting asleep.

The topic of last night's conversation was mostly forgotten in the morning, or at least it wasn’t brought up again between you too. That didn’t mean it wasn’t brought up with different people. Jen arrived at training and as both Steph and Beth walked up to her, they could tell something was on her mind.

“You alright there Jenny?” Steph bumped her shoulder as herself and Beth joined her sides.

“Hmm? Oh yeah.” Jen nodded at them but went silent straight after.

“You sure?” Beth dragged out her words and brought her face as she could to Jen’s, their height difference proving to be a little difficult.

“Yeah, just thinking.” Jen tried to brush them off again but these two were persistent and she knew she wasn’t going to get very far if she didn’t tell them. She stopped her walking and sighed before speaking. “Last night, Y/N brought up how it seems like everyone’s getting engaged at the moment, and I didn’t really say anything back. And then she seemed upset for the rest of the night, but she said she was just tired, which I know she has been, but I also think I might have upset her in some way.” She let out in almost one breath as Steph and Beth tried to process her words.

“Well she’s not wrong, especially in the last few weeks.” Beth added with a shrug.

“Do you think she’s ready?” Steph ignored Beth’s comment and looked at Jen.

“Well, I wasn’t sure before, but after last night I think she is.” Jen looked between the two of them. “Just the way she was talking about it and then when I didn’t really say anything…” She trailed off and looked down.

“I think she’s ready.” Steph spoke with a smile. She had watched from the beginning of your relationship with Jen just how happy you were with one another, and how easy the relationship seemed even when spending time apart due to work.

“Are you?” Beth asked sincerely, her and Steph awaiting Jen’s reply. Jen was silent for a few seconds, bringing her eyes back up to look at her best friends.

“I bought the ring like 2 months ago.” She mumbled but they still heard it and instantly started beaming at the Scottish woman.

“You sly little bastard.” Beth punched Jen’s arm softly as they began to walk again so that they wouldn’t be late for training.

Throughout the whole day the three of them, mostly Steph and Beth, were coming up with ideas on how she should propose but Jen kept shooting them down. She wanted it to be private, special and a surprise, so anything that involved taking you out somewhere would instantly make you suspicious.

While Jen had been conversing her thoughts and plans with her best friends at training, you were in your head all day thinking about last night. Which wasn’t really helping especially when you were trying to film press interviews all day and talk about your movie.

You could have talked to your co-stars about it, after all they had become close friends while shooting and now being with each other everyday for promo, but the only person you really wanted to talk to was Jen; it was always Jen.

Jen got home long before you, taking her time to deep clean the flat and cook dinner for you once again, knowing you would be exhausted from your long day of work.

She didn’t hear you opening the door and making your way through the flat, she had been vacuuming with her headphones on and dancing around your bedroom. You stood in the doorway for a few minutes after spotting her, admiring her and waiting for her to see you. And when she did, boy did she get a fright.

“Ah fuck!” Jen almost jumped out of her skin when she finally turned around and spotted you lurking in the doorway, using one hand to remove her headphones and the other to turn the vacuum off. “How long have you been standing there?” She dropped the vacuum and began to walk over to you.

“A few minutes. I was admiring your hidden dance skills.” You smiled and stood up straighter, welcoming her into a hug like you do every day. “Hi.” You mumbled into her shoulder.

“Hi love.” She pulled back and leaned in for a soft kiss. No matter how many times you kiss Jen, it feels like the very first time all over again, even after 4 years. “Busy day?” She asked as you parted, taking in your tired expression.

“Busy day.” You nodded and smiled at her. “How was training?” You asked as you walked hand and hand to the kitchen.

“Good, good to be back with the girls.” Jen smiled at you before letting go to retrieve dinner from the oven. You stood at the counter, simply watching her as she moved about wrapping up dinner. “Go put something on, I’ve got it.” Jen smiled and placed a kiss on your temple before ushering you to the lounge room.

“Okay bossy.” You laughed before making your way to the couch and switching the TV over to Netflix to finish the final episode of Bridgerton. You wait patiently for her on the couch, looking over your shoulder every few seconds to see if she is coming around the corner.

Meanwhile in the kitchen, Jen is trying to hide her anxiety and nervousness as she plates up dinner and feels her pocket one more time. With two champagne glasses now full and a tray full of food she finally makes her way to you, letting out a final breath before entering the living room.

“Dinner is served.” She places the tray down on the table and bows which makes you laugh. Your eyes fall on the glasses and you’re instantly confused.

“What’s with the champagne? Decide the wine wasn’t good enough?” You joked and she let out a small laugh shaking her head.

“Some nights are a little more special than the others.” She cryptically says and has you even more confused but you leave the comment alone and hit play on the remote.

You eat dinner together while watching the episode, silently watching with a bit of commentary along the way before cuddling up after eating. The episode finishes and you can feel Jen’s heart beating particularly fast, her fingers are nervously playing with one another and she hasn’t spoken in a few minutes. You sit up silently and look at her, she doesn’t look at you. You’re about to fill the silence when she beats you to it.

“You know how much I love you, right?.” Jen rushes out and leaves you slightly bewildered.

“I know. I love you just as much.” You reply. “What’s wrong?” You bring your hand up to brush her hair back into her low bun.

“I’m about to do something and I hope you don’t think it’s random and forced because it’s not and I’ve been thinking about this for a long time and I didn’t want to make a massive deal about it because it’s just you and me and that’s all that matters.” Jen speaks in one long breath and you need a second for your brain to catch up but before it can she’s pulling you up off the couch with her and standing in front of you. She holds your hands in hers and looks directly at you.

“Wha-” Before you could even think about finishing your sentence, a giant gasp leaves your mouth at her next action. She drops down to one knee whilst still holding holding your hands, smiling up at you as tears well in your eyes.

“My love, I could go on and on about how much I love you but you already know. There is no one else I would rather spend the rest of my life with, no matter where it shall take us. So,” She let go of your hands, you bringing them up to your face and hers reaching down into her pocket. She fishes the small, black box out, opening it to reveal a sparkling ring and looks back up at you. “Y/N Y/L/N, will you-”

“YES!” You interrupt her before she gets to finish causing her to laugh and shake her head.

You just stand there admiring her as she gets up and removes the ring from the box. She brings your shaking left hand from your face and slides the ring on. Your jaw drops at the ring before you jump into her arms, causing her to react quickly and grab hold of your legs. “I love you so much Jen.” You cry into her shoulder as she holds you before you lift your head up, meeting your eyes with hers before pulling in for a kiss.

The rest of the night is spent in one another's arms just admiring each other and talking softly with each other about the rest of your lives while wrapped up in your sheets.

yourinstagram and jbeattie91

yourinstagram we joined the club 💍

liked by jbeattie91, stephcatley, bethmead_ and 834,032 others

stephcatley so happy for you! welcome to the club 😉

bethmead_ about time jen jen. congrats 🥰

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THE END!

#woso community #woso imagine #jen beattie x reader #jen beattie #arsenal wfc #arsenal wfc x reader

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bad268 · 11 months

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Could u write a princess of Monaco and Arthur lecrelc , I see this being written so much for Charles and none for Arthur

thank you :)

Queen of Monaco (Arthur Leclerc X Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Formula 2/3

Requested: Clearly (haha we have the same mind bc I was already drafting this before you requested it)

Warnings: death of parents and brother (mentioned), google translate, the Monaco curse is affecting Arthur now and that's a warning itself bro. I am in denial about the race results today, so I made this to make me happy.

Pronouns: She/Her

W.C. 4108

Summary: The beginning of the relationship between Arthur Leclerc and the Queen of Monaco.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(@/Arthur's insta from January 29, 2023)

It was a normal day in Monaco. It was not a race week, and there were no pressing matters to attend. I had just returned to Monaco last week after attending the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in the United States, but I just received my Bachelor's degree and wanted to return home before starting my Master's. I decided to take my first semester online, so I could go home and spend time with my family.

When I got back, my parents urgently began to train me for the throne even though I was not next in line. Despite having an older brother who was scheduled to become the King of Monaco after my parents, he had to serve in the military before he could move forward. They wanted to have me prepare in the event that something happened to him in battle.

I had never really been in the public eye due to my brother being the next in line. He was always the one attending meetings, trainings, and keeping up appearances. I was free to do as I pleased for the most part, but in 2015, they sent me to a training school in London. It taught the basics of monarchy and the foundations of how to run a country. It was the same one my brother attended. Even in my spare time, I found my passion in mechanical engineering and aerodynamics. It took some persuasion, but my parents allowed me to attend MIT after my graduation because they were so sure that I would not be needed. My brother is in the final stages of the training. All he needed to do was finish the last few months of military training, and then he would be crowned.

Upon my return, I learned that my mother was ill, so they wanted to get my brother crowned quickly. However, they practically had to start from square one since I was provided very minimal training in London. My father was furious, not at me, but at the situation they had been placed in. They told me the best thing I could do while they prepare the training is to memorize Monaco as it had been nearly seven years since I had been here.

I was walking down the pier, looking at all of the little shops that lined the pavement and the boats at the dock. There was a small ice cream shop, a couple of clothing stores, a few restaurants, and a salon. I realized that I had not had my hair professionally done since before college, so I thought it would be a good idea to treat myself.

“Bonjour, comment puis-je vou aider? (Hello, how can I help you?)” A lady greeted me as I stepped through the door. It was a small shop, no one else was in there, but it was cute and welcoming other than the fact that I could not remember French for the life of me.

“I’m sorry, my French is no good,” I replied sheepishly, fully prepared to leave, but the woman stopped me.

“Oh, not a problem, dear. My name is Pascale, what can I help you with?” She smiled, kindly, leading me over to one of the chairs.

“Well, I haven’t gotten my hair done in almost four years, so I think it’s time to freshen up,” I explained.

“Oh perfect, I can most certainly help with that,” She laughed, placing an apron around my shoulders. “Are you thinking about dye, highlights, trim, cutting…” She started listing more but I couldn't follow along with all of the terminology.

“Uh, probably just a trim,” I chuckled, “my parents would kill me if I showed up with short, dyed hair.”

“Not a problem at all,” she grinned and began cutting the ends, little by little, as we made small conversations. “What do you do for work?”

“I actually don’t have a job at the moment,” technically, “but I just came back from the United States. I was at MIT for the last four years, getting my bachelors in mechanical engineering and aerodynamics, and before that, I attended boarding school in London.”

“That’s interesting,” she hummed, “Sounds like you like Formula 1?”

“Not so much the races. I just like the cars,” I laughed in response. “I like learning what could make the cars better, faster, stronger, and safer, but the actual races aren't something for me. I watched one too many accidents end badly, so I can never find enjoyment in it anymore. The last race I went to was in Japan, and I lost my best friend.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about that, dear. If you ever need to talk, I’m here,” Pascale consoled. I looked at her confused through the mirror. She just set the scissors down just as her phone got a notification. She pulled out her phone and opened the notification. It was a text message with a picture. “That is my son, Charles, and his best friend, Pierre. They’re in Formula 1. They went out karting today, and he just sent me this.”

“Oh, Charles Leclerc and Pierre Gasly! I know them,” I recognized immediately. “That’s your son?”

“Yeah, he’s always had this passion for driving, so I’m proud to see him living his dreams,” She smiled, putting her phone back, and resumed cutting my hair.

“Well, I’m proud of him too, and I don’t even know him.” I laughed.

“Maybe, if you’d ever change your mind, you could join us for a race,” Pascale offered. “Only if you’re up for it.”

“I’ll have to see, but probably not,” I declined nervously.

“It’s not a problem, dear,” She said, patting my shoulders. “But you are all done. How do you like it?”

My hair was shorter by a couple of inches, but it felt so much lighter and healthier than it did earlier today. “I love it so much, Pascale! Thank you so much! How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing, just promise you’ll think about joining us? It would do you some good to get to know more people, and you could even check out the cars before the race! If you’re not comfortable staying for the race, you can always leave. Just promise you’ll think about it before immediately rejecting it?” She pleaded.

“Fine, I’ll think about it,” I laughed, “but only because you were so persuasive!”

–

The next time I was out in the streets was nearly a week later. My time was being packed with different trainings and attending private events, but nothing public yet so as to not stir up controversy. I decided to go to a local bakery and get some tea and some food. The food in the castle just did not compare to my favorite bakery. Not by a long shot.

When I walked in, there were not a lot of people in there. It was a small shop with only two tables and a counter. There was the person behind the counter, Ella, and three people at the tables. One sat by himself and the other two occupied the second table. I approached Ella and ordered a tea and sandwich. She said she would bring it right over once it was finished, and I approached the man sitting by himself.

“Bonjour,” I greeted, my French was slowly coming back to me but not enough to carry a full conversation. The man looked up from his phone at me. He had blue eyes and shady blonde hair. He had airpods in and took one out as I approached the table. “My name is Y/n. Would it be alright if I sit with you? The other table is filled.”

“Of course,” He responded immediately, moving the bag that was hanging on the other chair to the floor. “I’m Arthur.”

“Nice to meet you, Arthur. Thank you for letting me sit with you,” I laughed, taking the seat that he pulled out for me. “I really appreciate that.”

“It’s my pleasure,” He chuckled along, “It was just empty anyway.”

That was the start of an inseparable bond. It was strange having someone so close again because even though I had some friends in school, they were never as close as Arthur was. For the first couple of months, any time that was not filled with training was spent with each other. Whether it be chilling in his apartment, driving around Monaco, boat rides, and random trips around France and Italy, we were content with doing random acts of entertainment. It didn’t take long before he asked me to be his girlfriend.

One thing we knew would be difficult is the time commitments. With his recent change from Formula 3 to Formula 2 and more royal training for me, we knew it was going to be more time-consuming. That didn’t stop us, however. Tuesdays were the most random day of the week, but neither of us had any responsibilities.

One day in particular, the day before he was set to go to Australia, we were at his apartment, and I was helping him pack since he *conveniently* forgot. We had gone to get smoothies and acai bowls earlier that morning before heading to his apartment. Then, after we ate, we put on some music as background noise while we packed and conversed back and forth.

“Would you ever come to a race with me?” He asked as he pulled a couple of shirts out of his closet. “I know you didn’t have a good experience at the last one, but would you be willing to give it another time?”

“I don’t know, A. I get anxiety just knowing you’re racing,” I explained. Moving to fold the shirts he’s pulling out.

“That sound like an improvement!” He laughed, jumping over and wrapping his arms around my shoulders as I put the folded clothes in the suitcase. “When we first started talking, you said no immediately. Now, you’re saying you don’t know.”

“What can I say?” I leaned back into his embrace, “You are pretty persuasive.”

“What are the chances of you coming to the Monaco Grand Prix with me?”

“The odds are in your favor since I don’t go anywhere,” I laughed in response. He turned me around in his arms. He was pouting and had his head tilted slightly. “No, don’t do the puppy face. You know I can’t say no to that face.”

“Please?”

With a heavy sigh and a joking eye roll, I caved. I was about to vocalize my decision, but my phone started ringing. This time, my sigh was out of annoyance after seeing it was from Mila, my personal guard and trainer. “I need to answer that, but yes, I promise to go to the Monaco Grand Prix with you.”

“Of course,” He exclaimed, kissing me all over my face. “I will take care of everything. You go take the call, and I’ll finish packing in here.”

With a small smile, I walked out of his bedroom to the living room and stepped out onto the balcony before answering the phone. “Hi, Mila. What did I forget?”

“Nothing, but are you near the palace?” She responded. Just the tone of her voice made me nervous.

“Not really, I’m about 20 minutes away. Do I need to head back?”

“Yes, let me know when you get here.” And with that, she hung up. I walked back in to see Arthur with his suitcase fully packed by the door.

“I need to head home,” I started. “Something’s not right.”

“That’s fine,” He reassured, pulling me into a hug. “I’ll need to head out for my flight soon anyway, so I’ll walk you to your car.”

During the drive back, my mind wandered. Was there a meeting I missed? I couldn’t remember having anything scheduled on a Tuesday. Most meetings were on Mondays or Wednesdays and policy training sessions were Thursdays and Fridays. Maybe there was a last-minute meeting.

Pulling through the gates, I texted Mila once I parked in our car park, and a few guards were waiting for me. “Hi, what did I miss?”

“Y/n, we need to talk,” one of the guards, Chris, said, and right then, I knew things were worse than I thought. We walked through the corridors to reach one of the meeting rooms, but the only person in there was Mila. The guards immediately turned around and left the room.

“Mila-”

“Have a seat,” She cut me off, gesturing to the seat next to her. I took it hesitantly as I looked at her skeptically. “So, I’m not going to beat around the bush with this. As you know, your mother, the queen, was sick.”

“I assume she died then? That’s what this was for?” I cut her short. However, there was something on her face that said she wasn’t finished. “Okay, I’ll let you continue.”

She shook her head dismissively, “No, it’s fine, but you’re right. She passed away early this morning.”

“So my brother will be crowned when he comes back?”

“That’s the next news,” Mila paused. I encouraged her to just rip the bandaid off because I was getting impatient. “Your father went to the base to get your brother, but there was an explosion. There was a gas leak, and somehow the building they were in exploded. We’re still waiting on the details.”

“Wait, so my entire family…” I trailed off, but she knew where I was going. She just nodded solemnly as she pulled me into her side. “So that means…”

“It means you are to be the queen.”

Third POV

Ever since the Melbourne Grand Prix, Arthur has been talking about how his girlfriend was going to join him on the paddock for the Monaco Grand Prix. To say that his friends and brothers teased him would be putting it lightly. Any chance they could, they asked questions about this “girlfriend” of his that they had never heard of, and Arthur was willing to spill all of the details. On the Thursday before the Monaco Grand Prix when he was driving to the track with Charles, he accidentally let it slip that he actually had not heard from her recently. He asked Charles to check his phone to see if she had texted him recently.

“Wait, you haven't heard from her in over a month and you’re not at all worried?” Charles asked, very concerned for someone he’s never met.

“No, we’ve definitely texted recently,” Arthur responded in disbelief. When they pulled up to a red light, Charles showed him that the last message from her was April 1. “No, we’ve definitely talked.”

“Here, pull over. We’ll switch, so you can call her, and I’ll drive us the rest of the way to the track,” Charles said, already getting out of the car as soon as they were on the shoulder. He immediately dialed her number, and after a few rings, it went to voicemail. He thought about leaving her a voice message, but she was already calling him back before he could start.

“Hey, traffic is hideous, but I’m almost there,” She started her explanation. She was sitting in the backseat with a couple of guards, and Mila as her driver took them to the track. “Are you already there?”

“No, we’re not there yet,” he laughed. “Charles and I are still stuck in traffic, but we noticed that I hadn’t messaged you since the Australian Grand Prix. Thought I would call to see if you were still coming.” Charles was half listening to the conversation, but he was smiling to himself, hearing how lovestruck his younger brother sounded.

“Oh, definitely,” She chuckled. Mila nudged the girl with a knowing grin. “I’ve just been insanely busy recently, but I promised. On the bright side, I finished my training!”

“No way, I’m so proud of you, ma chéri!” Arthur cheered. Charles was a little confused as he pulled into the track, but let it go, knowing Arthur would explain it later. “Does that mean there will be a ceremony or something?”

“You could call it a ceremony, yes,” She giggled. She noticed that they were only a few blocks away from the car park of the track, so she turned her phone away toward her shoulder as she directed a question to Mila, “Could I jump out and meet up with Arthur before the race? I promise I’ll be careful, and I’ll be in the box before it starts.” Mila turned to discuss it with one of the guards who was entirely against it. “Please, I won’t leave Arthur’s side, and you know he’s trustworthy.”

“I won’t let her out of my sight, Mila!” Arthur’s voice could be heard through the phone despite it not being on speaker. She gestured to the phone at her shoulder as Mila tried to reason with the guard.

“I’ll go with you,” Mila said as she started collecting their passes and jumping out of the car that was stopped in the traffic going into the parking lot. Y/n immediately climbed out of the back, pulling her phone back up to her ear.

“Alright, Arthur, where do you want us to meet you?”

First POV

“You seem to have gotten shorter since Melbourne,” I laughed as I ran into Arthur’s arms from where he was waiting at the Dams garage.

“You’re wearing heels,” he pointed out after we pulled away. “What are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?”

“You say that like you don’t like me in heels,” I teased back.

“Ok, lovebirds,” Mila pulled our attention away from each other, “I am going to head up to our seats. Don’t tell anyone I left.”

“Your secret’s safe with me. Thank you, Mila,” I responded as she started walking away.

“You have seats?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah, I didn’t want to rely on you for the passes for Mila, so she bought us hospitality seats,” I explain. It wasn’t the whole truth, but I could not just tell him that in the open. “Is it possible to talk somewhere away from the cameras?”

“You’re not breaking up with me, right?” He immediately jumped to conclusions.

“No, no, no, no,” I quickly shut down. “Je t’aime trop pour partir, mon amour. I just want to tell you something. (I love you too much to leave, my love)”

“Je t’aime, ma belle, (I love you, my beauty)” He whispered, pulling me in for a light kiss before leading me back towards the driver’s room he shares with Ayumu. “Make yourself comfortable.”

I took a seat on one of the beanbags as Arthur sat right next to me. I took a deep breath before deciding the best way to tell him was just to say it fast. “Arthur, I need to tell you about my family.”

“Are you trying to have me meet your family already? You could meet my brothers and maman today if you want,” He rambled.

“I can meet them, but you won’t be able to meet my family. That day you left for Australia was the day I found out they passed away.” I paused looking at his reactions. He looked sorrowful as he grasped my hands and ran his thumbs across the backs of my hands. “Maman had an illness, and papa went to get my brother from the base.”

“Your brother’s in the military?” He asked.

“Was,” I answered. He looked even more confused at that before I continued. “He was serving in the military as his last stage of training. Kind of like my trainings, he had to serve in the military.”

“What kind of training did you need to do? Was this part of your degree or something?”

“No, that’s the big secret I haven’t been able to tell you,” I whispered, putting my head down as I felt guilty for not explaining this sooner.

“Anything you have to say, I will accept you either way,” He reassured me as he pulled me into his chest and kissed my head. “I understand that you have your reasons for hiding some things, so whatever this is, it is not going to stop me from loving you.”

“What if it is complex with more spotlight than you already have?” I asked, throwing my head to rest on his shoulder and looking into his blue eyes. “What if it’s a big change?”

“When we go public, it will be a big change, but I’m willing to do anything for you, ma princesse.”

“Reine, (Queen)” I whispered.

“Quoi? (What)” He responded just as fast.

“What if I told you my parents were the king and queen of Monaco? And my older brother was the prince of Monaco? And now that they’re gone, I will be the queen of Monaco? What would you do?”

He went silent for a few seconds before whispering, “Are you serious?” My silence was enough of an answer for him to jump up, pulling me with him as he starts laughing and spinning us in circles. He set me down after a couple of spins before holding me at arm's length, “I would completely understand. I mean you probably didn’t plan on taking the throne because of your brother, and you’d just come back from studying. I only tell people who need to know, and when we met, I wasn’t someone who needed to know. We haven't talked since you found out, so I could never be upset with something like that.”

“But now, if we tell people, you will be heavily scrutinized as people will see you as a potential king,” I signed, happy to know he isn’t upset with me, but still wanting him to see all sides before completely agreeing to move forward. “You’d have more on your list.”

“The only question I would have is if it would interfere with racing,” He turned serious.

“I would never let them keep you from your passions,” I laughed. “They have to respect it by order of the queen.”

“Well, then I would see no issues against continuing to be by your side, ma reine,” he chuckled with a mocking bow.

“Merci mon beau prince, (Thank you my handsome prince)” I mocked back, “now by order of the queen, go win this race.”

“And Arthur Leclerc passes Fredrik Vesti in the final turn of the race,” Crofty shouted over the radio during the final lap of the race. I was up in the hospitality seats with Mila and the guards but headed down to the pitlane a couple of laps before since I was going to be presenting the trophies. I was standing at the pit wall with Charles, Lorenzo, and Pascale, who I met (again) just before the race. “The Monaco Curse is broken for Arthur Leclerc as he wins his first Monaco Grand Prix!”

I left the pit wall to meet everyone at the podium and stopped to meet up with Mila on my way over. She and the guards escorted me through the crowds. “I’ll tell you now, one of you will need to tell Arthur not to out our relationship when I give him his trophy.”

At the podium, I stood behind the steps as Alice announces the winners. “In third place, we have Théo Pourchaire! In second place, we have Frederik Vesti! And in first place, breaking the Monaco Curse, the home favorite, Arthur Leclerc! Presenting the trophies today is the future Queen of Monaco, Y/n.”

“I’m proud of you,” I said to Arthur as I handed him the trophy.

“Merci, now if only Charles could win,” He joked, taking the trophy and posing with it.

“I’ll tell him you’re talking crap about him,” I teased back, moving away to grab the next trophy for Dams. I handed them all out and expressed my congratulations to the other two drivers before posing for the picture and immediately ducking back as I knew Arthur would try to spray me. I walked down the stairs to meet up with Charles before he heads back to Ferrari for his own race. “Arthur’s talking shit about you. You better win.”

“I’m starting sixth, so we have hope,” Charles responded as he rolled his eyes.

“Just don’t box for hards at the last lap again and you’ll be fine,” I laughed as if it were really that simple.

“Maybe I broke the curse for both of us or maybe I just had some good luck today,” Arthur said, coming up behind us and throwing his arm around my shoulders.

“Oh yeah, what good luck did you have?” Charles teased, punching Arthur into me.

“Maybe just the future queen of Monaco.”

~~~~~

#arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc #formula 2 #formula 1 #charles leclerc x reader #bad268 #ship268 #thing268 #arthur x reader #f2 #f1 #dams racing

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multiwreckedmess · 24 days

Text

February Filth Fest Day 28

Prompt: Mommy Pairing: Neighbor!Wooyoung x older!reader WC: 4k Summary: To Wooyoung, you were everything. You didn’t even know he existed. Older and audacity turned to maximum, he’s determined to make you never forget.

This is a work of fiction, it does not represent Wooyoung or any Ateez member. On top of this it is an 18+ work. For my comfort and boundaries please if you are under age do not interact with this. By clicking the “Read More” you agree that you are of age to interact with my works.

TW//CW: TBH THIS IS MOSTLY PROLOGUE. Reader called ‘mommy’ and doesn’t like it at first, wooyoung is desperate, age gap undefined (it’s not suggested that it’s HUGE but it’s there). oral (fem receiving). CLIFFHANGER END

“You remember Wooyoung right? Youngie?” Your mom tugs you over to a young man, black hair half back in a ponytail, orange shirt just slightly too unbuttoned, kicking back a beer. “Aw mom! I can see in her eyes she doesn’t!” Wooyoung’s eyes crinkle as he extends his hand to you. Your eyebrows raise. Mom? Grabbing his hand you shake it tentatively. Strong muscular fingers grip back, fitting your hand fully in his warm palm. Your mother doesn’t let the silence linger long, mercifully. “Our Wooyoungie has been taking such good care of us while you’ve been off making your own little homestead on the coast!” “Now you’re speaking far too highly of me. You feed me just as good as well. It’s an exchange of labor for services.” He gloats, swatting lightly at the air in front of himself as if the words praising him still hung there. “You eat so well it's always a joy to share, besides, it helps me get through the leftovers.” She lightly ribs you, trying to get you to join into the conversation.

To be honest, you felt guilty. The only child setting out into the world by moving as far away as you could while staying within the continental United States. You’d intended to see your parents more but the realities of limited vacation time and cost of travel hit quickly. The pandemic years certainly hadn’t helped. If anything they prevented you from establishing a normal visiting schedule and left you floundering to fit them in between projects and personal days. You’d finally been able to decide on the yearly block party, held every summer, to make your grand return. Calling up old friends and arranging it this way ensured you’d see most if not all the folks on your obligations list. However, seeing your mom smiling so fondly at this kid, almost more proud of him than she seemed of you, made your stomach turn. The beast of jealousy churning a pot inside of you. You barely track the rest of their pleasantries, simply watching their borderline flirtatious body language as you nurse your beer.

“I’ll leave you two to catch up! I swear Wooyoungie has told me so many cute stories of you, I can’t believe you don’t remember him.” Elbowing your arm gently your mom hisses, “play nice, he’s a gem!” Wooyoung tilts his chin up and out, craning to receive a kiss on the cheek from her as you stare. “So, you and my parents are close,” your lips curl, tiptoeing slowly into the shallow end of the conversation. “Oh yeah! Well, I started shoveling their walk in the winters and salting the sidewalk which they seemed to really appreciate. So, Mom invited me to dinner after one particularly bad snowfall and I’ve been keeping them company when I can ever since.” “Mhm,” you hum shortly, suspicious of him. “Well you haven’t murdered them yet.” Wooyoung cackles, “do I really look like a killer?” “Isn’t that what all the witnesses in crime series say? That the murderer didn’t seem like the kind of person to do it.” His eyes flit down from your head to your toes. Wooyoung had always been a cute kid. Charming, sweet, a little spicy, but his good nature charmed the neighborhood. Or at least the adults of the neighborhood. He always got along better with adults. The kids of the neighborhood were less enchanted. They called him a suck up, kiss ass, brat, annoying, and worse all in the name of envy. Envy for how the adults loved him and took care of him. So many neighborhood nights out ended in tears for him, maybe it was good you didn’t recall those days. He shook his head with a smile. “Still I’m a little upset you don’t remember me.”

***********

“Hey, some of the ‘big kids’ are heading up to the local bar!” A girl named Gina tugs at your sleeve. The street lights flickering on and only the young and unaccompanied left at the party it was a natural progression of the night. A quick four block walk from your home you shrugged, it wasn’t like you held any particular affection for anyone in particular but it also wasn’t an arduous trek. Besides, this is what you came home for, right? Socialize with the ones who knew you before you knew yourself.

That's how you ended up drinking a gin and tonic at the back of the bar, letting the wash of noise and alcohol blur your nerves. You’d selected gin and tonic out of habit more than anything, the tap list overwhelming and no cocktail menu to be found. A safe bet, difficult to fuck up too badly. Laughing congenially along to the stories retold by friends, you feel lost in the crowd. Stories that went like “oh remember when Ricky did this” or “Cassy has a funny story about when Hunter lost his tooth” which you didn't remember, why would you? Not to say you shared no memories, just that most of them were the aftermath rather than the incident. Always too buried in your books to notice the hijinx happening. Now burying your nose in your glass you nod along to save face. Yes, you were there but somehow also not.

“So you remember all of this but not me?” Wooyoung slides along your side. Some form of brownish liquor in his hand. “No, it’s called being politely interested.” “Ahhh,” he grins and sips his drink. “I’ll note that, the politely bit. I’m already interested so I think I’m good there...” You roll your eyes, “interested in my mom.” “Your mother is a beautiful lady. And smart. And kind. Why shouldn’t I be interested?” He knows he’s being cheeky but part of it is payback for your memory lapse. “Don’t you love your mommy?” The word mommy hits you like a truck. Rolling up your spine and crashing through your skull with the force of a brick to the back of the head. “Wooyoung? Oh my god. Wooyoung.” You mutter, shocked, dismayed. It’s him. It’s definitely him alright. Wooyoung grins like a jackal in front of you, gnawing on the small plastic swizzler straw in his drink. “I know you.” “Do you?”

Thirteen. That’s how old you were when you went to your last neighborhood block party. It was the last summer you spent preoccupied with fictional boys instead of real ones. There was already a change in the air, all the neighborhood kids seemed just so much younger than despite the difference being only a couple of years. Watching them rough house and play from afar you’d been set out with ‘eldest’ duties so that the parents could absolve themselves of direct supervisory responsibilities. Which was fine to you, you’d be tipped generously at the end of the night by the parents without needing to do too much. Suddenly two small arms encircled your legs, an equally small face buried in your pant leg, absolutely wailing for mommy. Tapping on the black mop of hair, red eyes and a runny nose looked back up at you and upon seeing your face cried harder. Prying your legs from his arms you lean down to meet his eye level, “can we go find her? Your mom?” He sniffs and nods, lower lip quivering. “Jung Wooyoung,” his small voice tremors. Taking his small fist in your hand, you lead him farther into the party. It doesn’t take long to find her, gathered in a small circle of moms, laughing jovially. Her smile fades as she sees you toting her son, face red and puffy. “Should he be in trouble or someone else be in trouble?” She’s very brief in her assessment, half exasperated half sympathetic. “I’m sorry I’m not sure Mrs. Jung. He just ran up to me like this asking for you.” Squatting next to her son you notice, she has the exact same wash of jeans as you. “Jung Wooyoung, can you tell me what happened?” The boy glances up at you, eyes wide, sitting on the pavement with a hard plop. “Jung. Woo. Young. Your mom is asking a question.” He notices you notice him staring and he hides his eyes. “I’m so sorry miss, I can take care of him from here. He really likes pretty girls but gets so shy around them. You can go!” Mrs. Jung looks apologetically at you, scooping Wooyoung up onto her hip. Smiling you look him in the eye and wave, watching as he smiles back shyly and buries his face.

“You were such a cute kid!” You coo. “Is that really all you remember about me? Cute little kid? Damn.” This was not exactly the reaction he was looking for. Wooyoung wanted the gasp and the dramatic reveal, of course, but being called cute was not the highest adjective on his list. And only one fleeting memory of his mother calling you a pretty girl. His mother was incorrect though, you weren’t just a pretty girl to him, you were an angel. He was immediately obsessed, watching you silently with flutters in his stomach listening as the adults talked about your achievements. Not only kind and beautiful but smart and self sufficient and bold and fierce. He remembered one of your summers back from college, reading on the front lawn in a bikini, waiting for the sun to slowly turn you a pleasant golden shade. Only briefly passing by on his bike the image seared itself into his mind, fueling his late nights as he flipped through your instagram. “I really thought the world of you,” he muses. “And what about now?” You ask with a laugh and a grimace. Wooyoung looks you up and down. “I could ask the same to you, you said I was a cute kid. What about now?” “Oh come on, you have to know this is a touchy subject for me…you can’t just say that you thought the world of a person in the past tense like that. What, I must be some washed up hag, desperate in her neighborhood bar.” Wooyoung hums, smirking, “well now i don’t agree with the hag part but I like the desperate, desperate i can work with.” He gently takes your drink and swills the dregs. “Another of the same?” “I want whatever you got. Order me that.” His eyebrows shoot up, “oh come on. You’re the older one, you should treat me.” He smiles sweetly and bats his lashes. “I’ll come with you so you know what to order next time.” You roll your eyes. He’s really too cute for his own good. Your heart sinks a little. He’s really too cute to be hanging around you like he is. But you take his glass with yours and slide them across the wood top bar. “Two whiskeys, on the rocks!” Wooyoung flashes his winning smile, “on her tab please.” He finishes with a head tilt in your direction and a wink. “You’re such a baby.” “Only for you mommy.” He bunts the top of his head into your arm as you blanch at the sudden endearment.

You hate it on instinct. You’re not his mommy, yes you’re older but you're not his mommy. You’re not anyone’s mommy. You don’t want to mother anyone for any reason. You wanted that care and attention. Still, you don’t correct him and let him continue to press his side to yours. The pressure of contact from another person is nice, even momentarily.

“So,” Wooyoung sips gingerly at his drink, “tell me what you think of me now. I can’t settle for being a formerly cute baby. I won’t.” He pouts, lilting his head. With a heavy sigh you look him up and down, simple fitted black t-shirt, tight black pants, and moto-boots. “If I were closer to your age-” “EH!” He shushes you abruptly, finger to your lips. “It’s not about you. Tell me about me.” “Fine. You want to hear you’re attractive? You’re attractive,” you give him an exasperated glance. The heat of the alcohol warms the sides of your face, making you feel giggly. The whiskey goes down shockingly easily, loosening your inhibitions. “What about me? I’m the one in distress.” Wooyoung steadies you, bringing awareness to your swaying, letting you lean back against the wall slowly with the support of his hand. “I think you’re the first woman I ever worshipped and now I want to make good on that.” “Wooyoung, are you coming onto me?” You as incredulously, eyebrows almost launching themselves from your face with the speed they raise at. “I’d very much like to if you’d let me.” “You’d like to what exactly?” “Cum on you. Or in you. Whichever you’ll let me.” His forwardness leaves you gagging on unspoken words. You think for a second you ought to slap him as you see red around his smug smile. “Wooyoung do you hear yourself?” Wooyoung slides his hand up, leaning into you on his elbow. He smells like earth and spice and alcohol. “I think you’d like it too. Not to brag but, I think I’m better than spending the rest of the night in your old twin bed with your decade old back massager.” Stunned by his too all too accurate prediction of your plans your brain barely processes the way you lean into his light kiss on the cheek. Your face feels warm, he is warm. And soft, so soft. His brashness has you melting a little bit, there is no halfway here. No room for interpretation. He wants you, and it makes your stomach flutter and legs turn to jelly. “So, wanna get out of here?” Wooyoung says with a small smirk, eyes downcast sheepishly. “If we get to my place and you wanna back out I’ll happily sleep on the couch with the cat. I just don’t want either of us to be alone tonight.” Tender heartstrings plucked expertly by a master songsmith, you sigh. Foolish. Stupid. Irresponsible. What would your parents think when you didn’t come home? Your head shakes as you type out a short text to your mother, a sentence excuse about staying the night with Gina. Or was it Gia? The keyboard swims under your thumb. The rest of you melts and lets the younger man wrap his arm around your waist to guide you safely to a cab. Again you marvel at how warm he is, how his fingers splay casually in the divot of your waist. Cheeks burning you duck your head out of the bar, as though it would be shameful to be seen with him.

Wooyoung kisses with the desperation of a starved man, drinking in as much of you as he possibly can before coming up for air. The electric lock on the door has barely even finished latching when his arms snake around your waist, lips attaching to the nape of your neck. “You smell so good,” his face is smashed into your shoulder, the both of you stumble and struggle to remove shoes as he further tangles himself in you. The second you're free of them he’s turning you, pressing your back into the wall as his leg slots easily between your thighs. Winding your hips together you teeter on your tip toe as he kisses you, teeth tugging at your bottom lip lightly. “Ooh mommy, I’m going to make you remember me-” he moans into your open mouth. A burst of air comes through your nose as you suppress part of an awkward laugh, “Mommy?” “Yeah, your baby’s gonna take good care of you.” His mouth stretches into a grin against your cheek, nose bumping against you until your head falls to the side, granting access to your throat. “Right mommy? I’m taking good care of you right?” Teeth nibbling a searing trail to your shoulder, you can’t help but moan. You don’t hate it. Your mind hates it but your body loves it. His insistent desperation for approval from you is almost as intoxicating as the drinks you’d shared. “This mommy shit is weird Wooyoungie.” Wooyoung sucks a bruising spot into your collarbone, skin immediately flushing, meant to leave a mark. Shivering you moan again, letting your head fall to your opposite shoulder, grinding your hips against him. “That’s not a nice thing to say mommy,” his grip on your ass tightens. His hands pull you down to him, pressure in your gut building. “Fuck! Oh baby-” the phrase slides from your lips before you can pause and overthink what this might say about you. “Yeah, is your baby making you feel good?” He tenderly kisses over the growing bruise. “Wanna be mommy now?” “Fuck-Wooyoungie-you’re fucking incorrigible,” you groan. Between the alcohol and the pounding in your gut, you really don’t mind it. Silencing the small critic and setting that voice in time out, you slide to his bedroom, stripping bear besides your undergarments.

“Damn mommy, you’re a walking wet dream,” Wooyoung looks at you from under his bangs, making a home for himself at your feet, waiting for the word to dive in. Eyes traveling up your legs to the crevice between them, he can barely wait longer. He’s been waiting since puberty. The hunger to prove himself to make you his, growing all the more as your life proceeded without him. His gaze heats you from your core, anticipatory buzz gripping your gut. “Yeah baby?” You practically whisper, throat taut. Slowly but surely his hands travel the tops of your legs, large and warm on your skin. Everything is burning and tingling and on a knife's edge as they stop at your hips, resting his full weight on you. His face comes barely a foot from yours. “Can you tell me how much you want this?” He smiles, Cheshire-like. “I’m fucking aching baby,” you plead maybe just a bit too desperately. “Can you help mommy out?” You can barely finish the sentence before his plush lips are on yours with a bruising amount of force. Eagerly his hands slide between your thighs, tracing the edges of your panties. “Mommy,” he gasps into your open mouth, “are you already this wet?” He teases a thumb over the growing damp spot. Nodding, your legs slide easily for him. “Yeah baby, all for you.” Pressing against your clit more earnestly he rubs in small circles. Your head goes back into the pillows immediately, pressure deliciously building in your core. The skin of his shoulders is cool as he nudges your thighs even wider, his lips replacing his hands. A shock of electricity runs up your spine as you realize he’s pulling your hips down against his face, bridge of his nose nudging you through your panties. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this,” Wooyoung mutters barely loud enough for you to make out. Fingers slipping between your panties and your skin he can barely breathe as he tugs the fabric over your hips. Caught between a fixated stare and a shyly glancing away he pulls down even more, practically cumming in his own underwear as your cunt is finally revealed. “Fuck you’re beautiful.” “That’s not even the pretty part of me,” you feel the heat of embarrassment creep up the side of your neck. Wooyoung looks up at you from between your knees, frowning incredulously. “Every part of my mommy is pretty, especially her cute little cunt.” He says before unceremoniously burying his face in your folds. Licking and slurping like a starved man, you don’t even register the auditory assault, squealing so loudly yourself your head rushes. “Wooyoung! Oh shit! Oh FUCK!” You scream and fist the sheets, fighting your urge to snap your legs around his head. The pleasure twists in your gut as his tongue flicks against your swollen clit, a finger teasing your hole. “Grab my hair-” Wooyoung gasps, “pull my hair. I’m not fragile.” It doesn’t take any more convincing as you tug at his black locks. His lips buzz with moans of approval as you ride his face. His finger crooks inside of you, just enough to press against the top of your walls, right into the squishy spot that blurs your vision and has you seeing stars. “I’m gonna cum, oh fuck baby, I’m gonna-” His face presses more insistently against you, practically drowning himself in your sex. If he was going to die young he’d want to die like this, nestled in your heat. “Do it.” Coating his chin in release your eyes flutter closed. Clamping down around the slight resistance his finger gives. He’s right. Much better than your vibrator. You release him from your grasp as he comes up for air, both of your eyes are hazy with lust as you look at each other.

“Can I suck your tits?” Wooyoung’s blunt tone does nothing to disturb your post orgasmic cloud. “C’mere baby boy,” you say as you slide your bra straps off your shoulders, unclasping the band without a second thought. Wooyoungs eyes bulge as you so easily and carelessly reveal your breasts, half reclined back in his bed, like he’d imagined all those years ago. It’s nothing to you but everything to him. You see them every day and he’d only seen them in his fantasies. He swipes lazily at the arousal still clinging to his lips and chin, transfixed by your tits. Almost reverently he reaches for them both, fingers fanning out over the pair and squishing into them. “Oh mommy,” he says, leaning down to kiss the top of one, “they’re perfect.” “Wooyoungie-” you’re nearly dying of embarrassment, heat flashing through your body as he interrupts you. “They’re just like I imagined.” “Shut up and suck before I regret this,” you laugh, masking your tension beneath brusque humor. Wooyoung doesn’t seem to mind. In fact his eyes practically sparkle as you demand he follow through on his request. Lips encircling your nipple he kisses tenderly at first, hand resting on the opposite breast to make sure it was also attended to. Soft skin in his palm and on his lips, Wooyoung hips move autonomously, rutting against whatever warmth his cock can find. His tongue flicks over your hardened nipple, fingers pinching the other lightly and listening for your moans of approval. Again, he flicks harder, pinches harder, and feels you respond louder and harder as he’d hoped. He keeps escalating until it feels like his heart is going to burst from excitement, leaning into you as he nips at your flesh. Yelping you swat at him playfully, “don’t be a brat!” “Sorry mommy, i just love you so much,” he smiles and nips again. Truthfully the pain feels good, stinging only for a moment before the buzz of endorphins rushes through your spine. “S’okay baby,” you purr and coax him between your thighs, tugging at his underwear. “You’ve made a real mess of these.” “All for you,” he’s breathless as he tosses the ruined pair casually across the room. Leaning close to you again, he kisses you as he rummages under the pillows. You can feel him smile against your mouth as he finds his prize. Pulling away he brandishes a gold foil packet proudly. “A boyscout is always prepared.” “Goddamn, is this just a normal thing for you?” Your heart drops just a little bit disappointed that you might not be special to him. He’s just so smooth, every action carefully planned. “No,” he tears the foil packet with his teeth before leaning in to kiss your cheek. “I heard you were going to be in town and I wasn’t going to lose you again.” “You sound obsessed,” you giggle, hands tracing the veins of his lower abdomen as you watch him roll the latex over his length. “Yeah and I’m going to make you just as obsessed about me.”

Sorry, i just don’t know that i wanted to write more of this. I just do NAWT know how to write a mommy kink, it’s not something i’m particularly into which usually doesn’t really stop me when writing but IDK. I liked the beginning but then the mommy stuff felt shoehorned in.

#February Filth Fest #ateez smut #wooyoung smut #wooyoung x reader #ateez wooyoung smut #atz smut #kpop smut

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raspberriesoda · 20 days

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fall from grace » ljn

genre | angel!jeno x human!reader; fluff, slight angst at the very end

word count | 2.3k

summary | your guardian angel has always blurred the line he’s never supposed to cross, and one night he unintentionally takes that leap into territory he’s not meant to be in

a.n | this will most likely have a part two! (pt2 will be much more angsty, and possibly smutty i haven’t decided yet) also if you see something extremely similar to this on ao3 no you don’t (i wrote this as a nomin fic a few years ago and posted it there but dreamscape angel propaganda made me want to revamp it and post it again)

he hadn’t expected to end up here. or, at least that’s what he tried to convince himself. he really wasn’t supposed to be here. none of this was ever supposed to happen.

but, how could he not fall in love with you?

the way that you snort when you laugh a little too hard at something you know isn’t really that funny. the pout that cutely displays on your lips when you give something your full focus. the little noises you make in your sleep when you’re dreaming. the way that you almost always trip on the crack in the sidewalk right outside your apartment building, despite living there long enough to be mindful of it.

jeno thinks about it more and more day by day; not that he even pays mind to the passage of time anymore. there was no way out, he was doomed from the start.

but, instead of the lighthearted feeling that would normally come hand in hand with love, jeno feels a weight. in any other circumstance he’d likely be considered a stalker by the way he knows every little thing about you, but that’s his obligation. jeno’s sole task is to watch over you, to keep you safe, to make you his number one priority above all else.

you aren’t supposed to know. you’re supposed to be blissfully unaware of jeno’s existence and his presence in your life, as well as any others like him.

and jeno was never supposed to fall in love.

lately- and he couldn’t tell if it was on purpose- jeno had become admittedly sloppy with keeping a safe enough space between you and him. he knows it’s no excuse, and he knows the consequences of the risk he’s taking, but the pull is just too strong. his one responsibility is to protect you, but what was the point of that if he couldn’t make you comfortable and happy? if he couldn’t love you in the way only he knows you deserve to be? he’s just fulfilling his duties, right?

how unfair, he thinks. how unfair it is that he’s forced to be so close to you, yet just far enough away that you’ll never even know.

jeno stands on your balcony, three floors up, three hours past midnight.

there’s only a wall separating you from him, and though there is the perk that you can't exactly feel his presence like you might with another human, there stands the possibility of you finding him all the same. he’s more than aware of how dangerous this is for him, to have this little of a distance between you; a relationship between a human and their guardian is never allowed to be physical or emotional in any way. he asks himself how far he is from crossing that line, how close he is from falling off of that tight rope. realistically he already has, but he finds it difficult to care.

ironically, jeno wonders if he’s been cursed or blessed. maybe both, he thinks- blessed with the fact he’s always with the human he loves oh so deeply; cursed with the fact that though he knows just how to make you smile, that smile will never really be for him.

he’s willing, though- more than willing to take that chance, despite the better part of himself advising against it (or that had been the better part of him, long long ago). if he just gets to see your surprised, sleepy little smile early the next morning when you step out to check on your favorite flowers and notice they’ve bloomed way ahead of schedule, then to jeno, its worth it.

as jeno tends to the soft peach colored petals, you sit inside, your legs tucked under you on the kitchen counter, sipping peach flavored tea and watching old cartoons on your computer. you couldn’t sleep, and tossing and turning in bed was finally out of the question after a few too many hours of dreamless silence.

your bare feet make a soft thud on the kitchen tiles when you uncross your legs and leap from the counter, making your way to grab more honey for your tea. the sound makes jeno glance up from the petals sitting between his fingers. this signals to him that you’re now on the move and that he should go, but again, the voice in his head is muted when it comes to you.

jeno takes another bud in his hands and watches as it spreads open right before his eyes at his touch. he rearranges the flowers and stems and pats down the soil as if to make it look a bit more lively, and with this, he decides he should depart before you have the chance to notice he’s here. he turns, preparing to hop the banister, but he bumps the patio table, sending an unused pot of dry dirt falling to the ground. it shatters into large shards of clay that scatter across the wood, and jeno stills.

you almost drop the glass jar at the unexpected calamity, adrenaline shooting through your body like a shockwave. a heavy spoonful of honey is frozen in the air as you hold it above your mug; it drizzles down the side of the ceramic and makes a sticky puddle on your counter. a few moments of painfully eerie silence pass and you try your best to catch your breath.

jeno stoops down to clean the mess he’s made, making certain to be as silent and quick as possible before you arrive to investigate. after your mind has time to form a theory that doesn’t involve something you’d seen in a horror film, you come to the hopeful conclusion that it must have been the wind knocking around your gardening supplies. for your peace of mind, you round the counter to pull open the curtain draped glass doors.

what you see makes you think that maybe you had fallen asleep earlier after all.

jeno looks up, stunned, frigid, crouched down with his hands full of rocks and clay and dirt. he can only imagine how he appears to you in this moment; he must look like he’s just been caught committing a crime- and it likely would be in any other set of means.

millions of worries should be swarming his head, but the only thing on his mind right now is you. your tangled hair, your fluffy pajama pants, your eyes twinkling in the moonlight and looking at him with wonder- not toward him or past him, but directly at him. it was something he’d never had the pleasure of witnessing.

your urge to cry out is suppressed by the peculiar calm feeling that settles over you the moment your eyes lock with jeno’s. even in the shadows the strange boy’s eyes seem to shine, and any thought of ill intent is sent away as quickly as it came. your brain has no time to question the unusual level headedness you feel before you start to connect the dots.

weirdly, you recognize him, but your mind blanks when you try recalling from where. though, you really figured that you’d remember something like this if you’d seen it before. it takes jeno standing, letting the soft starlight paint his nervous face and his shimmering wings for you to be able to connect him to any sort of a tangible memory.

you’d never actually known his name, or from where he came, but you did know of him.

the boy you’d spotted leaving the cafe after the barista had told you that your coffee was already paid for on the morning you were running late for your psychology lecture. the boy you’d seen scanning shelves in the campus library when you saw your favorite novel sat next to your course work upon returning from the counter to ask if they had it in yet. the boy you’d seen walking down the pavement when you’d whipped your tipsy head around after being yanked back by your hoodie just before you stepped into the street, a blaring car horn and a rush of wind whisking your hair up as all you could do was stare at his figure as he strolled away from you.

other instances that you’d had no concrete explanations for began to surface in your mind the longer you studied him. the closed window and extra blanket the night you’d accidentally fallen asleep before a severe thunderstorm. the carton of fresh milk in your fridge you could’ve sworn you’d forgotten to pick up from the market. your favorite white sweater miraculously being completely unharmed after a pink sock snuck its way into the wash.

you knew all of these occurrences and the same boy being present could be purely coincidental, but something about that was just too hard to believe. you always meant to approach him when you saw him in your day to day life, but the courage to make the move and close the distance between you never arose.

‘what an angel,’ you’d always said to yourself when you’d see him. you never would’ve guessed you were right.

when jeno finally snaps out of his trance, remembering the predicament he’s gotten himself into, he turns to really leave before he lands himself in any more trouble. he spreads his huge white wings, the ones that had always been hidden when you were near, and flaps them once to lift himself into the air. a gust of chilled wind flutters your pajamas and pulls the breath from your lungs as you gawk at him.

you try to speak, to tell him not to go, but your voice won’t come out. before jeno can get too far, and before you can think of something less hazardous, you run forward and hoist yourself up on the railing to grab jeno’s ankle in an attempt to stop him from fleeing. at that same moment jeno flaps his wings again, not thinking that the sudden weight on his leg could be you, and as a result you’re pulled from the rail and out into the open, three stories above solid ground.

a strangled yelp jumps from your throat as you dangle in peril. jeno’s head snaps down, and his eyes widen as they meet your figure, clinging to him and flailing wildly. your grip rapidly begins to slip from jeno’s body. your mind races around the realization that this could very well be the end; in an instant you feel the cold night wind rushing up around you, whisking your hair towards the sky, blurring the buildings and skyline together and your breath is caught in your lungs as all you can do is fall.

just as soon as it happened, you collapse into jeno’s open arms with an ‘oomph’ when he catches you before you can meet any harm. you immediately wrap your entire body around him and squeeze your eyes shut, letting out a trembling and fearful cry into his neck. hot tears threaten to spill down your cheeks and the height makes you lightheaded. you’re shivering as jeno lifts you both up to the balcony once again.

it’s bittersweet for jeno to see you this close. you’re so stunningly beautiful, more so than jeno could have ever imagined. your eyes finally open to meet jeno’s when you feel yourself safely sitting on your balcony, curled up under jeno’s kneeling figure. they glisten with tears and your soft face appears to glow in the moonlight. jeno’s heart grows wings of its own to soar through his chest; he may be the angel, but you are angelic.

a very nervous laugh bubbles out of you, your face blooming with a deep red at the sudden realization of your very close proximity to one another, and the embarrassment of the stunt you’d just pulled. one of your arms still drapes around the back of jeno’s neck, the other hand pressed to his chest, revealing jeno’s rapid heartbeat that matches that of yours. jeno’s arms are still wrapped around your waist. he never wants to let go.

“i-mh,” you stutter a bit, and gulp. “i’m sorry,” a sheepish smile pulls at your lips. your voice is much breathier than you’d wanted it to come out.

jeno’s features are sharp, but his expression is soft. tufts of his silvery white hair flit around in the crisp breeze and he looks at you, admires you, his gentle eyes flickering across your face like he’s committing you to memory. his fingers comb gingerly through your windswept hair, pushing it away from your flushed neck and tucking it behind your ear.

his eyes suddenly shift down when your hand meets his jaw, the tips of your fingers ghosting over his cheek. his skin tingles under your timid touch.

you’ve never seen anything like him.

“you’re.. so pretty.”

“thank you,” jeno breathes out through a dazed smile. as you relax a bit, jeno feels your fingers brush delicately against the indents you had made on his shoulders; your grip is softer now, but no less fervent.

“i’m jeno,” he tells you. your eyes meet his again. his heart skips a beat when you cup his face fully, your thumb smoothing over the expanse of his cheek; its warm under your touch.

“thank you, jeno.”

a short beat of time passes, and in a sudden surge of bravery, you lean forward to connect your lips in a kiss. jeno’s heart stops then, his feathers standing and his eyes wide, utterly overwhelmed with the cordial feeling of the one he loves so suddenly embracing him.

jeno decides to throw all caution to the wind. he wastes no time in sliding his hands up your neck to cradle both sides of your jaw, turning his head to let the kiss deepen. his eyes flutter closed and his wings relax, and the sigh he lets out sends hot air onto the peaks of your blushing face, making you melt into his hold. you can’t tell if the warmth that spreads through your body as your lips move in perfect sync is from jeno’s celestial form, but you’ve never felt such a rush from just a single kiss.

but it’s not otherworldly, because jeno feels it, too.

all of a sudden jeno feels the crushing sense of his time running short. he reluctantly pulls away from the kiss; you chase his lips as he leans back.

“i’m sorry, i’m not supposed to be here.”

your fingers grip his shoulders again. a wave of sadness crashes over him when he sees the somber look in your eyes.

“don’t go,” you whimper. jeno’s heart throbs. he would consider it a moment of weakness, only that's all he ever felt when it came to you. he kisses you once more, quick this time, and he feels himself ready to break.

“i’ll come back. i promise.”

with that, he’s gone.

you didn’t end up sleeping that night.

the tea in the mug that hangs loosely in your grip has gone cold by now. you sit in the same spot on your balcony, staring longingly up at the star speckled night sky.

#lee jeno #lee jeno fluff #lee jeno angst #lee jeno drabble #lee jeno x reader #jeno fluff #jeno angst #jeno drabble #jeno x reader #nct dream fluff #nct dream angst #nct dream drabble #nct dream x reader #judah.doc

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lapis-lights · 1 year

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Chapter 03 | Kiss the Skin From My Lips

'Falling From Grace' Series

[Vendetta!Leon Kennedy x Reader]

Song Title: Call Me What You Like by Lovejoy

Content Warnings: NSFW (18+ ONLY), Unprotected p in v, Porn with feelings, Creampie, Some dirty taking but nothing too intense, The lovers in enemies to lovers

Word Count: 14.1k

Author's Notes: Chapter three of the Falling From Grace series! Sooooo....this is really my first time attempting a smut scene so criticism would be really appreciated if you have any! Otherwise, I hope you guys like this chapter :)

Posts are scheduled for 8 a.m. EST every day until the series is complete!

Series Masterlist

Ao3

Summary: As tensions ride high between you and Leon, you execute your first infiltration mission of the J.I.E. lab. What you find inside is more than just a few simple monsters, but rather a life or death situation and an experience that leaves you and Leon absolutely breathless.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

And you can kiss the skin from my lips if it makes you feel good... I'm not sure if you want it; I'm not sure if you need me too.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

When you wake up, there's a deep ache in your bones and you think sourly of how you're getting on in your years.

At this point, don't people start planning their retirement homes or something? You've led anything but a normal life so really, you wouldn't know, but from what you've heard, it's gotta be something along those lines. When did your twenties end and your thirties begin?

Jesus Christ, you've let yourself go.

You start your morning routine, ignoring Leon who's still happily snoring away, and taking a trip down to the first floor to the gym room. There's some flimsy equipment down there and it's definitely not the high quality stuff you get at actual gyms or at the J.I.E.'s professional training programs, but you'll have to make do for now.

You start with simple stretches to warm up as you ponder everything that has happened last night.

You think about the way Ada had looked and by proxy, Leon. He's never mentioned her to you ever so you suspect there must be a reason for that. Maybe he wanted to protect her from you in case you decided to go on a rampage or something, but that didn’t make sense either. Was Leon into the type of woman that could fend for herself or did he just care if she was a looker or not?

If that’s the case, you were definitely crossed off the list. The scar tissue bears a heavy burden.

You lose yourself in the familiar burn of exercise and it feels oddly good to hurt in the ways that tell you your efforts weren’t going to waste. Eventually, this moment of peace will come to an end just like all good things, but right now, you stay in the intensity of your workout. You don’t even notice the door opening.

It’s a guy you haven’t seen before, clean shaven and muscular. You can tell he keeps himself fit but whether it’s for work or just for show, you don’t know. He doesn’t look bad at all with dark doe eyes and light brown hair that sweeps across his forehead enticingly.

“I didn’t know pretty girls vacationed here,” he says and you rip your eyes away from the floor to meet his. What little respect you had deluded yourself into making for him bleeds away and in a split decision, you decide to play with him just a little.

“And I didn’t know good-looking men frequented these parts,” you fire back, batting eyelashes and giving him the most innocent look you can muster. “No need to flatter. I’m sure you could pull someone better than lil’ old me.”

“Don’t put yourself down so fast, babe,” he snorts, heading for the weights and you mentally roll your eyes as you see his intent to try and impress you with reps.

However, you keep up the disguise and take a seat on a nearby medicine ball while watching him carefully. “I’m not putting myself down–it’s the truth.”

He doesn’t answer but he does make sure to put extra emphasis on choosing a fairly heavy hand weight and beginning to rep without any warm up. Silently, you know he’ll pull a muscle eventually and all for a woman he’ll likely never see in his life again. Womanizers like him never made much sense to you, but you suppose human instincts can make people irrational at the best of times.

“So you got a boyfriend?” he asks and you hum.

Would you? Should you?

“Nobody you need to worry yourself over,” you decide on answering, which wasn’t much far from the truth itself in all honesty. “Why do you want to know?”

“I want to know if there’s anybody keeping me from taking you out.”

“You’re at a hotel,” you scoff. “Do you have anybody waiting for you back in your room?”

“Nobody you need to worry yourself over,” he grins.

So he did come here with someone. How disgusting. You’re not the most morally correct person in the world, but even you understand the basic agreement of being in a relationship, and furthermore, you kow the importance put on the concept of loyalty. Well…you know how it’s supposed to be.

“Right,” you sigh, “and what are you proposing we do?”

His eyes flash suggestively and if you had the energy, you’d projectile vomit. “I’d take you out for a real nice dinner then bring you back to mine so we could-”

He shuts up when the door flies open and Leon strides in so confidently you forget that he’s supposed to be back at the suite stuck in dreamland. However, the stormy glance he gives you is nothing compared to the downright murderous glare he directs at the guy you hadn’t bothered to get the name of.

"Woah, man," the guy says, blissfully unaware. "You must be riled up for a serious workout."

"No," Leon answers, voice clipped and tight in a way you've never heard him before. "I was just looking for my wife who happened to get a headstart in her day without me."

The guy's face pales when he motions to you and you shrug non committedly before getting up and opening the door that leads out. Leon is hot on your heels as you make your way out and it's not long before he's gripping your wrist and pulling you back to stop your stride.

"Mind telling me what the fuck that was?" He demands, keeping his voice just quiet enough to not disturb the other residents.

"I was having fun," you hum, "since you're providing no entertainment for me."

"You can't just go wandering off where I can't see you."

"I'm not a child."

“Of course you’re not, but you’re practically a walking target for any undercover agent,” he sighs as you wrench your hand from his grasp and scowl. “You scared me is all.”

The sentiment might’ve been sweeter if your brain didn’t remind you of his latenight amorous meeting with Ada and it sours your whole mood even further. Long gone is that steadily growin soft spot and it only gets replaced by stone cold bitterness. Had the world always been this dark?

You spin on your heel and ignore the confused sound Leon makes as he follows closely like he’s afraid he’ll lose you again.

“You’re losing your edge, Kennedy,” you sniff dismissively.

“What?”

“Isn't this all some complex business partnership to you?” The walk to the room seems to drag on longer than you like and the nagging feeling of his eyes on you makes you want to scream, cry, and break all at once.

“Where the hell did you get that idea from?” he asks as if this whole thing would be any different than past encounters.

You ignore him, approaching the suite and unlocking the door with your keycard and pushing through roughly, not waiting for any protest from Leon. Your brain flies with so many unanswered questions and they’re so loud that you want to fall to your knees and beg them to stop.

Unable to take it anymore, you whirl around and he almost runs into you from the abrupt halt.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?!” You demand, bordering on a plea but he doesn’t need to know how deep the desperation went.

His dark eyebrows knit in confusion. “Like what?”

“Like–” you struggle to form a coherent line of thought, “–with those eyes.”

You know you don’t make much sense but you can see it register in his expression, dusty blue darkening into electric and the atmosphere rapidly shifts from one emotion to another. He’s so close now, less than an arm's reach away, and he looks at you from beneath his lashes in a way that’s enough to drive you to insanity.

Why was he doing this? How was he doing this? How was Leon of all people drawing you in deep enough to get under your skin? How could he command the tension between you like it was a simple race down a one-way street and simultaneously provide no context behind his motives?

Why did Ada come by last night and how did she know who he was? How did she know you?

These questions sprout one after another like those depressing time loop videos of flowering plants. He answers none of them and it’s only all the more infuriating.

“Leon,” you swallow harshly and stand your ground. “What do you want from me?”

The question is left hanging in the air, an unoccupied noose. It’s intimidating, dread on your shoulders like a heavy burden as you wait for an answer that never comes. Leon just looks at you like he was waiting for you to come to some revelation and answer the question for yourself but no such reason comes forth.

Ridiculous.

He does nothing, and his nonchalant exterior only makes you more infuriated and frustrated with the sensation of talking to the equivalent of a brick wall. Instead, Leon’s eyes flick around your face as if he was soaking every detail, absorbing as much as he could. You watch him warily like a hawk, wondering just how much longer the two of you could dance around this issue of unspoken feeling and silent motive.

Then, his eyes travel down to your mouth in a way you would’ve missed if you blinked. Your lips part as his tongue darts out to wet his own, the muscle gliding along his skin and leaving a light sheen of saliva behind.

The movement is miniscule but addicting all the same, and you’re almost knocked breathless with the urge to pull him close just to get his hands on your body. You want to kiss him so badly until his lips swell with the imprint of yours and his passion matches to suit your own. You want the taste of that spearmint gum he always carries around and the aura of alcohol that always stays with him no matter where he goes.

Craving flares in your stomach as tears well in your eyes, confused and angry as to why this was happening now.

Did Leon know how much he was torturing you? Was he just pupeteering you around just to leave you cold and alone like your family, friends, and past lovers did? You wouldn’t be able to handle that–you can feel it. That would be your breaking point, your hamartia.

Your death.

It takes all of your strength to pull away from him and his hypnotic spell though you’re not sure if he even had an inkling of the self-torment you’re undergoing with this new revelation.

He doesn’t stop you as you escape onto the balcony, slamming the sliding door closed, and gulping in the oxygen like you held your head underwater too long.

An ugly sob rips from your throat and self-loathing burns bright and hot in your gut. The heat is almost too much to handle as you hate yourself for allowing yourself to cry like this over something so miniscule and especially because of something Leon had done. He doesn’t even have the audacity to be sorry.

Still, emotions are nothing new even if your understanding of love is so warped beyond repair. You’re stronger than this. You’re better. You have to be.

Your knees give out and you have no choice but to fall onto one of the patio chairs and let the numbness spread through your body. The tears begin drying tracks on your cheeks as new ones follow the path of the old, but you don’t have the heart or energy to wipe them away.

What were your feelings about Leon truly? It’s obvious you don’t hate him as much as you had before and the thought of him dying now scares you more than ever. There’s still some old hate there, just behind your ribcage just waiting to explode outward again, but dulled by an entirely new portion of your brain.

The portion of your brain that wants to kiss him. The one that wants Leon to take you out on dates and make jokes as your husband and admire him under the golden lighting of the sun. The one that charges into your old self with a fierce snarl and starts a battle for your wishes and dreams.

Your head hits the back of the chair and you screw your eyes shut, trying to make sense of the whole entire thing.

Nothing but the image of that desolate and dead landscape from your dream comes to mind. You can still hear the rolling thunder and cracking lightning as if it had happened right in front of your eyes. You can still feel the sticky blood on your hands and the metallic scent permeating the air as lifeless eyes had stared up at you.

Devoid of passion. Devoid of anything.

Is that what you wanted–what you wished for? Is that your happy ending?

Somehow–for some inexplicable and unknown reason–you don't think so.

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

Guns weigh heavy in your palms, but in a cruel twist of fate, it also means home.

The power to kill someone lying in a variety of sizes are the only way to survive in your profession. That much is obvious. You've been through the same song and dance a million times over and then some–so this? This is nothing new.

Tensions have been high in the suite as you do your level best to avoid Leon while confined to such a small space with him. Over the past couple of days, your interactions have lasted with only a few clipped words and making plans to infiltrate the lab you'd found in the clothing department dressing room. Today was the day you'd decided to put your plans into action despite how poorly they've been communicated.

You know for tag team missions like this, communication is vital. However, you can't bring yourself to care. Being dealt potential death seems much better than having to face Leon and grapple with the warring thoughts tugging between wanting to end him and wanting more with him. He doesn't make it any easier.

He's not bitter. The exterior he puts up paints him as a grumpy middle-aged man whose experiences have only made him all the more angry at the world. You know him better than that, though. That's just how he is naturally, and if he was anything but that, you would know best how to spot the signs. However, this new attitude of his is something you’ve never encountered before so it’s hard to pinpoint just exactly what state of mind he was in.

Over the course of just a couple days, you find yourself struggling to hold on to that composure you worked so hard to craft. Leon leaves you alone and allows you to have your space, but even then, it takes all of your willpower just to not stare openly.

You indulge yourself late at night when his breathing deepens and your thoughts are just between you and whatever potential god there was. There were nights where your thoughts run rampant and take whatever chance you allow to admire him. You wish that there was something more between you emotionally and nothing physically. You want that sensation of his body on yours and what that might entail, and you want him deeper than you ever have before.

Shamefully, you wonder if he would burn just as deliciously as you imagined or if it would be more just because it's Leon. Would that controlled blaze turn into a wild forest fire under his advances? Would he steal your breath away roughly or would he take his unrelenting time to savor you all? Would he aim to watch tears roll down your cheeks or would he kiss them all away with whispers of sweet nothings?

Your enemy, putting you at the mercy of his hands and body, was a thought you kept sealed away tightly. Nobody could ever know about it.

When the morning came, you had checked your back and was delighted upon knowing that the wound had healed thanks to the full effect of Leon's questionable herbs. You'd put on your tactical gear over it, stretching to get the blood flowing and downing a coffee for good measure.

While he's in the bathroom, you check over your weapons once more and make sure all of your guns are loaded and stocked. Running out of ammo has been the reason for near-death multiple times so it’s especially crucial that you don’t make that mistake today.

Alone with your thoughts, you finally grapple with what you’re trying to do today.

For so many years, the J.I.E. had silenced you and molded your mind and body into a perfect little war soldier under the pretenses that you were making the world a better place. You’d been a fool, blind to the millions of deaths that were paying for the price of a few lives until that veil was snatched away and revealed the horrors of humanity to you.

Your eyes shut as you remember the chains, rubbing your wrists raw as you were forced into discipline. The memory of cold metal kissing your skin before breaking through it, promising worse if you hadn’t obeyed was fresh as a morning bloom in your head. Your own screams had sounded like they were from someone else, leaving your throat torn and your vocal cords frayed.

Leon would never know the extent of the pain you had gone through, even if he’s the only one that knew the basics. You were afraid of what he would think of that–of you.

He emerges finally ready and you stare wordlessly at him. A silent understanding passes between you and the two of you jump into action.

The car ride there is a blur. Despite having walked before on your small outing when you first got here, you'd figured it would be much easier to have a getaway vehicle ready and parked a couple blocks away just in case. The store opened early, and just in time for you to sneak in inconspicuously.

Avoiding employees was easy, especially after you had swiped a keycard from the manager’s stand upon finding it carelessly abandoned.

The dressing rooms were easy enough to get into and you led Leon into the one that you had changed in while you tried on that pretty little dress he recommended. It’s only been a few days but that night feels like it was so long ago, especially with how many cycles of emotions you’ve been subjected to since then.

Upon removing the middle panel, holding the keycard up to the gray block causes a loud click to sound out that notifies the door has been unlocked. Uneasily, you breathe in deeply and push in.

The interior is something you’re familiar with since it took on a similar appearance to that of the lab you’d been assigned to. However, the layout is foreign so it’s a toss in the air as to where anything could possibly be. The walls are lined with thick cords that are warm to the touch and the vibration of the lab's electricity current hums under your feet. You take out your handgun, keeping your finger off the trigger but staying alert all the same.

Leon fires off a shot and you whirl around just in time to see a camera falling to the ground brokenly.

The initial entrance is a straight shot but eventually you reach a hub of sorts where there are multiple tunnels branching off into different directions. Above them are signs that list the area of interest that each one led down to, ranging from dormitories to experimentations. The offices were the most dangerous to try and breach since multiple people working meant a bigger crowd to try and disperse if you got caught, though you're convinced that this place must be overrun like an ant colony.

"Where do we go from here?" Leon asks and your stomach flips.

You haven't heard him speak since your fallout a few days ago so it's an emotional whiplash being reminded of what exactly the most miniscule things about him do to you. Things that shouldn't elicit such reactions, making your skin spark with invisible electricity and putting your brain on high alert when he so much as breathes heavier.

"Anywhere we go is gonna be crawling with workers," you answer, keeping your composure. "They're usually confined to their assigned station for the whole day before being let off to go home. We should try and go to one that has the least amount of people or the biggest advantage for us."

"Where do you propose that might be?"

You look up at the labels above the tunnels before settling on one. "The observation deck. They use it to record the progress of their bioweapons and monitor any potential dangers they might pose so they're on a tight schedule. We might be able to find something about what they're doing there."

He nods and together, you make your way through the tunnel, shooting down any more security cameras you see and testing for any potential defense mechanisms they might have installed. It's eerily quiet besides the atmospheric noises and suspicion rises in your mind as you wonder why you haven't seen anybody thus far in your journey. You'd expected a flood of scientists or at least one assassination attempt as soon as you stepped inside, but maybe this wasn't as uptight as the lab you were at.

The observation deck was a series of catwalks crossing over a large arena, presumably where they let their bioweapons roam free while they stayed a safe height away from it. From where you entered, it happens to be in the 4th level, though the platforms stretch to multiple stories above your head. It looked almost similar to the pictures of the lab beneath the white house that Wilson had hidden away with the whole incident with Jason, though this one lacked any chemical experiments in the middle.

“Let’s go,” you whisper, pointing up to a space encased in glass. “They might have reports we can get into over there.”

Just as you go to begin walking, the static cracking of a speaker jumping to life immediately halts your steps. Leon whips around, pushing his back to yours as you defensively cover each other with your guns at the ready. There’s no telling where the speaker might be or where it was located, but the fact that it was active at all is a problem.

Then, the crackling dissipates and the voie comes through, muffled by the poor quality of a microphone.

“So you’ve finally made it,” the voice purrs through the intercom. “We’ve been expecting you.”

Neither you nor Leon answer, swiveling around and searching for any oddities while keeping your wits as the speaker crackles again and clears.

“Unfortunately, we don’t appreciate outsiders much, Agent (L/n). You should know that more than anybody.”

You grit your teeth, trying not to let their words get underneath your skin.

“Ah, well. You were a valuable asset to us. It’s so unfortunate we’ll have to do some clean-up, so to speak.”

Beneath you, something crashes against the wall with a violent boom and the dark growl of something massive reverberates through the whole entire room. A sick sort of dread grows as you look down before glancing back at Leon who’s sharing the same thought process as you are. It’s not that hard to deduce what would happen next, and silently, you pray to whatever’s out there that you would make it out of this thing alive.

“You really need to work on your speeches, pal,” Leon snaps and you would’ve laughed if you weren’t stuck in such a precarious and unpredictable situation.

“And you need to work on your manners, Mr. Kennedy,” the voice cackles, all ugly and sounding like they were hacking up a lung. “You’ll be regretting those words when you’re dead. Entertain the animal for me, will you?”

The speaker clicks off just as a metal door below flies off its hinges and nearly blows through the wall of the arena below. You break from the formation you and Leon had set up to look down at what you’re up against and your eyes widen with horror. It’s got multiple appendages whipping out from every limb, taking on the sick appearance of some mutated spider. Multiple eyes glow yellow as it glances around before zeroing in on you above it.

“Leon,” you mumble, backing up and he only gets a sparse good look at what you're up against before he’s grabbing your wrist and sprinting down the catwalk.

The beast screeches upon seeing its target on the move and one of those long arms shoots upward to latch onto the railing of the walkway. You just barely make it onto safe ground before it’s yanked away and the whole path crashes to the ground. Panic curls in your chest as you remember what had happened the last time you had faced off a bioweapon, and you start running after Leon once you gain your bearings.

All along the sides are countless offices that hold large filing cabinets, though they hardly matter in this chase scene. The monster hisses, spitting something before launching upward and beginning to climb the walls rapidly towards you. You’re able to deter it with a couple well-aimed shots to its head but, it only makes it angrier as well.

Once it’s up, your stomach jumps into your throat upon seeing that the thing is almost twice as tall as you are. It lumbers toward you with a hiss as it secretes acid that burns into the ground. Leon stops in front of you, pulling out a rifle and pressing the scope to his eye. You’re confused as to what his approach is until he shoots and the monster reels back in pain with a scream. When you look, you see that he’s hit one of the multiple grotesque eyeballs that embed along the legs of the mutated spider. It’s not hard to see where Leon was going with this so you take out your own rifle to join him.

Gunshots ring in your ears as you and Leon rain down hellfire, backing away every so often to put distance between you and the bioweapon.

Leon runs up a flight of stairs before shoving himself into a crevice that's only large enough to fit one. You stumble up after him and turn onto another catwalk, looking back and almost vomiting. The ugly monster's wounds are leaking pus that chews holes into the ground it walks on, eyes flicking wildly before finding you–entirely missing Leon–and heading frantically in your direction.

Of fucking course they made all of its bodily fluids acidic. What else would you expect?

You switch out your rifle for a magnum and shoot around Leon as he brings up the rear. He works on picking off the rest of the leg eyeballs while you set to getting the fucker right in between it's menacing yellow eyes. The recoil is almost unfamiliar, but you swiftly get back into the rhythm of handling the weapon, walking back before reaching to your tactical utility belt and yanking off an incendiary grenade.

You pull the pin, throw it, and shield your eyes from the burst of flames that erupt and start licking along the spider's body. It shrieks so ungodly loud that you would've almost clapped your hands around your ears if you didn't remember where you were and what your goal was. You reload your magnum as quickly and accurately as you can manage, and keep shooting. Leon sprints out, using the weakened legs as leverage to swing himself onto its back and start stabbing it with the combat knife he'd been hiding.

He's a genius and lunatic all at once.

You suppose this must be nothing new to him since Leon's faced who knows how many bioweapons at this point, but this is your first time seeing it up close and personal. He fights like it's second nature–like he's simply just breathing. It's mesmerizing to watch, but the moment is over when he gets thrown off into your direction and lands heavily in front of you directly onto his arm with a pained grunt.

You wince, hoping that it hasn't been broken or dislocated, reaching out and hauling him to his feet when he accepts your hand. Together, you keep shooting as Leon pulls the pin on a hand grenade and throws it at the spider's feet. You halt, palms covering your ears as it flashes multiple times then explodes, taking the mutated monster down with it.

Organs go flying everywhere and you duck to avoid the majority splatter of the acidic blood. The explosion causes a creak and only the middle portion of the catwalk sinks before crumbling down into the wreckage already created by the first ruined walkway.

Leon stands up, panting heavily as he looks down into the mess below that has sparked a fire and was burning merrily as if you hadn't just killed a man-made monster. Speaking of which, whose body had joined the metal below and had speared onto the sharp pieces that jutted out like a homemade spike pitfall trap.

He turns to you, going to open his mouth to say something but is rapidly silenced by a creaking groan and then he shouts in panic when the ground beneath his feet gives way. You gasp, lunging forward and grabbing his hand on instinct as the portion of the walkway falls into the void below and he's left dangling precariously from a fatal height with only you to hold onto.

He glances down then back up at you, desperation in his eyes as you both come to the same realization and conclusion.

You could kill him right now.

All you had to do was let go and it would all be over as if this never happened. He would be out of your hair and all that torment he subjected you to would dissipate like cotton candy subjected to water. This would all end if you would just take the chance to drop him into that dangerous trap where you would never have to see him again, never have to worry about him again. You could drop him and turn away without a second glance to see if he survived or not.

Leon’s eyes flash and you know exactly what it is despite never seeing it before. It’s pure unadulterated fear, with his life hanging in the balance of someone who had expressed distaste for him a healthy amount of times and whose certainly not favorable towards him in any way at the moment. Even if he saved your life, were you so willing to give up this once-in-a-lifetime chance?

You have the high ground now.

You determine his fate.

You could end it all right now by just yanking your hand away and taking back everything you had done to improve your relationship with him.

Your heart thuds marathons in your ears as all your muscles twitch and have a war in your mind. The thoughts curl and shriek around each other, fighting for what they believed the right thing to do was and it felt like the whole world was watching you for some sort of revolutionary choice.

You wince, knowing what your decision is.

Hauling Leon up, your legs burn as you lift his weight from the ledge and onto safe ground, rolling away when he finally lands on the stable ground that the catwalk had been attached to. Your lungs beg for air and you pant, faintly registering what just happened as you ride out that high of adrenaline. Leon must be out of it if he hasn't made a sarcastic quip about almost dying.

"We need to get to safety," you say, shakily getting to your feet and almost stumbling back down from the shock factor.

He only nods and you reach out to help him up. Even though you didn’t drop him to his untimely death, he looks at you warily before accepting the offer, almost falling to his knees again before you shoot forward and catch him. His body heat radiates through your skin and your cheeks set ablaze at the proximity even as you sling one of his arms around your shoulders and support some of his weight as you begin walking.

“There’s a safe room I saw on the way while we were running,” you mumble, avoiding making any sort of eye contact. “We can go over there and make sure you’re not hurt.”

“What about you?” He rasps and it leaves you wondering why he’s so adamant about the state of your health when he’s just looked death between the eyes.

You laugh breathlessly, almost sarcastically if you weren’t still riding the high of that fading adrenaline. “Don’t worry about me.”

You and Leon make your way to one of the cubicles, and you set him down carefully on the office chair that he manages to unceremoniously slump into. It’s clear that his almost-death is impacting him, though you now well that this isn’t the first time he’s had a touch of the afterlife. It really did make you wonder what about this time made it any different.

While he squeezes his eyes shut and massages the shoulder he’d landed on, you reach into your bag and pull out a first aid spray for him to use when he’s ready before standing and taking in your environment. The computer is innocently waiting on the stand with the J.I.E. logo set as the wallpaper, and there’s a filing cabinet that you try to open. It doesn’t give way and you mumble out a curse under your breath as you start poking around the desk drawers for a possible key.

Leo pops the top off the spray bottle and starts healing his wounds while you flip through various pages inside. Most of them are unhelpful and just detailing things you already knew until you tumble on a report for the spider you had just killed.

You put it into a manila folder that you put in your bag, rummaging around more until you find a hidden compartment that holds the key to the file cabinet. Upon opening the locked drawer, you find reports on agents–including your own–and details on the imports and exports the company had been engaging in.

Then, you hit the jackpot.

First and foremost was a folder of maps that laid out every level and room there was in the entirety of the lab. Then, there was a large binder that recorded every experiment the J.I.E. had engaged with the creation of their bioweapons, even detailing a new virus that they were meddling with. You flip through, finding monster after monster that has failed and succeeded. For now, this would be enough until you could figure out a plan using the map and going over the particulars of the experiments.

“We should go now,” you decide. “This is more than enough to figure out where we’re going and what we’re up against.”

Silence.

The lack of response causes you to turn around and peer questioningly at Leon who just nods mindlessly and gets up. He doesn’t meet your eyes and this attitude only makes you all the more confused. What had gotten into him?

Nonetheless, he follows as you make your way to an elevator that you go up in to return to the main hub that you had entered through. You suppose that nobody had watched you through the cameras and just automatically assumed you were being taken care of by the spider bioweapon since it's still suspiciously dead silent.

You still stay alert, and if you hadn't been so on edge, Leon would've walked right into the wire trap that had been meticulously strung across the tunnel. You pull him back sharply without thinking, fingers lacing with his as you yank.

He grunts as you pull away, going to carefully disarm it, figuring this was their way of alarming anybody you made it out alive. The explosion surely would have let someone know that there were two unauthorized people still running around, so it was good you had seen the thin wire and the two dark devices flashing red lights. Then again, you'd expected Leon to be just as attentive as you were to your surroundings.

Something was bothering him. Seeing him like this wasn't helping you much either, dying to know just what had him so distracted.

The two of you finally make it to the exit carefully pushing outward into the dressing room whose door had been locked when the two of you entered to prevent anybody seeing things they shouldn't be. A quick pack of wet wipes is enough to make yourselves look decent enough to not look like you’d been playing around in dirt and gunpowder, and you make plans to shower once you got back to the hotel.

All throughout your way back, Leon still stays infuriatingly silent from the lab to the suite, and the question as to why teases the tip of your tongue.

You get inside, let him know you're going to run yourself a bath, and retreat to the restroom as you sigh out with a whimper almost escaping in the process. In the solitude of your own thoughts, you finally let yourself feel that pain and anguish and confusion that you always hold back in the presence of Leon.

Fighting didn’t help at all. If anything, it only made it all the worse feeling guilt or something akin to it.

Would he ever tell you about Ada or was that just something you would have to figure out for yourself? Could you ever be closer to him knowing that he had said you meant nothing to him? It must be true if he had said it without expecting you to hear, and somehow, that sentiment causes a stabbing pang in your chest. It’s a wonderful and horrible thing–wanting someone so badly but knowing they would never want you back.

It’s a bittersweet taste on your tongue with a pungent aftertaste stinging your tastebuds, dooming yourself in the process.

Emotions were always so easy to stomp down and kill before. What about this whole ordeal could possibly make this any different?

Some dark part of your mind whispers that you know. You know what this provocative emotion is that makes your head spin and act irrationally, but you’d die before ever admitting it out loud. This may as well be worse than a death penalty–or rather, it is your death penalty.

The sound of rushing water acts as a soothing white noise until the tub is full and submerging yourself in the warm water causes a sigh of relief to fly past your lips in a gentle exhale. You take your time, washing your hair and massaging fingers into your scalp to help focus on releasing all of that tension that has built up over the past few days. The water turns gray from all that built up grime and dust and the soapy suds merely adds to the discoloration once you actually start scrubbing.

Once you’re done, you feel more human, more in control. The thoughts have quieted, and you finally start to feel like you can get a grasp on yourself again. You think you’re ready to see Leon and just simply resign to the watching the city on the balcony or going to sleep early like the past few days have allowed you. You can live with this. You can do it.

Once this is all said and done, you can part ways. You can forget him.

You could…

You have to. Right?

You step out, steam chasing after you as if beckoning you back into its warm embrace and you find Leon staring out the window mindlessly. You get hit with deja vu as it reminds you of the first morning you’d gotten here and watched the sunrise together. That was when you were nothing more than unlikely but eager allies. Now? You don’t know what you are.

You don’t want to be the one that wants him while he just wants the entertainment. You’re smarter than that.

“Hey,” you call out and he turns slightly, acknowledging you. The atmosphere turns slightly awkward when he provides no verbal answer. “I’m just going to go sit outside for a bit since I guess you want to be alone right now. If you need me, I’ll be-”

"Stop."

His command makes the words fade from your tongue and you swallow harshly. The first words he’s spoken to you since asking how you were at the lab are spoken roughly, making your heart drop into your stomach. When had you started listening to him when he ordered you around? You weren't one of his rookies or agents on his team, but right now, you were completely and totally at the mercy of whatever he might do.

"Why did you save me?" He asks tightly, turning around and finally getting a good look at you in an oversized t-shirt with pajama shorts barely peeking out from underneath the hem. His eyes wander and he swallows harshly. "You could have killed me–ended this feud and finally been the hero of this whole story. Why did you do it?"

You don't have to think about the answer, but it's shameful. After giving him the cold shoulder upon hearing him with Ada and sealing your emotions in a tight little glass bottle, they come spilling out now for Leon to pick through and judge.

"I don't want you to die," you whisper, taking a step back, afraid of whatever he might say.

He moves toward you at an excruciatingly slow pace, expression unreadable and more intimidating than the literal bioweapon you had survived just hours ago. You match his footfalls backward and you think this fear must be what prey feels like when death has locked eyes on it.

"I can't–We can talk about this, yeah?” You try explaining, wondering if there was any possibility you could talk your way out of this. “It doesn't matter–not really. We just…"

You're rambling now, trying to find an excuse to stop those blue eyes from piercing your soul and peeling away every layer of defense you've built up. He keeps getting closer and you're running out of room to escape to. You've never been more scared of him than in this moment–even when he almost killed you the day you met, you've never felt like this. A deer in the headlights, electricity coursing through your nerves as your brain struggles to choose between fight or flight.

Did he know? Did he know about all those lingering gazes and words that held guilt behind them and all those emotions that you weren't supposed to be having clogging up your chest?

Your back hits a wall and you're fucked.

Leon's hand finds your waist when he's close enough, your skin rushing hot as his breath fans your face and you smell spearmint. It's addicting. He's addicting. Your heartbeat rushes in your ears, pounding anxiously as the nerves in your body light up like a Christmas tree.

When he speaks, it’s all low tones and so fucking attractive.

"Sweet girl," he murmurs, affectionately raw in a way you never would've imagined him to be. His other hand comes up, cupping your jaw delicately and all the blood rushes to your face.

He's called you many things before, and has used more than enough adjectives to convey this disdain for you. Annoying, disgusting, naive, revolting, repulsive…but never in a million years would he have called you sweet. You must be dreaming, and if you are, you never want to wake up.

"I'm actually a very indulgent creep," you wheeze out and barely conceal a whimper. "Leon, you-"

He cuts you off as his lips press onto yours and all rational thought leaves your brain in an instant. His mouth molds to yours, fingers on your waist mindlessly beginning to run circles as he presses heavily onto you as if this is what’s been wanting just as much as you. All you can feel is him, his hands on your body, his mouth working your own in such a sinful way that makes your head spin and your stomach do cartwheels.

You close your eyes, let yourself fall from grace, and plummet.

His tongue licks into your mouth and you moan as he presses you further into the wall as if it were possible. His grip turns almost bruising on your skin as he guides the hand that had been caressing your waist down to your thigh, prompting your leg to wrap around him. When you get the hint, he uses the momentum to haul you up and you squeak as he gets his arm underneath you with ease and stabilizes you.

Leon laughs breathlessly, and he kisses on your neck. Your fingers thread through his brunette locks while you work on refilling your lungs with air. This small hint of joy–this humorous moment in something so tense–is what really matters. You can’t believe this is happening, but the way his touch burns is more than enough of an indicator that this is real.

He moves with you in his arms like you weigh nothing. Leon lets you down onto the hotel suite's bed gentle enough to not hurt you but still rough enough that you bounce from the buoyancy of the memory foam. Your back hits the mattress and everything seems to fall into place the way it should be.

Leon's hands are all over you, trailing from your hips to your stomach and up to your chest. The touch of his palms burns your skin like trails of heated lava pleasantly oozing along your veins. He burns so brightly but yet so so good. Leon hikes up your shirt, exposing your stomach to the cool air that blows across your burning body as his tongue pries your mouth open again. You hum in satisfaction as his wet muscle curls around yours hotly and arousal sparks in your gut as you feel slick just starting to begin pooling uncomfortably in your panties.

He pulls away, kissing the corner of your mouth as he pants, your legs still straddling around him even while you lie down. He looks so fucking pretty.

"Cat got your tongue?" He teases and you kick him lightly in the back with your heel.

"You wish," you retort mockingly. "You're all bark and no bite."

Leon raises an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge?"

You smile, something genuine and soft and so beautifully crafted just for him. "It's whatever you want it to be."

"Then let me tell you how I want it to be." His hot breaths fan across your skin and you really do feel like you're already burning as his fingers pull your shirt further and further up your torso.

"Go ahead," you pull him closer, noses bumping together as you press a feather-light kiss to the stubble on his cheek. "I'm listening."

"I want you underneath me," he admits it like he's in a confessional, but whatever this is is far from holy. "I want to hear how you sound when I make you feel good, sweetheart." He nips at your neck, soothing the tiny burn with the flat of his tongue. "Can I do that for you? Will you let me?"

You wouldn’t just hand everything over to him on a silver platter. A little teasing never hurts, right?

"I don't know," you hum, though every instinct in you screams to submit just so he can do whatever he wants with you. "All this just for a little entertainment? You sure do go all out, Kennedy."

"Is that what you think this is?" He pulls away and you almost protest at the lack of contact until you get a good look at his expression. Something like sadness and doubt lining those electric blue eyes that you've come to stare at for hours.

You don’t like the sudden shift in atmosphere so you shake your head in hopes of clearing those shadows away from his head. “Of course not–I’m sorry. That was a bad choice of wording on my part.”

He laughs, nervous and still lingering with some semblance of unease. “You sure know how to keep me on my toes.”

“I haven’t been this close with someone in a while,” you admit and shift your eyes to a random spot on the ceiling, trying to ignore the giddy feeling that came from him still hovering above you from between your legs. “You should know I’m not very…experienced or anything. I’m sorry.”

“Quit apologizing,” he chastises, fingers tilting up your chin so he can lean upward to press a warm kiss to your forehead. “I won’t do anything you don’t want to do.”

You take the time to consider this, knowing that whatever was about to unfold would be something big in your relationship. It feels like there hasn’t been enough time to process your undying devotion for him or the questions that still linger behind Ada’s appearance, but you do know that this is something you can work out. This is something you want.

Still, there’s just some things you can’t let go of.

“Before I answer that,” you sigh, hating that you’re bringing down the mood with your fears. “Can I ask what Ada was doing here–what she wanted?”

Leon’s eyes take on a new emotion and his whole body tenses. You’re afraid that you’ve struck a chord he wouldn’t want to discuss and you fearfully wonder if this would sever any chance you have with him.

“You know Ada?” he asks and it’s painful when he says so. Whatever she means to him, it must not herald any good will.

“No,” you frown. “I heard you talking a few nights ago on the balcony. You…” The words don’t come off your tongue stubbornly, trying to stuff themselves back into your throat. “You said I was nobody–that I meant nothing to you. I mean, if that’s true, then what could you possibly want me for?”

The sting of it all comes rushing back in this incredibly vulnerable moment. You were never good with intense emotions nor did you have a good handle on them when they exploded outward like a volcanic eruption. It’s no surprise when the tears start threatening to fall, though you curse them and hold them back in an attempt to keep your dignity.

Leon makes a wounded noise deep from the back of his throat.

“I was trying to protect you.”

It doesn’t make sense. “What?”

He ducks his head, and you desperately try to understand. “She’s backstabbed me more than once. I can’t count how many times Ada’s used me for her own gain, and I just–I couldn’t just let her get her hands on you that easily.”

“So…?”

“I lied,” Leon pleads, and the ice melts away from your burning heart. “You mean everything to me, (Y/n). I can’t lose you like I’ve lost everyone else.”

“Leon,” you whisper, all too vulnerable and drowning in that unnamed emotion. The answer to his questions and advances pours from your lips like a sacred waterfall, ready and yearning. “I want you. Make me feel good–I’ll let you.”

His pupils dilate and he dives back down, claiming your lips with his in a rougher kiss than the ones previously before.

Your fingers tangle in his hair when he moves down, tugging on your shirt so that it could finally come off over your torso. The cool air blows across your hot skin, moaning when he massages the pad of his thumb around one of your nipples, and the pleasure sends your thoughts into a whirlwind.

“You have no idea how much I’ve thought of this,” Leon murmurs, eyes slipping shut as if he was trying to map out and memorize your whole body.

You don’t get to ask what he means by that when he opens his mouth and licks the flat of his tongue wetly across your tit. Your head tilts back of its own accord, a strangled moan escaping in the process before you slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise. Heated shame rushes to your cheeks as you look down, already finding Leon gazing up at you, mesmerized.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he prompts, pulling your arm away. “Let me hear you, sweetheart.”

Why was he so persistent with the pet names? If he keeps this up, you’ll be nothing more than just putty in his hands.

“Stop,” you whine, covering your eyes like that would change anything. “You’re gonna drive me insane if you keep saying things like that.”

“Do you not like me calling you names?”

You peek through your fingers to find him all the more attentive, trying to find what you don’t like and what you want. That love, care, and attention was something you never had–never deserved. How could you tell him that he’s giving you everything you want while not discouraging him from doing so?

“It’s not that,” you swallow shamefully. “Nobody’s ever told me that. Or called me anything, for that matter. It’s just new–I think I’m trying to figure out how to handle it all.”

His expression darkens and you think he might tease you or tell you to suck it up. Instead, Leon almost growls out, “Nobody?”

You make a noise of confirmation.

“Oh, baby.” He rests his cheek on your stomach and traces patterns on your skin. “Your last partner didn’t?”

You scoff, deciding to be vulnerable just this once. “My last partner was in highschool, honey.” The pet name feels foreign, but good nonetheless. You can understand why he seems so insistent on using them with you. “Like I said–it’s been a while.”

“Even so.” He picks up his head and shakes it, moving even further down and hooking fingers into the waistband of your shorts. “They didn’t appreciate you like you deserved then.”

Your voice cracks as you rest your head back onto the pillow and whisper, “I don’t think I did.”

Down, down, down your shorts trail along your legs, leaving you in nothing but a lacy pair of underwear and all too vulnerable emotionally and physically. You make a noise of dissatisfaction, tugging on Leon’s shirt as he was still unfairly dressed.

He chuckles and gets the hint, leaning up to throw it off as you get to admire his body. There’s multiple scars from the tussles he’s engaged in with fighting bioweapons for a living, but one in particular catches your eye. Set proudly on his shoulder is a bullet bound that looks to be years old, all knotted and improperly healed. He must’ve not had the right care available to him when he got it. Leon sees you eyeing it, and smiles, albeit a bit sadly.

“Don’t worry about it,” he urges, falling back over you and kissing you softly, leaving a peck on your chin as he keeps going down.

“I’ll worry about it later,” you compromise.

Leon lifts one of your legs, trailing featherlight kisses down your calves and into the inside of your thighs before swapping to the other and repeating the action. You sigh blissfully, letting that arousal build like a growing fire in your belly until you absolutely need something to quell it. You need him to do it–nobody else.

There’s nobody else in the world you would be this exposed to. There’s nobody else you need.

“Leon,” you whine, hips gyrating as the accumulated wetness has become noticeably uncomfortable. “C’mon. I’m dying here.”

He actually laughs at that–not a chuckle or a huff of a breath that you’re so used to. A laugh, warm and genuine and painting lines across his features that you commit to memory in case you can never have this moment with him again. The possibility that this is a one-time thing is terrifying, but it gives you all the more reason to savor it.

Granting you some reprieve, he finally, finally, presses a heated kiss to your clothed clit and you cry out, hips bucking up of their own accord because you needed more than just the slight touches he was teasing you with. Leon gets his hands on you, driving your pelvis down and holding it in place as he licks a heated stripe up the outside of your panties. It's a warm, wet, and wild sensation–one that gives you a taste of Heaven without actually being there.

The feel of it is enough to drown you as you struggle to writhe beneath his restraint, head tossing back and heart fluttering to the beat of hummingbird wings. Your fingers tangle in his hair instinctively and pull, earning a delicious groan from him that reverberates through the room. You’re obsessed, or something along the lines of it, and you hope this never ends.

"You're so beautiful," Leon murmurs, eyes fluttering shut before he begins yanking off your panties like they offended him personally. Your glistening core is exposed to him, positively dripping from just the small things he's given you so far. "Jesus Christ, sweet girl. Is this all from the little I've done?"

You squeak as he positions your legs over his shoulders, breaths puffing right over your waiting cunt that impatiently pulses with the need to be filled. He still doesn't allow you much room to move and a desperate little noise makes its way from your throat as he teases you with everything you want so close yet so far.

"Use your big girl words," he prompts gently, tilting his head so that it rests on your inner thigh. "I need to know that you want this."

"I do," you whimper immediately, trying to find solace in tweaking one of your nipples for some sort of pleasurable reprieve. All that dignity you'd been trying to preserve goes out the window. "I want you so bad, Leon. I can't take it anymore–please, please."

"Good girl," he purrs, all sultry and seductive.

You choke on a gasp when his lips close around your folds, sucking sharply and swirling his tongue in your clit roughly. Instinctively, your hips break free and shy away from his touch, but Leon has none of it and merely pulls you back down to keep attacking your poor cunt. You moan freely, hand tugging on his hair as he laps up your arousal like a dying man and when his eyes flick up to meet yours, the fire in your belly flares.

You cry out his name, unable to vocalize or convey just how good he was making you feel. You've never had this before–this attention and euphoria.

Leon's head nods into you as his tongue fucks you deeper and you squirm under his ministrations, pushing against his face in vain as if he could grant you more than he could. He sinks his middle finger into your wet heat, tongue circling on your clit as he pumps in and out of you. The noises your pussy makes when he adds his ring finger and starts rocking them in and out of you would almost be embarrassing if you weren't so focused solely on how he was making you feel.

He eats you out like this would be his last meal, savoring the taste of you on his tongue as he fingerfucks you brutally. Experimentally, he curls his fingers up and you squeal, babbling incoherently and just settling on begging him to let you go. You can feel it building up just as he brushes against a spot deep inside you that makes you ascend, and you squeeze your eyes shut as the pleasure pricks tears in your eyes.

He moans appreciatively, sending vibrations throughout your whole body and as you grind desperately against him. He keeps you as still as he can manage, but you're not a world-class agent for nothing. Even as Leon tries to control the thrusting of your hips upward, he also has to work on keeping your legs spread open in case you crush his head in between your thighs.

Maybe he wouldn't object to it.

Leon pulls away, watching his fingers disappearing into you with a nonexistent resistance, cooing over your whimpers. "Does that feel good, sweet thing? Fuck, you taste amazing."

You keen at his words, face blazing hot as he momentarily takes the time to rub his wet fingers all across your folds so that cool air kisses between your thighs. "Leon!"

"You say my name so prettily," he sighs erotically, pushing his fingers back into you and scissoring harshly as he's knuckle-deep. "You gonna let me stretch you out? Gonna let me fuck you so good, all you can think about is my name?"

"Please," you whine again, and you have a feeling you'd be asking him for a lot tonight. Trying to think of any way to speed up the process so you can get what you really wanted, you whisper desperately, "Baby, I need you inside of me."

"Fuck," he hisses, voice gravelly as he begs. "Let me fuck you, angel. Let me fuck that pretty pussy of yours."

Your legs spread even wider as he works on getting his jeans off, and you eye the happy trail that takes route from his belly button and disappears into the waistband of his boxers. He's leanly muscular, though he's nothing short of attractive to you.

To think that only a couple weeks ago, you would've killed yourself before even thinking about having sex with Leon Kennedy. Now, you think you would offer up yourself to whatever god existed just to be able to have this again–to be able to have him again. This vulnerable moment where all he wanted was to make you feel good and to hear you scream his name is something that has come straight out of your fantasies.

Fantasies during nights where you thought about touching yourself because of him but holding back because trying to hold back your noises while the man was literally sleeping in the same room was a horrendous idea. All that time you thought about what he would do to you and craving a touch you never thought you would get is paying off as he eyes you hungrily from above, licking the slick you'd left off of his fingers and palming the obvious tent in his boxers.

"You're staring," he comments slyly and you roll your eyes.

"And you're thinking about me," you accuse.

A smirk grows on his face, a mischievous glint in his blue eyes as he shuffles down the waistband of his underwear only slightly but just enough so you can see the implications of his sculpted v-line.

"How did you know?" Leon hums and you blush furiously as if that persistent heat could burn any hotter.

You turn your face away, unable to hold eye contact without getting flustered all over again. "Take it off before I do it for you, asshole."

"Would you?" He croons and you hide your face in your hands from the embarrassment of his unspoken words. "You're so cute when you're embarrassed, sweetheart."

It doesn't feel like you're adults right now, but rather two stupid teens getting up to something they shouldn't and acting like they were grown ups. It doesn't help the fact that you've had a playground rivalry for who knows how long, something so childish that you can't believe you'd let your icy emotions get the better of you for all those years. You can't help but wonder if this is something you could have had if you hadn't been so blind-eyed by the J.I.E.

You feel the mattress shift beneath you and you pull your hands away from your eyes just in time to see Leon throw his discarded boxers somewhere else in the room, but it doesn't take long for your eyes to trail down. Leon's cock stands stiffly at attention, already leaking precum from the angry red tip that he hadn't even touched yet. Your mouth waters, and your hand twitches to wrap around it though you haven't had this experience for maybe over a decade.

"See something you want?" He teases, though the words barely reach your ears as he climbs back to hover over you.

You're crazy, and you know it by the way the words fall from your lips without a second thought. "Yeah. Was it from just…?"

His cockiness fades for a moment and his eyes soften, a genuine smile spreading across his features and lighting up his already-flushed face. "You're incredibly sexy when you're enjoying yourself, princess." You startle, and he laughs lowly, pecking your cheek. "Liked that one, huh?"

Leon kisses you deeply and you moan upon tasting yourself on his tongue as he feels up your torso and wipes a thumb over your breast. Blindly, you feel down his stomach, appreciating the definition of his well-deserved abs, and finally get a shaking hand around his dick. The action elicits a rich groan from him, even though you've barely even touched him.

You slide your thumb across his slit, beading wetness sliding down your palm and providing the moisture you needed to stimulate him just right. Your motions aren't smooth by any means, and Leon can probably tell that you're not used to this, but he must be getting something out of it by the way his mouth drops open and his eyes screw shut with that beautiful blush spreading across his skin like wildfire.

"Careful," he warns, but it ends with a guttural moan when your fingers brush delicately across his balls. "Shit, you're gonna make me go insane."

"It's payback, baby," you simper, groaning when he runs a finger up your folds in punishment. In revenge, you pump your hand a little faster around his length and you can feel the throbbing veins pushing into your palm.

Leon pulls your wrist away, and you go to protest, wanting to give him more like he'd given you, but he shakes his head and cuts you off with a well-meaning kiss. "We'll do that another time, doll. Right now, it's about you."

"But-"

"C'mon," he cradles your face so gently that the words die on your tongue. "Trust me, sweetheart. I'm right here–I'm not going anywhere. Not not, not ever."

His words cause your emotions to soar, tears leaking vulnerably from your lashes and he wipes them away gently with the pads of his thumbs. Nobody ever stays like he promises and the threat of him breaking that vow hangs precariously in your mind on whether you'll truly take it to heart or not. All around you is him, hands on your body and voice floating richly in your ears. Could you have this again and again? Would he stay long enough to let you?

"Don't leave," you beg pathetically, looking up at him through shamefully teary eyes. "Just don't go."

"I promise," his forehead presses against yours as he whispers vows under the cover of this private moment with just the two of you. "I promise."

You lock your legs around his waist and pull him downward so that his cock taps impatiently against your stomach and Leon quickly gets the hint as he reaches down to pump himself a couple times in preparation. He kisses you deeply, passionately, as he lines up with your entrance and the weight of anticipation causes all the blood to rush to your head. He grinds for an agonizing moment, dick sliding between your folds tantalizingly slow before he finally gives in.

The head of his cock presses into your cunt and your mouth drops open, skin flushing as you pull him closer to get your lips on his to muffle the desperate sounds you make as he sinks inch by agonizing inch into you. Your thoughts scatter until nothing but Leon fills them and your heart beats marathons in your chest.

Your hands find his broad shoulders, hanging on for dear life as he pushes further into you as you adjust to feeling him inside of you. It's been literal years since you've last had sex and though you'd never expected it to be with Leon, it feels a lot more sentimental and pleasurable than the affairs you'd had with past partners.

"Fuck, baby, you feel so good," Leon groans out, rolling his hips so that he bottoms out and the euphoria washes over you so deliciously that your eyes roll into the back of your head.

"Le–on," his name falls brokenly from your lips, head spinning as you glance down and spot the outline of him bulging from your skin.

Leon's forearms land on either side of your head, his nose bumping yours as his lidded eyes search yours. "Say it again. Say my name again, sweet thing."

Fucking hell, his nicknames were going to be the death of you.

"Leon–" you cry out when he sharply thrusts once, twice, then slowly begins setting a pace that has you seeing stars. As he adjusts to being inside of you, his speed increases in increments. You allow yourself to be loud, because right now, you could care less about dignity when Leon was just getting started.

His hips slam against you harshly, and he has you almost screaming when you can feel your plush walls hugging every vein and definition of his cock that he drags through you sweetly. His balls clap noisily against your skin and just the sound of it alone was enough to get you high and ever so closer to that sweet release. Leon's lips land on yours, kissing you roughly and the euphoria you were gifted from him abusing your hole was enough to keep you on cloud nine for at least a week.

"Do you know how much I thought of this?" Leon grunts out, moving down so he can kiss the skin behind your ear affectionately. "Getting to fuck you so good that you don't remember anything but my name?"

His words make you whine and writhe beneath him until his hands hold your hips down so he can continue jackhammering into you at that relentless pace. You can feel the tip of his cock kissing your cervix bruisingly and the fact that he's so deep inside of you is enough to leave you absolutely dripping.

"Leon–fuck, fuck!" You cry out as he folds one of your legs up and settles your knee into the crook of his elbow, using that leverage to fuck your sweet cunt even harder.

"All mine," he mumbles, pussy drunk and caught in a brain fog. "So fucking beautiful and all for me, yeah?"

You barely manage to hum out an affirmation but the torturous pleasure he subjects you to makes it sound borderline pornographic. Your thoughts scatter in the wind and only leave you enough sense to rack your fingers through his hair as he rocks his cock in and out of your hole, addicted to the feeling as you lose yourselves within each other.

Higher and higher Leon takes you, licking up the column of your throat and biting hickeys into the skin of your neck as if to mark you as his. The pleasure burns brightly, a traveling firework climbing up to the sky in hope of exploding outward. This sensation–something you've never had before–is what makes you obsessed and afraid to ever let go. All those years that people came into your life and left without prompting is negated by the fact that he's stayed.

Leon stretches you into a full-on mating press, your knees kissing your chest as he fucks you deeper than before. You sob brokenly, clasping your arms around his neck and holding on for dear life as he pistons his hips harder into your dripping heat. The weight of him on your body as he works you both up to your heights drives you crazy and you can feel all that tension building up–that firework ready to burst.

"You know how pretty you looked?" He grunts out, working his thrusts as if he could go any deeper than he already was and you squeak as he gives your tit a slap. "All dolled up and wearing that pretty little dress I picked out for you? Fuck, I was so close to taking you that night."

"Leon," you whimper as those clear blue eyes bore into yours, hooded with lust and swirling with more emotion and passion than you've ever seen before. "Shit, if that's what you really think, why didn't you do this sooner?"

"Do what, sweet thing? Fuck this pretty pussy 'til I was rearranging your guts?"

You whine submissively at his words, tugging him closer, and hiding your face in his neck. His cock ploughs into your shopping heat, fucking you like the two of you are animals. Leon swallows your gasp, tongue lolling out to beg for air until he captures your mouth and steals all the breath from your lungs. His tongue wrestles your one into submission before pulling back, a trail of saliva connecting your moist lips.

"I wanted to," he admits vulnerably, "so many times we were alone–wanted to bring you to a quiet little place where we could forget about the missions and rivalries and show you what you were missing.."

You weren't going to last long if he kept revealing secrets like this was some sort of steamy confessional.

"I thought you hated me," you gasp, keening when his pace slows and begins favoring hitting you deep and hard over speed. Your eyes roll upward before squeezing shut and just revealing the feeling of him all around you in the best case of sensory overload. "I thought you wanted me dead where I stood."

He tilts your chin up, rutting deep into you that makes you see stars. "That cocky little girl who was unkillable, maybe. But, you showed yourself to me and there you were."

"But, you-"

"I didn't want to scare you off," he sighs, something soft that contradicts the way he's still balls deep inside you. "I was ready to kill you when you landed on my doorstep at that shitty motel, but…I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t lose you."

There's a gap where he trails off, looking into your eyes as you realize that all while you scorned him and loved him, he was going through the same tortuous emotions as you. Those encounters, shooting bullets in each other's directions and painting scars through wounds was all one-sided. Leon knows you genuinely hated him in a past life as he hated you too, wished he was dead in the same way he was so close to putting a bullet through your skull, and yet he's still here.

"I did hate you." You bury your nose into his neck. "I preyed on your downfall for so many nights and loathed that you kept me alive just to prove a point."

"And now?"

You open your eyes, looking past through tears that have started to prick your lash line. Your chest swells with an emotion you haven't felt in a long while, reigniting flames on a piece of cold coal that hasn't felt the kiss of fire for so long. This feeling that has caused you so much conflict before has a name on your heart, your mind, then your tongue.

"Now?" You reach up, brushing bangs away from his moist forehead, and bring him closer like you were telling him a secret. Your lips ghost over his as you answer. "Fuck, I love you, Leon."

That declaration seems to be the breaking point as he squishes you between his body and mattress, sinking his weight onto you as he desperately begins pounding you into the bedsheets. You moan loudly, unbidden as you relish in the feeling of Leon and trailing your fingernails down his back in angry red lines. The pleasure tips you into overdrive, and you almost scream as you feel yourself just beginning to tip over the edge.

“Leon, I,” you stutter and his hips never break stride, seemingly spurred on by the implication of your words hot and heavy in your ear, “I’m close, baby. Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

You choke on your breath as he wedges a hand between your bodies, rubbing furiously at your clit while muffling your sobs with an open-mouthed kiss.

“Cum for me,” he pleads, eyes squeezing shut like you were tormenting him. “Cum on my cock baby, and I’ll cum for you too.”

Your head slams back onto the pillow, gasping and choking for air as you finally crash and that firework explodes outward. Your mind reels as you see white, gushing hotly around Leon who’s still chasing after his own high. You take the overstimulation, tears running freely now as you hold on for dear life he uses you to achieve his own orgasm, his grunts and breathy moans making home inside your memory as the sweetest sounds you’ve ever heard. You call out his name like a chant–a mantra, sweeter than any prayer you’ve ever had to utter.

When he pulls you in his arms, settles his full weight onto you, and kisses you so desperately like you’d disappear the moment he opened his eyes, you know he’s reached it.

Leon rams his hips so that he drives as far as he could into you, cum shooting white hot ropes and painting your walls white. You choke on your own breath as warmth spreads through your body, addicted already to the feeling of his cum spurting inside. You're mesmerized as you watch as his face pinches into something so beautiful and pretty to watch, and you wish you could ingrain the look of him coming undone into your head permanently.

Nothing but hot pants fill the air as he lifts himself from your frame, hands bracketing either side of your head as he pushes himself up to get a good look at you, blissed out on his cock and almost fucked stupid. He brushes fair from your forehead and kisses you lightly in a deep contrast to the way he had nearly bruised your lips as he came.

You shift and he winces, slamming his hands on your hips to hold you still as he stays inside of you.

"Stop," he breathes out as if it pained him.

"Leon? What are you-"

"Fuck–just please, I need–" he gasps, slightly moist forehead coming to rest on yours, "You're so good, baby. Just let me stay like this for a bit–just a second."

Your emotions take a hit as he begs you to stay despite the oversensitivity combating the need to be as close as possible to you. "Alright," you whisper, though a pressing question comes to the forefront of your mind. "Can I ask you something?"

"Hm?"

"Why did…Why’d you kiss me?"

He laughs, all gentle and real right from his stomach and it sends shivers down your spine. You want to draw the sight of his laugh lines into your permanent memory. "Of all the things that just happened, that's what you want to know?"

"Mhm," you affirm, having no strength to try and fight him on the matter. He's left you breathless and tired, and frankly, you just want to know what’s on his mind.

"Well, that's a bit of a stupid question." He nudges your chin up with the crook of his index finger and those blue crystalline eyes catch yours to sweep you off your feet again. "I kissed you because I wanted to, sweetheart.”

You breathe, working on keeping it level as he finally slips out of you, mixed fluids leaking out of your spent cunt upon not being plugged anymore. Leon leans back, admiring his work and laughs to himself. His eyes trail up your body and your gazes connect. You find him looking at you, searching for something like he usually does, but this time, he finally seems he found what he’s looking for.

“Did I let you find it?” you ask tiredly.

“Hm?”

“Back at the cafe,” you explain with exhaustion lacing your voice. Leon gets up, disappearing into the bathroom for a moment, and you hear the sound of running water. When he comes back out, he grabs a water bottle from the fridge that was provided from the hotel and returns to the bedside, running the warm cloth against your oversensitive skin.

“Yeah?” He murmurs to show he’s still listening even as he carefully wipes down the inside of your thighs. “What about it?”

“You said you were looking for something, but I wasn’t letting you find it. Did I do it?”

Leon pauses in his actions, takes a good look at you though you don’t know what’s happening in that complicated head of his. Nonetheless, he smiles and crows feet crinkle his eyes as he leans over to press a chaste kiss to your lips. “You did,” he affirms sweetly, then once he deems you clean enough, he says, “You did good, baby.”

The praise goes straight to your head as you try uprighting yourself, but almost miserably failing before Leon catches you. One of his arms curls around your rigid upper back and the other tucks beneath your knees as he easily lifts you and carries you to the pull-out bed that he’s been sleeping on since you got here. Gently, he deposits you on the mattress with the water bottle before beginning to wipe himself down.

You take gentle sips, watching him as he finishes up and joins you at your side on the bed, sinking down in the much cleaner sheets and tossing the fabric over you. Quickly, you fall into place with your head on his chest listening to his heartbeat and legs intertwined. One of his arms lazily tosses over your waist as he buries his nose into your hair.

Never before has your heart felt so full and alive before, pumping strongly and emotionally just for the man in front of you.

“Thank you,” you whisper, feeling sleep weigh heavily on your mind. “For everything.”

“You make it sound like you’re dying,” he jokes, hand running cautiously up and down your back. You shudder as he feels along every scar with expert care, but you find it's not as bad as you thought it would be. “We still have a long way ahead of us.”

“We do,” you agree thoughtfully before hesitating. “Do…you feel the same way I do?”

Leon kisses the crown of your head affectionately, polling you tighter and more securely against him. “Oh, I adore you, sweet girl. You’ve got me at your beck and call, I can promise you that.”

“Okay,” you settle down, finally at peace. “You’ll stay?”

He tilts your head up, making you stare into those blue eyes that have carried you through so many years of torture and conflicted love. Leon Kennedy, this masterpiece of a man weighed down by years of his job who has tried to kill you and in turn survived your attempts to slit his throat wide open loves you. Even when you hated him, you couldn’t stay away as if the stars and the universe had destined for you to always be connected.

Maybe this is what it means to be in love–to be devoted to someone that you need then like you need the air to breathe.

“I promise,” Leon says, sleep edging on his voice warmly but still persisting to lay your fears to rest. “You’ll have to kill me to stay away from you, (Y/n). I’m yours, whenever and wherever you need, no matter the time of day. I’m staying for you because I love you.”

What a strange thing it is to be in love. But, perhaps in this moment, where you feel so incredibly warm and rich like a healthy fire with plenty of fuel to go on forever, you decide it’s not so bad.

No longer does your heart stay frozen and bitter from years of misuse, but who would’ve guessed that the man who you swore to hate for the rest of your days would be the one to finally melt it down into a blazing fire of emotion?

Far away, miles away from you and Leon, the blizzard that had forced you under the same roof all those weeks ago dissipates, finally satisfied.

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