#and i appreciate young him so much and hes hot as fuck

[mrstsung]

Omfg these shang tsung pics be sending me

Cw: mini vent in there. Srry bout that.

Especially this last one. Omfg the face and reaction is how i feel about mk12/mk1

* (and personal vent here but the fact people just seems to me,never liked or truly appreciated shang until he was turned way younger and it pisses me off and grosses me out that people are obsessed with alan lees shang tsung's appearance,yet don't appreciate shang tsung as a character truly. Like honey i find shang hot young or old,but especially that dilf look,and love his complex character as well,we are not the fucking same,like i feel so much more can be done with his character yet people are too damn scaredy cat on it to do it properly. Also plz be normal about mr.alan lee,he doesn't deserve to be hounded by horny fangirls/guys like that,plz be normal about his shang tsung at least try to. He has amazing talent,he's a cool dude it seems,but damn man. Chill. I could say the same for Mr.Tagawa, tho that man has earned his dues and deserves rest and respect. I dunno man i just feel nobody truly loves the character and if they cant love him at his dilf and gilf look. Then they don't deserve him young,scholarly, and college guy age. Also it concerns me they gotta make everyone so young. It's disturbing. More so cuz there's no natural facelines or wrinkles or anything. It feel fake and airbrushed. Mk12/mk1 is so gross on the faces to me. Mk11 felt like fucking real people because they actually used face models. And it was better. Because maybe it's me but when they go freehand,it feels fake,wonky,and grossly dated and it's supposed to be a "new" game? Like i dunno maybe it's just me. But there's no shame in using actual references. But they dont wanna pay them and they wanna use them without giving them body autonomy. That's the problem. And that's where this becomes an issue. If they learned,they'd actually give the characters face lines and not make them so young and babyfaced and maybe im tired of games having people look like they are going thru a midlife crisis? I just feel mk11 didn't deserve the hate it got. And i am guilty i admit for harsh judgment. And i apologize. But i never knew the mk12/mk1 game was gonna be THAT bad. But it did,and it is,and for that i gotta say on a final note. Fuck 12.) *

But mk11 shang tsung,mk11 aftermath especially. His facial expressions are priceless.

And i feel it needs to be talked about more the charisma shang has in mk11. (Again not saying he never had it. He does. But nobody does sassy,rizz worthy,bad guy swagger lioe cary hiroyuki tagawa. Im sorry.)

#mortal kombat #shang tsung #💚heart and soul🐍 #shang tsung mortal kombat #mini vent #cw vent #mk11 #mk11 shang tsung #shang tsung mk11 #mortal kombat 11 #mortal kombat 11 shang tsung #cary hiroyuki tagawa

[wilsonsmcgillsweatshirt]

Twink Robert Sean Leonard this, young Robert Sean Leonard that

Can we all just stop and appreciate older, mature Robert Sean Leonard with a beard. Fuck.

#dont get me wrong #i think RSL looks as Godly as the next person #and i appreciate young him so much and hes hot as fuck #im not delusional #BUT #people act like hes suddenly ugly because he aged #THOSE people are delusional #He looks so good older #especially with the beard #THE BEARD #literally has me going insane #house md #james wilson #wilson #hatecrimes md #robert sean leonard #neil perry

[heeseungwifey]

It's like a Polaroid... nude?

pairing: IdolJay! x y/n

warning: contains smut!

Jay loved fan mail. Receiving letters about how much someone loves him always strokes his ego, feeling rewarded for his hard job. He’s a total workaholic, both professionally and in his private life. He goes to the gym, eats healthy, rests well. He loves how his fans notice his muscular physique in the comments. 

Letters are usually from young girls, he appreciates the love and support but would never correspond to the romantic aspect of the messages. Often some older girls, his age and a bit younger make advances and he, as a man, feels the urge to meet up with them, signing an NDA just in case. They are groupies that just enjoy the experience but they never leave a big impact on him. 

The whole group goes to the hotel after a concert, exhausted from the busy schedule. Jay sees a group of fans waiting outside, his eyes meeting the most beautiful eyes he has ever seen. The girl is standing there with a face mask on and a letter in her hand, she doesn’t seem as excited as the others and Jay gets curious.

The boys get closer to the crowd, signing CDs and receiving fan letters, all normal. Jay, on the other hand, is cautiously looking at this mysterious girl and directly grabs her letter, mouthing a thank you. 

The boys get in the van and some of them open the letters to read out loud, not aware that Jay has only picked up one, hidden inside his jacket waiting to read it at the hotel. He doesn’t know why but his intuition tells him the content of that letter is only for his eyes to see.

It’s midnight and Jay is ready to go to sleep, his pyjamas and skincare are done. He picks up the letter and touches it, feeling like there’s more than a letter, like little pieces of what seems like photographic paper. When he opens the envelope, a bunch of polaroids fall from inside, his curiosity spiking. When he flips them around he sees the girl who gave him the letter, wearing just her bra and red lipstick. it’s a selfie, her beautiful eyes and riqué outfit taking all the attention. The next Polaroid is a shot further away from her face, showing that she’s just wearing her bra and panties, getting Jay’s ears red for such an intimate gift. That’s what he thought until he saw the next one, her tits on full display and just her red lips, such a lewd picture Jay had to stop and read the letter. 

“Dear Jay,

This is me showing my love for you. I noticed you are trying so hard to look hot these days, did you think I wouldn’t notice your muscular tanned arms in those outfits of yours? Your strong legs while dancing and your huge bulge when you sit down? You grow the monster inside of me that wants to fuck you so dumb that you don’t even know the days of the week. To leave you so dry you don’t get with another bitch ever again in your life. To leave you like a puppy waiting for me. I wanted to return the favour for all this hard work and give you a little gift.

Here are some polaroids for your eyes only, for those lonely nights when you need help. I am your whore, just text me and I’ll go anywhere. You got me on my knees.

love and kisses, 

xxx xxx xxx”

Jay couldn’t believe what he just read. Her name wasn’t even on the letter, just her phone number. And a kiss with the red lipstick. Jay picked the other polaroids, realising right there that those left were way worse. A mirror picture fully naked, a close-up of her open legs, her red dripping pussy at the centre of the shot. A picture of her inserting a toy and looking at the camera with her tongue out was his favourite. 

He had to call her. Needed to. His eyes were darting from polaroid to polaroid, his bulge growing bigger and bigger and his thoughts clouding, just flashes of red lips. Jay picks up his phone and calls the number, waiting impatiently for her to pick up, biting his nails and touching his groin mindlessly. 

“Hello?” a sweet voice picks up the phone, which makes Jay wonder if he dialled the wrong number. How could a girl who makes such gifts have a voice this soft?

“Hello! Yeah, I received a letter today and it had someone's phone number, this phone number to be more precise. Is there any chance that the girl who gave me this letter is you?” 

“Jay? Is it you?”

“yeah, it’s me” Jay jumps on his seat, so it is her, the girl with the pretty eyes.

“Oh Jay, did you like my letter? I made it with so much love, I can’t believe you read it” She sounds naughty over the other side of the line, with a sultry voice mixed with innocence. 

“yeah, I did like it… a lot. I was wondering if you were up to meeting today, at my hotel” Jay is unsure this is gonna turn alright, asking with no confidence. 

“Oh really? Do you want me to go?” she sounds happy on the other side of the line, excited to meet her celebrity crush. 

“Yes, I do. I’m at the Palace Hotel, when you get to the front desk ask for room 549. A bodyguard will bring you up here” Jay can’t even believe what he’s doing, being used to meeting with girls he saw at the club and interacted a bit with, no a stranger.

“Okay Jay, I’ll be there in 20 minutes!” she sounded happy and decided like she knew exactly what she was doing.

Jay was tense instantly. Fuck, 20 minutes was too much waiting. He started picking from the floor the clothes and shoes that were scattered all around the room, to give a good impression. Making the bed, tugging the bedsheets and placing the pillows in their place. God, he even took a shower and cut his toenails. He was so desperate to give a good impression to this girl who, being honest, he didn’t have to win. She was already coming to his hotel room to fuck him anyways. 

When Jay was getting unsure she was gonna show up, three light knocks sounded from outside his hotel room. As fast as he could he got up from the bed and walked towards the door, trying to keep his cool. 

When he opened the door he was met with the same eyes he had seen that afternoon, foxy and deep brown. He was speechless, as if he hadn’t been imagining this situation for 20 minutes. 

“Hello Jay! Sorry for being late, couldn’t find a taxi” He opened the door for her, her figure walked inside the room. jay noticed what she was wearing, a long coat and knee-high boots. It was quite an outfit, given that it wasn’t that cold of weather to be in such a wintery outfit. 

“Can I ask for your name…? You didn’t tell me in the letter” Jay closed the door and walked to where she was, sitting in his bed and her purse on the table under the TV. 

“Oh really! how silly… my name is y/n. Sorry, I guess I wasn’t focused when I was writing the letter…” She’s sitting with her legs crossed, subtle movements that Jay catches as she’s rubbing them. She remembers what she wrote in the letter.

How could she forget when in front of her was Jay in a tank top and grey sweatpants, his sexy and toned biceps on sight and his protruding bulge obviously waiting for her. She knew what she had done with that letter and those polaroids, ready to satisfy him as soon as she walked into the room. 

“Oh, nice to meet you, y/n.” Jay gets close to kiss her on the cheek, as a greeting, but she turns her head and kisses him on the mouth instead. Yeah, fuck it, they both know for what they came for. Let’s stop acting dumb. 

Her hands push his head to deepen the kiss,  grabbing a fistful of his hair. Jay is standing right in between her legs as she’s sitting down and he’s standing. When the kiss gets more heated she takes off her boots and stands up on the bed, tongue-tied with him as she takes off her coat, wearing nothing underneath but a lingerie set. Jay can’t believe his eyes as he looks up at that sight. His hands go straight to her ass, groping and massaging it. God, the kiss has gotten him so worked up he needs to take his pants off immediately. 

“Oh baby, does it hurt down there? Do you want me to help you with that?” she says as she grabs his shoulders and gets off the bed, already on her knees by the time Jay gets to moan a yes. 

“Sit down honey, I’m going to put my money where my mouth is” Y/n pulls his pants down and pushes him to sit on the bed, his dick springing out and looking achingly red and precum coming out of it. 

“I knew it, it’s big! Fuck Jay, you don’t have an idea of how many times I have thought about doing this  to you…” She kisses it right on the head  “How many times I’ve fantasised about how it looks…” Another kiss “How it tastes…” she takes it and puts it in her mouth, slightly sucking on it. “Do you like it?’”

Jay can’t even speak, he’s sweating and if he tries to open his mouth he might let a whimper escape. She knows she’s doing a good job by Jay’s reaction so she keeps on going. Saliva all over his dick and her head bobbing as she makes eye contact with him, her hands slightly scratching his thighs. 

“stop… no, no… STOP” Jay grabs her head and stops her, trying really hard not to come because of the popping sound of her mouth leaving his dick. He knows himself and much rather fuck her with the energy he has now than waste it on some blowjob. He needs to fuck her and feel her tight walls around his cock, filling her with his cum. As much as he loves her mouth he knows she’s way better fuck. 

“I don’t wanna come yet baby girl… let me be inside you for that” Jay gets y/n from the ground and sits her on the bed, lifting her by her ass and placing her in the middle of the bed. The lingerie set is starting to bother him, taking off the garters and the bra, leaving her only in her panties and thigh-high tights. Jay starts sucking and licking her perky nipples, moans escaping from her mouth as she just pushes his head up to her chest, going insane every second that passes and Jay doesn’t fuck her.

“Jay, please… do something, it hurts” y/n is almost crying at this point, rubbing her thighs is not enough to relieve the heat she feels between her legs. Jay smirks, pulling slowly her panties off and breathing heavily right next to her heat.

“Does it hurt here? do you need me to help you ease the pain?” Jay looks at y/n face from between her legs, y/n just wishing she could take a picture and keep this moment forever. Jay puts in one finger, realising how wet and ready she is for him. After getting three fingers in and many complaints from y/n to just fuck her already, Jay goes to his backpack and pulls out a condom. 

“Okay baby, I’m going in. You okay with it?” Even after almost supplicating him to fuck her he still makes sure she really wants to, which y/n feels a fire in her belly, he's 10x times hotter now than she already thought. 

“Yes Jay, I want you to fuck me like none has ever done it to me before” And with a kiss they both seal this promise, Jay going full in and bottoming out. He waits a few seconds so y/n can get used to the size, getting a few strands of hair out of her face, feeling too intimate while doing missionary position.

Jay starts moving slowly, y/n already asking for more and more, Jay feeling how her walls keep on getting tighter and tighter. He’s worried to get into it, cumming way too soon. His view is criminal, her hair all over the bed, her rosy cheeks and open mouth, her tits bouncing with each thrust… Jay needs to make her come before him so he starts doing circles on her clit, getting whimpers in response. Y/n is almost done, too tired to keep on going for this round. 

“Jay… Jay, I’m coming… stop it’s too much, I’m coming hard, ARHHHG!!!” y/n is laying on the bed, with blurry vision and an aching body. Jay finishes right after her, taking the condom off and painting her belly with his seed, satisfied with his job. 

y/n lays there for half an hour, Jay has let her chill on his hotel bed. She’s asleep as he cleans her up from the mess he made and waits for her to wake up to get her a bath ready. By the time she’s up again, Jay is cuddling with her and kissing her forehead, like she was his girlfriend and not some groupie. 

“Did you have fun? I think you kept your promise” Jay smiles as he remembers what the letter said. 

“What did I promise?” y/n is quite disoriented from the kick nap she just took

“You said something like… you were going to fuck me so dumb that … I wouldn’t even know the days of the week or something along those lines hahaha” y/n hides under the blankets as Jay pets her head. 

“To be honest… I wrote that when I was drunk… and horny… like I had just seen a fancam of you and you looked soo good… I got sad I didn’t stand a chance with you. But I guess I did” y/n looks up at him and he’s smiling at her, so cute she just had to kiss him. 

“So you were horny and you wrote that letter?”

“And took those polaroids, thinking of what your reaction could be to them. I guess I know now” 

“And did you think of me while you were touching yourself with that toy?” Jay wonders, already knowing the answer. 

“I don’t think I have ever touched myself without thinking of you Jay, I thought about you 24/7”

“That sounds good… now you just don’t have to think of me, now you can call me” Jay smirks and y/n understands perfectly, this will happen over and over again…

#enhypen smut #enhypen #jay smut #jay enhypen #enhypen hard hours

[heartateasee]

“Intraoffice”

ceo!harry x you

Word Count: 13k

Warnings: a handjob, some comeplay, fingering (f receiving), brief spitting and protected sex.

Plot: Your previous CEO was retiring, and Harry is taking his place. Neither of you were expecting each other to be so young, and after while, you begin to develop a flirty friendship within the workplace. One business trip causes all those feelings to come to fruition.

(I stumbled across this TikTok account the other night, and it caused me to spiral. So, this is the result of that 🤭 Big thank you to my bestie @finelinenina for giving me some ideas for this one as well 🫶🏻)

ꕤ • ꕤ • ꕤ • ꕤ

To say that you were going into work nervous today would be an understatement. Today was the day you were going to meet the new CEO of the company, and you were praying to whatever was above that he was kinder than the current CEO - your boss. It wasn’t that he was necessarily a mean man, Mr. Crawford, but he was older, and he liked for his assistant to not be seen or heard. He expected for you to get the job down silently, and while being invisible. It took you a little bit of time, but for the most part, you had your day down to where you and Mr. Crawford never crossed paths - something he very much appreciated.

His coffee was on his desk, as well as a print out of his meetings for the day before he even stepped foot into the office, and by the time he did, you were already behind your own desk working on other tasks. When lunchtime came, you had his lunch hot and ready, once again on his desk, before his late morning meeting finished. And then when it was time for his afternoon coffee, you snuck it into his office during his after lunch meeting.

The other assistants commented on how odd it was that Mr. Crawford made you arrange everything while he was out of his office, and you felt the same way, but it was just routine now. Hell, you had been doing it for the past four years since you were offered the position right after you had completed your internship. It was just normal now.

So this morning, you placed two cups of coffee on Mr. Crawford’s desk as you knew the replacement CEO would be with him, and you printed off two copies of the day's meetings since he would also be shadowing him all day. You didn’t really mind if the new CEO wanted you to be invisible as well, but you hoped that maybe you would start having a little bit of appreciation thrown your way instead of just being met with silence.

Just as you had turned on your heel, going to exit the office, you heard Mr. Crawford’s voice which caused your eyes to widen. He was earlier than usual today, and that caused your heart to race a bit. The last thing you needed was for him to scold you in front of your new boss.

“And just in here is where your office will be,” Mr. Crawford stepped into the doorway, and you stood there like a deer in headlights - fiddling with your fingers behind your back. “Oh, Y/N, I was hoping we’d catch you.”

You had to force off an expression of confusion at his words as you knew he was probably trying to make himself come off as a better boss. “Good morning, Mr. Crawford. I’ve just placed your coffees on the desk, as well as your schedules for the day.”

“Thank you,” he nodded at you before moving out of the way, and it was as if time stood still once the man behind him was revealed. “This is Mr. Harry Styles. He’s going to be your new boss as of Monday.”

He was young - way younger than you anticipated. With cropped curls and moss colored eyes, you truly found yourself in a bit of a trance looking at him. He had plush, pillowy looking lips with a nose that looked like it had been sculpted by the gods. Fuck, it was honestly as if every part of him had been sculpted by the gods.

“Mr. Styles, so nice to meet you,” you extended your hand to him. “I’m Y/N. I’m looking forward to working so closely together.”

Harry smiled at you, and once he took your hand, you immediately felt a warmth spreading all over your body. “Wonderful to meet you, Miss Y/N. Thank you for the coffee.”

You felt your face flush at his politeness before your hold dropped. “Of course, that’s what I’m here for,” you flicked your eyes between the two men before giving them a nod. “Well, Mr. Crawford, you know where to find me if you need me.”

As you went to leave the office, you could feel Harry’s eyes following you, and you peeked over your shoulder - confirming that he was indeed still staring. You subconsciously bit down on your bottom lip as you quickly looked away to avoid drawing attention from Mr. Crawford. Once you were back at your desk, you let out a deep breath as you stared at your computer screen.

Harry wasn’t at all what you were expecting, and little did you know that you weren’t what he was expecting either. 

ꕤ • ꕤ • ꕤ • ꕤ

It had been a couple of weeks now that Harry had been your boss, and he honestly hadn’t seen or heard you much. Occasionally you would have to call into his office to let him know that he had a call, or he’d approach your desk if he needed to have a meeting rearranged, but other than that, the situation was very much like the one when you worked for Mr. Crawford.

This morning, however, Harry made it a point to get to the office almost ten minutes earlier than usual. He wanted to try to catch you, to see exactly why you had been avoiding him. He wasn’t really aware of the fact that this is how you did things previously considering Mr. Crawford seemed more than elated to have caught you during your initial introduction. He thought that maybe you didn’t like him, and if that was the case, he needed to make things right.

He greeted a few people as he walked through the lobby, heading towards his office where he hoped you’d either be, or he’d be able to already be there before you came in. As he got closer to his door, he could hear slight shuffling, and he quietly poked his head in to see you organizing his meeting schedule, while placing another stack of papers down beside it. He figured those were the contracts that had been finalized for him to sign. His coffee was still in your hand as you did this, your bottom lip tucked between your teeth in concentration.

“Good morn-”

Harry couldn’t finish his greeting as a scream left your lips, and you jumped, spilling his coffee all over the front of your dress. You gasped as the hot liquid seeped through the fabric, and the paper cup was quickly dropped to the ground as you tried to pull your dress away from your chest. Thankfully you were wearing one with a high neckline so you wouldn’t be exposing yourself, but the material was a cream color, something you normally knew better than to wear given how clumsy you were.

“Oh my god!” Harry exclaimed as he walked forward, and without even thinking, he wrapped his hands around your wrists, assisting you with pulling the fabric away from your skin. “Y/N, I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay,” you sucked in a deep breath as the burning sensation began to fade away, and you swallowed harshly. “It’s fine. I’m a klutz anyway. I’ll make sure to get you another coffee as soon as possible. Thank god it didn’t get on your documents.”

Harry’s eyebrows narrowed as you spoke, and he shook his head. “I could care less about the documents. I’m not worried about them or another coffee. How’s your chest? Did it burn your skin?”

Your eyes darted down to where only you could see the exposed skin from you dress still being pulled, and you shook your head. “It doesn’t look like it,” you dropped your hands, causing Harry’s to leave your wrists, and the damp dress clung to your abdomen once again. 

“Please, take the morning to go home and change and to regather. I can’t tell you how sorry-”

“Oh, I won’t need to go home. I keep a spare change of clothes in my desk. Like I said,” you spoke as you lifted your hand above your head before pointing down at yourself. “Klutz.”

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle softly at your gesture, and he pursed his lips to the side. “Alright then, how about this? You go ahead and change, and then we’ll go out for some breakfast so I can make this up to you.”

“Breakfast? But you have a meeting at-”

“Reschedule it,” Harry said as he tucked his hands into his pockets. “We’re going to the diner down the street. You’re my new meeting.”

Your stomach formed a knot when you heard his words, and you finally found it within yourself to clamp your jaw shut. “Yes, Mr. Styles. I’ll just be a few minutes. I won’t keep you waiting long.”

“Y/N,” Harry stepped forward, and you looked up at him with round eyes. “You take all the time you need, okay? I’ll wait however long if it means you’ll feel comfortable again.”

Words escaped you at that point. This was your boss, and you had never had a man show this much concern over you before, not within the first couple weeks of knowing each other at least.

“Mhmm,” you hummed out a squeak before quickly leaving his office. 

You made your way over to your desk to retrieve the extra black trousers, and the maroon colored jumper stashed away in your bottom drawer before making your way into the employee bathroom.

Pulling your stained dress up, you grimaced as it stuck to you slightly since it had just barely begun to dry. You grabbed some paper towels and ran them under the water for a few seconds before beginning to wipe over your chest, and some of your abdomen until you were rid of all the sticky substance.

You pulled on your clothes quickly, not wanting to make Harry wait too much longer, and you exited the bathroom.

Once Harry saw you back at your desk, he left his office as you made the phone call to reschedule his morning meeting to tomorrow instead since you knew he had an opening. You watched as he grabbed your dress from where you had it laying over the back of your chair- eyebrows narrowing as you saw him drape it over the crease of his arm.

You hung up the phone and placed the strap of your purse over your shoulder. “What are you doing with my dress?”

Harry smirked softly before tilting his head towards the elevators. “Ready to go?”

You nodded in response, and then the two of you were down and out of the building - heading down the street.

“Which diner did you want to go to? I can call ahead and make sure a table is ready,” you stated, fumbling to get your cell out of your purse.

“That’s not necessary, Y/N. If we have to wait, we’ll wait,” Harry shrugged as he started to guide you down a side street, and you began to look around.

“Mr. Styles, I’m not trying to overstep here, but I don’t think there’s a diner down this street.”

“I’m not heading for the diner right now,” he shook his head, and you only walked a few more paces before he was opening up a door to a shop.

He lifted his eyebrows in encouragement for you to step in first as he held the door open, and you did so. Harry followed close behind, and you watched as he approached the counter.

“I’ll need this garment dry cleaned, please,” you heard him state before he was handing your dress over to the elderly woman helping him. “Do you think it could be finished by tomorrow?”

“Oh, Harry, I’ll have it done for you by this evening,” the woman cooed, reaching across the counter to pinch one of his cheeks.

You watched him smile, his deep dimples denting into his skin as he left out a soft laugh. “You’re too good to me, Muriel. We’ll be back whenever you give me a call.”

At this point, you were floored. Not only was he so apologetic about the spill that he practically begged you to join him for breakfast, now he was getting your dress dry cleaned?

Once you stepped back out onto the street, you started back in the direction you came from.

“You really didn’t need to do that,” you told him as you pursed your lips to the side. “I could’ve just taken care of it at home.”

“Nonsense,” Harry said, glancing over at you for a moment as you crossed the street. “If I hadn’t startled you, the coffee wouldn’t have been spilled, therefore, I wanted to make it right.”

“I really need you to stop blaming yourself for that,” you laughed softly as you continued down the sidewalk - not realizing where you were stepping was a bit unlevel.  

It caused your ankle to slightly roll, and you let out a yelp as you tripped. You braced yourself for impact with your lids shut tight, but instead you were met with a solid chest and an arm around your waist. You blinked your eyes open to see Harry looking down at you - his eyebrows up on his forehead.

“You weren’t joking when you said you were a klutz, were you?”

You felt your cheeks flush before shaking your head. “No, I wasn’t.”

You both shared a chuckle as you separated, and you were grateful to see that you were approaching a diner not too long after your stumble. The last thing you needed was to trip over another uneven sidewalk, or even worse, your own feet. 

Just like before at the dry cleaners, Harry held the door open for you, and you immediately walked over to the host stand - a habit of yours to just do this on your own. Any time Mr. Crawford held a dinner at a restaurant, it had always been your responsibility to make sure they knew you were checking in for their reservation.

“Hello, we’d like a table for two please,” you greeted her with a smile, and watched as she gathered a couple menus before nodding her head for you to follow.

Looking over your shoulder, you saw Harry watching you intently, and you tried to swallow down the nerves starting to bubble in your chest. You had never seen someone look at you the way he did before. You weren’t sure if it was a good or a bad thing, to be honest, but all you knew was that it made you nervous. 

The host set your menus down on the table of a booth, and you and Harry both slipped into the opposite benches. You tried your best to focus on narrowing down what you wanted, but this was an unusual circumstance. Never once were you asked by your boss to go to breakfast just the two of you, and as appreciative as you were that Harry had asked you, it was unfamiliar territory.

“Do you see something that you think you’d want?” Harry spoke up after a few minutes, and you flashed your eyes up to him over the top of your menu to see that his were already on you. “If not, we can go somewhere else.”

His need to make sure you were constantly comfortable was so foreign that you could hardly wrap your head around it. You realized it had been a few moments since he had asked his question, and you had remained silent. “Oh no,” you shook your head before clearing your throat. “This is perfect. I see a couple things that are peaking my interest actually.”

Harry smiled at you, and you felt a fluttering in your lower stomach. “Get whatever you’d like.”

It was only a few minutes later that a server came over to the table, and Harry ordered a carafe of coffee for the two of you, as well as two waters before extending his hand over to you - asking you silently to order your food first.

“I’ll take the breakfast sampler, please,” you stated, looking over everything that came on it so you didn’t miss any of the options. “I’ll take one sausage and one bacon with that, sunny side up eggs with white buttered toast and hashbrown casserole, please.”

Handing your menu off to the server, you turned your attention back to Harry. His eyes were darting over the laminated paper in his hand before he looked to the server. “You know what? I’ll do the same please, but instead of the sausage and bacon, could I have a bowl of fruit with that?”

The server nodded, taking Harry’s menu as well before walking away from the table.

“For a second I thought you were going to break your vegetarian status,” you said playfully as you leaned forward onto the table - intertwining your fingers together.

Harry mimicked your actions, and you caught sight of the cross tattoo on his hand. You knew he had another right along his wrist as you could see glimpses of the ink sometimes, but you always wanted to ask him if he had any others. 

“As much as I do miss bacon, I’ve been going strong for too many years to break it now,” he smirked, and you were slowly feeling more comfortable with the one on one time together.

You weren’t a nervous individual by nature, to be honest, however, you did tend to be particularly quiet. You’re sure a lot of that had to do with the fact that’s what was asked of you for the past four years. Once conversation struck, and you were interested, you could hold a proper interaction.

“Didn’t mean to tempt you,” you giggled before biting down on your bottom lip.

Harry noticed that was something you must do subconsciously, but he found it alluring. 

The server came back with your two waters, two mugs and the carafe of coffee - setting it all down on the table alongside sugar packets and cream. You and Harry both went to reach for the carafe, fingers brushing against each other, and you pulled your hand back quickly.

“Sorry,” you muttered, dropping your hands into your lap, but Harry held that coy half smile as he poured you each a cup of coffee.

“How do you take yours?��� Harry asked, as he set the carafe towards the end of the table against the wall to have it out of the way.

“Two sugars and just a splash of cream, please.”

Your eyes were fixed on his every move as you watched him pour the contents into the mug before he pushed it over your way. He pulled his own mugs towards him - not putting anything in it, as always. 

“Thank you,” both of your hands cupped the warm mug, and you fought off a hum at just how wonderful the heat felt against your palms.

The hustle and bustle of the diner blanketed over the two of you, and for a minute your attention was caught by just how quickly all the servers were moving around to make sure everything was getting taken care of in a timely manner.

“Y/N,” Harry saying your name caught your attention, and you looked back over to him. “Can I ask you a question?”

Your eyebrows furrowed before you gave him a nod. “Yeah, of course.”

“Have I done something to make you not like me?” Harry asked, tilting his head to the side.

Your eyes widened at his question, and you quickly shook your head. “No, not at all! Why would you think that?”

“Well, I never see you.”

You were caught so off guard. Him not seeing you made him think you didn’t like him? You thought you were doing him a favor by not being an interruption. 

“Well, I just thought that maybe Mr. Crawford had talked to you before he left, and maybe you wanted me to keep doing things the way he liked,” you explained.

“Which was?”

It was then you realized that Mr. Crawford didn’t tell Harry at all about how he really didn’t want you being present around him. It was a bit shocking to you that he wouldn’t have mentioned that, considering a lot of businessmen had that preference, and it seemed to be a little hard to find assistants who would obey that rule so well. 

“He didn’t really like seeing me,” you shrugged. “Or hearing me either. That’s why I always have your coffee, schedule and any documents you may need to take care of on your desk and ready to go before you’re there. It’s also why your lunch is delivered while you’re in your late morning meeting.”

An expression you really couldn’t make out rested on Harry’s face, and since he didn’t speak, you continued.

“If I had to run things to his house after work, I’d use my key to let myself in, drop off whatever he needed, and regardless of whether or not he or his wife were home, I would be in and out. It took a little while to get used to, but once I did, it was easy.”

You watched as Harry lifted a hand to run it through the front of his curls, and you forced yourself to look away from the flex of his bicep as he did so. “God, Y/N, I’m so sorry. I had no idea that’s how you had to do things when he was around. I can promise you that’s not how you have to be with me.”

Slipping your eyes shut, you couldn’t help but let out a small sigh of relief. “Oh, thank god,” you giggled before looking at him again. “It was easier with him because I had his routine down. I was guessing every day with you.”

Harry’s heart skipped a beat at the sound of your giggle. It was hard for him to believe someone couldn’t want you to work around them and do your job properly. From the little bits of you he had been able to see, you seemed like the perfect employee. 

“So with that being said,” Harry started. “I’d like my morning cup of coffee after I’ve arrived at the office.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but Harry held up a finger to stop you. “And I’d like to prepare it myself in the kitchen with you, as you prepare your own. Then from there, we can go back to my office, and you can walk me through the meeting schedule for the day. You don’t have to worry about ordering me lunch anymore, I can take care of that myself.”

“What about your afternoon cup of coffee?” You blurted out, making Harry smile even wider than he already was.

“Can I be honest with you?” He waited for you to nod before proceeding. “I was only drinking about a quarter of it before dumping it out. Coffee that late in the day would keep me wired all night.”

“Mr. Styles,” you gasped, jaw dropping. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It seemed a bit impolite, you know? I felt bad that you had gone through the trouble of making it for me, and I didn’t want to just waste it. It also felt wrong to tell you to stop when I thought it was something you enjoyed doing for me.”

You wanted to respond again, but the server was back - placing the appropriate sampler in front of the two of you. You both thanked them as they walked off, and you shook your head as you reviewed the newfound information from him in your head.

“Mr. Styles, I-”

“Y/N.”

“Yes?” You looked at him as he sent you one of the most gentle looks you’ve ever seen.

“You can call me Harry.”

ꕤ • ꕤ • ꕤ • ꕤ

In the few months that followed your breakfast “meeting” with Harry, the two of you developed a really great work relationship. The truth was, the two of you knew that this was a full on friendship as well at this point, but keeping things professional was necessary. If you texted after hours, it was about work only, and if you saw each other outside of the office, it was at work oriented events.

Regardless of that, you each had gotten in the habit of doing little things here and there for each other. You never made a big deal about it, neither of you would tell the other it was you who did it, but you both just knew. 

The first time Harry did something unexpected for you was about a month after your new work agreement. That morning you had noticed that the pink peonies you had in your vase on your desk were on their last leg, and you frowned as you tossed them into the trash. 

“Maybe this time I can get yellow ones,” you had told Stella, the assistant who worked at the desk right next to yours. “I wanted them the first time around, but they were all out.”

That afternoon when you came back from having lunch with Stella, you saw that your vase was full of yellow peonies. Your mouth gaped as you raced over to them, running the tips of your fingers over the soft petals. It was then you caught sight of Harry leaning against the doorway of his office out of the corner of your eye, and you looked over to him. He tucked his hands into his pockets as he gave you a smile, and you stared into his eyes as you gave him a knowing one back.

A couple of weeks ago you walked into the office on a Monday after having a relaxing weekend of self-care, and as you met Harry in the kitchen for your usual cups of coffee, you watched his eyes light up as he took you in. “You got your hair done,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

“You noticed?” You couldn’t help but laugh when you asked. You were so surprised.

“Yeah,” he nodded, the tip of his tongue running over his bottom lip. “It looks really good, Y/N.”

You had blushed furiously that day that you were surprised you didn’t combust into flames.

The vibe between the two of you had floated over into flirting territory probably more times than it should, but you both were responsible enough not to take it any further. Sometimes the flirting involved little remarks, or long glances, and even sometimes Harry would take your breath away with a small squeeze to your hip as he moved behind you to reach for something.

You both felt incredibly comfortable around each other, but regardless of that, you had turned Harry’s invitation down for dinner at his house a couple of times. He would only ever offer when you would come by his house after work to drop something off for him, or when you needed to pick something up to be delivered over the weekend. As much as you wanted to tell him yes, you knew it wasn’t a good idea. The last thing either of you needed was someone finding out that you were spending personal time outside of work. 

Of course he was the CEO, the one calling most of the shots, but he still had his own people to answer to. You didn’t want to get the two of you in trouble, and Harry didn’t either - that’s why he understood every time you would decline. No matter how many times you had rejected the offer, Harry couldn’t find it in himself to stop asking, and part of him hoped that one day would give in.

Harry had noticed so many little things about you during the time you had spent together. The way you ate crunchy cheetos with chopsticks so you didn’t get your fingers dirty while working was adorable to him, and he picked up on the way you would slightly scrunch up your nose when you were working on a spreadsheet that was proving to be troublesome. 

He noticed the way you came into work each week with a different color of polish coating your impeccably manicured nails. When you told him that you did them yourself one day when he complimented the small polka dot designs you had adorning each of your ring fingers, he was floored. He had become completely infatuated with your presence - if he was going to be completely honest. 

That’s why as he stood at the bar with a pint in his hand and his eyes set on you speaking with a man he didn’t recognize, he felt an uneasiness in his stomach. The office had gone out for drinks at the usual spot on a Friday afternoon to celebrate an easy and successful week, and most of the time you were attached to Harry’s hip, however, there seemed to be a law firm that was also occupying said bar.

You had been speaking to this same man for about fifteen minutes now, and Harry watched as he moved slightly closer to you over time. You weren’t a very big drinker, Harry knew that. You’d always have one cocktail while out with everyone, and you’d sip on it the entire time - finishing it up just a few minutes before you’d announce you were leaving.

So, when Harry saw the man gesturing to your drink, clearly asking if you’d like another, his hand tensed around his cold glass before he brought it up to take a large swig of his beer.

He saw that you politely declined, and luckily the man honored it and didn't push. If he had, there’d be a serious problem.

For the remaining hour that you both were at the bar, Harry had managed to get himself properly wasted. It made him sick to watch you openly flirt with some else when all he wanted to do was to be able to do that with you. 

It wasn’t until you walked over to the bar to stand next to Stella for a moment to pay your tab that the man walked back over to his friends. Harry watched him closely, and his stomach churned as he watched the way the man tapped each of his colleagues and pointed at you. The men surrounding him, both younger and older, eyed you up and down like a piece of meat. 

Harry quickly asked to pay his tab, scribbling a hefty tip and his signature on the receipt just in time as he saw you walking back over to the asshole who had every ounce of your attention. After what Harry had just seen him do, there was no way he was going to let you leave with him.

Just as the man was beginning to ask for just your number, Harry practically stumbled up next to you, and your eyes widened as you quickly wrapped an arm around his torso - having him fully lean into your side.

“Harry, you alright?” You asked with narrowed brows.

As you studied him, you could see that he was more drunk than you had ever seen him. Hell, you had really only seen him tipsy before. This was extremely out of the ordinary for him.

“Yeah, ‘m alright,” he slurred just slightly, but he still managed to stay poised. “Jus’ wanted to come and check on you.”

Your eyes flitted over to the man, and you sent him a weak smile. “This your boyfriend?” The man asked, and you heard Harry try to stifle a laugh in the back of his throat before you saw a look take over his eyes - as if a light switch had gone off.

“Actually, I am,” Harry nodded, and your lips parted at that response. “I am Y/N’s boyfriend, and if you’ll excuse us, I think it’s time we went home.”

The man scoffed, and Harry watched as his eyes now looked over you with disgust. “Pretty cheap of you to flirt with me for the past hour when your boyfriend’s in the same building, but I guess I kind of understand if he gets this wasted and ignores you all night.”

“Hey, that’s enough!” You snapped, speaking up before Harry had a chance to - even though his mouth was open to do so. His body was clearly working on a delayed system. “You don’t get to speak about him like you know him. You don’t know him at all.”

Shaking your head, you tightened your arm around Harry’s waist as he threw one of his around your shoulders, and as you began to walk away, Harry turned his head to look at the man with a smirk.

“Oh, and one more thing!” You spoke up as you turned around, talking a bit louder so the man could hear you over the music, causing the attention from some of the other patrons to be on you. “Your cologne fucking reeks - smells like a cat pissed all over your suit.”

Harry’s eyes widened, and he let out the loudest cackle you had heard within your time together as you pushed open the front door to the bar. As you headed down the street, you could barely walk in a straight line due to having your tall British boss clinging to your side.

“I’m gonna drive you home, okay?” You told him as you approached your car that was parallel parked on the street. Using your free hand, you fished your keys from your purse and unlocked the car before helping Harry into the passenger seat.

Once he was good and buckled, you shut the door and rounded over to your side. You slipped inside and turned on the car as you felt Harry’s eyes lingering on the side of your face. 

“Let me know if you’re going to get sick or something, alright? I’ve never seen you drink this much before,” you commented as you pulled out of your spot and started down the roads towards his house.

Harry didn’t live too far from here, probably around five minutes maximum, so you really didn’t mind taking him home.

“Yeah, but ‘m not gonna get sick. I have an iron stomach,” Harry stated as he patted his palm against his covered abdomen. “Haven���t puked from drinking in years.”

The car ride was silent except for the light music playing on the radio, and at first you thought Harry had fallen asleep, but when you glanced over, he was just staring at his hands in his lap. 

Once you pulled into his driveway, you got out and went over to his side to assist him - supporting him in almost every way as you stepped up onto his porch. You got his keys out of his suit jacket to unlock the door before the two of you were heading inside.

“Didn’t like that guy talking to you,” Harry mumbled as you tossed his keys into the bowl on the table near the door.

“Oh, really? I couldn’t tell,” you laughed sarcastically. You weren’t irritated by any means, but it was all just a little confusing to you why he was acting that way. “Called yourself my boyfriend.”

Harry hummed as he nodded, as you started up his stairs to where you knew his bedroom was. “I could be, you know?”

“What?” You looked over at him quickly, stopping the progress you were making on the stairs.

You soon realized that was a big mistake as Harry started to sway, and your eyes widened as you started leaning backwards. “Okay, hey!” You exclaimed, pulling him forward again before continuing to walk. “About sent us down the damn stairs, Harry.”

“I said, I could be your boyfriend,” Harry repeated himself, completely ignoring the almost tumble once you got him into his bedroom.

“Alright, big guy,” you couldn’t help but let out an actual giggle now as you patted him on the chest. “I’m going to lay you out some pajamas, and you’re going to change while I go downstairs and get you some medicine and some water. Then I’m gonna get you tucked in and leave.”

“I mean it,” Harry’s eyebrows narrowed, clearly offended even in his drunken state that you weren’t taking him seriously. “I like you, Y/N. You’re so beautiful, and you’re bright - you light up a whole room when you walk into it.”

Never once did you know that’s how he felt, but you obviously couldn’t be sure given his current alcohol level. “Harry,” you said softly as you guided him to sit on the end of his bed. “We can talk about this more when you’re sober, alright?”

You almost felt guilty. If this really was how he felt, you were sure this wouldn’t be the type of situation for him to tell you. You knew how Harry was just from the little things he had done for you over your time together. He was sentimental, and he treasured when things were genuine. This isn’t how he would want this to go.

“No, no,” Harry reached forward to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you into him which caused you to gasp. He rested his forehead against your stomach, but you kept your arms limp by your sides. “The thing is, ‘m too much of a coward to tell you when I’m sober. Never been so intimidated by someone in my life.”

You? Intimidating?

Yeah, he was definitely letting the pints and shots he had do the talking.

“Look, I can initiate the conversation next time we see each other that way we can ease into it, but you’re going to regret doing this right now.”

Lifting his head, Harry stared up at you with his droopy green eyes. He moved one hand to rest on your hip, while his other just barely reached to wrap around the back of your neck. “Thought about kissing you,” his lips rolled into his mouth for just a moment before continuing to speak. “Think about it all the time.”

The truth was, you had thought about kissing him too, and you’re sure if you were the one spilling your guts right now, you’d use the same phrasing - you thought about it all the time.

“Come on, H,” the nickname you rarely used slipped from your mouth as you tried to calm him down a bit more. “Let me get you some pajamas so you can change.”

You wrapped your hands around each of his wrists to break his hold on you, and you walked over to his dresser to pull out a pair of joggers and a shirt. 

By the time you turned around, Harry was on his back still fully clothed with his mouth wide open. In the twenty seconds it had taken you to get him proper pajamas, he had passed out.

“You’ve gotta be joking,” you mumbled as you walked back over to him, tossing the pajamas onto the top of the dresser before doing so.

Lowering yourself to the ground, you untied each of his shoes and slipped them off of his feet before tossing them to the side. You stood up, tugging his body around so you could at least get his suit jacket off. Unfortunately, the rest of it would be staying on. You didn’t feel comfortable changing him without his permission as this situation had never happened before.

With every bit of strength you could muster up, you pulled Harry further back onto the bed so that his head was on one of his pillows, and you tucked him underneath the sheets. 

You went downstairs to grab the glass of water that you had talked about before, as well as two Tylenol and a granola bar. Going up to his bedroom one last time, you placed all the items onto his nightstand, and retrieved his phone out of his jacket pocket to plug it in before you exited the house all together.

You weren’t sure if Harry was going to remember this evening or not. And you weren’t really sure if you wanted him to.

ꕤ • ꕤ • ꕤ • ꕤ

“Y/N, are you almost ready?” You heard Harry’s voice, followed by a tapping of knuckles against your hotel room door.

You and Harry were out of town for a work event, and you were just putting the finishing touches on your look, however, you hadn’t been able to put your dress on yet as you just finished curling your hair.

Making sure that your robe was tied securely around you, you walked over to the door and opened it - your jaw immediately dropping as you saw how delicious Harry looked in his suit.

“Oh my,” you gasped before you could stop yourself, but once your eyes met his, you cleared your throat. “You look spectacular, Harry.”

You could see a pink tint washing over his cheeks, and it was then you noticed the garment bag he had draped over the crease of one of his arms.

“Thank you,” he smiled before tilting his chin towards the bag. “I know you probably brought your own dress, but I saw this the other day when I picked up my suit, and it reminded me of you.”

You watched as he extended the garment bag to you, and you shook your head. “Harry, I don’t know if I could-”

“Please, Y/N, it would mean a lot to me if you’d wear it. If you don’t like it though, you don’t have to.”

You wanted to ask how he knew your size, but you figured he made a mental note when taking your dress to the dry cleaners that one day. 

Sucking in a deep breath, you took the bag from him. “I just need to change and then I’m ready to go.”

Harry nodded. “Take all the time you need. I’ll wait for you down in the lobby. Do you want me to order you a quick drink?”

“That’s okay,” you shook your head. “I’ll have a drink at the event.”

Harry knew that would probably be the only one you’d have for the evening given your track record. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

You kept your eyes on Harry’s retreating frame as he walked down the hotel hallway, and you sighed as you shut the door.

It had been a few weeks since Harry’s confession after the bar. When you saw him at work on Monday, he apologized profusely for how drunk he had gotten, but he also thanked you for getting him home. You didn’t want to just flat out ask if he remembered what happened by reciting exactly what he said, so you asked him if he remembered almost pulling the both of you down the stairs instead.

That’s when he confessed he didn’t remember a thing after approaching you at the bar. Since he didn’t remember anything, you decided that you’d leave it. It was probably for the best anyway, and you didn’t want to embarrass him.

But the truth was, Harry lied.

He remembered everything, which shocked him given how drunk he was, and he was so ashamed of himself. He couldn’t believe that he rambled to you about how he felt, how he wanted to be your boyfriend. Not to mention he spilled that he thought about kissing you all the time.

Harry knew it was wrong to lie to you, considering it wasn’t like you could forget what happened. Technically neither could he, but at least he could act like he did.

The fact that you accepted the dress made him happy. There had been a weight in his chest since everything happened because things didn’t feel like they used to between the two of you, and he had no one to blame for that by himself. He didn’t lie about how he came to find the dress though. He really did see it in the window a couple shops down from where he got his suit. He just hoped that you liked it.

Leaning against the bar in the lobby, Harry had ordered himself a short glass of tequila on the rocks - just something to ease his nerves as he waited for you. He was hoping the fact that it was just the two of you on this trip that things could go back to the way they were. You were here together for the weekend, just arriving today and then heading home Monday morning.

He missed the playful banter between the two of you, but most of all, he missed your giggles. He had only heard one or two since that night, and it was eating away at him that he was the reason they went away.

Just as he was sipping the rest of his drink, he heard the clicking of heels against the tiled floor of the lobby, and he turned to look towards the elevators.

Harry thought he was going to fall through the floor just at the sight of you in that dress. He watched as your eyes searched around before falling onto him, and you sent him a small smile as you started to make your way over. 

“Wow, Y/N,” Harry met you halfway, having finished off his drink and already paid his tab. “You're stunning.”

You knew you were blushing due to his compliment, so you tried your best to change the subject off of your appearance.

“Let’s just hope I make it through the night without breaking an ankle in these heels,” you joked, causing a soft laugh to leave Harry.

“I’ll make sure you’re steady on your feet, don’t worry.”

You each took a moment to take each other in once more before Harry was extending his arm out to you. “Shall we? The car is waiting out front for us.”

Your eyes dwelled on his arm for a moment before you closed the gap between the two of you completely, cupping the crease of his elbow as he started to lead you towards the doors of the hotel.

Once outside, the driver opened the back door of the car, and when he went to extend his hand for you to take for assistance while getting in, Harry made it a point to stand right in front of him and offer you his hand instead. You couldn’t fight the small smirk that pushed its way forward, and you took Harry’s hand before entering the back seat.

You slid all the way over, watching as Harry got in right behind you, and the driver shut the door.

“Didn’t want him holding my hand?” You asked, raising a brow.

Harry rubbed his hand along the back of his neck before shrugging. “I guess not.”

It reminded you of him saying he didn’t like that man talking to you at the bar, and for some reason, the thought of him being jealous over you caused a new feeling to ignite in your stomach.

Did it turn you on?

You were drawn out of your thoughts as you heard the driver’s side door shut, and you started off towards the event venue.

“Nervous?” You questioned, knowing this was Harry’s first big event since taking on his position.

“A little bit, yeah.”

But not because of the event. He was nervous because of you.

“Me too,” you confessed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I haven’t been to an event like this in a while. I’d come along with Mr. Crawford, but I’d stay at the hotel.”

Harry’s brows narrowed. “He didn’t allow you to accompany him?”

“No, not seen and not heard, remember?” You shrugged. “It’s okay though. I used to just order a bunch of room service, or I’d pay the hotel spa a little visit. He covered all the expenses which was the silver lining.”

“But still. That’s awful to make you travel all this way for you not to be able to participate in the main reason for coming.”

“To be honest, I probably would’ve had a terrible time. He was no fun,” you laughed softly, causing a small smile to grace Harry’s lips. “Not like you.”

“You think I’m fun?” Harry tilted his head to the side playfully.

“Definitely the most fun boss I’ve ever had. But I’ve only had one other than Mr. Crawford, and that was when I worked at a clothing store,” you joked.

“You wanna know a secret?” Harry asked.

Your stomach swirled a little bit at his question, but you nodded. “Sure.”

“I’ve never been a boss before. I wasn’t CEO at my last office even though I was practically doing the job. The other guy just got to be the face for all my hard work.”

“Oh my god, Harry, that’s awful,” you shook your head. “That’s seriously messed up.”

“It was, but I would’ve never left had I actually been the CEO, therefore, I would’ve never met you,” the words slipped from Harry’s mouth before he could process, and you watched as his eyes widened.

His slip up caused your heart to flutter, but you couldn’t allow yourself to get too giddy over it. Harry made it clear that his confession that one night was just drunk rambling, so it was clear your affection wasn’t reciprocated in the same manner.

“Very true,” you decided to finally respond after a moment. “I could’ve had another Mr. Crawford if it weren’t for you.”

The conversation came to an end as you approached the venue, and Harry got out of the car first - extending his hand out just like he had when you got in. You took it, and once you were out of the car, he offered you his arm just like he had back at the hotel, and your hand once again made its home in the crease of his elbow.

The two of you walked into the building, and when you saw just how many people there were, you subconsciously curled yourself into Harry’s side a little more.

“Lots of people, yeah?” Harry asked, and he turned his head to look down at you. Even with your heels, he still stood taller.

Biting down your bottom lip, the two of you ran your eyes over each other's faces before you answered. “Mhmm.”

You noticed the way that Harry’s eyes focused in on your mouth, and for the first time, you wished he’d actually kiss you. You wanted nothing more than to feel his lips against yours, but you knew it was wishful thinking.

“Mr. Styles!” The call of his name caused the two of you to separate, and you looked over to see the investor who had invited you to this event. “And Y/N, you look amazing.”

The man placed his hand on your hip, and leaned in to press a kiss against your cheek. Your eyes flitted over to Harry as he did so, and you could see his fists flexing by his side.

“Nice to see you again, Mr. Noble,” you said once he pulled away from you. “Thank you again for the invitation.”

“Of course, Harry here was also very insistent that you be joining him, even though it was already my intention to have you here.”

You could see Harry’s cheeks flush as Mr. Noble spoke, and you knew that wasn’t necessarily something he wanted you to know.

“Well still, I appreciate it very much.”

Mr. Noble nodded before extending his hand behind him. “Bar is all the way in the back, and there’s servers walking around with hor-d’oeuvres, so please, help yourselves.”

Once he walked away, you looked over to Harry. “Should we get ourselves some drinks?”

“Sure,” Harry placed his hand along your lower back as you made your way through the sea of people.

Just the smallest touch from him could warrant butterflies flying in your tummy, and as much as you loved it, you also hated it. You hated it because you knew those butterflies would never lead to anything. Sometimes you wondered if you’d be stuck with this stupid crush on your boss forever.

“What would you like to drink?” Harry asked you once you approached the bar, and you knew you needed something strong to ease your mind.

“I’ll take a whiskey on the rocks.”

Harry’s eyebrows raised at that, and part of him wanted to question you about it, but he decided against it.

“A tequila on the rocks, and a whiskey on the rocks, please,” he spoke to the bartender for the two of you, and you turned your attention to the floor of people conversing around you.

It wasn’t until you felt the side of Harry’s finger gliding against the outside of your arm that you looked back to him, and you saw he was extending your drink out to you.

“Thank you.”

You took it from him, taking a large sip to start which caused you to wince.

“Everything okay?” Harry’s face showed his concern.

“Just a lot of people,” you repeated his observation from earlier, and even though Harry didn’t believe you, he let it be.

“Ladies and gentlemen, dinner will be served in ten minutes!” The announcement rang overhead, and you felt Harry’s hand against your back once more.

“We should find our seats.”

ꕤ • ꕤ • ꕤ • ꕤ

You ended up having another whiskey, which Harry knew was extremely unusual for you, and it caused him to worry. Even though you still seemed just fine, he didn’t want you overdoing it. You had mentioned to him once that you didn’t like the feeling of being drunk, and that’s why you only ever stuck to one drink.

The event had wrapped up, and you and Harry found yourselves back in the lobby of your hotel.

“Feeling okay?” Harry checked in on you as he pressed the up button for the elevator, and you nodded.

“Just fine,” you answered, which was the truth.

The extra drink didn’t have you feeling very different, it was just helping you calm those nerves that had been wracking your system for the past few hours.

As you both stepped into the elevator, you ran your hands over your dress which had you realizing you hadn’t thanked Harry for buying it for you.

“This dress is so beautiful, Harry,” you told him, and he looked over at you as you did. “Thank you for buying it for me. I know it must have been expensive.”

Harry waved his hand in the air softly while the other stayed tucked into his pocket. “I didn’t even think about that when buying it for you. Just saw it and knew you had to have it.”

“It’s probably the prettiest piece of clothing I own now,” you laughed, which brought a smile to his face.

The elevator doors opened, and you both started towards your rooms which were right next to each other. After fishing your room key out of your clutch, you turned to face Harry for a moment.

“I had a really good time this evening. I hope that you did too.”

“I did,” Harry nodded. “It was nice seeing them raise all that money for charity, and I was happy to be a part of it.”

Part of you hoped he would have complimented the company he had instead of just speaking about work, but you didn’t know why you had expected that to begin with. 

He’s your boss. That’s all. 

You had thought for a moment there that it was maybe leading to something more, but with the way Harry had been acting ever since the night you took him home, you knew that was no longer the case.

“Well, goodnight,” you said softly, forcing a smile on your lips before swiping your key and entering your room. 

Your mood was officially deflated, and you hated that you felt that way. You had no right to. You indulged too far into the fantasy you had created in your head. You had no one to blame for that but yourself.

Sighing, you tossed your clutch onto the dresser with your room key before heading into the bathroom. You reached your hands behind you to pull down the zipper, but it wasn’t budging.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you huffed as you turned and looked over your shoulder in the mirror so you could properly see the zipper, and it was then you noticed it was caught on the fabric of your dress.

You closed your eyes as you took in a deep breath as the realization that you were going to have to ask Harry for help dawned on you.

Grabbing your room key, you walked out of your room and over to his door. You had your fist raised above the wooden surface for a few seconds before you finally found the courage to knock. At first you didn’t hear anything, and you thought maybe he was in the shower and couldn’t hear you. You couldn’t bring yourself to knock again, in case he had heard it and was ignoring you, but just as you turned to walk back to your room, you heard the door open.

You looked over to see him standing in the doorway, and you couldn’t help but drop your jaw as you saw that he was just wearing a pair of joggers low on his hips. 

Your eyes ran over the ink that was etched into his skin, particularly the ones that draped over his hips, and the large butterfly on his stomach.

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammered, clearing your throat once you forced yourself to look at only his eyes. “My…my zipper. It’s caught.”

Harry’s eyebrows knitted together as he stepped to the side. “Come on in - let me have a look.”

You walked into his room, and you glanced into the bathroom to see that his toiletry bag was open.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” you stated, figuring he was just about to get in the shower.

“Nonsense, Y/N, you’re not bothering me. There’s no need to apologize. Turn around so I can see.”

Swallowing harshly, you turned around and brought all your hair over one of your shoulders so he had proper access to the zipper. You soon felt his hands on you, one cupping your ribcage while the other fiddled with the zipper.

“Oh, I see,” he mumbled, and you knew he was mostly talking to himself.

His hand gave your ribcage a small squeeze before he brought it up to meet the other one. You felt a bit of tugging for a few seconds before the sound of the zipper being pulled down filled your ears, and you felt the dress loosening against your torso.

“There you go,” Harry whispered, and you felt his fingertips dancing along the tops of your shoulders.

You kept your back to him, looking at him over your shoulder as you licked over your bottom lip. By the look in his eyes, you could tell he was pondering over something, and you couldn’t seem to stop yourself before speaking.

“Are you thinking of kissing me?”

Harry’s lips parted at your words, and you held a hand up against the top of your dress to keep it in place as you turned to face him.

“You told me you think about it all the time that night,” you told him, and you could feel your heart pounding against your ribcage. “And I should have told you that I think about it too.”

Stepping forward, Harry got rid of all the space between the two of you as he brought a hand up to cradle your chin in his palm. “Y/N, please don’t be playing with me.”

You shook your head as you let your freehand glide over the forearm of the hand connected to your face. “I’m not, Harry. I know it’s wrong, and that we’d be stepping over a line, but I can’t help it. I’m so enamored by you.”

Your breath caught in your throat as Harry moved his face forward, but you felt him tilting your head to the side - giving him full access to one of the sides of your neck. His lips grazed your skin, and as little as the contact was, you couldn’t stop the moan that left you.

“Please,” you pleaded, wrapping your hand around his wrist and giving it a squeeze. “Please, Harry.”

It was then that his lips fully connected to your neck, and he kissed his way down over the top of your shoulder. Your fingers dented his skin as he then made his way back up to your jawline. “Tell me what you want, Y/N.”

“You,” it came out as a whine unintentionally, but you couldn’t help it. You were a woman blinded by your want for him. “I need you.”

All time stood still as Harry’s mouth finally met yours - causing you to let out a small gasp. He took this as an invitation to seal his lips around your bottom one, and he lightly sucked it into his mouth. Another moan left you, and it was then you moved your hand from your chest - your dress falling to the ground around your heeled feet as you pressed your body against his.

Harry’s hands then grazed down your body until they met the rounds of your ass, kneading them softly before he dropped them lower to the back of your thighs. He was then lifting you off the ground, and you wrapped your legs around his waist - ankles crossed along his lower back as he walked you over to his bed, and you kicked your heels off your feet.

He laid you down gently right in the middle of the bed, and you finally opened your eyes to see him hovering over you. His eyes were drinking you, and you could tell he was admiring your breasts as they heaved up and down from the deep breaths you had to remind yourself to take. His cross pendant swung back and forth before resting against your chest when he leaned down to place another sweltering kiss on your mouth.

You couldn’t believe this was happening. Something that you had imagined in your mind for so long was now becoming a reality.

Your hands trembled as you brought them up to rest on his pecs, and you could feel that his heart was pounding just as hard as yours.

“Y/N, I have to tell you something,” Harry pulled away from your lips with a soft smack, and you couldn’t help but panic at his words. “I lied.”

You waited a moment before speaking. “You lied about what?”

“That night. I do remember confessing everything to you, but I was so embarrassed that it felt better for me to act like I had forgotten it. I was so nervous that I had ruined everything, and I thought lying would make things okay. I was wrong for doing that.”

“And you meant what you said?”

Harry nodded. “Meant every fucking word. I’m crazy about you.”

This time you initated the kiss as you wrapped one of your hands around the back of his neck, and you brought his mouth down against yours once more.

Your other hand journeyed down his chiseled chest to the waistband of his joggers, and you tugged at them - signaling that you wanted them off. Your eyes were closed as you felt him moving around, but they shot open when you could feel his hard length resting against your stomach. You had expected him to be wearing underwear.

Disconnecting your mouths, you looked down to see his cock - hard and leaking against your skin.

“Sorry,” he blushed furiously as you briefly looked up at him before looking back down. “I’m just so turned on right now. I’ve thought about this for so long.”

“Me too,” you nodded, running your tongue along your cheek before you reached down to wrap your hand around his shaft.

Keeping your eyes on his face, you watched as Harry’s eyes fluttered shut, and his breathing deepened once you began to work your hand over him. “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” You let your hand leave him for just a second to spit into your palm before you started your movements right back up. “Can’t even fit my hand around you, Harry. You’re so big.”

Your dirty talk shocked him. For someone so quiet and reserved in the office, you sure did have a way of speaking in the bedroom.

“Pretty little hand just squeezing me, hm?” Harry knew he could dish it right back to you - the thought of the two of you going back and forth causing another blurt of precome to drip from his leaky slit. “I could come just from this, to be honest. Fucked my fist so many times thinking about you. Felt wrong to moan your name, but I couldn’t help it.”

“Thought about me while touching yourself?” You earned a nod from Harry in response. “Thought about you too when I’d have my toy sucking on my clit. I always pictured it was your perfect lips playing with me. I would moan your name too. I had to. I could only get off when thinking of you.”

“Who knew you were so dirty?” Harry chuckled, pressing his tongue against the inside of his bottom lip. “You’re so fucking sexy, Y/N. My little minx.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that, but you nodded as well. “Just yours. Only want to be yours.”

Your hand began to work him faster, and you moved your free hand down to swipe your fingers along the precome that was continuously dripping onto your stomach. Harry’s eyes were glued to your every move, and you bit down on your bottom lip as you smeared his arousal over his lips before slipping your fingers between your own.

“So yummy,” you commented as you held his eyes. “I can’t wait to taste all of you.”

“Fuck,” Harry groaned before licking over his lips. “You’re going to make me come.”

“Please,” you mimicked your plea from earlier. “I want it all over my tummy.”

“Want me painting your skin with my come?”

“Again, I need you to,” you moved your legs around to where one of Harry’s toned thighs was pressed right against your covered cunt.

You began to rock your hips back and forth, a hardy moan flooding out of your throat as you did so. Your clit was throbbing - begging for attention as your hand continued to glide up and down Harry’s prick.

“Oh my god,” Harry gasped, and you looked up just in time to see his eyes shutting again with a slack jaw. “For fuck’s sake.”

It was then you felt his come shooting out, coating your stomach and even reaching up to your breasts as you rode him through his orgasm. Once you knew he was finished, you couldn’t help but tighten your hand once more, and you watched as you milked another string of come from him.

“Jesus, Y/N,” Harry dropped his forehead against you, but he kept his torso hovering yours.

Still mesmerized by his load on your stomach, you didn’t even notice his hand had slipped between your legs until you felt his fingers gliding through your drenched folds - your underwear tenting around his hand.

“Oh,” you whimpered, tossing your head back. “Feels good.”

“Barely touching you, baby,” Harry chuckled as he used his index and middle fingers to spread you apart - the pad of his thumb pressing down against your pulsing clit.

You moaned as he began to move his digit in circles, and your eyes followed him as he leaned down. Sticking out his tongue, he licked over your nipples, cleaning up his come as he sucked on them. It caused you to clench down around nothing, and you could feel yourself growing wetter by the second.

“Yes,” you gasped as his teeth grazed against the pebbled bud.

“Like having your little nipples played with, honey?” Harry asked, smirking up at you. “Pretty little things they are. I knew they would be. Pretty nipples, and a pretty pink pussy. Never seen something as pretty as you in my life.”

“And I’ve never seen something as pretty as you,” you breathed as he started giving attention to your other nipple as well.

Soon his mouth had worked to clean all of his come off of your skin, and it was then that he moved his hand around to have his middle and ring fingers slipping inside of your welcoming entrance while his other hand pulled your underwear off.

“Christ, Y/N,” Harry groaned, shaking his head. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“It’s been a while,” you confessed as you bucked your hips up against his hand - feeling the heel of his palm against your clit.

“How long?” Harry began to move his fingers with more purpose, and you choked as a moan got stuck in your throat.

“Three…three years.”

Harry’s movement stilled, evoking a whine from you as you snaked your hips around.

“You’re serious?”

“Yes,” you swallowed, using this little pause to try and catch your breath. “Haven’t had anyone since my last boyfriend. I don’t go out much, and I don’t like dating apps. I haven’t really had the opportunity to meet anyone.”

Harry leaned down to massage his lips against yours briefly before pulling back - knocking his nose against yours. “I’m about to give your the best fucking of your life, you understand?”

Another moan left you at his words, and you nodded. “Please.”

Harry’s fingers left you, and he got off the bed to walk over to his wallet on top of the dresser. You watched as he retrieved the square foil package from it before he climbed back onto the bed over you.

“You’re sure about this?” Harry asked. “This…this changes everything.”

“I’m sure,” you reached up to wrap your arms around his neck. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Harry. I know that I want this.”

“I’ve wanted you too, Y/N. You have no idea how badly.”

You heard the sound of the package opening, and you looked down to watch Harry roll the rubber over his length - him having grown fully hard once again.

“Ready?” Harry lined himself up with your entrance, and you felt his head pressing just lightly against your fluttering hole.

“Yes, yes. Please, fuck me.”

With the angling of his hips forward, Harry’s tip entered you, and you groaned as you felt him stretching you completely.

“Gotta relax, honey,” Harry’s hands reached down to massage your hips. “Breathe in with me. I’ll count. One, two, three, four, five.”

You each let the deep breath back out, and he smiled down at you.

“Again,” he instructed you, but this time, he began sinking his length inside of you as he spoke each number. “One, two, three, four, five.”

Eventually he bottomed out completely, sheathed inside your warm cunt, and you felt yourself clench down around him.

“You’re so big,” you whimpered, nails digging into his biceps. “Never had anything this big inside me before.”

“Never? Not even a toy?” Harry asked as he drew his hips back before thrusting in again.

“No,” you shook your head. “My biggest is hardly half your size. I’m not the biggest fan of dildos or vibrators. My suction toy gets me off just fine.”

“Well, I don’t think you’ll be needing that too much anymore,” Harry laughed as his hands now cupped your breasts. “I’ll make sure you’re satisfied every damn day.”

He gave you three aggressive thrusts as he spoke those last three words, and you felt your eyes roll into the back of your head. “Yes.”

“That sound good to you, baby?” Harry started up a steady pace - his balls slapping against your rear entrance as he did so. “Have you coming on my fingers, my tongue or my cock every day? You’re never going to go without, understand?”

“Mhmm,” you mewled, arching your tits further into his palms. “I understand.”

For a few moments, only soft moans and heavy breathing filled the room, accompanied by the sound of your skin slapping together as Harry satiated your sexual hunger. You had never been fucked like this before in your life. He was taking you with such precision - each of his thrusts filled with a purpose. The purpose being to get you off by any means necessary.

“You know what else I’ve thought about?” Harry asked after capturing your lips in a brief kiss. “Thought about taking you in my office, especially on those days where you wear those tight pencil skirts, or those flowy dresses, and I think about bending you over my desk - taking you from behind.”

“Yeah?” You stared up at him. “Thought about taking you at work too. I thought about - uh - riding you as you sit in your desk chair, and I wouldn’t even care if people heard. I see the way Darlene in marketing looks at you. I’d want her to know it was me who got to have your cock.”

Your words caused Harry to give you an extra hard thrust, and you could feel his tip punching against your most sensitive spot.

“I would hope they all hear,” Harry tilted his head down, spitting against your clit before beginning to use the tips of his fingers to play with it. “Hope they all know it’s me who gets to fuck you this good.”

“Promise me,” your hands found their way to Harry’s back, and you dragged your nails down his skin. “Promise me you’ll fuck me in your office first thing Tuesday morning. I’ll wear my prettiest underwear - just for you.”

“Better be just for me,” Harry growled as he smacked your wet pearl. “I’m the only one who gets this cunt now.”

“The only one,” you agreed. “I don’t want anyone else. Just you.”

“And I only want you. God, I can’t believe this is happening right now. I’ve finally got you underneath me.”

“Want to stay underneath you,” you babbled as you felt heat pooling in your lower stomach. “Harry, I’m close.”

Harry’s fingers applied more pressure to your clit, and it was then that your orgasm washed over you. You could feel yourself gushing past Harry’s covered cock - your body trembling as your knees squeezed against his hips.

“Oh my god,” your head lulled to the side as you started to come back down. “I’ve never come so hard in my life.”

“Look so pretty when you come,” Harry shook his head, still not believing that he was seeing you like this. “It’s a fucking honor to see something as gorgeous as that.”

You started to lift your hips up to meet his movements, and you could feel yourself clenching down around him again. If he kept this up, you’d definitely be having another orgasm before you were finished.

“You feel so good around my cock, Y/N. Never had a cunt fit me so perfectly. Take a look.”

One of Harry’s hands cupped the back of your neck, and he sat up just a bit as he pulled your head up. You peered down, spreading your legs further as you watched his thick cock glide in and out of you.

“Look at that,” you bit down on your bottom lip, a whimper leaving you as you couldn’t find it in yourself to look away. “Just clinging to you, huh?”

Harry hummed in response, and you could feel his thrusts growing a bit uneven. “I’m about to come, baby.”

“Me too. I’m going to come again, Harry. I want you to come with me.”

After a few more thrusts, you felt absolute pleasure blanket over you for the second time, and you watched as your orgasm coated him completely. It was then you looked up to see Harry’s face contorting once again, and this time he looked even more glorious than before as he emptied himself inside of the condom.

Making sure that you both rode your highs out completely, Harry continued his movements for just a few more seconds before he collapsed on top of you.

Your bodies were sticky with sweat as you clung to each other, and your fingers played with the hairs at the nape of his neck. This all felt so right - that the both of you were exactly where you needed to be in each other’s arms

You opened your eyes when you felt Harry’s head tilting up, and you both smiled at each other. “Hi,” he said, fingertips dipping into the ridges of your ribs.

“Hi,” you giggled, and you saw his face brighten even more at that. 

“I missed that sound,” he told you. “It’s one of my favorite things.”

“Well, I think you’ll be hearing a lot of it now,” you smirked, pushing some of his curls off his forehead.

“I can’t wait.”

Harry gave you a quick kiss as he pulled out, and he helped you into the bathroom before giving you privacy to clean yourself up. He discarded the condom in the trash can before slipping back into his joggers.

Once you were out of the bathroom, Harry’s eyes ran over your naked form as you approached him. You threw your arms around his neck to bring him down for another kiss as Harry rested his hands against your hips.

“So, I guess now if someone at the bar asks if you’re my boyfriend, you don’t have to lie this time,” you teased.

“Oh yeah?” Harry’s smirk that you’ve come to love so much crept its way into his lips. “So, I’m your boyfriend now?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed. “If you want to be.”

“Are you kidding me? Been dying to be able to say that and actually have it be real. I wanna fucking tell everyone that I’m yours, but I’ll make sure we’re careful at the office. It’ll all work out.”

You both shared another kiss before you just hovered your lips over his.

“So…round two?”

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[mechaknight-98]

Festivities (NSFW) FT Sakura Miyawaki

Authors note: Sakura has been too hot this comeback, and it's her birthday today…so yeah enjoy

Part II

Sakura sighed as she sat alone on her birthday. She had expected this as her favorite boy toy had told her he would be busy but would make it up to her. Her other members all had schedules throughout the day which made it harder for her. Sakura didn't hate being alone. she liked being by herself and relaxing and reenergizing like a true introvert but hated the feeling of being isolated and today she felt it. So after she did her birthday live she was colored surprised when she got a knock on the Door. She squints as she opens it and shock paints her face Daigo smiles and enters her Dorm.

“Long time no see Kura.” the young man says to her. Sakura smiles

“Yeah oh my gosh, it has been so long. 3 years right?” Sakura asked. Daigo nodded.

“So how have you been?” Daigo asked

“Busy” Sakura replied

Daigo smiled, “Honestly same work has me drowning most days, but that's trivial. It's your birthday today! You know I had to come and celebrate with you. So what do you want to do today Kura?”

“Hmm? Let's go to the PC bang!” the Japanese woman said excitedly.

Daigo nodded but dreaded internally he knew what she was going to ask him to play with her and he was not happy about it. “What do you want to play Kura?”

“Destiny 2.” Daigo reels for a moment then acquiesces.

“Okay,” he relents as the two of them go to the PC bang. Sakura is elated. She hated being isolated as recently as it made her feel empty almost. After having spent so many years around sisters having space all to herself felt wrong. She was surprised to see her gaming pen pal of many years but appreciated the company, especially since her usual boy toy was with Chaewon and her schedule. She supposed this is the reason you don't fuck your managers but Sakura needed it with all the anxiety and doom-scrolling she would often fall victim to she needed someone to vent her fury on to.

“So Diago when did you fly in?” Sakura asked as they walked together. She grabbed him tightly clinging to his warmth in the cool early spring air

Daigo counted in his hands “Um two days ago.” Daigo answered

“Was it just for me?” Sakura asked hopeful

“Of course, my little Cherry Blossom,” Daigo responded Sakura smiled and grasped him close tighter,

“Your Korean has gotten much better,” Sakura noted.

“Well, I have an excellent teacher.” Daigo praised Sakura she smiled. She loved how sweet and kind he was to her.

“How is everyone? This comeback has been…extensive from what I've seen.” Daigo asked choosing his words carefully as he saw a myriad of emotions in Sakura’s eyes. The main one is Fatigue.

Feeling comfortable Sakura slipped out of Sakura Miyawaki the it girl, idol, host, and fell into Kura.

“Oh god, it's overwhelming. Our company has been running us ragged. Can you believe they have us going to California right before the world tour?” Daigo raised an eyebrow. A world tour hadn't been announced previously, but he let it rest.

“Well for that Cali trip, I may be able to potentially confirm that you may or may not see a friend there.” Daigo obfuscated.

Kura looked at him confused, then asked,

“What state are you from Daigo? When you speak English your accent doesn't sound like this from anywhere.” Daigo smiled

“I'm from Cali Kura.” Daigo chuckled and watched as Kura put the pieces together.

“You're coming to visit?” Daigo nodded to which Kura smiled brightly and hugged him, but then a sad feeling washed over her

“I wish you could stay in Korea,” Sakura said wistfully.

“But then I wouldn't be your cool American friend I'd just be your loser gamer friend in Korea.” Daigo half-joked. He looked at Kura before adding. “Your hair is pretty this way I like it.” Sakura smiled as she twirled around accidentally whipping his face with her ponytail. Daigo reeled from her unintended attack. As Sakura turned around ( and realized what happened ) she profusely apologized for her actions, but Daigo took it in stride.

After the PC Bang and dinner, Daigo led Kura up to her dorm.

“So Kura need anything else?” Daigo asked politely as he stood in the open doorway. Sakura’s eyes narrowed.

“Yeah your cock.” she says huskily as she slams the door shut with surprising force. She quickly pulls down Daigo’s sweatpants and gets on her knees. She begins to mercilessly suck his cock

“Shit Kura.” Daigo hisses at her aggressive behavior. While it's a bit of a turn-on, it's still shocking she began to fondle his balls hoping to coax a large load from him

“Can you give me two loads for my birthday one large one down my throat and the other in my pussy, I need it,” she said as she came up for air. Before going back down on him. Daigo groans as he hardens in her mouth. After he's reached full mast Sakura smiles

“There we go.” she cooed as she led Daigo to her bedroom. Where she quickly resumed her vacuum-tight seal. As she sucks Daigo off she also lathers his cock with her spit before using her tongue to stimulate the tip before poking his slit with her tongue causing Daigo to jerk his hips. Sakura smiles around his cock. Seeing the usually calm and collected Daigo so flustered encouraged her to suck harder and harder until

“Fuck Kura I'm cumming.” Daigo said in English but Sakura based on his body still got the message as he exploded into her mouth. She kept sucking to extend his orgasm for as long as possible. Daigo eventually had to pry her off of him. Sakura opened her mouth to reveal his load and she swallowed.

“Thank you for the meal,” she said luridly before wiping the drool off her cheek.

The action itself was enough to get Daigo hard again. He dropped his pants fully and ripped Sakura’s off before lining up his cock with her pussy. Sakura gave a sexy lip bite to Daigo driving him wild and he plunged into her. Her sodden pussy greedily accepted the intrusion. Daigo grunted as he bottomed out.

“You're such a slut you know that?” Daigo said with a virile vigor as he whispered huskily into Sakura’s ear. Slowly he pulled out of her. As he did he said, “We go on one date and you're on your knees demanding two loads.” sakura’s eyes rolled to the back of her head. Daigo slammed back into her sex hard sending a ripple through Sakura’s body. Daigo watched with Devilish glee as Sakura’s ass rippled.

“Oh fuck.” Sakura moaned

“Is that it? are you just a breeding bitch in heat needing your stud to fuck and breed you,” Daigo said.

Sakura moaned. Her body tensed around Daigo’s cock at the mention of being bred. She loved it. The thought of being claimed by and filled to the brim made her wetter and tighter.

Daigo thrust into her deeper “Do you like that? Does the thought of being my exclusive breeding bitch make you wet?” Daigo asked.

“Oh God yes. Please make me yours. Ruin all other cocks for me.” Sakura moaned

Watching Sakura’s body and her responses made something click for Daigo “Has my little Breeding bitch been with other cocks. Bad girl.” Daigo said as he smacked her jiggly ass. Sakura’s tone took on an even higher pitch.

“Ah fuck, Ah fuck.” she moaned as Daigo thrusts into her relentlessly he never increases his pace. He keeps the same constant slow in and out but the intensity of the thrust is what wrecks Kura as she nears her climax.

“Are you close?” Daigo asks. Sakura looks over her shoulder and nods.

“Ready to become my breeding bitch forever?” Daigo asks and Sakura nods again giving in to her body’s demands

“Yes ruin and stain my slutty pussy with your cum. All I'll be good for is breeding. Fill me. Make me yours.” Sakura screams before Daigo explodes in her pussy triggering Sakura’s orgasm. Daigo continues to fuck her through it. As Daigo drops more and more cum into Sakura’s cunt her orgasm high raises higher and higher. As their bodies continue a feral heat claims both of them as they continue fucking. Kura’s pussy begins to drip beneath them as Daigo continues to pound her sopping sex.

“Does my breeding bitch like her birthday gift,” Daigo asks with a noticeable lusted husk in his voice.

“Yes.” sakura moans unsatisfied. “I need more. Breed me again.”

“Such a greedy bitch. Do your other cocks make you feel this way?” Daigo questions.

Sakura’s body and mind were now Daigo’s, “no cock has ever claimed me like yours.” sakura said as Daigo kept ravaging her. Sakura’s words and body beginning to affect him as well. He was never this aggressive to a woman but something breeding and Kura activated something within him he didn't know he had, and it bonded him to her as much as she bonded to him.

“Fuck Kura your pussy is so tight.” Daigo praised, and Sakura was elated proud her stud liked her pussy so much.

“Don't you love the way my greedy pussy sucks in your cock.” Sakura said in a lusted daze

“Yeah, my breeding bitch has the best pussy.” Daigo’s unexpected words of praise and his ferocity sent Kura over the edge again and she came again. Gone was the talented, accomplished, confident, and dominant megastar. In her place a dumb submissive and breedable bitch who was a cum dump for her stud. It was liberating to her. Her anxiety washed away with each drop of cum as her thoughts only centered around being bred. She groaned as Daigo kept thrusting into her and he continued to claim her slutty pussy.

Her surprise orgasm however took her partner by surprise and led to him cumming in her again. Sakura’s greedy cunt readily accepted the baby batter, but the fatigue of their activities prior caught up to them and they collapsed onto Kura’s bed together side by side. As they basked in the post-orgasm glow and enjoyed the company of each other a sad realization hit Sakura causing her to pout. As Sakura pouted, Daigo took Notice

“What's wrong Kura?” Daigo asked concern filling his voice.

“Now I'm going to miss you and that dick of yours.” she lamented. Daigo chuckled.

“Well I don't know about that second part but we can still play together.” Sakura’s pout slightly faded before saying

“Okay, but the next time I see you I want the same treatment.”

“What am I your boyfriend now or something?” Daigo teased

“Yes. Yes, you are. As of now, you are my stud and I am your breeding bitch got it?” Sakura asserted

Unsure of how to respond Daigo said “Um okay” Sakura smiled happy to get good games, good food, and good dick for her birthday. With all her needs met she fell asleep in Daigo’s big arms

#kpop fanfic #fanfic #male reader #miyawaki sakura #le sserafim smut #le sserafim sakura #le sserafim fanfic #izone smut #izone sakura

[gurugirl]

A Good Boy | 1. Surrender

Summary: Harry's got the hots for his young stepmom and she's pretty fond of him too. But they're both trying really hard to be good. Loosely based on this ask.

A/N: This is stepmom!reader x virgin stepson!harry. There is a 7 year age gap and Harry met her at the age of 19. He is 21 in this story.

Word count: 21.4k words

Warning: 18+ only, NSFW, inappropriate relationship between a stepmom & virgin stepson, smut

A Good Boy Masterlist

Her husband, Leonardo, was the kind of man that could only be described as a provider. Not a lover, not a sweet man, not a gentle soul. Just a provider. Her mother asked her why she was marrying the older man, “Y/n he’s 15 years your senior! It’s preposterous! He’s rich but you can find real love…” She’d heard it all. But she was interested in having nice things. Being able to finish her art and history degree and go to the tennis club and shop with her girlfriends.

He also bought her the cutest little red Mercedes and the biggest diamond ring. And his house was- well it wasn’t just a house. It was an estate sat in the Hollywood hills near other celebrities and affluent humans (or robots she sometimes thought). She even had her own bedroom. It was an odd setup for sure, but a setup nonetheless.

Leonardo made it clear. He wasn’t looking for love. He was looking for a pretty thing with a good head on her shoulders that he could fuck when he needed and buy nice things for. Someone to bring with him when he had to show face at events and parties who could hold a somewhat intelligent conversation. She could do that. And he wasn’t a bad-looking man either. He was fit and tall with a deep voice and his deep pockets were just the cherry on top.

Did this make her a gold digger? She supposed that yes, it did. But what of her husband? This was what he wanted too. No one was being tricked. Everything was very simple and clearly defined. Down to the fact that she could sleep with anyone she wanted as long as she was discreet and didn’t give him the details. The same went for Leo.

Though Y/n hadn’t been interested in sleeping with anyone else, she was certain Leo did on his business trips and “boys-only vacations” he often took with his friends.

Y/n wasn’t bothered by the lack of love or the fact that her marriage wasn’t conventional. She was getting everything she wanted and she was happy. Sure a little intimacy was nice but she had close friends and so far, that was all she needed.

.           .           .

“Leo! Marla is here with the Uber! I’ll see you later!” She shouted toward his study as she made her way out the door. It was Friday night. Girl’s night. Every other Friday she, Marla, Cyndee, and Gina met at Murphy’s Lounge to dance and drink a few too many martinis. It was always fun. Sometimes she flirted with some man who wanted to dance. But never anything more. She could have if she wanted. More. She could have done more but she never felt the need. No one interested her enough to make that sort of leap into partaking in the open aspect of her marriage.

The bar was full, as it usually was at 8 pm on a Friday night. Gina and Cyndee had already secured a table and had cocktails in hand when she and Marla got there.

And just like every time the four of them got together, they acted as if they hadn’t seen one another in ages. Sometimes they could be overly dramatic in their greetings but they genuinely appreciated one another.

“Okay. The first round is on me, but the rest is on Daddy Leo,” Cyndee bubbled out her words in laughter.

Y/n playfully smacked Cyndee’s arm, “Oh so now you’re calling my husband Daddy?!” She rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, I am. He’s a Daddy, Y/n. Like, there’s no way you don’t call him Daddy when-“

Y/n placed her hand over Cyndee’s mouth, “Oh my god you’re too much sometimes! No more talk of Leo! The rest of the drinks are on him and we’ll leave it at that,” she laughed.

That was usually how it went. Leonardo picked up their girl’s night tab and paid for their taxis or Ubers.

“Okay. We’re just gonna get our drinks and we’ll be right back.” Marla swept Y/n off to the bar so they could order their usual drinks. For Y/n it was a nice stiff lemon drop martini.

Marla ordered a whisky sour, with extra orange slices and then rambled on about Ryan, her on-again, off-again boyfriend. They were on again at that moment but she was wearing thin, once again.

“Why do you do it to yourself, Marla? If you want to be done then just be done. You’ve tried and it hasn’t worked. I feel like you could do better anyway. Ryan’s nice but I think you two have run your course.”

“Ughh… I know, Y/n. God do I know. Easier said than done. There’s so much history, and friends in common. And we have a fucking dog together! I just… I don’t know.”

The bartender handed them their drinks and then Y/n gave the guy her credit card, “Please put this card in place of Cyndee Daniels tab. We’ll use this one instead.”

Josh was the bartender that evening. A cute college-aged young man with a bright smile who always remembered her name.

“Of course, Ms. Y/n. Will swap these out. As usual.” He winked.

She leaned over the bar as she took a quick sip of her martini while Josh went to retrieve Cyndee’s card. She looked down the bar at the faces of other patrons and suddenly was met with the clear green eyes of Leo’s son, Harry. Her stepson. She wasn’t sure if he’d seen her and it wasn’t as if Y/n had done anything wrong but she just hadn’t expected to see him there.

She leaned up again, peering around the woman sitting on the stool to her left and her eyes landed on the young man. Freshly shorn dark curls and a soft pink smile crooked up as he spoke animatedly to the guy sitting next to him. And just as she assumed he hadn’t seen her he turned and looked at her squarely, his lips moving as he spoke something to his friend then nodding in acknowledgment at Y/n before pulling himself off the stool he was on and making his way across the bar to her.

“Is that Harry?” Marla spoke as she leaned in.

“Yes, it is.”

Harry was a nice young man. He was polite, sometimes overly polite she thought, and he was charming. Y/n liked Harry. She didn’t know him all that well. He lived on campus at the university so she saw him rarely. But she did recognize that he’d cut his hair. He had long dark curls when she first met him. He looked like a bad boy, covered in tattoos with a permanent smirk on his face. But once she got to talking to him, she realized, he was a big sweetheart really. The long dark hair and tattoos were just a look. A style. Harry was a nice young man.

The truth was, all the girls joked about how attractive Leo and his son were. Both men were quite handsome. Y/n couldn’t deny that. Harry was tall like his father and built nicely. Long legs and a well-muscled chest. A great jawline and crystal green eyes that allured.

“Hi, Y/n. Marla,” Harry spoke as he looked from Y/n to Marla.

And that was another thing about him. He always remembered everyone’s name. He had met Marla maybe twice, yet here he was drinking beers at a bar and remembering the name of Y/n’s best friend whom he barely knew.

“Hi Harry,” Y/n smiled up at him, “Like the hair,” She reached up and whisked a finger into a short curl before bringing her hand back down into her own space.

Harry smiled broadly, a glorious dimple digging into his cheek as he raised an arm and ran his long fingers through his soft dark hair, “Oh! Yeah. Thank you. Got it cut a few weeks ago. Still getting used to it. Um, how are you doing?”

“Good. Girl’s Night, you know,” she shrugged and looked over at Marla who stood next to her, “We’re here every other Friday for some dancing and drinks,” when she turned her gaze back to Harry’s his soft eyes were intently watching her as she spoke. “Um, yeah. How are you? How’s school?”

Harry tipped himself forward to his toes and then lowered back down to his normal height, “Good. S’good. Already looking forward to Spring break,” he chuckled.

“Oh yeah! Me too. I’m not even in school anymore and I’m already making plans,” she chuckled.

Suddenly something dawned on Y/n. Her eyes went wide and then she squinted as she looked at her stepson, “Wait. You’re not 21. You’re too young to be here, Mister.”

Harry snorted a laugh and nodded, “I know. I know. But I’m turning 21 in two weeks. Figured I’d try out my fake ID once in my life. Before it’s too late,” he grinned.

“So you’ve never done this before?”

“Nope. First time. And of course, my stepmom is here when I do. Just my luck.”

Y/n laughed and her smile almost hurt her cheeks it was so wide.

A small jab to her side reminded her that Marla was still standing there, “Oh, sorry. Yeah. We should be heading back. We’re just over there if you want to stop by and say hi to the girls.” She pointed to the table where Cyndee and Gina were already watching the scene.

“Sure. Yeah. Of course. Um, it was really nice to see you, Marla,” Harry smiled gently at her and then looked back down to Y/n, “I’ll come by and say hi before I leave.”

The moment Y/n got to the table Cyndee pulled her arm, “Your stepson. Oof. He’s really attractive. Have you and him ever… you know?” She joked. Of course, Cyndee knew better.

“Oh stop it! Of course not! He’s a 20-year-old kid!” Y/n spoke in exasperation.

“You’re only 27, Y/n. You’re not much older. In fact, you’re closer to his age than you are to Leo’s,” Gina said.

Now Gina was usually the voice of reason so to have her on Cyndee’s side was ludicrous. Of course, she knew Cyndee was teasing but still.

Y/n took her seat and rolled her eyes as she took a healthy gulp of her sweet and tangy martini.

“And his haircut. God, he’s adorable like that. Damn,” Marla spoke next to her.

The music eventually began to grow louder and the martinis were going down far too easily. Especially after dancing and working up a sweat away from her seat. But one thing that didn’t change through the night was that her eyes kept finding Harry’s. It was like she couldn’t stop glancing over at him. But it didn’t help that every time she dared to peek he was looking at her already.

She couldn’t be sure that he was watching her dance but there was something about just the idea that he might be that had her swaying her hips a little more sensuously and using her hands to rub down her body like she was some kind of sexpot. But in truth, her dance moves were definitely subpar. But three martinis will tend to make one feel unnecessarily bold.

Y/n decided on just one more drink. A fourth martini to round out the night, plus she wanted to walk up to the bar near Harry and talk to him a little bit more. Just a friendly little tease about how he was only sitting and not dancing. Even his friend had gotten off the stool and danced with a young woman on the dance floor for a bit.

“You’re not really making the most of this special night, Harry,” she elbowed at his arm gently as she leaned over the bar to wave at Josh.

“What do you mean?” Harry’s eyes were a little red and he was quite obviously a little drunk.

She looked down at his wetted lips and back up to his pretty eyes, “You’re not even dancing. Just sitting here like a lump drinking beer after beer.”

“Ms. Y/n, another lemon drop?” Josh spoke as he put his hands on the bar top in front of her.

“Yes, please, Josh, and close it out too. I think all the girls are done for the night.” She laughed.

She turned back to look at Harry, “So no girls here you want to dance with? Even your buddy got out there a little bit. Where is he by the way?”

Harry turned around and looked over his shoulder for his friend and shrugged, “Maybe shagging in the bathroom. Haven’t seen him in a while now that I think of it. And no. No girls here I want to dance with.”

Y/n pouted and tilted her head as she reached up to touch his hair again, “I’ve seen a bunch of pretty girls around your age here, Harry. Some even checking you out. You should get out there and dance a little. Really fully experience Murphy’s Lounge,” she looked over her shoulder and then leaned in to speak quietly, “It’s your last chance with your fake ID,” she smiled as she tugged his curl the smallest bit.

Harry smirked, “Child abuse!” Craning his neck away from her fingers, he patted at his hair as if the tiny tug had hurt.

She rolled her eyes as Josh returned with the drink and her card, “See you in a couple weeks.” He smiled at her before returning to the other customers.

Harry’s features became serious again, “You know him?”

Y/n sipped her martini and nodded, “Yeah. We’re here often enough. So, yeah.” She shrugged keeping her eyes on her adorable stepson. Okay, maybe it was more like adorably handsome stepson, but still.

“Come. I’m gonna put this away,” she lifted her card upward as she motioned him to follow her, “And you and I are going out there to dance a little. We’ll find you someone cute to groove with a little.”

She expected Harry to protest a bit but he didn’t. He stepped in behind her and followed her to her table with his beer in hand. He stayed close to her as she bent down to slip her credit card into her purse. The security in the room always watched their table so no one took their things or tampered with their drinks (and the nice little tip Y/n, by way of Leo, didn’t hurt either).

“Leave your beer here. We’re gonna need our hands free!” she giggled as she pointed at the table.

“You’re okay to leave your drinks out like this? Thought that was a big no-no.”

Y/n looked in the direction of the man standing a few feet away, “He’s watching over the table. Now come on!”

The floor was packed with warm bodies moving and gyrating. The music was loud and the rhythmic base could be felt underfoot. She’d long lost sight of the girls as she began to sway and raise her arms upward.

Harry stayed close to his stepmom’s side and shuffled around a bit. His body was a bit stiff but he laughed when Y/n grabbed his hands and made him spin, “Loosen up a bit! Come on, Harry!”

Rolling his eyes he grinned and began to dramatically move about, trying to feel the beat and push down how awkward his movements felt.

Y/n kept her hands on his to encourage him to move with her and they both laughed as Harry began to relax into it a bit. His big smile only widened as the song was switched up to something that felt quite naughty and suggestive.

She released his hands because it felt like he was getting the hang of it. Not to mention she was beginning to enjoy the way his big hands fit around hers. And that couldn’t happen.

She turned around and continued swinging her hips and, moving with the rhythm as best she could. Long moments went by and she closed her eyes and allowed herself to get back into the swing of dancing and feeling the freedom and excitement of her night.

A hand pulled at her hip from behind and she opened her eyes and turned to see her stepson towering over her from behind. She hadn’t expected the sudden grip he had on her so she turned in confusion causing his palm to fall away. Harry looked over her shoulder and then dipped down to speak into her ear, “A man came over and was just about to try something with you. Wanted to discourage him a bit. Sorry.”

Y/n followed where he was looking and there was indeed a man there looking at her. And it wouldn’t have been too out of the ordinary for this to happen. She dealt with these things well usually. Sometimes she’d dance a little and flirt a little but that was it. It didn’t bother her. It was all in fun.

She chuckled and pulled at Harry’s shoulder to speak in his ear, “You don’t have to worry about me, Harry. I can take care of myself. I’m a big girl. But thank you.”

Harry licked his lips and turned his face toward her to speak, “I know you’re all grown up. Just didn’t want to see that with my own eyes is all.” His words were spoken close to her ear, his deep baritone vibrating from her neck and over her ear as she turned to look at him, only he didn’t move his face away and their gazes connected for a moment longer than felt innocent.

She swallowed and a small smile plucked upward on her lips, “Okay. Do you want to stay close then? Protect from the predators while I dance?” Her smile widened and she laughed but Harry’s smirk felt like something just the opposite of funny as he looked down over her face and to her neck and then over her lips.

“I’m not going anywhere,” his smirk remained as he shook his head and then in a surprise motion turned her around to face away and put both hands at her hips as they began dancing together.

She could feel his heat from behind her and his fingers held onto her hips possessively but she liked it. Especially when her hips moved to the beat and Harry’s hips moved behind her. He wasn’t pressing himself into her backside but she could feel him moving with her. He was keeping a polite distance. Though, everything that was happening was very inappropriate.

It was inappropriate because she liked it. Because this attractive young man behind her was looking at her in a way she noted was not innocent. Because she’d been obviously flirting with him at the bar. Because Harry was her stepson.

When the beat dropped low and the song slowed to something even more provocative and playful they both slowed and she felt Harry’s thumbs on the bit of skin exposed between the bottom hem of her blouse to just above her skirt’s waistline. His grasp on her skin was burning into her flesh, his fingers gently brushing and then squeezing at her.

“You’re not a bad dancer,” Harry remarked into her ear and she felt his chest press into her back.

And without thinking too deeply about it, or perhaps it was the martinis that left her so uninhibited, she dropped her head back and toward his mouth and felt his lips at her ear, “I’m a terrible dancer. But thank you anyway.” She laughed.

Harry chuckled into her ear, not backing away from how she’d leaned into him but instead pulling at her just enough that his fingers pinched her waist and she could feel him smile as he spoke against her ear, “Nothing about you is terrible, Y/n.”

His deep tone gave her a chill and goosebumps traveled down her neck and over her bare arms. Her good sense had been momentarily suspended as she smiled and dared to move her bottom into his hips.

When she heard his groan in her ear she closed her eyes and placed her hands over his, pressing his hands flat over her waist so she could feel his long fingers under hers, feel his warm palms digging into her skin.

“Better stop. I’m getting a little,” Harry suddenly backed off, his hands releasing her hips and she turned to look up at him as he ran a hand through his hair. He was flushed and his pupils were large, making his soft greens appear dark and heavy as he looked at her with an unmistakable glint of lust. She was sure she looked the same.

“Of course. Yeah. It was fun, though,” she smiled as she began to head back to the table. Harry followed.

They slid into the booth and took their drinks, letting the music of the bar fill in the gaps of their silence.

Y/n realized she was wet. She scolded herself inwardly. Her stepson was off-limits. Hell, to her most men were off limits because she was married (despite her open marriage). But especially Harry. She didn’t know if she should apologize or just let everything that had happened slip away without acknowledgment.

They were both drinking and so that had something to do with her behavior. With his. But mostly hers because she was the stepmom. She should have known better.

“Sorry we didn’t find you a cute girl to dance with,” she offered as she rounded her eyes and grinned, trying to make light of everything and ignore what had just happened between them.

Harry shook his head and looked down at his beer, then shifted his eyes to hers, “I think we did find me a cute girl to dance with,” he licked his lips and huffed a laugh shaking his head again as he lifted his beer.

“I’m done done done! Some guy bought me two shots. On top of the four cocktails I had. I’m fucked. I need to get out of here so I can crash into bed. You okay to leave with me?” Marla was suddenly plopping down at the table as she slurred her speech.

Y/n laughed, glad for the interruption. She wasn’t sure how to respond to Harry’s comment, “Yeah. We can get out of here. Where’s Gina and Cyndee?”

Marla pointed at the edge of the dance floor. Two men flanked them with drinks in hand.

“As you can see, they’re fine.”

Marla, Y/n, and Harry stopped by to say goodbye to Cyndee and Gina before leaving the loud bar. The night air was sobering as she used her Uber app to call for a taxi. Harry stayed with them, like the gentleman he was until their ride showed up.

Marla flung herself into the car as Y/n squeezed Harry’s arm, “Thanks, Harry. I’ll see you… I don’t know when, but this was fun! Yeah? Oh! It’ll probably be for your birthday, right? Party at our house. That’s right,” Y/n was mostly talking to herself. They were throwing him a party. Of course, it was going to be a big bash. Tons of college kids and family and drinking since he was turning 21.

Harry nodded, “Yeah. Weekend after next. Saturday. I think I’ll come over Friday night and stay the whole weekend.”

.           .           .

Harry had always liked Y/n. She was sweet to him from the start. Right off he could tell she wasn’t like Leonardo’s other girlfriends. He’d gone through a lot of them and when he decided he liked Y/n enough to keep around, Harry was genuinely happy about it. His dad was kind of cold and overly structured at times but he always took care of his family and Harry wouldn’t mind having Y/n around. He was 19 when he met her.

Harry’s mom left Leo when he was just a boy. She remarried years later and Harry hadn’t seen her so happy ever. He chalked it up to his dad’s standoffish behavior. He barely showed Harry, love, even. But It was okay for Harry that way. His mom was warm and raised him well. She showed him more love than he’d ever need in a lifetime. She made up where his dad lacked.

So for that, Harry did feel a bit sad, for Y/n, who had such a bright smile and contagious laugh, to marry such a cold creature as his father. The kind that his mother left. His friends joked that Y/n was a gold-digger and they urged him to try and mess around with her. See how far he could take it. But that was out of the question. Not because his stepmom wasn’t smoking hot, but because she was his stepmom. There was just so much wrong with that.

It did irk him, though, that he found her so pretty. But it wasn’t just that. She was smart too. She was easy to talk to and she could keep up with Harry’s little goofy jokes and she never took herself too seriously. Despite having her lips painted red and wearing high-fashion couture courtesy of Leonardo Styles, she was fun and kind.

Harry also benefited from his dad’s money, though. Just because he opted to live with his mother until college didn’t mean he didn’t have everything he wanted. A nice car, nice clothes, vacations with friends, concerts, sporting events, the newest cellphone. Leo didn’t bat an eye if Harry wanted something. And eventually even gave him a credit card to use for anything he wanted.

Yeah, Leo Styles was fucking wealthy. Dirty wealthy. The kind that people hate to see because it’s so excessive and unnecessary that it’s ugly.

But what could Harry do? His dad was a little cold and filthy rich. He didn’t control how his dad dealt with his money, though plenty of people also lumped Harry in with all that. Assumed he was some spoiled rotten brat who’d grow up like his father.

And that was just the thing, though. His dad wasn’t mean or bad per se. He was just rich because of the Styles’ family fortune. And he rarely showed any emotion. His dad did do nice things for the community and donated to good causes, threw fundraisers, and funded schools for children with special needs and gymnasiums for the local children who didn’t have a place to go and play freely.

And he wanted a wife that was smart and pretty. Someone with a brain who could handle a good conversation with grace. Harry understood the arrangement well. There was no love involved but it was a marriage of convenience for both of them. No harm, no foul. Harry didn’t mind it. Others seemed to have heavier opinions about it, though.

“Damn, Harry. You gotta do something about that. She keeps looking over here at you. While she looks like that? Let’s get your v-card taken care of once and for all.”

“Stop it, Jay. She’s my stepmom.”

“So? You told me yourself she’s just married to your dad for the money-“

“No, that’s not what I said. And it doesn’t matter what kind of thing she and my dad have going on. It’s not gonna happen.”

“God look at her. She’s fucking fine, Harry. She wants you too. I can tell. Look you don’t have to take my advice but this one,” he said as he gestured toward Y/n, “She’s a tiger in bed. I guarantee. Look at her move. Bet she could show you a thing or two.”

Harry shoved Jay and shook his head as he looked away before he was caught staring at his stepmom again.

She was hot. Her skirt was short and her little top kept riding up so he could get the tiniest peek of her waistline each time she raised her arms. Harry didn’t want to let his mind wander to those kinds of places. He’d already recognized how gorgeous she was. Liked her personality and how funny she was. If she were younger and not his stepmom, maybe. Maybe.

“Rebecca’s over there. I’m gonna go dance with her a bit. Sheila is too. You should come out and dance! Meet someone! Get laid!”

Harry sighed and sipped his beer as he leaned away from Jay’s arm, “No thanks.”

He did want to get laid of course. It wasn’t like he couldn’t have found a willing participant. It just hadn’t ever happened. He’d messed around a bit but in all honesty, Harry had a hard time wrapping his mind around a quick fling or something that was only sex. He liked connection and love. Wanted that whole thing with someone before getting to that point in the relationship. He knew it was silly to take it so seriously. And it wasn’t like keeping his virginity was his goal. It was just that he wanted it to be with someone special. Yeah, he was a bit of a sap like that.

But no one would know it really. That Harry was a big sap. A virgin at almost 21. Only his closest friends knew and they were sworn to secrecy. People assumed Harry had had lots of sex. That he was fucking people left and right. Because Harry was a flirt. He was super smooth and confident and charming. The kind of man people would imagine just had tons of sex. Plus he was incredibly attractive.

When Y/n was suddenly stood next to him at the bar, sweat at her hairline and soft lips with a cute smile as she spoke to him closely about how he was just sitting at the stool, not making the most of his first time in a bar with a fake ID, he felt his stomach twist. Maybe it was her scent, or the alcohol coursing through his veins, or the way she kept looking at him while she was dancing. Whatever it was, he knew he’d just moved into dangerous territory in his mind.

But she pulled at his hair and licked her lips and stood close so she could speak in his ear and he was easily convinced to finally get up and go dance with her.

Dancing wasn’t really a big deal to him. He wasn’t shy to dance. He honestly didn’t care all that much what people thought of him. He just didn’t want to get out there and dance while she was dancing like that. While she was looking at him in that way. Because he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist her. Something had slipped out of its normal position for Harry that night. He was thinking of his stepmom in very inappropriate ways and he was powerless to stop the indecent thoughts he had about her body and her lips and her voice. It was so wrong.

When he turned her around and put his hands on her hips he allowed his fingers to wander over her skin to the very spot he’d been watching each time she lifted her arms. But this time he pushed the material up to give the pads of his fingers access. And she didn’t stop him.

Her hair smelled good and when he spoke against her ear she got goosebumps. Fucking goosebumps from his voice in her ear.

But then the unthinkable happened and she pressed herself into his front. And luckily she was just off to the left a bit because had she been to the right another inch or so she’d have felt him. He was thick under his dark jeans and it was because of his stepmom.

Her skin and her lips and her hair and the way she smelled and reacted to him. But he had to stop. He backed away knowing that it was the smart move. Hating that it was the smart move.

He came down the shower drain imagining Y/n on her knees with his cock down her throat, gagging and urging him to go in deeper that night after the bar. He closed his eyes and yanked himself and he orgasmed so embarrassingly fast to the image of her. His stepmom. That was the first time he’d masturbated to Y/n’s image. And it felt dirty. It felt forbidden and disgusting.

But then he did it again the following evening in his bed. He was thankful for having his own room in the frat house. Stroking his cock as his thighs quivered and his head was thrown back into the pillow under him, imagining Y/n riding his cock and showing him what she liked had him gasping as he came all over himself.

He tried to move on and get things back to normal in his brain about her. The way they were before that night at the bar. But he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Part of that was because of how she responded to him, flirted with him. The way she was looking at him and how she danced with him. He knew he didn’t imagine it. She was into it. And now that he knew that… well, the result left Harry tugging one out to his stepmom every night thereafter.

.           .           .

The party was going to be big. Leonardo told Harry to invite everyone he wanted. And of course, he and Y/n invited their friends too.

There was a DJ, a catering staff with bartenders and lots of presents.

Y/n was helping with the setup. Friday was busy for her, the day before the party. She’d almost forgotten about Harry mentioning he’d be coming on Friday to stay the whole weekend. Almost.

In fact, she hadn’t forgotten at all. She tried pushing that memory down but it was still there, underneath everything. Her nerves were wild as she helped direct some of the landscapers and people bringing gifts in from the guests. Tables and chairs, and a dance floor laid near the area where the DJ would be set up. Speakers were placed all over the estate so music could be heard no matter where anyone was.

She was in sweat shorts and a tank top and tennis shoes with no makeup. She had wanted to shower and get freshened up a little at least. Before Harry arrived. Though, she wasn’t entirely sure he actually would come that evening as he said.

But then she laughed at herself worrying so much over how she looked to her stepson. A silly silly girl, she thought to herself. Who cares? Why should she care? She was doing all this for his birthday party anyway. And she was his stepmom.

Looking down at the placement of the dance floor tiles being installed she allowed her mind to drift to that night at the club. His warm skin, his deep voice. The way he handled her like he knew what he was doing… She hated that she had been allowing those kinds of thoughts to trickle in about him. Hated, hated that two days ago when she had sex with Leo it was Harry she was thinking about.

She felt like a nasty and disgusting woman. A pervert.

In the early afternoon, the landscapers had gone and the garden looked like it was ready to be filled in with hundreds of people ready to party. She was proud of the way it turned out. It all looked great.

But she was hungry. She’d eat then shower. Hopefully, before Harry arrived. If he arrived that evening.

The chef’s kitchen had a lovely granite island with unstained walnut and wide plank hardwood floors. The refrigerator was ridiculously large. Opening up the state-of-the-art appliance she peered inside trying to find something quick to eat. She planned on having cheese tortellini later on. Leo was out for the day and told her not to wait up. That he would be back late. Some conference or something. It wasn’t abnormal for him to be gone for hours or days. She enjoyed the quiet and loved to eat simple dishes when he wasn’t around. Things that she craved like macaroni and cheese, fish sticks, or cheesy tortellini, and a bottle of wine.

She settled on yogurt and a double serving of granola as she sat at the island. She just needed an in-between lunch and dinner snack to tide her over.

Just before she scooped her last bite into her mouth she heard footsteps and then his voice, “Anyone home?”

She quickly scrambled off her stool and stood up just as he entered the kitchen. His dark curls were perfectly placed on his head and he wore a colorful Hawaiian-style shirt and black jeans with leather Chelsea boots.

“Hi! Yeah, was just eating a snack. Uh, make yourself at home, Harry!” Her tone was a bit too perky and she cringed at how silly she sounded.

Harry smiled gently and nodded as he dropped his gaze to her legs and back up, “Yes ma’am. Just gonna take this up to my room first.” He lifted his duffle bag, “Looks really good out there,” gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder, “Looking forward to it.”

“Oh, so glad you like it. It was some work to get everything just right. The guys setting up were so great, though. There are still a few more things to finish up tomorrow but I think for now we’re on track. But um…” she walked to the sink to rinse her bowl out as she looked over her shoulder at Harry, “I’m, uh… just headed to take a shower, though. Haven’t had the chance yet today. So…” she trailed off her sentence. None of what she was saying mattered to him at all. She was sure of that.

Harry puffed out a quick little laugh, “Okay. Yeah. Well, I’ll be in my room.”

Her shower was delightful but her nerves weren’t soothed. She was wound up tight and now that her stepson was here in her house, alone with her… she closed her eyes to compose herself. A ridiculous woman. A dirty and perverted creep. Who thinks of their stepson in this way? It’s absolutely disgusting. Immoral. Depraved. Evil. But it had all begun with that night and the way he danced with her. Innocent. Until it wasn’t.

She stayed in her room for a while. Not sure how she should go about acting casually in front of Harry. After that night at the bar, how could she? They had crossed a line. She had crossed a line. She took responsibility for this whole mess in her mind. She was the one at fault. Harry was only 20. Well, 21 now. Technically his birthday was today.

Fuck! She’d forgotten to wish him happy birthday!

Pulling her leggings up and slipping on a t-shirt she huffed as she paced the room. Well, now she had to go and tell him and also apologize for the state she was in when he arrived and how she’d forgotten and…

Calm down. He probably doesn’t even care, Y/n.

Knocking at his cracked-open bedroom door she peeked in to see that Harry wasn’t in there. She looked down the hallway and for some strange reason she stepped into his room and her eyes landed on his laptop that was open.

Porn.

He was watching porn. Y/n let out a surprised laugh and shook her head. She was overstepping so many boundaries. She looked at the screen as she moved away, intending on leaving his bedroom and going to find him when her eyes landed on the title of the video he had up.

Stepmom and Stepson Share a Bed

Her pulse grew fast and her palms began to sweat. Of course, perhaps that meant nothing. Perhaps that was just something he was watching that he found hot and didn’t realize it was stepmom porn or something…

She backed herself out of the room quickly but when she felt his hands on her shoulders and his voice, that fucking voice that sounded like sex, “You okay? Nearly ran me over-“

But he stopped short, a sharp inhaled breath into his lungs cutting off his words. He looked at the bed where his laptop was open and realized what she’d seen. He’d been saving his favorite stepmom porn videos lately. This one was just up. He wasn’t actually watching it before he’d stepped out of the room. It had just been on the screen when he closed out the Word doc he was working on for an essay at school.

“Fuck.” He whispered and released her shoulders, “Y/n, I… look that was just-“

Y/n turned with wide eyes and held her hand up quickly, “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have come in here. I was looking for you to um… I was gonna wish you a happy birthday, and I… I’m the one that should be sorry. That…” she pointed toward his bed, “I shouldn’t have seen that.”

Harry was embarrassed. He felt like crawling under the bed and staying there til the day he died. Never to be seen or heard from again. He was so careless to leave that up like that.

He swallowed and ran his hands over his face and shook his head, “Oh my god. Fuck.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Y/n placed her hand on his forearm and pulled one of his arms down, “Look at me.”

Harry opened his eyes and looked at her like she asked, “No worries okay? That was just nothing. It’s just porn. Everyone looks at porn. It’s normal. Okay?”

“Watching stepmom porn is normal?”

Y/n swallowed. She didn’t think he’d directly come out and say that, “Well… I mean… sure. If there’s a category on Pornhub for it that means someone likes it. You’re not the only one.” She tried to laugh but it died in her throat when Harry clenched his jaw and tilted his head back to look up at the ceiling.

“And besides,” her fingers tightened over his arm, causing him to look back down at her, “it’s not like that’s about me anyway. Come on… it’s just porn. So don’t-“

“Of course, it’s about you, Y/n. Why else would I be interested in that kind of thing?”

She let go of his arm and she felt like she could faint. She grasped onto the door jamb and wobbled as she looked down at her feet to steady herself and then back up at Harry.

“Are you okay? Here, let’s sit.” Harry took her arm from the door jamb and slowly guided her to her sit down on his bed where he promptly shut his laptop and moved the forsaken thing away from them, hidden from view.

“I’m okay,” she put her hands up and blinked her eyes as she turned to look at Harry next to her on the bed. “I didn’t expect that is all. That it had anything to do with- I just…”

“But that night at the club. That was… well… haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. I’m sorry. I know that’s inappropriate.”

Y/n bit her bottom lip and nodded before taking a deep breath, “Yeah. I guess. Me too.”

“You too? What?”

She turned to look at his verdant crystal eyes, “I can’t stop thinking about it. And it is inappropriate. And I take all the blame. It was my fault that it even got as far as it did. I’m sorry, Harry.”

Harry shushed her and took her hand, “No. Don’t be sorry. This isn’t just on you. I’m an adult too, Y/n. This is on me just as much. So, I’m sorry. I feel like I probably pushed it that night. I was the one that touched you and made up that story about that guy.”

She recollected that night and the short conversation they had about the guy that was trying to dance with her when Harry had put his hand on her hip. The man was looking at her so she thought what he said was true. She hadn’t even questioned it, “You mean that man… that he wasn’t… you did…” she couldn’t finish her thought. It was. A lot. That revelation felt dense with just enough muscle to peel away some kind of layer of wool that had been placed securely over the situation in safety.

“Yeah. I’m so sorry, Y/n. I don’t know what got into me that night. I really didn’t mean for any of this- It’s… my fault. I started it. I’m really sorry.”

She felt like they were somewhat on even ground now. He’d done that. She wouldn’t absolve herself of blame. No, not at all. She was still the heavy in this situation. She wouldn’t allow herself to feel exonerated by his admission. She was seven years older and his stepmom. She was ultimately to blame.

“God, Harry. Please. I’m…” she paused. His gaze on hers was hard to break. His soft mint eyes made him appear so pure and blameless. But then his deep raspberry lips, darkly pigmented against his face were seductive. Harry was like a siren. An enchanter. He was beautiful.

“No. You’re… amazing and I’ve just gone too far. It’s okay. This is silly,” he laughed and disconnected their eye contact as he looked downward, “This is-“ he looked back up at her and felt his heart thrum hard in his ribs, “silly.” His last word, just a whisper. A word he didn’t believe.

She shook her head, keeping her eyes on his, “And you surely have other options anyway. It’s just a phase. I’m sure you’ve got plenty to pick from. The charmer you are,” she chuckled lightly trying to lighten the mood and suggest it was temporary. That he could be with any young college girl he wanted. Probably had someone lined up for his birthday party even.

Harry’s brows cinched together and he shook his head, “No. I don’t. You don’t know this about me but… I’m actually…” he sighed and looked upward not wanting to see her expression when he told her, “virgin.”

That was not what she expected. Not at all. First of all, Harry Styles was beautiful. He was a sight! A paragon on legs with a gorgeously calming voice and the sweetest disposition anyone could ever dream of. He was perfection if there ever was such a thing. His beauty went before him but his grace and kindness were what made him so appealing. So utterly attractive. How was it that this astonishingly amazing man, absolutely as nice as anyone could ever be, was a virgin? Not to mention he had his dad’s money at the helm. There was nothing about Harry that wouldn’t get him laid in an instant.

“Virgin? Seriously?” She stuttered, “Umm… but not that there’s anything wrong with that…” She almost didn’t believe him as she asked. They’d never discussed this of course, but in her mind, it was quite impossible that he had never had sex.

“It’s true. Yeah. S’embarrassing but I really want it with… not just anyone. I don’t know. It’s not like I haven’t done anything… but I’m not like I’m sleeping with whomever I can.”

Y/n nodded. She got it. As a female that was a conundrum she had as well.

Well, it was slightly different but the basics of why she didn’t just go and sleep with anyone was the same when she was his age. It was because she felt deeply about things. Wanted it to mean something. It didn’t always after she learned that others didn’t feel the same way she did. She learned that getting hurt was sometimes part of relationships. Part of sex. As sad as that was.

“Oh.” She smiled at him and spoke softly, “That’s how I used to feel too. Thought it should be special. But then when I thought it was going to be, the guy didn’t care so it turned out it was only special for me. I realized it didn’t really matter what I wanted. I can’t control what everyone around me wants.”

Harry felt his heart pinch at her words. That wasn’t fair. And that was exactly what had him so worried. That he would give it his all only to have the other person feel as if it was nothing important. Just a moment in time.

But it was a big moment in time. It should mean something. Both people should feel its presence and its significance.

They remained silent for a moment as Harry threaded his fingers in between Y/n’s and licked his lips, “Are we alone?”

She turned her head to look at the man. The whole scenario was unbelievable to her. They’d both admitted attraction and that they’d overstepped boundaries. They also both felt bad about it all. But what did that mean? Did that mean she should just stand up and tell him not to worry about it and not to bring it up ever again? Tell him she won’t say anything if he doesn’t say anything? Give him a hug and a pat on the back?

Yes. That is exactly what she should do.

Unhooking her fingers from his she leaned in and hugged him before standing up from his bed, “Your dad will be home late. So, it’s probably better if I go downstairs and do something to keep me busy. This,” she moved her fingers to point at him and then herself, “we can just chalk up to some bad timing and hormones or whatever. Don’t worry about it. I think it’ll be better for us to just pretend it never happened.”

Harry stood up abruptly, his height overtaking Y/n’s significantly with how close he stood, “Just like that? Just forget that we both said those things?”

She took a step back as she kept her eyes on his, “Yeah. Don’t you think that’s for the best? I mean, Harry… I’m your stepmom.”

Harry pulled his lips into his mouth and frowned as he put his hands on his hips and moved away from the bed. He walked toward his door and turned back, “You can forget it and pretend it never happened if you like. I won’t be, though. I’m not going to say anything but I’m not going to pretend this didn’t happen either.”

Her heart dropped. She hoped he’d just brush it all off and try to move on. That was the best way to go about all of this. It’s not like they could have some kind of affair anyway. He was too young and his dad was her husband. It would be crazy to do such a thing.

“I mean… what did you want here? I feel like moving on is the best thing for both of us.”

Harry breathed out an incredulous laugh and shook his head, “I don’t know. Honestly. Thought…” he looked down at his shoes, “No one needed to know. No one would know.”

“No one needed to know what?”

Harry lifted his gaze up to Y/n’s, “If we… kissed or… anything. It would be easy. Dad’s never home. And you’re so-“ he blinked his eyes and she watched as he honed in on the spot where her breasts were under her t-shirt. She hadn’t put a bra on before slipping the shirt on in her haste to wish him a happy birthday, “Kind and patient. Feel like that would be really nice.”

She felt like her jaw was on the floor. Felt like that would be really nice. She couldn’t argue that. It would be really nice. A man with a warm heart in her bed. Someone she could show what she wanted without worry that he’d be offended. A man that looked like Harry. Young and with all that stamina. She imagined that he probably would want it a lot, especially now that she knew he was a virgin. That he’s been so neglected and that the moment he got a taste of it he’d never want to stop…

She shook her head before she allowed her mind to go too far into that hole, “We can’t, Harry. You understand that right,” she bit her lip. She wanted to grab him by his hips and smear her mouth over his as she pushed him into his bed and had them reenact the stepmom and stepson share a bed porno he had up on his laptop.

Harry nodded, his face set in an unreadable expression, “Of course, Y/n. I wouldn’t push you to do anything you didn’t want. I’m sorry.”

She hated that he kept saying sorry. That he felt bad for any of this when it was on her as well, “Please, Harry. Stop saying you’re sorry. You’re not to blame. I just think we should keep level heads here. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

His breathing deepened so much that Y/n could see the way his chest rose and fell under his shirt. She noted his gaze taking her in, not just her eyes, but her lips and her neck, her hips where the shirt stopped and her leggings showed under, “Oh… Y/n…” he shook his head, “I’ve definitely not been innocent. If my porn history isn’t enough to apologize for then my dirty thoughts surely are. You’d certainly agree that I should be apologizing if you knew the sorts of things I fantasize about with you.”

Y/n looked down. She couldn’t take his saturating gaze and these admissions any longer, “I don’t know why you’re telling me this. It’s okay that it’s private and as long as it’s not acted on… you shouldn’t feel bad.”

“Of course.” Harry gestured toward the hallway as he looked at Y/n. There was nothing more to be said on the matter. Harry knew she was right.

She nodded as she exited his room and heard him close the door behind her as she stepped out into the hallway. All she wanted to do was to tell him happy birthday. But instead, she left confused and frustrated and far more guilty than she had been before. She had no idea how to navigate this. But she only knew that no one could know their secret.

.           .           .

The caterers arrived before everyone else to get things set up. Small little aluminum warmers lit to keep the food warm. The bar was set up with a washing station and glassware (none of that plastic stuff Leo had said). The sound equipment was tested. Everything was going to be amazing, Y/n thought. For Harry’s 21st birthday party, this was surely going to be a great time.

She hadn’t seen Harry after their encounter in his bedroom the day before. He’d been quiet the rest of the evening. He didn’t even come down to eat.

Leo arrived home just after midnight and today he was working a little, tying up loose ends for something Y/n didn’t bother to pay attention to. Her mind was elsewhere anyway. Her thoughts kept wandering to Harry. Was he okay? Certainly, he wouldn’t be too upset. They hadn’t even really done anything. And they shouldn’t! Plus he was so young and he would have plenty of time to find someone special. She couldn’t be that for him. Certainly not.

Just before she’d had the chance to run upstairs to her room to get her party outfit in order she caught a glimpse of Harry as he was leaving the kitchen. His dark curls were messy. He looked like he had just gotten up.

She laughed to herself. A typical 21-year-old. Sleeping half the day away so he could stay up late and party with his friends tonight. She felt like that was a good sign.

Her dress was modest and what she deemed appropriate. She had originally selected something different for the party, but after her talk with Harry the night before, she went a more conservative route. Perhaps he’d ignore her when he saw the other pretty girls his age that he knew at the party. She hoped there would be someone else that caught his eye. Someone that could make him forget all about whatever it was that happened between them.

She pulled her hair into a low bun, smoothing the bits that always tended to poke out from a sleek do. It was easy to keep her hair this way. And it was more mature too she felt. Rather than keeping her hair down in styled waves or curls, the low bun was a nod to her stage in life. The married woman with a stepson stage.

She decided to not wear perfume or lipstick either. She wanted to do anything she could to fade into the background for the party. She’d be running around anyway, at the beck and call of the people working the party should they need anything. She knew it was probably unnecessary as the people they’d hired were all professionals and some of the best in the industry. But she felt she would need to keep herself busy.

The first to arrive were Leo’s parents (Harry’s grandparents) and then Harry’s mom, Anne. Anne had been around a lot for the last few days helping Y/n get everything sorted. Y/n was actually quite fond of Anne. Harry’s mother was a saint. She loved that her relationship with Leo’s ex was so good.

“Where’s the birthday boy?” Anne smiled as she backed away from the hug Y/n had given her.

“Oh! I think he might still be getting ready. I believe he slept in late. Saw the back of his head about an hour ago and he appeared to be half asleep,” Y/n laughed.

As more of the guests arrived, Y/n noted the young women and men Harry had invited. Plenty of attractive and exciting college kids.

The music was started and drinks were being served but she still had not seen Harry. Nor Leo for that matter (though she wasn’t surprised to have not seen Leo – probably absorbed in his work).

Going inside and tiptoeing her way up toward Harry’s bedroom to urge him to come out and join his own party she found that his door was closed. She applied two knocks to the wood as she put her ear in close to hear anything.

When it was silent and the door didn’t open, she knocked again. Harder, “Harry? You in there? Party’s getting started without you!”

Suddenly the door was pulled open and before her was her stepson looking like he was ready to kill. Not kill in the way that was violent, but kill with his looks. Kill with the way he’d dressed and left half his buttons undone at the top, a sheer milky white shirt with cream embroidered flowers draping away from his chest and allowing peeks of his tattoos. Black, well-fitted jeans and black Chelsea boots. His signature cross necklace hung between his pecs.

“Wanted to be fashionably late. You know… birthday boy and all,” he raised his brows unamused at Y/n and she felt the condescension drip from his words, “After you… step mummy,” he gestured for her to lead the way.

She was stunned by his tiny attitude. It wasn’t much. He hadn’t been particularly rude but his tone and his cheek were new. He was normally very polite with her. Very sweet and all smiles.

She nodded as she began to head down the stairs, Harry behind her. The moment they walked out to the garden Harry headed in a direction away from her. Without a word. But that was good. He should go and have fun with his friends.

Y/n had invited Marla to the party, which she was thankful for. Marla kept her mind off the tall young man of the hour.

“I can never get over how fantastic this place is. And look at all this,” Marla waved her wine glass above her head as she gestured toward the decorations, “This looks magical! When I fall in love and get married, can I have my wedding here?”

“You have to find the right man first. Ryan’s not it.” They laughed together.

Y/n wasn’t nearly as busy as she thought she’d be. As she hoped she’d be. She drank a few glasses of wine and checked on the guests but Anne had most things under control as did the staff that were taking care of everything.

She kept wishing she had more to do because her eyes kept searching for Harry. She spotted him over and over again. He was drinking whisky, with his friends laughing, and of course, there was one girl he was talking to.

She scolded herself at the touch of jealousy she felt. The girl was Harry’s age. Lovely young thing. But when she saw just the two of them talking as Harry had a hand flat on the bench behind the girl she hated how close they were standing. How flirty he looked. She especially didn’t like that the girl would reach out for his buttons and pluck at them every so often.

But why should she be jealous? He was a 21-year-old guy and he was her stepson. It was quite silly to feel anything other than happiness for him.

The cherry on top was after Leo gave his speech and everyone toasted and then the DJ began to play house music. The dance floor was packed and Y/n watched on as Harry and the young girl danced together, much in the same way he’d danced with her two weeks prior. His lanky body moved behind hers, his hand at her hip, his face close to her ear as he said god-knows-what to her.

She wanted to go out and dance too. There was no reason for her to not dance. Just because Harry was out there, enjoying his time, she didn’t need to wallow at the edge and watch the fun.

“Let’s dance!” Y/n pulled Marla with her to the dance floor.

It was just like their normal Friday night outings and since the night before they didn’t get to go out because Y/n had been busy with the party setup, tonight would be girl’s night for her and Marla.

The two laughed and moved their bodies to the beat, holding their wine glasses as level as they could so it didn’t slosh out.

She was finally having fun. Finally felt the anxiety and the guilt melt away as she danced and drank a little more wine. She had been silly to be jealous or upset. There was no reason for any of that.

But then she saw his eyes on hers. He hadn’t been looking at her all night. She figured that was for the best. But now he was watching her as he danced with the girl in the white mini-dress. His gaze was cold. His face set in a glowering smirk as he spoke something to the girl. She watched as the young woman leaned her head back to look up at Harry and his lips nipped at the space just below her ear.

She felt she could vomit. It was too much. She thought she was okay but she didn’t want to see that. Didn’t want to watch as Harry kissed anyone else and looked at her with such disdain. Was he mad at her?

She excused herself to Marla and rushed into the big house, moving into the kitchen to set her glass down. There were people in the house. Chatting, laughing, and some even dancing inside.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she leaned over the island and tried to calm her brain. What was she doing? What was wrong with her?

Warm hands covered the tops of her shoulders and the deep rasp of her stepson was in her ear before she could even open her eyes, “I need to talk to you.”

She jumped in surprise and turned around quickly as Harry ticked his head toward the stairs and he began heading toward them. She followed behind, moving up the steps with him and she assumed he would want to talk in the hallway or his room but he continued walking past his door and to the other side of the house toward her bedroom.

Without even a pause he opened her door and entered her room as if he owned it. As if it were his room.

She followed in behind him, her face set in confusion. She couldn’t know what he was going to say or what he wanted to talk about.

“Was offered a blowjob,” he blurted out as he paced. “From Leslie. She’s cute and I’m… anyway… I wanted to tell you,” he stopped and looked at Y/n, moving toward her, “in case you wanted to… maybe you’d changed your mind or-“ he ran a hand through his hair.

“What?” She was stunned, “You… why are you telling me?”

“Because I want… you, Y/n.” He said with finality.

Harry was stood close with his pink lips parted as he looked down at Y/n. He was serious. He was dead serious and she was surprised. The young girl was pretty and she wanted to give him a blowjob… “Me? What about… Leslie? She’s so cute and-“

“Not as cute as you. Ever since that night, I can’t stop thinking about you.” He cocked his head and smirked, “And I like this look,” Harry moved his hand to the material of her dress gently before letting his hand drop down to his side, “Perfect length so no one gets any ideas about you. A modest silhouette. Your hair falling out of this bun you tried to hold it in,” his hand moved upward again to push the hair off her shoulder that had indeed come undone from the bun.

“You must have had too much to drink. I’m not what you’re looking for-“

“You are. You are exactly what I’ve been looking for. And I’m not drunk, Y/n. Not even close.”

Her breaths deepened as Harry’s hand stayed at her neck where he’d pushed her hair. His thumb rubbed over her pulse point slowly. And he was suffocating, crippling her resolve. Making her question her sanity. She couldn’t allow this. Could she?

“Well, it doesn’t matter. I can’t. We… we can’t.”

Harry licked his lips, “We can actually because no one would know. Want it to be you. Want you to show me. I trust you.” He didn’t lose his composure as his palm moved upward and his thumb brushed the outer corner of her mouth.

She closed her eyes and allowed her mouth to part the slightest. She didn’t know what she was doing. Letting him stand so close. Letting him speak to her about this. Letting him touch her lips. Letting his words sink into her core.

“Harry…” she breathed out his name as she felt the pad of his thumb press over her bottom lip. Her eyes remained closed. This wasn’t happening. If she kept her eyes closed she wasn’t here and this wasn’t happening. It was just a fantasy.

The trouble was though, that it was happening. And even with her eyes closed she could feel him and how he was standing so close she could smell the whisky on his breath and feel his body heat next to hers. Feel his thumb push past her lips the slightest as her tongue poked out to taste the tiniest bit. Felt his hand grip her face and his smooth mouth on hers and his hand on her waist and his chest pressed to hers.

She forced her fingers into his hair and moaned into his mouth but then- in a sudden moment of clarity, she pushed at his chest and shook her head, “This is wrong. We can’t, Harry. You get that, right?”

Harry backed away and looked down at his feet, “I do. You don’t want me.”

She nearly blurted out to him that that was incorrect. That she did want him. That she’d fantasized about him far too often but it was unhealthy and it could only lead to disaster.

Instead, she stayed quiet. He needed to drop this. She needed to stop this. It had gone too far.

When he left her room she sat down on her bed. Now she’d gone and kissed him. Tasted his lips and the way he kissed her felt so real and so passionate. She’d missed that bit of passion. That sort of enthusiasm. It wasn’t something Leo gave her at all. She didn’t even know it was something she was missing. But Harry had woken something up in her. Ever since that night. And now the kiss had felt like she was beyond getting back to ignoring that need she’d buttoned up and pushed down. She wanted more. But that couldn’t happen.

She was surprised by Harry’s gall too. He was quite pushy, which she hadn’t expected of him. Harry, who was so gentle and thoughtful and sweet was really adamant about pursuing her.

Her tummy was still warm and filled with butterflies. He’d kissed her. And she wanted to take it further but she couldn’t. That was out of the question.

.           .           .

When most of the guests had gone and the house grew quiet Y/n sat outside under the twinkle lights. She’d turn them off before going in and calling it a night but she wanted a few moments of peace with the last bit of the bottle of wine she’d worked her way through after Harry had gone and scrambled her good sense.

Good sense. What a laugh. As if she had any good sense after that night at the bar. It should have never gotten as far as it had.

Y/n was also sitting outside in hopes of making sure Leslie left before she went back in. Or at least gave Harry enough time to get his blowjob or whatever it was that was going on in his bedroom.

Because Y/n was well aware that Harry had her in there. He made a show of it in fact.

When she’d gotten back outside after calming herself from the kiss, Harry had Leslie against the side of the house with his tongue down her throat. And as much as she tried to ignore that and pretend she wasn’t bothered by it, she was bothered. It hurt her feelings but she shouldn’t feel hurt. Harry should be doing things with girls his age and losing his virginity to anyone that wasn’t his stepmom.

But she kept looking over at them and when she caught Harry gazing back at her as he kissed Leslie she could almost feel her hair singe in anger. He was doing it on purpose. To make Y/n jealous.

And before he brought her into the house he casually introduced Leslie to her and then leaned in to whisper to Y/n with his whisky breath, “Last chance.”

So, not only was she a little hurt she was a little pissed. Because he was being downright bratty with it.

Half of her hoped that Leslie would take his virginity and he’d get it out of his system and that would be that.

The other part of her, the depraved, nonsensical evil bit that she kept pushed deep deep down away from anyone, wanted to make him pay for being a little jerk to her. She imagined spanking him even, which was ridiculous because he was so much larger than she was. As if he’d somehow fit over her lap and bare his ass to her for a spanking. She laughed at her thoughts but they didn’t end there.

The more wine that wound its way into her bloodstream the filthier her fantasies got. He’d grow hard after she punished him and then she’d show him what a real blowjob was like. Make him forget all about Leslie. She’d let him feel her throat on him but wouldn’t allow him to come. Instead, then she’d pull him down by his hair between her legs and guide him over her, giving him specific instructions for cunnilingus. And he’d keep licking at her and begging for more of her even after she’d come. He wouldn’t want to stop tasting her but then she’d tell him to stop – that only good boys deserve more.

Of course, the fantasy ends with him begging her to take his virginity and then making him eat his come from her pussy since he came too fast, like the virgin he is.

Depraved. But god was she turned on just thinking about it. She bet he’d like all that too.

Plucking her bottle of wine up she flicked the lights off and went into the house. No sense in staying outside and hoping Harry was quiet enough when she went inside. Plus she was quite tipsy and just needed to be put to bed.

Putting the bottle down on the counter she heard Leo sitting in the living room on a call.

It was nearly 2 am so she was surprised he was chatting with anyone but she could tell it was something for work. Plans for a business trip.

Instead of waiting and talking to him, she made her way up to her bedroom. She slowly passed Harry’s room and noticed that there was a light on but no noises to be heard, thankfully.

And she wasn’t jealous. Of course, she wasn’t. What was there to be jealous of?

After a warm shower and slathering her body in lotion, she opened her ensuite bathroom door and stopped dead in her tracks.

“What are you doing in here?”

Harry was lying on her bed, sprawled out on top of her comforter wearing the clothes he wore at his party minus his boots.

Harry lifted his head and snorted a laugh, “Wanted to say g’night to my stepmom. But then I laid on your bed,” Y/n could hear the slur in his speech and saw the way his eyes floated in his sockets as he looked at her, “and it’s so comfortable.” He pressed his palms down and moaned at the feel before plopping his head back onto her stack of feather pillows.

She stood over him and placed her hands at her hips. She was thankful she’d put on her robe before stepping out of her room. Half the time she opted to walk around her bedroom naked.

“Well, goodnight, then Harry. It’s time for you to go back to your room.”

Harry squeezed his eyes closed and the grin on his mouth widened as he spoke, “Mmm… but this feels so good. S’cozy right here.”

Y/n sat at the end of the bed and sighed. He was clearly drunk. Earlier he hadn’t been when she kissed him. Now, he was very clearly inebriated.

“Your bed is cozy too, though. You should go back to your room. Get some rest.”

Harry propped himself up by his elbows and planted his eyes on hers, “You’ve been in my bed? When?”

Shaking her head and laughing at the absurdity of this whole scenario she spoke, “I know your bed is comfortable because I helped Leo pick out your new mattress. It’s the same one as this.” She patted the bed under her.

Harry nodded slowly and she noticed his gaze at her cleavage so she tightened her robe just as there was a knock at her door.

A gasp fell from her lips and she shoved Harry off the bed, whispering, “Under the bed! It’s your father!”

Harry huffed a laugh and put his hands up in surrender, “Yes, ma’am.”

She hushed him as he scooted himself under her bed and Y/n ran to her bathroom door, “Yes!”

The door opened and Leo stepped in, a suitcase left in the doorway, “I just wanted to let you know I’ve got a sudden meeting tomorrow late morning so I’ve got to take the 5:00 am out to Savannah.”

Putting the towel up to her hair to act as if she’d just gotten out of the shower (she sort of had) she walked across the room to him, “Really? When will you be back?”

“Day after tomorrow. It’s a morning meeting, then golf, then dinner. Then the next morning I have a flight that gets me back in LA at noon.”

She smiled and slid her arms over his shoulders to bring him in for a quick hug and he caught her off guard by kissing her cheek and squeezing her back before pulling away, “Car’s outside waiting,” he ticked his head toward the door, “Tell Harry when he emerges tomorrow for me, will ya?”

When she shut her door and turned toward her bed she let out a breath of relief. She was glad Harry stayed quiet. But then she realized as she lifted her bed skirt that he’d fallen asleep down there.

Rolling her eyes she contemplated what to do. Leave him there? Wake him and help him back to his room? She really didn’t want to deal with getting him into his bedroom. Nor did she want to deal with a drunk Harry by waking him up. But ultimately her guilt wouldn’t let her leave him there on the floor. He deserved to sleep in a bed.

“Harry… come on… wake up. Leo’s gone,” she pushed at his arm gently, “Harry…” she said tunefully, elongating the yyyyyy at the end of his name.

Pulling at his arm she got him part of the way out from under her bed and lifted his arm up, “Come on… wake up,” she lightly patted his face and that seemed to do it.

Harry’s eyes opened up and landed on hers. Sparkling and green and soft. And drunk.

“Let’s get you up. Come on. Time for bed.” She helped him sit up and tucked herself under his arm and began to stand to help him upward. But he was dead weight.

“Can I please stay with you? Please, Y/n? Your bed is so soft.”

She looked at him as he spoke and she realized he was not going to make it to his room. He’d have to sleep on her bed.

But that was fine. She’d just put him in her bed and then go sleep in any of the other guest rooms. It was better than letting him sleep on the floor or attempting to walk him to his bedroom.

“You can sleep in my bed. That’s fine. Can you lift up with me?”

Harry’s smile took over his features and his pink lips looked wet and soft. He was super cute when he was drunk.

“For real?” Harry raised an arm and steadied himself with the edge of the bed, the other side assisted by Y/n as he was pushed upward to his feet.

“There we go. Okay…” Y/n nudged him to sit and Harry’s full weight fell onto the bed and he laughed.

He immediately went to grab at his pant button and Y/n paused and put her hand on his shoulder, “Uh, just lie down. I’ll go and get you some water. Be right back.”

She was doing her best. Truly. She was quite tipsy herself and her bed had been calling before Harry showed up in her room. And now here she was traipsing across the massive home to get her stepson a glass of water. She figured he’d appreciate that when he woke up in the morning. And she had hoped that by the time she returned to her room, he’d be asleep and she could sneak out and go to the nearest guest bedroom and crash there. She was tired.

But when she returned to her room, Harry had successfully pulled his pants and sheer button-up shirt off and was left in nothing but his grey boxer briefs. And he was not asleep.

Placing the water next to the side of the bed he was on, which was where she’d normally be sleeping she noted, Harry stretched his arms behind his head and smiled, “Hop in.”

She shook her head and laughed as she pulled her charger from the wall and grabbed her cell phone, “No, Harry. That’s not a good idea,” she turned off the lamp on the far side of the room and began to walk toward the door.

He sat up quickly, “Wait. You said… You’re not staying with me?”

Y/n turned to look at him, handsome and messy.

And her stepson she reminded herself.

“I’ll just be next door. Think it’s best we’re not sleeping in the same bed, Harry. Just lie down and-“

“No. Please,” Harry tried to pull himself out of the bed but his motions were lethargic and clumsy, “want you here. Just… stay with me. Please. I swear no funny business.”

She sighed and began to shake her head and repeat herself but when Harry started to place his long legs down onto the floor she rushed back to him so he wouldn’t hurt himself. That was her logic anyway. She didn’t want him to fall or crack his skull open.

Steadying him by his arms she pushed him back toward the bed, “Stay. You’ll hurt yourself.”

Harry hummed and reached up to put his fingers in her hair, “I’ll stay if you stay. If you go to the guest room I’ll just follow you like a puppy dog, Y/n.” His words were watery and his gestures were clumsy.

She closed her eyes and groaned. She was so tired. So tired. And she just wanted to lie down. And she certainly couldn’t have Harry attempting to follow her to another room and hurt himself by falling down the stairs or something.

“Fine. But you just go to sleep. I’ll stay here with you but you have to promise me you’ll go to sleep and behave.” She pointed at him.

Harry’s exaggerated grin returned as he laid his head back onto the pillow and watched her cross the room to turn off the last lamp.

Fuck, she cursed to herself under her breath. She’d forgotten to put on pajamas. She was naked under her robe.

But okay. No problem. She’d just leave her robe on and it would be fine.

Climbing into bed, on the odd side, she stretched her limbs as she laid flat and closed her eyes. She was just so tired.

“Thank you. For staying. I promise I’ll behave.”

.           .           .

Y/n’s alarm woke her up and she groaned and reached over to turn it off but instead, her palm found a bare, solid chest. She popped her eyes open and the events of the previous night had come rushing back. She let Harry sleep in her bed and she was reaching over toward where her phone normally was but she’d been on the opposite side of the bed.

Rolling over to press the alarm off she sighed as she snuggled back into her pillow. 6:45 am was too early to be up for a Sunday. She contemplated moving herself to a guest room since Harry was still asleep but her soft bed lulled her back into a deep sleep where her dreams were vivid and she found herself kissing Harry again. But this time, her dream took it further and she was on his lap and then they were in his bed. By any standards, it was a very good dream. A very good one.

So when she woke up for the second time that morning things were… different. Her head was not on her soft pillow and there was a hand on her bottom. She slowly came out of her easy dream state, still reeling from the kind of dream she’d just had of her stepson when she realized her cheek was smushed on Harry’s pec and it was Harry’s big palm on her bottom slowly, slowly, slowly moving down toward her thigh. He was awake.

Her dream-riddled brain mulled over what was happening. It was a slow rise but her awareness steadily stirred. Her robe had come undone and her thigh was over Harry’s. His chest was rising and falling gently and she realized her palm was over his heart, which she could feel thudding underneath. She had cuddled up to him like he was one of those body pillows.

It was nice. It felt soft and lazy and sweet to lie in her bed on a Sunday morning in the arms of a man. And the leftover remnants of her dream had her still feeling wound up.

Hesitantly, she moved her head to look upward and Harry’s hand halted when her gaze met his.

She could see him swallow and he spoke groggily, “Sorry. You were… I didn’t want to wake you.”

The way his sonorous voice reverberated from his chest against her skin and her shoulder made her meltier than she already was.

Her hand was still over his chest and she could feel his heart rate increase as he kept his eyes on hers, “It’s okay. Thank you for letting me sleep.” She was going to move. To get up and pull her robe securely around her body so he didn’t catch a glimpse of anything but she didn’t want to move. She wanted to bask in the heat of him for a little longer. To feel his fingers on her bare bottom for a few more moments. Perhaps to even feel him caressing her again. And maybe… just maybe…

She slid her palm up and scooted herself fully into his arms, her chest over his, and laid her head down against his shoulder, “Let’s just stay here a little longer. If that’s okay?”

Harry blinked his eyes and knew Y/n could feel the way his heart was lobbing around behind his ribs. His cock was already hard but she hadn’t figured that out yet and he didn’t want to scare her off because he did want to stay like that for longer. With her.

He pulled his arms around her, removing his hand from her bottom and bringing it up to wrap around her back, “That sounds perfect.” He was just glad she hadn’t moved too far up or her thigh would have come into contact with his erection and surely would have ruined the moment.

Y/n closed her eyes and indulged in the way his arms felt around her. Her bare hip was against his and it felt so salacious. So tender. Her breasts were pressed into his chest, with one of them uncovered and warm against his skin.

“Dad left for a meeting? On a Sunday?” Harry suddenly inquired. He had always been suspicious of his father’s frequent trips.

She nodded her head over his chest, “Yeah. Sometimes he has weekend meetings. It’s more like a golf outing than anything. Probably just some buddies getting together for some fun.”

“Hmm… You’re okay with him just heading out like that last minute?”

“Yeah. It’s normal. I’ve gotten used to it.”

He wasn’t sure that his father was a good husband to Y/n. He found it odd too that they had separate bedrooms. But he didn’t usually question it. However, this morning he was feeling soft toward her (well, soft emotionally… physically he was anything but soft) and wanted to protect her in some way.

Harry didn’t know how he was going to survive. His boner was only growing thicker and with the way she was wiggling over him, her thigh was nearly brushing against his –

Too late.

When she nudged at it, feeling him stiff against her thigh, she smiled to herself. She hadn’t looked down over his body but she half wondered if he was as turned on as she was. It was easier for her to hide what her dream had done to her and what being in his arms was causing to slip out from between her legs, but this pleased her.

“I’m sorry. That’s… I can’t help it.” Harry explained and Y/n lifted her head up and glanced down at where he was straining under his boxer briefs. It nearly startled her too. She hadn’t expected… that. And even though he was covered up with his underwear she understood that what he had going on there was… well she’d say he was a lucky guy and it was truly an outrage that there hadn’t been a lucky girl to try it out.

“Don’t apologize,” she looked back up at him and realized he’d been looking at her boob. The one not covered. And with the way she’d lifted herself upward to look down at him, her nipple was out for him to peek at.

She licked her lips and brought her hand down over his pec to lift herself further. Bot tits made their appearance and Harry groaned and looked away, “Sorry. Trying not to look.”

Gently putting her hand up to his jaw she turned his face to look at her, “Do you want to look?”

Harry’s eyes widened and he nodded, “Well, yeah. But I didn’t think you’d want me to.”

“You’ve seen breasts before right?” Y/n laughed and slid her thigh against his thickened cock, this time on purpose.

Harry kept nodding, “Yes. Quite a few. But just not yours.” His eyes danced over her nipples and back up to her eyes, almost to make sure it was okay.

She loved his deep, raspy morning voice. Loved how gentle and intimate the moment felt.

“Did you see Leslie’s breasts last night?” Y/n teased with a smile as she lowered herself down, her naked nipples pressing into his warm skin.

Shaking his head no he laughed, “Nah. She passed out. If you thought I was drunk last night, should have seen her. Nothing happened. Wouldn’t have been able to even if we wanted.”

When Y/n felt Harry’s hand timidly return to her low back and then ghost over her ass she let out a shaky breath. She couldn’t remove her eyes from his. He was so pretty and he deserved to be put out of his misery she thought. A bad idea, yes. But to hell with it.

Sliding her thigh further over him she pushed herself to straddle him and sat up over him. Biting her lip and looking down at his chest and smoothing her hands over the smattering of hair he had and the dark tattoos… he was sexy.

Harry couldn’t stop his eyes from taking her in. Her robe was draped over her sides but was open so he could see her breasts and her tummy, her belly button and he glanced back up at her and parted his lips as he risked moving his hands over her bottom. With the way she was looking at him and touching him, he felt the risk would be worth it.

“Squeeze a little,” she whispered as she put her hands over Harry’s and directed him to take a handful of her bottom in each palm. Harry swallowed hard and panted.

“Oh my god,” his words were spoken in a quiet breath as he relished in the feeling.

When she rocked her hips forward and dragged her core over his fabric-covered cock Harry gasped and his chest rose and fell in heavy breaths.

“I had a dream about you,” she spoke as she moved her hands back up his chest and to his face as she leaned over him, putting herself directly over his erection and ground herself over him, “It was really naughty. And I’m still worked up over it. Just tell me if you want me to stop,” her pussy was wetting the fabric of Harry’s crotch and he groaned before lifting his face upward and pressing his lips to hers. He definitely did not want her to stop.

The haste of the kiss was hectic and chaotic. Harry pushed the robe off her shoulders and she flung the thick cotton down onto the floor before placing her fingers into the band of his underwear, “Let’s take a look.”

She sat back and pulled his underwear down so his cock sprung out. She continued lowering the material until his balls were free and she moaned, “It’s really pretty. Can I suck you off?”

Harry brought a hand up to his arm and pinched his skin, wincing when he felt the sting. He wasn’t sure he was really awake. Not only was Y/n completely naked on top of him, she was licking her lips and asking if she could suck him off.

“Fuck. Please yes.”

“Do you like to beg, Harry?” She grinned as she crawled herself backward to put her face above his lovely cock.

“For you, I will.”

“Mmm… such a good boy,” she looked up at him as she licked along the underside of his shaft and Harry choked out a moan. His thighs were already quivering. She figured he wouldn’t last long but that was fine for what she had in mind.

Her mouth was watering so wetting him properly wasn’t too hard as her tongue slid over his hard prick. She dotted kisses along the way and looked up at his eyes and then down to his pretty dick.

Using her hand, a palm she licked and wetted, she gently massaged his balls as she finally pulled his tip into her mouth. She lowered over him as much as possible on the first go before bringing herself off of him, “Want you to come down my throat. Okay? Want to taste you.”

Harry’s face was twisted up in ecstasy already and she hadn’t done that much, “I’m gonna come too fast.” He whined.

Shaking her head and licking over his tip she whispered against his throbbing cock, “Be a good boy and come down my throat, Harry. It’s okay if you come fast. Just feel my mouth and my tongue on you and enjoy it. Can you do that for me?”

“Ffuck…” Harry threw his head back into the pillow as she drew him back into her mouth and began sucking, “M’gonna be your good boy. Yes.”

Harry’s voice was shaky and his groans were progressively louder as she took him deeper. He clutched the blankets tight as his stepmom fondled his balls and sucked on his cock.

He’d been given blow jobs before. But already this one was far and away the best he’d ever had. Y/n was sensual and confident and she knew what she was doing. When her eyes found his every few moments that was his favorite. Watching as she looked at him dreamily with his cock in her mouth was a picture that would be seared into his mind for all eternity. Better than porn. Because it was real.

“Ahh! Shit! M’coming, please!” Harry shouted and moaned as his hands finally found their place in her hair out of instinct.

He’d pressed on her just enough that her nose was pushed into his pubes and she felt his twitching prick beating and pumping as come gushed from his tip. He came a lot. She couldn’t breathe or move but she kept her jaw wide and gagged around him as he crammed himself further into her throat and he cursed and moaned and rolled his hips upward in orgasm.

When he’d finally drained himself of everything he had he loosened his grip on her hair and she pulled up, gasping and coughing.

Harry’s fucked out gaze was adorable, she thought. A small smile on his face with pink cheeks and a splotchy red chest from the exertion of his orgasm.

She leaned over him and grasped his jaw, causing his mouth to fall open as she spit down over his tongue, “Swallow.”

Harry gulped down her mix of saliva and his come before his pink lips curved up into a big smile, “Yes ma’am.”

Y/n chuckled and then kissed him before pushing herself upward to climb off but Harry caught her arm before she could get too far, “Wait. You don’t want me to like…”

“Of course I do. But only if you want to. Have you ever eaten anyone out before?”

Harry pushed himself up by his elbows and nodded, “Yeah. Wouldn’t say I’m any good at it. Not sure I could make you come.”

There was a thrill that filed down her spine and to her toes. She didn’t need to come. She just loved how it felt to have someone with their face between her legs. It had been a while. Leo didn’t often give her cunnilingus.

“But do you want to?” She asked pointedly. She wouldn’t dream of having him do something he didn’t like.

“Fuck yes. Just show me what you like and I’ll do it.”

Harry released her wrist and she put her bottom onto the mattress and stuffed pillows behind her so she could sit up and watch. She loved the way Harry was watching her body and how dark his eyes were. He’d just orgasmed but she was confident he’d grow hard again soon. And then perhaps she could give him what he really wanted.

“Take your underwear off the rest of the way.”

Harry got up to his knees and nodded, “Yes ma’am.” A sly smirk on his lips at the new nickname he’d been using for her.

Y/n had never been a fan of being called ma’am. She felt she was too young to be a ma’am but when Harry did it in this context, it got her blood pumping wildly through her veins.

When Harry’s boxer briefs were long gone she pulled at his wrist as she opened her legs up, “Start off just exploring. I’ll guide you if you want. Use your fingers, lips, tongue… and try to keep your eyes on mine.”

Harry licked his lips and knelt over her, his hands finding her outer thighs first and spreading her wider as he looked over her glistening pussy, “So wet. Is this for me?”

His question was a surprise to her. But it was definitely lined with something innocent. Almost as if he hadn’t expected her to be in the state she was in.

Nodding her head slowly and smiling she spoke, “All for you. That’s what you did to me and you haven’t even touched me yet.”

Harry’s dimples poked into his cheeks as he shyly smiled, “Just trying to be a good boy for you ma’am.”

He jutted his tongue out and licked upward from her seeping entrance to her clit and she moaned softly as she watched him. He kept his eyes on her pussy at first. She wanted him to look up at her but she allowed him a moment to get acquainted.

He used one of his hands to gently spread her labia and lick upward again, stopping at her clit and flicking it just the tiniest bit.

“God. You know where the clit is, don’t you? That’s really good, Harry.”

He finally looked back up at her as he mouthed over her pussy and sucked gently. She keened and smiled, “Yes! Keep doing that.”

So he did. He sucked and licked, giving special treatment to her clitoris and he moaned over her as he closed his eyes and lapped at her, and kissed his way around her cunt slowly.

“Finger me. Put two in. Like this,” she reached down to his hand and twisted so his palm was upward and then pulled on his pointer and middle finger, nudging the pads of his fingers to her entrance.

His long digits inside of her didn’t disappoint. He pressed them in and pulled out slowly as he continued lapping and sucking and she gasped into the room.

She looked down at him after the initial recovery of his fingers inside of her for the first time and he was already watching her. She slid a hand over her body, stopping at her breasts for a moment before pushing her fingers into his hair, “You’re so good for me, Harry. Just like that…” she was breathless.

Harry clamped his eyes closed at her praise and used his free hand to reach up and touch her left tit. He kneaded at her flesh and then circled the pads of his fingers over her nipple slowly and she mewled, “Come up here. Suck on my breasts,” she pulled at his hair a little to lift his face, “Keep your fingers inside of me.”

Harry did as she said, pumping his fingers into her as he moved up over her body and latched on to the breast he’d been fondling. He was a star pupil. His tongue laved sensually over her areola and he continued looking at her as he stuffed his fingers knuckles deep.

Sucking on her nipple and pulling away he moved to the other side and a muffled moan vibrated over her chest and she felt his cock against her thigh. He was aroused. Thick and full once again. She knew this would happen. Or at least she hoped it would.

Harry drew his tongue to the underside of her breast and sucked in tightly, pinching her skin and she gasped as she watched him work. He moved to her other side, repeating his gesture and bruising the underside of her boob with an intense suckle that had her flesh turning purple nearly instantly.

“Fuck, Harry.”

She had little need to guide him much. He was passionate enough and horny enough that everything he was doing was just right by her standards.

Harry popped off her nipple and looked up at his stepmom with eyes that brimmed with lust and need, “I want you so bad. Please…” his dark pink lips were wet and set in a pout as he pulled his brows together. He looked like he was in pain. But he didn’t cease fucking into her with his fingers.

Y/n carded her fingers into his hair and cooed at him, “What do you want, baby? Tell me.”

She was aware of what he wanted. But somehow she was getting off on having him tell her and ask and beg with his big puppy dog eyes and pouty lips.

Harry’s hips dipped down so his prick sat in the spot right next to her pussy. She was wet all over and there was a nice little bit of glid for Harry right there as he removed his fingers from her cunt and pushed them into his mouth. He was holding himself over her with one arm as he licked her essence from his digits before pulling them out to steady himself with both arms, “You. Want to… be with you. I’m so hard again.”

She knew what he wanted. And maybe it was the haze of the dream she’d had or a sudden lack of inhibition on her part, but she wanted the same thing. And his pretty cock would feel nice wrenching into her insides and poking deeply into the viscera.

Y/n nudged at him to move back so she could sit up further, “Are you sure? Because that means you won’t be a virgin anymore. I don’t want to have you regret anything.”

Harry shook his head, “I don’t care about being a virgin. The stigma. Never mattered. But,” he put his palm over the top of her thigh and looked at her with hooded eyes, “I know you’ll show me how good it is. I trust you. Only if you want me.”

The sting of warmth shrouded her neck and then her heart. He was sweet and he was convincing.

Nodding her head she put her palm over his cheek and smiled, “I do want you. And I trust you too. Which means this has to stay between us. No one can know.”

Harry nodded. The tiny bit of scruff on his face scratched at her skin as he turned to kiss her palm and grasp her wrist in his hand, “Then, please. Just tell me what to do and how you want it. I’ll be so good for you.”

Intertwining their fingers, Y/n pulled at him to give him a soft kiss. Wet. Trembling. They both were. This was either the biggest mistake of their lives or the beginning of an extraordinary secret. They both knew it. It would change everything. It already had. They’d already given in.

Whispering as she scraped his scalp and dotted kisses at the edge of his mouth, “Do you want a condom? Will that make you feel better? I can’t get pregnant so that’s not an issue and everything else is good in that regard. Up to you.”

Y/n always wore condoms with Leo, at his insistence. Because of their agreement. An open marriage if you will. But with Harry, she’d forego the barrier knowing he was a virgin.

“Do you want me to wear one? I do have some that I’ve never used,” he laughed as he spoke the word used.

“I’d like to feel you just like this,” she lowered her hand to his throbbing shaft and inhaled sharply at how warm and thick he was in her hand, “If that’s okay.”

Harry closed his eyes and nodded, “More than okay.”

“Good. Now. When you fantasize about having sex. What position are you in the most?” Y/n wanted to have him start off with what he fantasized about. She knew he’d like any position, most men did.

The edge of Harry’s mouth quirked up as he breathed out a laugh, “Just… all of them. But, normally I’m on top,” he swallowed.

“That’s good. Let’s start there.” She lay back and spread her legs, gently pulling at him to follow.

Harry put himself between her thighs and brought his palms down to the mattress on either side of her shoulders.

“Push your hips down and line up over me,” She took her hand and guided him so that his heavy cock was slipping through her labia, getting coated in her slick, “Yes, now, move back and forth and just feel how wet I am like this. How it’s getting all over you before you even need to push inside. Feels good right?” Harry’s mouth was dropped open and he nodded, “Yes.”

“Mmm… feels good to me too. When you do that, your tip is hitting my clit. See?” She looked down between their bodies, urging Harry to do the same.

He groaned as he continued gliding through her wet pussy lips, “Fuck. So pretty.”

The sound alone was sexy. Her pussy was really wet and the noise that his dick caused with each pass through her folds was pornographic.

“We’re pretty together, aren’t we?”

He nodded and moaned, moving himself a little faster.

“Such a good boy. Now, I want you to kiss me. Keep your mouth on mine and then when you’re ready, put your delicious cock inside of me. Okay?”

Another moan fell from his lips as he lowered himself to kiss her mouth. Y/n licked over his lips and Harry opened up and used his tongue against hers as he slowly pushed his engorged dick up and down, nudging her clit on each upward thrust. His mouth was watering as he got himself into position, putting his knees down to steady himself and rearing back to align his pink tip with her puffy, wet entrance.

Never removing his lips from hers as he continued kissing her and sipping at her tongue he dipped gently into her. First, his wide head barely smoothed into her until he was met with resistance from the small muscle of her vaginal opening.

She could feel him hesitate, knowing he wasn’t sure if it was too much. She smiled into the kiss and spoke, “Just push. It’s like that on purpose. A little tight on the first go but once you’re in there it’s so good. You’re just a little thick so this is gonna be normal for you. Gotta just press in past my tight opening.”

The whimper that fell from his mouth before he pushed his lips back to hers made her head spin. But what really got her was when he did as she said and pushed in through her muscle and slid himself in half way.

They both gasped, parting from the kiss. There it was. He was inside of her. He moaned into her mouth as he pulled back so his tip was pulled out and then reentered, pushing past that tight muscle again as he licked into her mouth.

It was good. She knew it would feel good. His hard cock was heavy and thick and as he pressed himself in until he couldn’t push any further she gasped at how deep he was.

Harry was on a different plane of existence in that moment. He’d given his virginity to the hottest woman he’d ever met and now he was allowed to fuck her. She’d given him permission and he’d given her permission and his dick had never ever felt so good.

He’d had his cock sucked and he’d used toys with lube that mimicked pussy, but this was… warm and real. And it smelled like her and his mouth still tasted like her and she was moaning as he moved into her. She was enjoying it too. And that… that was the best part.

He continued moving his mouth over hers as he thrust his way into her as deep as he could get until his balls were pressed into her bum. He was more than thankful that he’d already come so he could last a bit longer. He’d still come embarrassingly fast, he was sure, but now he had a little advantage. Instead of three minutes, possibly ten? He hoped. At minimum. Because he didn’t want this feeling to ever end. He’d fuck his stepmom for the rest of his life if it felt this way. They could just stay like this in her bed, slipping together and kissing and being connected.

A knock at the door and the voice of a female was heard from behind the wood.

Harry stopped his movements and Y/n grasped onto him with one hand to keep him still and put her finger up to her mouth, “Who’s there?”

“I’m Harry’s friend, Leslie. Sorry to bother you. I didn’t know where he went.”

Harry’s breaths were rapid as he stared down at the pretty woman he was inside of. He’d totally forgotten about Leslie.

“Uh… I think he left? Maybe? Not sure hon! I’m in the middle of something and…” she didn’t know how to get rid of the girl. She didn’t want to be rude but she was truly very much in the middle of something. Something very good. She was just thankful that the door was locked.

Harry slowly began thrusting again as he kept his eyes on Y/n’s, holding himself up over her.

“That’s okay! Sorry! I’ll be leaving. Just tell Harry I will talk to him later!”

The smirk on Harry’s face as he began to press in harder had Y/n’s tummy on fire, or perhaps it was his lengthy cock pushing into her guts, “Thank fuck she’s gone. In the middle of losing my virginity here,” he laughed as he rocked his hips sharply and Y/n grunted at the harsh thud.

“Oooh… fuuu….” Y/n moaned with a smile as he did it again, “So good like that. You gonna fuck me a little harder now? Be a good boy and make it hurt a little.”

Harry was a good listener. Had always been. This time was no different. He began to plunge into her with a dizzying drag, forceful and trenchant. Just like she liked. Especially when it was Harry doing it.

“Like that? You want it like that?” He punctuated his words with each rut of his hips.

“Yeah, just like that,” she scraped her nails over his back and keened as her body was rocked upward on each of his thrusts, “How do you feel? Tell me what it’s like.”

Harry’s hips stuttered as he brought the cadence down so he could speak, “Fuck, it’s good. So fucking nice,” he wanted to say more about how it felt. Wanted to tell her he could do this with her forever and that her pussy was the only one he’d want to fuck from now on (he was sure of that). Wanted to blurt out that she was so pretty and how perfect they looked together. But he held back with the understanding that his lust was clouding the things his heart was feeling at that moment.

“Tell me mmm… oh yes! Right there!” She closed her eyes and bit her lip to keep from shouting loudly when Harry ground into her just right, not sure if Leslie was still in the house or not, “Tell me what it feels like inside of me.”

Harry’s panted words were slow and deep, “Like I’m gonna come harder than I ever have. It’s so warm and smooth. Gripping me so tight. Never want it to stop…” his hips smacked against hers as he moved into her with a hungry force.

Her mouth was wide open as her breaths were being knocked out of her lungs and her tits swayed under him.

Harry looked down at his sexy stepmom with her lusty face and body and he lowered down to wrap his lips around hers. She brought her legs over his back and pushed at his bottom with her heels to urge him deeper.

Using his forearms to hold himself up he rolled his hips into her slowing down his pace to make it last. He wanted to feel her like this for a little longer. He knew he could come soon.

Wet squelches between their bodies where they were connected and sliding together with no barriers and tiny creeks from the mattress filled the room. The sound of illicit sex. The sound of something happening that was so wrong that it was good. So good.

Y/n could tell Harry was going to come as his breaths heaved and his thighs trembled against her each time he pushed in, “Harry… you feel so good filling me up. I want to come too,” her words were panted as Harry sliced into her deeply and stilled his hips as he looked down at her.

“Want you to come too. What do you need, Y/n?” Harry’s chest rose and fell quickly as he pushed his thumb over her cheekbone.

“Is it okay if I get on top and ride you how I like? Always come when I get on top.”

Harry smiled and licked into her mouth for a good moment, pulling at her lips and grinding into her further so she could feel him as deep as he could possibly go before, pulling back and gently bringing her thighs down as she placed her feet flat onto the mattress.

Y/n sat up and ogled Harry’s body as he turned and moved to his side. She crawled over him, pushing him down to his back, and sat over her knees between his legs. She brushed her palms up his sturdy thighs up to his hips, never touching his throbbing prick before leaning over him and kissing his right thigh upward to the apex of his thigh and crotch, careful to leave him wanting. Repeating the same worship on his left thigh but taking a little time over the tiger tattoo. She looked up at him as she licked over the ink and then continued kissing her way up, devastatingly close to where he needed her. So close.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Harry. All of you,” she brushed her hands up over his laurels and to the butterfly that was rising and falling with his breath, “I’m surprised you haven’t found someone special already.” She praised. As she lowered her lips to his belly button he felt her hair ghost over his cock and whimpered.

Y/n smiled into his skin as she grazed her teeth gently upward to the butterfly licked around the lines before dotting hot kisses over his pecs, “Please… please…”

Raising her face and looking up at her stepson, “Please? What is it, baby? What do you need?” Her smirk was devious. Harry loved it. He fucking loved every single thing she was doing.

“Wanna feel you on top. Gonna burst.”

Lowering her lips back to his pecs she sucked a nipple passed her lips and nipped. Harry threw his head back into the pillow and coughed out a loud groan, “Ask me nicely. Like a good boy. You’ll get anything you want from me if you’re good, Harry.” Her words were breathed out over his skin and the spattering of chest hair. Her lips made their way up to the swallows.

“Please, ma’am. I want to feel you on top. If you… ffuck… please.”

Her grin did not disappear as she licked and pecked her way up to his neck, “I’m dripping for you, Harry. Such a sweet boy with such a big cock for me to play with. Isn’t that right?”

Harry was going to lose it. This was his fantasy. No. It was better than anything he imagined. Y/n was better. He loved being put in his place because most of the time no one ever challenged him. Or made him feel this way.

“Y…yes. Just for you.”

Y/n sat up and straddled him, placing her knees down on the mattress to the sides of his hips. Finally. She placed her messy cunt over his shaft and slid herself up toward his frenulum and down toward his base, “Just for me. That’s right. Gonna let me play with your cock and fuck myself on it and make myself come, yeah?”

Harry nodded frantically and placed his palms on her hips as she leaned forward and placed her hands over his pecs, “When I start to ride you I’m gonna go slow, up and down like this,” she demonstrated by repeating the motion of her hips, tilting her pelvis down and letting her clit drive up and down over him as she panted, “so I can keep my clit in contact with your pelvis and I’m gonna come pretty fast. I need you to let me come before you do. And if you want you can come inside of me. That’s up to you. Just let me know what you want.”

Harry nodded, “It’s okay if I come inside of you?”

“Yes, it is. Would love it if you did but it’s your choice in the end. Can come in my mouth again if you want, or my tits. Whatever you like.”

“Inside of you, please. That’s what I want.”

“Mmm… such a good boy,” she tilted herself down so her breasts ghosted over his chest as she kissed him softly, lips moving with his and small sips of tongue before she slowly sunk down over him. That same mouthwatering initial push of his wide tip into her opening snapped and then spread her apart, “Hhharry! Fuck your dick is so fucking good!”

He couldn’t speak. It was so intense. His fingers gripped her hips as she shifted over him slowly. Her nails pinched into the flesh over his muscled pectorals and he felt his balls tighten. Her moans and pretty mouth with her tongue peeking out had him leaking steadily with pre cum, “I’m trying…” he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. Her tits swayed as she rode him and the way she felt on him had him tipping too fast, “Fuck… Want you to come first…”

She cooed and slowed her hips, sitting upright and changing the position of him inside of her. Deeper yet as she leaned back gently and looked down to where his cock was buried into her.

Harry chanced a peek, not wanting to miss it, and he was not ready for the sight. He groaned and brought one hand from her hip to her clit and then looked up at her before focusing back on the way his cock spread her pussy lips as he thumbed over her clit.

“My sweet boy. Just hang on. This feels so perfect. Just want to soak it in with you.” She lowered her hand over his fingers where he was circling over her button and she hissed, “Gonna make me come so hard Harry,” she swayed her hips back and forth, keeping herself upright so they could enjoy the lurid show of their connected bodies.

Currents of hot arousal coursed through her body as she clenched over him and felt his cock nudging her cervix. It was a tight fit but it had her body leaning into an orgasm.

She leaned back forward, Harry’s fingers pushed away as he placed his hand back onto her hip and she slid up and down, dragging her clit into his pelvis and her gasps and fluttering walls signaled to Harry she was coming.

He closed his eyes and felt sweat at his temple as he felt her squeezing and pulsing as she moaned his name and he felt her thighs shaking, “Yes… yes! Harry! I need you… need this… Hhaaarry… fuck! Fffuck!”

The mattress moved and creaked under Harry’s back as his stepmom got off on his cock and Harry was certain he was already filling her up with gushes of his pre-come. He was doing his best but he’d never experienced a cunt squeezing around him in orgasm. It was witchcraft and he was obsessed. He’d never be the same.

“Come! Harry, come inside of me baby…” she moaned as she continued rocking over him, everything slick and smooth between them.

Harry choked out the loudest moan and he was so far gone he couldn’t be bothered to care how vocal it was. He didn't care if anyone heard it. He was coming and his sight dimmed as he pumped into his stepmom’s pussy as she milked him with her spasming muscle. Together their moans were the music of relief.

Y/n could feel him throbbing and pulsing inside of her as he released his sperm into her aching and slippery inner tissues. He was punching into her so deep from below her it made her quiver in euphoric pain. She leaned over him and attached their mouths as he finished himself inside of her. She grasped his head on each side, her fingers in his thick hair to keep his head tilted up so their lips could move together.

He'd come undone completely. Tears pricked at his eyes and slid down his cheeks as he whined into her mouth and attempted to kiss her in return. He moved his hands to her ass and pressed her down as he lifted his hips so he could burrow in deep causing her to gasp and then squeak at the punishing plunge.

“Fuck, Harry!”

They were both shivering and heaving and kissing with saliva-covered lips and moans and wildly beating hearts.

When he’d calmed he sucked in a sharp breath as she collapsed over him and snuggled her face into his neck. They were sweaty and sticky and hot but it felt precious and perfect.

Harry closed his eyes and basked in the way Y/n felt on top of him, her warm breath at his neck, her wet pussy soothing his softening cock as his heart calmed. He dragged his hands up from her bottom to her back and rubbed along her spine, the pads of his fingers slipping through the layer of sweat that had formed.

He felt her lips pucker at his neck and then her nose push upward until her lips were at his jaw and then she pushed up to look down at him.

“Are you okay?”

Harry couldn’t imagine not being okay as long as he was getting fucked like that. But the issue was that Y/n was not just some girl he could date and then fall in love with. There would be no possibility of them being together. In fact, he was unsure that this would ever happen again and that had his heart sinking before he could even answer her.

She noticed the look of unease over his features and she swiped at his cheeks with her thumbs, “Hey… what’s wrong? I’m sorry, was that-“

“No. That was everything I ever wanted it to be. It was perfect, Y/n. I’m… fine. I’m okay. Just thinking.”

She nodded as she moved herself off of him and lay on her side to talk to him. He followed her and rolled to his side, his hands not leaving her hips, not yet ready to be rid of this moment.

“Tell me. What are you thinking about it? You can talk to me.” Her fingers brushed over his arms and up to his shoulders as she watched his glassy eyes closely.

Harry smiled sadly and shook his head, “It’s stupid. It’s not your problem.”

Y/n sighed and lifted her leg to drape her thigh over his, “Talk to me. Please. We just did something very risky and now we’re treading in dangerous water. Let’s keep open with each other. Okay? Because there’s no one else to talk to about this,” she grazed her knuckles along his cheekbone, “Pretty boy. Please talk to me.”

He took a deep breath as he closed his eyes to gather the thoughts brimming from his head.

“I don’t know how I’m ever gonna forget about this and move on.” He opened his eyes to look at her and slowly smoothed his palm over her side and to her breast, “I really like you. I’m feeling things that maybe I shouldn’t.”

Y/n nodded and swallowed. She loved the way his fingers ghosted over her nipple and how glassy his green eyes were, how gentle, “Me too.”

He blinked his eyes, all shiny eyelids and damp lashes covering and then revealing his pretty irises, “You do? Feel things?”

She grinned and closed her eyes. It felt like a lot. She wasn’t in love with him or anything and this had been a mistake for sure. An epic error. But she was feeling something. His warmth and his heart and his excitement. It transferred over to her veins and her skin and the roots of her hair and sparked a longing for something. When she opened her eyes again she licked her lips, “Yeah. I like you a lot. Wouldn’t have gotten this far if I didn’t.”

“Would you… consider doing it again? With me? Like,” he clenched his jaw and brought his hand up to her clavicle, “a thing just for us. Our secret?”

He was sure she’d say no.

Biting her lips she lifted herself and pulled Harry’s bottom arm under her head so she could draw in closer to him. She just wanted to be as close as possible. She brought her hand to lie flat over his heart and tilted her head back to look up at him, her thigh still braced over his hip. He moved his hand down her body to the back of her thigh as she adjusted herself in close.

“It’s so bad. What we’ve just done. It crosses a line. So many invisible lines,” she whispered as she traced her finger upward to his neck, “But… I guess I don’t care. Because I wanna keep doing it. I guess that makes me a terrible person.”

Stitching his brows together he frowned, “You’re a beautiful person, Y/n. So kind and smart,” he squeezed her hip and pulled her up to his mouth so he could kiss her. His stepmom, his lover, his paramour. He pulled back, his nose pressed to hers, “If you’re a terrible person then I’m right there with you. Let’s be terrible people together.”

They both laughed at Harry’s words and grinned widely.

It was ludicrous. A wild suggestion to continue their illicit affair. Of course, it would be easy. Too easy. That is as long as no one ever found out.

“Do I have you for the rest of the day?” Y/n tucked herself in closer as she asked.

“That you do. And I think there’s so much more for you to teach me. Might be a really late night for us.”

“Oh definitely, until the wee hours. So many things you need to learn before I let you leave.”

Next part: 2. No panties? | A Good Boy Masterlist

A/N: What did you think? I have so many ideas for this story but I didn't want it to get any longer than it already is. Would you guys be interested in seeing more? Let me know!

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Thank you for reading! I appreciate any support so remember to comment, reblog, & like 💕

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#firstpost #harry styles #harry styles smut #virgin!harry #stepmom!reader #stepmom!reader x harry #harry x reader #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles x y/n #harry x yn #harry x y/n #stepmom!reader x harry styles #harry styles x stepmom #harry #harry smut

[sheisjoeschateau]

"Oh, so we DO love Steve..." | PART I

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

WHEN THE UNEXPECTED NIECE OF MURRAY BAUMAN GETS THROWN IN THE MIX, THE GANG HAS NO IDEA JUST WHAT THEY'RE IN FOR. SCRATCH THAT - STEVE DOESN'T KNOW. YOU GET ALONG WITH EVERYONE WELL. YOU BANTER WITH THE ADULTS, WHO APPRECIATE YOUR HELP. THE KIDS LOVE AND WORSHIP YOU. YOU'RE HELPFUL ALL AROUND. BUT AS FAR AS STEVE IS CONCERNED, YOU'RE JUST NUISANCE. AFTER ALL, YOU'RE THE REASON HE LOST THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE AND MISSED OUT ON A LIFE THAT "COULD'VE BEEN." IF YOU HAD JUST KEPT YOUR SORRY ASS OUT OF THE PICTURE... IF YOU HAD NEVER GONE WITH NANCY AND JONATHAN AFTER THEY LEFT YOUR WHACK-JOB UNCLE, MURRAY BAUMAN'S, BUNKER? HE WOULD BE HAPPY. SO F*CKING HAPPY. BUT HERE YOU WERE. YOU WERE BASICALLY THE COOLER (...AND SURE, MUCH MORE ATTRACTIVE) FEMALE VERSION OF MURRAY BAUMAN. YOU WERE SARCASTIC, QUICK-WITTED, TOO SMART FOR YOUR OWN GOOD, AND APPARENTLY BUILT FOR THE WAR. SURE, YOU WEREN'T AS BRASH AS YOUR UNCLE. BUT IN STEVE'S EYES, YOU WERE SOMEHOW FAR MORE OBNOXIOUS. HE DOWNRIGHT HATED YOU. HE WILL FOREVER HATE YOU... BUT WILL HE?

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORK TO BE COPIED AND/OR REPOSTED ON HERE OR ANY OTHER PLATFORM, OR PUT INTO ANY AI PROGRAMS. THIS IS AN 18+ BLOG, MDNI.

An original fanfiction series, written by Misha St. James.

⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

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I did not proof-read this after Tumblr gave me hell trying to share. So pls excuse possible typos. hehe

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Let's just get to the point, shall we?

Once upon a time, a young boy named Will Byers went missing. Later, he was found in an alternate dimension by the world's #1 mom and a cynical cop turned hero. A girl with a shaved head had telekinetic superpowers, befriend's Will's four loyal friends along the way and helping them track down their missing party member. Then, whatever the hell was on the other side - whatever was in this...upside down...took back Eleven. She'd been missing ever since that dreadful winter.

Fast forward to now: you're sitting in your uncle's bunker, looking at his wild display of efforts.  Papers, files, whiteboards covered in multiple words, arrows, sketches - all in different colored markers. Murray Bauman was on a mission, and he would be damned if that grumpy, cynical smart-ass known as Jim Hopper honestly thought that he could dismantle his efforts.  Nice try, chum. Game on. Thankfully, you'd gone to school with Barbara Holland. That's whose parents had assigned the task of searching for her to your uncle. Murray was asking you tons of questions, and you were glad to help. It meant spending time with the only family member you cared for, despite his wackiness. You guys got each other. Bantered well. Got shit done. Honestly, it was also a great way of drinking safely and not with a bunch of rowdy teenagers at some stupid party. You got along just fine with everyone at school. But damn, they could all be annoying.  ...especially Steve fucking Harrington, who was now the topic of conversation. You know, given that his house is where Barbara was last seen. "It just isn't making sense," your uncle huffed, raking his hands through his oily dark hair.  You sipped on the glass of vodka that your uncle had poured you, hissing at the strong taste. Leaning across the coffee table, seated on his couch, you tried to connect the dots with him. "I'm telling you, someone in that group of teens knows what's up. Or at least has an idea." Your uncle swigged at his vodka, defeated but ruthlessly trying to piece together his clusterfuck of scattered evidence across his wall. "Well then, guess we better grill 'em."

And that's how you come into the picture. When Nancy and Jonathan came to seek out Murray. And when they arrive, they're surprised to see you. They recognize you from school. Jonathan took several classes with you. In fact, the two of you got along well at Hawkins High. No, you weren't close. But you both were cool. Nancy, on the other hand, didn't know anything about you. Just that you took political science with Barbara, and got straight A's across the board. You could've been class valedictorian. But you were not looking for any sort of title that demanded pressure or attention. At least not in high school. Career wise? Sure. Not here, though. Not Hawkins. "Your timeline is wrong," Nancy is saying, making you and Bauman freeze.  Nancy is telling you that the girl with the buzzed hair is not Russian. She is, in fact, from Hawkins lab. And her name is...Eleven? So they do know something. And something turns out to be everything.

Jonathan sits you both down to relay everything to you both. And woof, does it give you guys a headache. Strangely, though... it makes a whole lot more sense than some mundane explanation of sorts. Obviously though, that puts you all in a tough spot where you'll all need to put your heads together. So the two classmates of yours stay, sharing in chilled Smirnoff and having to endure the hilarity that ensues between you and your uncle. You and Murray both banter well with the two of them. Jonathan finds you to be hilarious. Nancy finds you intimidating. Very intimidating. You’re quick witted, darkly humored and independent. But there is a reserved, mysterious sort of feminine energy to you, despite your more masculine strengths and bluntness. Over glasses of stiff vodka, you all come to the conclusion on how to go about exposing the truth about Barbara Holland's disappearance: water it down.

At the end of the night, you're all winding down -- you and your uncle having convinced the two lovebirds to stay. But when you're telling them they can take your uncle's guest room while you take the couch, Jonathan's asking if he can take the couch. You blink. Huh? ...surely Nancy is not still with --

"Okay, I'm confused," your uncle's saying. "What's going on here? Lovers quarrel?"

You cock an eyebrow, leaning back into the loveseat.

But Jonathan and Nancy are then talking over each other with weird, flustered excuses...saying they're just friends.

You and your uncle bust out laughing. And then you're shrinking back in your seat, knowing what's coming: one of your Uncle Murray's lovebird witchdoctor speeches that he barrels into anytime that two delusional people have convinced themselves that they aren't in love. Or at the very least, not into each other. 

Uncle Murray is breaking them down, one at a time. He's reading Jonathan like an angsty teen novel, seeing right through him and his brooding, mysterious energy.  Trust issues, thanks to daddy issues. Yikes, that makes you sip some more drink.

And then he's onto Nancy, saying that she's harder to read. But he manages anyway.  It's the Bauman way.

He's telling her that she's likely like everyone else, "afraid of what would happen if you accepted yourself for you who you really are." He looks at you. "Am I in the right ballpark?"

You nod, swallowing the last drop of vodka in your cup. "That...and afraid of that might happen if she didn't retreat back to the safety of someone familiar."

Nancy looks bewildered. But more than that, she looks caught. 

"Name?" your uncle is prodding, snapping his fingers.  "Name."

You and Jonathan both say it. "Steve."

Uncle Murray's face is priceless. He feigns adoration, putting on a baby voice as he repeats the name. "Dawh. Steve. We like Steve."

"Yes," Nancy laughs nervously.  Eek, you think.

"But we don't love Steve..." Your uncle's words floor Nancy.

And when Nancy's saying something about still being with Steve, insisting that she loves him, you roll your eyes. Even scoffing, getting her attention. Maybe if the vodka weren't in your system, you wouldn't be so bold. But Jonathan's mopey look just gives you more confidence.

"Boom, ladies and gents," you say with a grin. "Second lie of the evening." "The hell was the first one?" Jonathan asks, blinking. "You guys being just friends." You and your uncle say something along the same lines, simultaneously. You both laugh together, clinking glasses. The two not lovebirds just squirm awkwardly in their seats. Finally, you sigh. "Look. You guys don't wanna give up the ghost? Be my guest. I'll happily keep my bed." You stand up, ready to turn in. But not until casting them one last work, pointing a finger. "But if I were you two? I'd cut the bullshit and just share the damn bed." Murray snorts, rising to stand as well. He stretches. "Welllllp. I'm turning in for the night." You begin mounting the stairs, hollering: "Better act fast, kiddos. At least before this poison in my system knocks me out cold. Don't worry, Nancy, I don't snore. So if you do choose me, you're safe." "But that's so lame," Murray adds to that wryly, heading off to his room. You both tell each other goodnight, leaving the two angsty teens to decide their fate. All you know is that Nancy ends up walking out and not coming back, at one point in the night.  Yeah, thought so. Breakfast the next morning is even more hilarious. You and your uncle ask every single question that drips with innuendo that you ever possibly could. And it's worth every fucking minute.

Murray's gonna need to keep that couch cleaned. To your surprise, Murray sends you off with Nancy and Jonathan, but given that you want to go and see it all for yourself you don't mind. You’re basically his little spy.  Most uncles send off their nieces and nephews with some good advice, maybe a packed lunchbox or snacks, and a warm hug. 

Yours, however, sends you off with a full bottle of vodka, a thick wad of cash and some fun sarcastic banter. But he headlocks you in for a hug, and you cackle. He really is a nutcase, and man you can't help but love him. He is so not the parental type. Yet somehow, he's practically raised you. And in your opinion, you're pretty well-prepared for the world. More than most, in Murray's opinion. So off you go with Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Buyers, and they both honestly enjoy your company. It helps them get past their umm...well...awkward new reality. That new reality that comes post-sex, after a long ass time of playing the tip-toe game. The sexual tension between them is hysterical to you. But you keep your thoughts to yourself for now. The vodka did most of the talking for you last night.

When you both arrive at wherever the hell your destination is, it's dark outside. And if you're being honest, it's pretty creepy. You're somewhere near the woods, and as you all walk closer you're beginning to see lights approaching you...along with a handful of shadowed figures. 

Fuck, you literally just got here.

But then, after a tense several moments... Nancy and Jonathan call out to them. You jump, startled at the fact that they do it so confidently. But the name that they call out suddenly makes it all make sense. "STEVE?" "NANCY...?" And that's how you became a crucial part of the most royal pain in the ass, King Steve's, life.

#steve harrington angst #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington smut

[loudstan]

Fuck the Police

Summary: Your ability to read people's minds is very useful for the police during interrogations. And that's how you meet Yuta, a werewolf accused of stealing a car.

Pairing: Werewolf! Yuta x Witch! Female reader

Warnings: Magic AU, werewolf AU, smut, Yuta being a menace

“How many times do I have to tell you? You got the wrong guys!” Yuta repeated after who knows how many times. He tried to be as calm as possible at first, reminding himself that these people were doing their job, but god was this dude dense.

“They saw you,” an equally exhausted policeman groaned. He had easily been arguing with the suspected criminal for an hour without getting any information from him. The younger boy next to him, Shotaro, wasn’t particularly helpful either, squirming nervously on his seat and nodding to everything the older man said.

“No one saw us because we were not there! Jesus, are you dumb?!” Yuta exclaimed, raising his voice.

The policeman tilted his head and stared down at Yuta. “If I were you, I would be very careful with how I talk to the police.”

“Fuck the police,” Yuta hissed, and at that minute the door opened and a beautiful young woman came in. Yuta’s mouth fell open. He wasn’t a fan of police uniforms but damn did it look good on you. Or maybe it wasn’t the uniform, but you? Because no matter how much the clothes covered, your curves were still visible and oh so much appreciated…

“Did you call for me, Officer Choi?” You asked your colleague.

“Sorry to bother you, officer L/N. I’m afraid I need some help interrogating these two,” he replied, standing up and pulling out an empty chair for you to sit like he often did. Damn, Yuta wished he had been the one to do that for you but he was handcuffed to the table.

You nodded and thanked him, before taking a seat in front of the two Japanese men. One of them kept looking at his own hands on the table and looked like he was about to cry. The other… was basically devouring you with his eyes.

You weren’t new to this type of scenario. Your ability to literally read people’s minds was often needed for interrogations, and you knew how to keep a straight face no matter how intimidating the criminal was. But this guy? He was fucking hot.

You cleared your throat and focused on your task instead. After reading the documents and hearing what you needed to know from Seungcheol Choi, you started the interrogation. “Did you steal this car?” You asked straight to the point, showing the two men in front of you a picture of the missing vehicle.

“…What if we did?” The guy who according to the document in front of you was called Yuta Nakamoto replied after a few seconds.

You couldn’t help the surprised look on your face, which wasn’t as surprised as Seungcheol’s; so this guy really argued with him for hours just to confess the moment you walked in? And the winning prize goes to Shotaro, whose eyes were wide in terror as he stared at Yuta.

“…So, did you?” You insisted.

“I mean, we could have,” Yuta shrugged.

“WE DIDN’T!” The younger, terrified man let his voice be heard for the first time, shaking his head. “We really didn’t!”

You looked into Shotaro’s eyes and concentrated on reading his thoughts. He was being honest. But then what was the other guy’s deal? You tried to read Yuta’s mind and regretted it immediately; all his thoughts were focused on you, your face…

That mouth, what pretty sounds can it make?

You sat up straight and tried not to blush too hard.

“Please, concentrate on the question, Mr. Nakamoto,” you said through gritted teeth. “Are you innocent?”

“I’m far from that,” he replied, allowing his eyes to travel down your body. Next to him, Shotaro groaned.

“This is the worst possible moment to flirt! I don’t wanna go to jail!” He hissed at Yuta in Japanese.

“We’ll go to jail if we have to,” the older replied firmly.

“We literally don’t have to! We didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Shotaro, just trust me.”

“ No!” the younger replied. “ You’re not thinking straight because you’re horny.”

“I’m not just horny, pup,” Yuta chuckled, his eyes sparkling like never before. “I have just met my forever mate. I imprinted.”

“HUH?!” Shotaro yelled.

On the opposite side of the table, Seungcheol and you stared at each other and then back to the wolves who suddenly seemed very excited about something.

“What’s going on?” Seungcheol mumbled.

“I don't know! They’re thinking too fast and in a language that I don’t understand!” You hissed back.

“Hey!” Seungcheol yelled, his authoritative tone catching everyone’s attention. “Did you do it or not?!”

“Maybe,” Yuta said.

“No!” Shotaro said at the same time.

 And then they went back to arguing with each other.

“That one seems to be honest,” you told Seungcheol, pointing at Shotaro. “But the other guy’s head is a mess, so I can’t be sure…”

Seungcheol let out a frustrated sigh. His job could be so exhausting sometimes. 

 And then he suddenly smirked, his eyes shining excitedly like he just had the best idea ever. 

“Could you please get us something to drink? I bet these men are very thirsty,” he said, giving you a pointed look that lets you know immediately what type of drink he was talking about. The serum of truth wasn’t something your department would normally use. They carried out regular interrogations by just talking to suspects and, if it was really necessary, they would call you to read their minds. But this interrogation wasn’t going anywhere even with you there, and neither you nor Seungcheol was getting paid extra hours.

So you came back to the interrogation room after a few minutes, carrying a tray with four glasses of water, making sure to remember which ones had the serum and placing them in front of the two men who were giving you and Seungcheol a headache. They thanked you, and Yuta was the first to drink it absentmindedly while still talking to his friend like two policemen weren’t there waiting for them to finally confess, and then he grimaced. He put his glass down and grabbed Shotaro’s hand when he was about to drink his own. Shotaro gave him a confused look but Yuta turned his attention to you.

“What a naughty girl, officer,” he purred, licking his lips. “Making regular citizens drink the serum of truth.”

“It’s legal in this state,” Seungcheol answered quickly, making Yuta’s attention turn to him instead.

“Not without consent,” Yuta scoffed. “You tricked us into drinking it.”

“We didn’t,” you said. “The glass simply was on the table and you took it by choice. We didn’t say a word to you.”

Yuta’s eyes were on you again, and his lips curled into a satisfied smirk. “God, I love a smart woman,” he said. “You’re so fucking attractive.”

“Watch it,” Seungcheol hissed in a protective manner, while you tried your best to remain unaffected in spite of your ears and cheeks turning hot.

“I thought you wanted me to be honest,” Yuta challenged. “Well, I have no choice now, so ask me anything.”

You cleared your throat and tried to start the interrogation again. “Did you–”

“I imprinted on you,” Yuta stated before you had the chance to finish the question. Next to him, Shotaro sighed tiredly and rested his forehead on the table. The situation kept getting worse, and the chances of him not sleeping in a cell tonight were slim.

“W-wha– That’s not what I was gonna….” you stuttered, confused. You scanned the documents in your hands again, just to see that the photocopy of this man’s ID indeed stated that he was a werewolf. “What?” you repeated dumbly.

“I said I imprinted on you. My human side wants to date the fuck out of you. My wolf wants to mate with you. Should I go into detail –?”

“No!” you exclaimed, not able to hide your nervousness anymore. “I…I know what imprinting means,” you mumbled.

“Well, shit…” Seungcheol murmured next to you. “Y/N,” he called your name softly and then corrected himself when he saw Yuta’s eyes sparkle at the discovery of your first name. “I mean, officer L/N, you don’t have to continue with this interrogation. I’ll take care of it, just go home.”

Don’t go, Yuta’s pleading voice said. He hadn’t spoken. It was his thoughts resonating in the back of your head. 

You looked at him, and he seemed to be breathing heavily compared to before. His intense eyes were still glued to you, but now they were as red and shiny as a ruby.

Shotaro’s whole body suddenly tensed and he lifted his head to stare at Yuta cautiously. 

And then someone knocked on the door and entered the room, interrupting the tense moment. 

“We caught the culprits,” one of your colleagues said. “We found the missing car too, so these two are free to go,” he added, pointing at the wolves.

Shotaro’s soul seemed to come back to his body and he quickly addressed his pack brother. “You hear that? We’ll be home soon! Hold it just for a bit longer!”

Yuta grunted but nodded. He had been through his rut plenty of times before and he was usually very good at controlling it, but it was really fucking hard when you were right in front of him.

“Is he in rut?!” Seungcheol asked incredulously. “You should have said something sooner!” he exclaimed, standing up and walking around the table to uncuff them. But when he stood next to Yuta and saw the way he was eyeing you like he was ready to pounce on you, he hesitated. “Officer Lee, please take Officer L/N home immediately. Make sure she’s safe,” he instructed. 

The other officer nodded quickly and waited for you to follow him, but you didn’t move from your seat.

 You were looking back into Yuta’s eyes in a daze. You didn’t want to leave. It was like he was luring you in with all the romantic and dirty promises he was making to you in his head. You could hear every thought he was having right now, every little fantasy; and you were the protagonist of all of them.

“Officer L/N!” Seungcheol’s voice brought you back to reality. “Go.”

You let out a heavy sigh and stood up quickly, trying to block Yuta’s thoughts from entering your head. 

Yuta’s eyes followed you as you left the room and then he grunted, scrunching his eyes closed. 

Seungcheol, who had just finished uncuffing Shotaro, waited until he heard the car start and drive away before he freed Yuta too. 

“You have outstanding self-control,” the officer praised the wolf, who was panting on the chair, burying his claws on the wooden table. “I know you could have broken those handcuffs easily if you wanted to… Oh, and  I apologize for the misunderstanding.”

“If you’re really sorry, tell me Y/N’s work schedule,” Yuta grunted in pain, allowing Shotaro to help him get up from the chair. 

“I can’t do that,” Seungcheol said, giving him a sympathetic smile. Yuta seemed like a decent guy, but that didn’t mean he was entitled to have you. “But I can at least give you guys a ride home, let’s go.”

When you got home, you felt incredibly drained. Mind reading was an activity that often took a lot of your strength, but also Yuta’s thoughts had been so intense, he made you weak on the knees.

So your name is Y/N? That’s lovely, just like you.

I want you to be the first thing I see every morning.

Make you breakfast in bed, you won’t have to lift a finger.

Make love to you until you see stars—

You shuddered. You had found him attractive the moment your eyes landed on him, but your expectations for a partner were…different. You were hoping to end up with a simple office worker who had a stable routine and live a calm life together. And Yuta, with his leather jacket, talking back to the police and being half animal was far from what you wanted to attract.

There was no way you would accept his “confession”… but your heart skipped a beat as you thought of him and your groin pulsated when you remembered his unsolicited dirty thoughts invading your head.

I would let you step all over me.

Use me however you want.

“Fuck,” you sighed and plopped down on your bed. 

But then it will be my turn.

And I can go all night, officer…

Unconsciously, your hand made its way down your stomach and into your panties. You were soaking.

You knew you shouldn’t.

I could make you feel so fucking good…

But maybe just a little wouldn’t hurt, right? Plus, it’s not like anyone would ever know, and you were so hot and bothered, and his voice wouldn’t leave your head. Just once. Just once and then you would never think about him again, you told yourself, sighing in relief and arching your back.

“Why are the police outside our house?” Ten asked, looking out the window.

“Don’t look at me,” Chenle shrugged, not even bothering to pause the videogame he was playing with Jisung.

“Oh, I wasn’t looking at you,” Ten assured him, crossing his arms and glaring at Haechan.

“Wha-?” Haechan almost choked on the cereal he was munching straight out of the box. “Why me?! I didn’t do anything!”

“It wouldn’t be the first time. You called the police for absolutely no reason last month.”

“No reason?” Haechan gasped. “No reason?! Renjun was trying to kill me!”

“Please, I barely touched you,” Renjun rolled his eyes at him.

“Did you say the police?!” Yangyang suddenly ran into the living room, pale and distressed. 

“...Yangyang, what did you do?!” Ten asked in panic as he heard knocking on the door.

“NOTHING!” Yangyang yelled, eyes darting quickly from the main door to his room. “Hyung, please don’t open the door just yet. I need 5 minutes–no, 3 minutes–”

“Good evening, officer. Can I help you?” Taeil greeted a stoic-looking policeman at the door. He had dismissed the entire conversation and made his way to the door to open it, tired of the insistent knocking. 

“Good evening, I was wondering if–,” The officer spoke only to be interrupted by an agitated young wolf.

“THEY ARE JUST PLANTS!” Yangyang defended himself from the inexistent accusation, causing all eyes to land on him.

Officer Seungcheol Choi glared at him in silence, before deciding that he really did not care what the hell he was talking about. His shift had finished hours ago and he was not getting paid enough for the headache he had right now. “I was wondering if Yuta Nakamoto and Shotaro Osaki live here.”

“Yes,” Taeil replied quickly. “W-why? Did something happen to them?”

“They are both fine,” Seungcheol said. “One of them entered his rut at the police station so I brought them here,” he said, pointing at the car where Shotaro was opening the door, allowing them to see Yuta lying on his side in the back seat.

“Shit,” Taeil murmured, rushing towards the car, followed by Ten. 

The other members who were in the living room quickly gathered at the door to see what was going on while Seungcheol helped Shotaro get Yuta out of the car and into Ten and Taeil’s arms.

Yuta laughed weakly. “Why would the weakest members come to my rescue?”

“You’re in no position to complain,” Ten chided, circling Yuta’s waist with his arm. 

“The big, strong ones are all out, so it’s either us or the kids,” Taeil added, ignoring the complaints from the youngest members yelling they were not kids. 

They thanked the policeman and dragged Yuta into the house, managing to make him drink some water before giving him some privacy.

“That’s weird,” Renjun hummed when he came back to the living room after giving Yuta some suppressants. “Yuta hyung is usually very careful when it comes to his cycle. He always makes sure he’s home before his rut hits.”

“Unless…” Ten’s lips morphed into a teasing smile. “Someone triggered it.”

“No way!” Taeil raised his eyebrows and let out a little laugh of disbelief. “Did he find…?”

Shotaro, who was lying down on the sofa, looked at them with tired eyes and nodded. 

“He imprinted?!” Renjun asked. “It’s happening so fast…Everyone’s finding their mate…”

“Don’t be sad, Renjunie,” Haechan cooed, hugging him.

“I’m not–,” he responded, trying to push him away.

“You’ll find yourself a kinky bad bitch who puts you in your place—”

“Shut the fuck up!” Renjun snapped at Haechan, slapping his back hard several times until he whined and apologized. 

“What is she like?” Chenle asked absentmindedly while resuming his videogame with Jisung.

“I don’t know much about her but she works for the police,” Shotaro replied vaguely.

“Okay. Hot,” Ten approved. 

“I fail to see how that’s hot,” Renjun refuted.

“Uh, hello? The uniform? The cuffs?” Ten explained very slowly like he was talking to an idiot and Taeil laughed, shaking his head from side to side.

“You hear that, Jisungie?” Haechan teased the youngest, who was trying very hard to pretend he didn’t hear him. “Handcuffs, like the ones I gifted you. Have you tried them on your mate yet?”

Jisung froze and his character on screen died right in that moment. Chenle laughed blatantly and celebrated his victory, giving Haechan a high five while Jisung quickly excused himself to go to the bathroom. 

Renjun frowned. “You know, one day Jisung will finally notice he’s grown to be taller and stronger than you and he’ll kick your ass. And I’ll enjoy it very much.”

“Just say you like my ass and go,” Haechan winked and quickly ran away, with Renjun chasing after him with murderous intent. 

“Why were you at the police station anyways?” Taeil continued the conversation like nothing happened.

“They mistook us for someone else. Thought we stole a car or something,” Shotaro mumbled, pouting cutely. “And then Yuta hyung’s brain malfunctioned when he saw his mate and tried to confess to a crime he didn’t commit just to buy time with her.”

Chenle, Taeil, and Ten burst out laughing. They would make sure to tease Yuta about that later since he always prided himself on being cool and collected.

He was not cool and collected at all in his room, fucking into his fist and biting his lip. All he could think about was fucking the rut out of his system so he could go out and see you again. And then fuck you. He was sure you would feel way better than his hand; tight and hot around him as your tits bounced each time he thrusts inside you. He didn’t even need to picture you naked; he was more than okay with unbuttoning your blouse and riling your skirt up, taking you while still wearing your uniform and not caring if the entire police station saw. If you blushed just like you did when he confessed he imprinted on you, you would look so fucking cute. And if only you said his name a bit louder… He wasn’t a fan of people calling him by his last name, but the way you had called him ‘Mr. Nakamoto’...

“FUCK!” he grunted, cumming so hard that some drops landed on his face. His body finally relaxed on the messy bed sheets and he let out a breathy laugh. He was mostly laughing at himself; he had never been so desperate to cum before and it had been so intense he was sure he stopped breathing for almost an entire minute. If he felt like this just to the thought of you, then he knew actually touching you would be the end of him. 

It was 4 days later that you saw Yuta Nakamoto again. He was casually leaning against the wall outside the police station like he owned the place.

“Hi, beautiful,” he called for you, smiling happily and approaching you.

“It’s Officer L/N to you,” you hissed, but couldn’t hide the blush on your ears at the memory of what you had done alone in the darkness while thinking of him.

“Officer L/N,” he corrected himself, biting back a smirk like he found the whole situation very amusing. “I wanted to see you.”

“I’m working,” you said. “Unless you have an emergency that the police can help with, you shouldn’t be here.”

Instead of sulking, he smiled.

So if I make an emergency happen I can come here?

“Don’t!” you yelled too quickly when you heard his thoughts.

His smirk grew wider.

I knew it. You can read minds.

It wasn’t a question but a statement. You froze. Your ability was precious to the police so you were instructed to keep it a secret. As for your personal life, many friends got awkward around you when they found out you could read their minds in the past, so you had learned to control your expressions and behavior so people couldn’t even suspect you knew what was going on in their heads. People didn’t like having someone in their heads. It was invasive, embarrassing,...

“Perfect,” Yuta said out loud this time. “That will make things easier.”

But Yuta didn’t seem to mind it.

“W-what?” you stuttered.

“You’ll know I mean everything I say.”

“...So what?”

“So you can trust me.”

“Trust you?” you scoffed and started walking away, but he quickly followed your steps and walked next to you.

“Can’t build a relationship without trust, can you?” he said casually. 

“There’s no relationship between us.” 

“Yet.”

“Listen,” you stopped right before the gate and turned to look at him. “You’re not my type.”

“Too bad. You’re totally my type,” he countered. 

“Sounds like a you problem,” you said between gritted teeth. 

Yuta laughed and the sound was endearing. “I’m afraid it’s very much your problem too.”

You gulped. “Meaning…?”

“I’m a man who knows what he wants,” he said staring at your lips.

And I don’t stop until I get it.

You glared at him, hoping he didn’t see the way your body shivered.

You know what I want right now?

You didn’t even need to read his mind to know the answer. The way he was staring at your lips and closing the distance between you told you all you needed to know.

“Officer L/N,” Seungcheol’s voice called for you. “All good over here?”

Thank god. Seungcheol had arrived to start his shift as well.

“All good,” you grumbled as Seungcheol stood in between you two, facing Yuta.

“How are you doing? Is your rut over?” Seungcheol asked.

Yuta nodded, his eyes still finding you behind your colleague’s figure. “Yeah, I’m fine now.”

“That’s good,” Seungcheul replied politely. “It was nice to see you but I can’t let you past this gate unless you have an emergency to report.”

“Right…” Yuta sighed. 

Gotta cause some trouble first then, huh?

You glared at him over Seungcheol’s shoulder and shook your head. Even if Yuta couldn’t read minds he knew you didn’t want him to do that.

Unless you let me see you after your shift…

You rolled your eyes and got ready to walk away.

Got it. It’s been a while since the last time I broke into private property. I’ll see you after–

“My shift finishes at 8,” you blurted out suddenly. Or at least for Seungcheol, it was sudden; he had no idea about the mental conversation you had just had with Yuta. 

“Great,” Yuta chuckled. “I’ll pick you up then,” he declared, before waving both of you goodbye.

“Uh…” Seungcheol hesitated as you two entered the police station. “Are you two…?

“No,” you said firmly. “I’ll just meet him once and tell him I’m not interested.”

“...You’re not interested?”

“Of course not!” you exclaimed and got irritated when Seungcheol just stared at you blankly. “He’s definitely not what I look for in a man.”

“You could have just told him that earlier.”

“I did! He’s just so stubborn–”

“So instead you agreed to go on a date with him?” Seungcheol scoffed, mocking you. “Sure, not interested at all…”

“It is not a date.”

“Mhm…”

“Seungcheol!”

“Whatever you say, Y/N,” he winked at you, before going into his office.

Time went by incredibly fast during your shift and you became more anxious as the clock got close to announcing 8PM. You collected your stuff slowly, kind of hoping if you took long enough Yuta would get bored and leave (if he even was out there waiting), but when you dragged your feet to the main gate you were met with his easygoing expression, like you hadn’t made him wait for almost half an hour. 

“Tough day, officer?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah, as you can tell I’m a busy person. Just go ahead and say what you have to say.”

“Sure,” Yuta said offering you a…helmet? “We should get going then.”

It was then that you noticed that this time, instead of the wall, he was leaning against a motorcycle. You looked at the helmet in your hands and then at Yuta who was swiftly getting on the motorcycle and patting the seat behind him, indicating for you to follow. 

“Absolutely not,” you deadpanned.

“I thought you were in a hurry,” Yuta feigned confusion.

“Let’s just talk here.”

“Oh, alright, if you don’t mind your coworkers hearing that you triggered my rut and I spent days thinking about–”

 You shrieked and quickly covered his mouth with your palms.

—you. I spent all these days thinking about you, and I know you’ve thought about me too.

 You blushed and looked around. Some of your coworkers were leaving and waved at you in a friendly manner. You waved back. This was not something you wanted them to hear. So you put on the damn helmet and sat behind Yuta, trying to keep some distance between your bodies.

“You need to hold onto me,” Yuta said when he noticed your hands barely holding onto the edge of the seat behind you.

“You wish,” you spat back.

“I do,” he agreed. “But also, you’ll fly off otherwise. I don’t want you injured on our first date.”

“This is not a date—” you wanted to argue with him but as soon as you heard him starting the engine you panicked and your arms surrounded his torso automatically. 

Yuta’s body tensed when he felt your body so close to his and then he released a long breath.

So warm…

You barely hear his thoughts over the sound of the motorcycle, but you were thinking the exact same thing: he was so warm. You gripped his clothes tightly as the vehicle started moving.

Just like that. Don’t let go.

You tried to let the wind hitting the helmet drown the sound of his thoughts but they were so loud, by the time you arrived at your destination you were dizzy, a blushing mess and your heart was beating hard and fast against his back.

“Officer L/N?” you heard him call your name. “We’re here. You can let go now.”

…Or don’t. I don’t mind staying like this.

Immediately, you pulled away from him and jumped out of the bike, your hands flying to fix your skirt which had ridden up your thighs, ignoring Yuta’s charming (annoying) laugh. 

“What is this place?” you asked, looking around. 

There was no one around besides Yuta and you. All you saw was the road, the forest and… a view of the whole city. You gasped out loud; even if it was a small city, with no big skyscrapers, the city lights still shone like a kaleidoscope contrasting the dark sky. You had asked to be transferred to work and live in a small town, away from all the noise and stress that the capital city had made you deal with. Since you moved to this town, you were glad that crime was low, people (humans, and non-human creatures alike) were mostly kind and you had a calm life…but you hadn’t paid proper attention to the beauty this city had to offer. 

Speechless you turned around to look at Yuta, whose dark eyes were reflecting the city view. But he was looking at you, leaning forward while still sitting on his bike, his head resting on his arms lazily.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered. 

And that was exactly what you were thinking about him. But you wouldn’t say it out loud. 

“I asked you where we are,” you said firmly.

“My favorite place,” the werewolf said as he reached for the rear suitcase and unpacked whatever he had brought with him. “Cool view, huh?”

“Why did you bring me here?” you asked him in an irritated tone, not wanting to admit that the view was the most beautiful thing you had seen in a while.

“To spend time with you,” he replied as if it was obvious, as he laid down a blanket on the grass and placed several food containers on it.

“Is this…a picnic?”

“Yes.”

 That was surprisingly…sweet. Not something you would expect from the werewolf in the leather jacket who rides a motorcycle around town. You kind of hoped your future partner would take you on cute little dates like this one. But Yuta was not in those plans.

“Nakamoto.”

“Hm?” he looked up at you, giving you his full attention. Your heart beat a bit faster when your eyes met but you had to stand your ground.

“I’m not going to date you.”

He narrowed his eyes, a glint of amusement in them. Then he hummed and went back to arranging the food. “You already are.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know I’m interested in you, yet you let me pick you up from work and take you for a ride at night. Now we are alone in a place that looks like a movie scene, about to eat food I made for you. Tell me that’s not a date.”

Well it did sound like a date when he said it like that, but you never agreed to that. “I’m going back.”

“Oh, yeah? You gonna walk all the way back to town in those heels?” he challenged you. “There are no other cars around the area, and phone reception sucks up here.”

 You looked at your phone and confirmed that you wouldn’t be able to get in touch with anyone. The place looked deserted too. “You’re a psychopath.”

Yuta laughed out loud. This was the loudest and most cheerful you had heard him laugh before and it was quite cute how he threw his head back and his mouth opened wide, displaying his perfect smile without trying to look elegant at all. His laugh sounded so pure.

“I haven’t heard that one before,” he admitted when he calmed down, still giggling a little. “I didn’t plan to trap you here. I just wanted to take you somewhere nice and get to know you better, and I thought you might be hungry so I prepared something to eat. That’s all.”

As if waiting for the sign, your stomach growled loudly. How embarrassing. 

“When was the last time you ate?” Yuta asked, a hint of concern noticeable in his voice.

“Uh, not sure…” you admitted. “Our shifts are a bit unpredictable sometimes.”

Yuta sighed. “Just eat with me? I’ll take you back right after. I promise. You can read my mind if you want.”

You rolled your eyes but let out a tired laugh. You didn’t even need to read the mind of someone who was such an open book. You finally sat down in front of him and looked at the food in front of you. “So, what do we have here?”

The Japanese straightened his back and started presenting you with a variety of food. “So, some of these may have gone a bit cold by now but we have here some yakisoba, this is sushi that should be eaten at room temperature so this is a perfect time… or if you are a vegetarian, you can try vegetable fried rice…or if you’re not into any of this stuff I prepared some sandwiches,” he rambled, looking a bit nervous for the first time since you met him.

“Did you make all this yourself?” you asked him. 

“Yeah,” Yuta bit his lip nervously. “I’m not a chef but it should be edible.”

“You could have just bought some snacks.”

“I guess I could have but… I know that when people work a lot they end up eating just whatever and I wanted you to have a proper home-cooked meal…”

Another surprisingly sweet gesture from Yuta Nakamoto. It was so thoughtful and it probably took him hours in the kitchen. For you. Well, you were starving so why not give it a try?

 You reached for the utensils he had placed in front of you and tried food from the container closest to you, under his expecting eyes.

It was delicious. If he wasn’t a chef then he should consider becoming one.

“...Not bad,” you commented like it wasn’t the best meal you’d had in months. 

Yuta bit back a smile and started eating too. He didn’t miss the way your eyes sparkled and you almost sighed when trying his food, so he was incredibly proud of himself. 

The more you ate the more you let your guard down, allowing Yuta to ask you simple questions about your hobbies, life, and general preferences. He also answered any question you had for him quite openly. 

He kept his promise and took you home after. He didn’t try anything on you, but he did show up every Friday evening to pick you up from your shift. No matter how annoyed you were or pretended to be, each time you showed less resistance to getting on the bike, and you had stopped making plans for Friday night, knowing he would be waiting for you. Not that you would tell anyone this, but you were counting the minutes for your shift to end to see him again.

You enjoyed your time together until it was time to address the elephant in the room.

“This was fun…” you trailed off.

“But?” Yuta asked, knowing you were about to find an excuse.

“I have…plans, you know?” you sighed. “A reckless werewolf I met in the interrogation room imprinting on me is not part of my plans at all.”

“In my defense, I wasn’t supposed to be interrogated in the first place,” he said. “But I’m glad it happened.”

You sighed again. “You can’t give me what I want.”

“How do you know that?” he murmured. He was looking at you, but you didn’t dare meet his eyes, looking at the city view instead.

“I want calm. I want domestic,” you replied, frustrated and a bit tired.

“But you also want me,” he said.

“Nakamoto…”

“Can we stop calling each other by our last names?” he was starting to sound frustrated too.  “We’re not strangers, Y/N.” 

 He was right. That was just your childish way of keeping some distance between you two. 

“...Can you drop me home now?” you finally asked, not wanting to continue this conversation. 

 Yuta glared at you. 

Won’t you even look at me?

You didn’t. 

He scoffed.

As you wish.

The ride back was silent. You tried to get into his head and hear whatever he was thinking about, but he was thinking in his native language, blocking you indirectly. Since you met, he had tried to think in a language you would understand, giving you complete access to his head and heart, but you had hurt him. You didn’t get to read his thoughts if you weren’t capable of opening yourself up to him in return. 

“Thank you,” you grumbled when you arrived at your destination, giving him the helmet back.

“You’re welcome,”  he said dryly. 

“You don’t have to pick me up from work next week,” you added.

“Gotcha,” he simply said, like he didn’t care. It angered you, but it was what you wanted, wasn’t it? So you didn’t say anything else and watched him leave. For the first time, he didn’t wait until you got into your house.

Did you regret it as soon as you reached your bed? Yes. Your chest felt tight and your eyes stung like you wanted to cry. 

Would you do something to fix it? No. Because you were a coward, afraid of such an unconventional man, no matter how kind and lovely he was, approaching you and telling you he wanted to stay with you for life.

And he indeed didn’t pick you up the next week. When you finished your shift and left the station, no one was waiting there for you. Why would there be? You had told the poor guy to leave you alone, and he did. Perfect.

Just perfect.

But for some reason, you still cried yourself to sleep that night and woke up in the morning to a call from Seungcheol. 

“Hello?” you groaned, rubbing your eyes sleepily. 

“Hey, Y/N, no time for small talk,” Seungcheol said from the other side of the line. “I know you don’t work today but I really really think you should come.”

“W-why? What’s wrong?” you asked, very confused, but all these years of work had your body getting out of bed and getting ready automatically.

“Don’t panic,” he said now in a more calming tone. “What matter’s that no one got hurt–”

“What happened?!”

“Just come to my office!” he said before he hung up the phone.

You basically run to work, your feet hurting on your heels, your uniform all wrinkled, and your hair a mess, not even bothering to tie it up and look appropriate. You nervously greeted your coworkers and went straight into Seungcheol’s office.

“Seungcheol–”

“Finally!” he sighed, letting you in and locking the door behind him. “It’s gonna be okay, nobody else knows–”

“Know what?! Can you please give me some context?” you hissed nervously.

Seungcheol inhaled. “Do you know where your boyfriend was last night?”

“My what?!”

“Your boyfriend?” he repeated, now sounding as confused as you.  “The Japanese one?”

“He’s not my boyfriend–”

“What do you mean? You guys have been dating for— it doesn’t matter. Just take a look at this,” he said, pointing at his laptop screen.

You got closer to his desk and watched the screen where security footage of some type of store was playing. You were about to ask what all this was about when you saw a familiar face entering the store and going through the product shelves urgently. 

“Yuta…” you whispered. 

In the video, the man opened a few jars, straight up drank the content of some of them, and emptied others in a bottle he was carrying. After a few minutes, he made a pained expression and bent down on the floor before he passed out. 

 You were holding your breath, your own body hurting at seeing him like that. Seungcheol skipped some parts of the video until someone who worked in the store discovered Yuta, who stood up and left, looking disoriented. 

“This is the apothecary near the beach,” Seungcheol said. “The store owner won’t present charges because he didn’t actually steal. Apparently, he left cash on the counter for the stuff he took. The door wasn’t damaged either. It’s like he has experience breaking in.”

“W-why did he…. Oh, god,” you sighed. 

“I checked his house. His pack hasn’t seen him since yesterday,” Seungcheol continued. “Any idea where he could be?”

“No…wait! Maybe—... I’m not sure,” you answered vaguely. 

“Do you want me to go with you?” Seungcheol asked.

“No,” you said more firmly this time. “I think I’ll be fine by myself.”

“Okay,” Seungcheol agreed, passing you the patrol car keys. He could tell that something had happened between the two of you and that he should let you solve things by yourself. “But let me know of any updates. If you can’t find him by the end of the day his pack will file a missing report.”

“I’ll find him,” you assured him. He had to be at that place. The place where you had most of your dates. So that’s where you went.

And there he was, sitting on the grass and looking at the sunset over the city, in the same place where you had the most fun and heart whelming moments the last couple of months. You managed to send one last message to Seungcheol letting him know you had found Yuta before your phone service abandoned you.

 Yuta looked at you getting off the car over his shoulder and went back to look into the sunset.

“Good evening, Officer L/N,” he said sarcastically. 

You grimaced. “Are you okay?”

“No.”

You sighed and sat down next to him. He didn’t spare you a glance, just reached for his  thermos bottle and filled his cup with tea.

“What happened yesterday?” you asked.

“Many things…”

“Okay…,” you nodded. “Why did you break into the apothecary?” 

“I was in pain,” he said, grabbing another little cup from beside him and filling it with tea before offering it to you. 

“What type of pain?” You accepted the cup, glad that he was somehow communicating with you. “Are you sick?”

“No, not sick,” he said raising his cup towards yours as if there was anything to cheer to.

“Then why were you in pain?” You clinked your cup with his and drank the tea, shuddering at the contrast between the warm beverage and the cool breeze caressing your face.

“My wolf was acting up…” he murmured, refilling both your cups. “I think he got used to seeing you every Friday and when it became late at night and didn’t have you near, he thought that starting an early rut would make me go find you,” he laughed bitterly and drank some more. “I really wanted to see you, but you told me not to, so I went to buy something for the pain instead but it was closed. It really fucking hurt so I entered anyways…Well, let me finish my tea before you arrest me.”

“You’re not under arrest. The owner won’t present charges,” you said. “I was just worried about you.”

“Why?” he asked, looking at you drink your second cup of tea.

���Because I care about you,” you admitted almost too easily. 

“Then why do you push me away?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’m kinda scared,” you said. “This whole imprinting thing…I didn’t see it coming.”

“That’s valid,” he sighed. “Did you at least enjoy hanging out with me?”

“It was the highlight of my week,” you giggled. “I loved it.”

“I’m glad,” he murmured before he winced in pain.

“What’s wrong?” you asked worriedly, placing a hand on his back. You could feel the heat radiating through his shirt.

“Told you,” he groaned. “Early rut.”

“You–...you’re in rut right now?!”

“Were you not listening earlier?” he laughed half-heartedly.

“I was! I just didn’t— fuck, okay, let’s take you home,” you said urgently, pulling his arm and making him stand up.

He let you guide him to the car and get him in the back seat without resistance. He focused on your face instead, like you were fascinating to look at and he had all the time in the world (which wasn’t the case; you had to get him back to town as soon as possible).

 “Where are we going?” He asked tiredly as he let you lay him down.

“The hospital,” you said firmly. “Or wherever you can take care of your… uh, state,” you pointed at his body vaguely and then you gulped. 

Did he really need to look this good in such a critical moment? Leaning on his forearms, with his legs slightly spread, his messy hair sticking to his forehead and nape, and his lidded eyes scanning your body. 

“I like your hair today,” he casually said.

You clicked your tongue.“I didn’t have much time to get ready.”

“You look so hot. I want you so bad…”

You stopped trying to push his feet in the car and looked up to meet his reddened eyes. 

Come here.

“I-...I have to drive,” you stuttered, trying to push him back when he leaned toward you. 

 He grabbed your arm before you could make your way to the driver's seat. 

“We’re not gonna make it,” he simply mumbled. “It’s a long way to town…I won’t be able to resist you.”

“Then don’t,” you said simply and then you gasped, your hand flying to cover your mouth. Did you really just say that?

“Is that so?” Yuta purred while his fingers caressed your arm. “Officer L/N wants me to fuck her?”

You rolled your eyes, ready to tell him that you were not interested but instead what exited your mouth was: “Of course I do– shit!”

Now you covered your mouth with both hands. What the hell? What were you saying?

You looked at Yuta with wide eyes, but he didn’t seem surprised; if anything he looked smug. 

Wait…

The tea.

“Did you put something in the tea?” you asked him angrily.

“Serum of truth,” he said shamelessly, pulling your body closer to his firmly so now you were in the car too, lying on top of him, your hands resting on the door behind his head.

“W-what?!” you shrieked. So that’s why you were saying everything you felt out loud. “Where did you get it? It’s not available in any store–”

“I made it myself,” he said, as his hands caressed your face. “Last night in the apothecary.”

“Y-you!” now you were furious. “Regular citizens can’t administrate the serum of truth. Ever!”

“What are you gonna do about it, hmm?” he cooed. “Call the police?”

“Uugh,” you groaned. You hated the guy. Except you didn’t. 

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting me, officer,” Yuta assured you. “I want you too. I have had the best orgasms since I started thinking about you when touching myself.”

“Shut up!” you yelped, now covering his mouth with your hands.

Thought about fucking you in this skirt. 

Giving it to you so hard you would drop the fucking attitude.

“Oh my god,” you whined.

Have you thought about me too? You looked away. Embarrassed. 

I bet you have. I could smell how wet you were the day we met.

…Shit I can smell it now too.

“Nakamoto,” you warned him but it sounded like a plea.

He hummed against your hands, deciding there was no reason for him not to use his hands on you too. He grabbed the back of your thighs and pulled them to have you sitting on his crotch in a swift motion. You gasped as your skirt rode up and you could feel his hard member pulsating against you in spite of the remaining layers of clothing between you.

Did it feel good? 

Touching yourself with these beautiful hands, imagining it was me?

He kissed your palms and fingers lovingly like he was praising them for a job well done.

“S-so good…” you admitted in a tiny voice.

Yuta groaned, sending vibrations to your hands and then biting your finger playfully, finally making you release his mouth with a yelp.

“That should have been me touching you,” he grumbled, grabbing your hips and pressing you against his hard. “Why play hard to get if you were getting off to me anyways? So you kept going on dates with me, telling me you weren’t into me every time, just to go home and fuck yourself with these tiny fingers?”

You bit your lip, refusing to give him an answer and also because you were sure any sound escaping your mouth right now would be embarrassingly pathetic with the way his clothed crotch was rubbing against yours. 

When you kept looking away he grabbed your face with his hand and made you face him. “Who do you think of when you fuck yourself?” he growled. 

He seemed to think you were taking a little too long to reply because his other hand landed on your ass cheek loud and hard. You gasped and your hands grabbed onto his wrinkled shirt.

 “I asked you a question,” he insisted when you only gasped and hissed instead of offering a proper answer.

“Answer me,” he breathed against your lips, his tone low and demanding, slapping your ass even harder twice. “Who were you thinking about?”

“Y-you!” you finally yelped. “I imagined it w-was you… every time…”

And with that,  Yuta’s lips were immediately on yours, kissing you softly but firmly, letting out little pained whines. He honestly had no idea how he spent months seeing you without doing this before. It was like the tension was finally leaving his body.

You kissed him back nervously. You still couldn’t quite comprehend that you were finally giving in and allowing your body and heart to do what they really wanted. Then you felt the same hands that had slapped you gently massaging the mistreated area.

We’re done playing games. You’re mine now.

You moaned and he nipped at your bottom lip and slid his tongue into your mouth, licking and sucking eagerly and making it hard to keep up with him. 

You want that? Want me to make you mine?

“Y-yeah,” you barely breathed out as he kissed your jaw. And damn, the stupid serum was still making you admit to the most embarrassing things. “But–”

But you want calm and domestic.

He fixated on your neck, biting and licking. 

And you think I can’t give you that?

“N-nakamoto…”

If you like my last name that much you can have it.

What do you say? I really like the sound of Y/N Nakamoto.

“Fuck…,” you sighed. He seemed to have found his favorite spot on your neck, sucking like he couldn’t get enough.

Say it. Say you want to be mine.

 You finally gave in. “P-please…–Ah!” 

And then you felt a sharp sting on the same spot he had been sucking on. He moaned as his fangs pierced your skin, one of his hands holding you by your nape while his other arm circled your waist. Your neck started tingling;  a funny sensation that soon spread until reaching your toes and making them curl. 

“Taste so good,” he whispered against your neck. 

You whined, gripping his clothes desperately, to the point he could probably feel your nails digging into his skin through the fabric. Your body was tickling all over like you were being caressed with feathers and it felt frustrating. You needed something, but you didn’t know what. Your body seemed to have a clear idea though, your hips moving slowly against Yuta’s. 

 He let go of your neck, kissing your lips sweetly before looking down where your bodies were moving in synch. He let out a heavy sigh and placed his hands on your ass, helping you move.

“It’s– It’s not…” you mumbled, letting out a frustrated whimper.

“Hmm?” he asked, unable to look away from the tent in his pants digging into your wet underwear, having pulled your skirt to your waist. 

“It’s n-not enough,” you finally said.

“Agreed,” he grumbled. His hands flew toward his jeans, unbuttoning them and lowering the zipper clumsily. 

 Your lust-driven brain made it hard for you to think clearly, but you understood what was important: those jeans needed to go. So you lifted your lower body to give him some space to undress himself, but he growled. 

“Where the fuck are you going?” he asked, pulling his pants and boxers down hastily, just enough to free his reddened cock. His thighs would probably hurt with the way the fabric would cut the circulation but he couldn’t care less right now. He wanted your warmth back on him. “Get back here.”

 “Wanna take these off…” you trailed off as you pointed at your panties, trying to untangle yourself from him in such a small space.

“Later,” he breathed out, bringing your body closer to his again. “Can’t wait.”

He pulled your panties to the side and positioned your hips right over his until your pussy was pressed against his member resting on his lower abdomen. 

“O-oh god,” you whined, as the head of his cock rubbed against your clit. “It’s so warm…”

“So wet,” he groaned at the same time. His shaky hands caressed your waist as you started moving experimentally, gliding against his cock. He let out a choked moan. “F-fuck!” 

He reached for your shirt and unbuttoned it hurriedly, lowering it down your shoulders and pulling your bra down as you continued moving back and forward. He sighed at the sight of your uncovered breasts, and let the tip of his tongue tease one of your nipples.

I’ve been wanting to taste these tits for so long.

The same nipple got engulfed in the warmth of his mouth as he sucked hard.

“Ah— Haa….” you moaned, arching your back.

Faster.

You obeyed, grinding harder and faster, feeling your climax building up as a knot in your stomach. “I’m close….Oh!”

He hummed but his mouth was too occupied toying with your breasts to speak. Luckily he didn’t need to speak out loud for you to hear him.

Me too, beautiful. 

Your taste’s driving me fucking crazy.

Can’t wait to taste all of you…

You gasped and a shiver ran up your spine.  “O-oh fuck…”

May I?

Can I eat your pussy?

Your eyes rolled back and your mouth hung open, your movements turning desperate as you pressed your clit against the head of his cock.

Tell me I can, beautiful.

His tone was pleading, like he didn’t know you would say yes to anything he asked. 

Yeah? Can I?

Opening his eyes to look up at your face, he stuck the tip of his tongue out and flicked your hardened nipple quickly, no doubt imitating the way he would toy with your clit. All you had to do was say…

“YES! Yes, y-yes, fuck! Yuta, yes!” you screamed. Your body convulsed on top of his, covering his dick with your release.

He finally let go of your sore nipples, looking at your orgasmic expression in awe. 

Suddenly he grabbed your hips and started thrusting up rapidly.

“S-shit, Y/N…,” he gulped. “Feels t-too fucking good I…Ah! I can’t—,” his words were interrupted by a gasp, and then his body tensed as spurts of cum tainted his wrinkled shirt. 

He lay on his back and you collapsed on top of him, both of you panting tiredly.

“...You called me by my name,” Yuta whispered.

You pushed against his pecs to lift yourself a little, looking at his delighted expression. He looked like it was Christmas and he had received the most precious of gifts.

You tried not to smile. “Really? Among all the things that just happened, you’re happy that I said your first name?” 

“Mhmm…it makes me really happy,” he agreed, surrounding you with his arms. ���Plus, you didn’t just say my name. You screamed it.”

You cleared your throat, embarrassed. “I should d-drive us back now…” you mumbled, trying to stand up, but before you could even blink you were on your back on the leather seat with Yuta sitting between your legs.

“Not yet,” he said, taking your panties off handily. “Wanna taste you.”

If you were on a proper bed, he would lie down on his stomach easily, but the back seat of the car was too small for that. He knew it wasn’t the most appropriate place for mating, but he just couldn’t wait another 25-30 minutes until you were back in the city. It didn’t matter if the position wasn’t ideal; he had to taste you now. 

“Y-yuta?! Wha—” you yelped when your hips were raised by his strong hands, leaving only your upper back, neck, and head resting on the seat. 

He hovered over you and pulled your hips closer to his face, placing your legs over his shoulders and burying his face between them with no hesitation. 

“FUCK! Yuta– Aaaah!” your hands reached for his head and pulled his hair. “W-wait!”

You said I could.

He hummed, sending vibrations through your body as he made out with your pussy.

“I did but–” your legs kicked the roof of the car as a reflex when he sucked on your clit. “B-but not like t-this…”

Why not?

You’re fucking delicious.

And you’re all mine.

“This p-position is…Oh! It’s too embarrassing…” you whined. Your uniform was wrinkled around your waist, tits and pussy exposed as he bent you in such a scandalous and vulnerable way. 

Don’t be embarrassed.

Never with me.

You’re perfect.

Yuta’s tongue circled your entrance slowly and your hands went from his hair to your reddened face, trying to cover your flustered expression.

What’s wrong?

The tip of his tongue slid in. You whined.

Doesn’t it feel good?

He went in deeper, rolling his eyes at the way your walls contracted against the wet muscle.

“Ah!” you squirmed, but he held you firmly, fucking you with his tongue.

Tell me, beautiful.

I need to know

He knew damn well it felt good, especially with the way his nose was rubbing your clit. You wished you could be mad at him, but then one of his hands left your hips to look for your breasts, grabbing and massaging.

Do you like it?

“Fuck! I- I love it ah– aaahh!” you moaned and your hands went back to his head when he started licking your clit again.

Me too. 

I fucking love everything about you.

“Yuta, oh g-god…” you panted and your eyes rolled back when his tongue circled your clit.

Wanted to do this for so long.

Since the first time I saw you.

Wanted to eat you out on the table I was handcuffed to at the station. 

Didn’t care if everyone saw.

You just smelled so good I knew you would taste like heaven.

“I’m g-gonna cum—fuck, Yuta I– Ah! Oooh!” your legs started shaking around his head.

Cum for me, beautiful.

You tensed in his arms and the tip of his tongue flicked your clit torturously fast, bringing you to another orgasm. You moaned embarrassingly loud and pushed his head closer to your center, much to his delight. His arms circled your hips and secured you in your place as he drank your release, only letting go when you became a trembling mess. 

“Does your neck hurt?” Yuta’s voice asked, raspier than usual, taking you out of your post-release bliss. 

“It will surely hurt tomorrow,” you complained weakly. 

“Sorry, Y/N. I’ll give you a massage later,” he promised. “I just couldn’t find a better way…”

“Didn’t think of 69ing?” You asked tiredly.

“Oh,” Yuta hesitated for a moment and then laughed. “No, I didn’t think about it. That would have been good too…”

You snorted. His brain really was consumed by his rut. It was better to take him home soon. The sky was already dark so it was probably getting late. “How about we get back now–Yuta!” you gasped when you felt his hardened member gliding against your sensitive pussy lips lazily. 

“Once. Let me knot you just once and we can go,” he answered, pressing his hips against yours. But he used all his remaining self-control to halt his movements and look into your eyes. “Unless you really don’t want this…”

 When you first found out he had given you serum of truth you were angry, but the more you thought about it, the more fair it seemed. You had access to his thoughts all the time. You knew his real feelings and intentions but refused to communicate honestly. He had been at a disadvantage the entire time, being so open about everything but never getting a single word out of you. Now you couldn’t lie to him. And that was fine. You didn’t want to. If anything it felt relieving to say everything you thought finally.

“I want it,” you said. “I want you.”

Yuta gulped. “Yeah? You sure?”

You reached for his shirt and helped him take it off before you lay back on your back. Your hands wandered over his body, caressing his defined chest and abs, and your fingers traced the outline of a butterfly tattoo on his stomach. His eyes were trained in your hands touching all of him, and he didn’t notice when you lifted your hips slightly, pressing your crotch against his aching cock and he let out a shaky moan, his body bending forward and caging you on the seat. 

“I’m sure,” you said, cupping his face and kissing his lips.

 He kissed you back eagerly, licking and nibbling your lips until the burning sensation of his cock entering you made you gasp. He looked into your eyes as he went deeper. When he finally was all the way in his eyebrows furrowed and he hid his face into the crook of your neck, kissing the bite mark he had left earlier. For a moment he wasn’t able to speak, panting heavily and shaking, overwhelmed by the pleasure he was feeling.

Fuck…

So tight…

This is so…

I’ve never felt…

…Y/N.

His thoughts were a mess and all that left his mouth as he thrust into you were soft moans. 

“I’m s-so full…” you whispered, lost in the sensation of Yuta stretching you over and over. 

Your voice seemed to bring enough strength to him to use his voice. “Yeah?” he grunted, pulling out until only the tip remained inside and then ramming into you harshly, rolling his eyes back and basking in your moans. “I’ll keep you full, beautiful.”

Your head was swimming. All you could do was nod and moan in response to his hips speeding up. He felt so hard and hot inside of you. You may have said that out loud. And you couldn’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed right now.

“D-don’t stop,” you begged him.

He kisses your lips softly before sitting up, holding your hips in his hands. “Wasn’t planning to…” he sighed and slammed back into you, his movements becoming so forceful that the car was shaking, and anyone who saw it from the outside would know what was happening immediately. 

I’m not gonna last… Fuck.

“Yuta, I’m c-close too…so close,” you whispered. “Just a little bit more.”

 Yuta’s fingers dig into the skin of your hips, fucking you as hard and fast as he can. For a minute you feel him deep inside of you you couldn't breathe and then there was something bigger trying to push in and stretch you even more. “Aaah! AH! YUTA!”

“You’re taking it so well, Y/N,” he said firmly although his voice was a bit shaky. “My knot is almost in.”

“It’s even bigger…,” you mumbled nervously. “Maybe it won’t fit.”

Yuta kissed your lips. And one of his hands found your clit. “It will fit. We are mates. Our bodies are meant to fit perfectly.”

He massaged your clit and kissed you, and once he noticed you were not as tense as before, he pushed his knot inside right in time for the endless spurts of cum that came out of his cock, pressing insistently against your most sensitive area and making you feel even fuller. 

“FUCK! OH, FUCK Y/N! Aaahh… shit oh!” he moaned, never stopping his hips movements.

Yuta’s hand still hadn’t left your clit, determined to get one more orgasm out of you. He used his thumb to rub the sensitive nub in fast circles that soon had you trembling.

“Yuta— Oh my god, oh my god, ohmygod…ah…AH! Ooooh fuck, fuck, Aah!!” 

Your body trembled, trapped by the werewolf’s skilled hands as he caressed your hair and kissed your face, giving you the sweetest compliments to help you come back to reality.

Somehow, Yuta managed to be back on his back with you laying on top of him. He kissed your forehead and caressed your body.

Both of you fell into a comfortable silence again. When you heard Yuta let out a breathless laugh you were going to ask him what he was thinking about, but you could hear it very well.

When I said ‘fuck the police’…

I didn’t think I would do it literally.

You hit his arm. “Yuta!”

And in a patrol car of all places hahah

His laugh became contagious and soon both of you were laughing out loud. 

When you both calmed down you spoke again.

“When your knot deflates we’ll go back to the city, okay?”

“Mhmm, thank you for coming for me, Y/N…”

“How did you know I would come?”

“I didn’t… but I hoped you would.”

You hummed and caressed his chest.

“What are you thinking about,” He suddenly asked. It was his turn to be curious.

“Just… about everything. This really wasn’t in my plans, but maybe it’s not a bad idea to change my life plan.”

“You don’t have to change anything,” he said. “You want stability, romanticism, domestic life with your partner… I can give you that.”

“Can you?” you asked hopefully, but not wanting to put too much pressure on him.

“Of course. I am economically and emotionally stable, all the dates I’ve planned for us were romantic because I am a romantic myself, and I imagine a domestic life with you in which we both help out in the house or I become your house-husband while you catch the bad guys. Whichever you prefer.”

You giggled “So the werewolf in the leather jacket has a soft spot.”

He snorted. “Shut up! I’ll give you everything you’ve ever wanted. Just wait and see, Officer L/N”

#nct drabbles #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct smut #nakamoto yuta #yuta nct #yuta smut #nakamoto yuta x reader #nakamoto yuta smut

[artificial-transmutations]

Your stories and images are beyond incredible. My favorite blog on tumblr BY FAR. Truly incredible work. I guess it’s kind of selfish, so absolutely so absolutely no worries, at the very least I got to tell you how much I appreciate and love your content. But I’m a short, nerdy, thin, art student in college right now. I’m tired of being in the closet, I’m tired of being a push over, Im tired of being weak and submissive, I’m tired of being a virgin, and I wanna change. Maybe you could help with a story by turning me into one of those jaw dropping beautiful confident men that you make the pictures of, I would very much appreciate it. But no worries if you can’t, I just love your content!

Confidence

Nathaniel sighed quietly, as he came over his hairless stomach. Of course, he had to be quiet! The dorm walls were paper-thin, and he certainly didn't want the guys from the neighboring dorm rooms to hear him. He looked at the website once more, with the story and the hot buff men before he closed the incognito browser tab and proceeded to clean himself up.

When he looked into the bathroom mirror, he sighed again, but this time, it was a sigh of sadness. There really wasn't anything remotely impressive about him. He was thin and weak, and pathetic really. If it wasn't for his lack of boobs and his sorry excuse for a dick, he could very well pass as a woman. In fact, he had been mistakenly called "Madame" more than once, and one time, he had even been asked "how his transition was going".

No, Nathan was a cis man, just not a very impressive one. He was gay, of course, and loved to look at 'real' men while jerking his small cock. Most of the time, he fantasized about some hairy brute rough-handling him, pushing his face against the bed and fucking his tiny ass into submission. However, even though the thought was exciting to Nathan, he even more wished to *be* such a man. The rational part of Nathan knew that both fantasies would not happen anytime, though. It was physically impossible to just *become* a 'real man', and it was impossible for Nathan to even admit to anyone that he was gay. So, he would probably just stay a closeted virgin forever - doomed to masturbate to some kinky stories he was so embarrassed about that he only dared to look at them from an incognito browser tab.

He sighed a third time when he crawled into bed. Perhaps someday he would accept his fate.

Nathan was already almost asleep when he heard the firework starting outside. Right. It was New Year’s Eve. What a way to start the new year.

The next morning, Nathan was feeling a bit better. Of course, his deep-rooted unhappiness still lingered within him, but Nathan decided to try and enjoy the day. He liked new year’s days. Everyone usually was at home after having celebrated the whole night which meant that the world outside was very quiet. Not much happened on New Year’s Day.

Nathan decided to go to a nearby cafe. There, with a steaming mug of hot chocolate next to him, he got out his drawing utensils and looked around the place. There weren't too many people. An older couple sat together, the man reading a book, and the woman reading a magazine, while an elderly lady sat at the counter. She was probably the owner. However, there was one more guy, a young adult like Nathan, who sat on a nearby table all by himself and was playing on his phone. He had his chair tilted back a bit, stabilizing himself against the wall and rocking a bit. He had earphones in his ear, so he was probably listening to music while doing so.

Nathan's first instinct was to draw the old couple, but then he looked at the other young man again. He looked a bit like one of those men from the internet, the kind that Nathan would fantasize about. Just a bit. The other man wasn't burly and muscular and assertive, but instead he had a lean, fit build. Nathan was a bad judge of character, especially without having spoken to the person in question, but the young man didn't look particularly assertive or dominant either. So, all in all, not too much like the men Nathan longed for on the internet. But still, he had a certain charm to him. Nathan liked the fit, lean body and the aura of positivity the man seemed to exude and wanted to capture that on paper.

Nathan began sketching the man, while occasionally looking up, making sure the man wouldn't notice. However, it was hard to keep his eyes off the guy. Every now and then, he would laugh a bit or make a funny face when watching something on his phone, which Nathan couldn't help but find very attractive.

He was just working on drawing the man's hands, when Nathan suddenly heard someone address him.

"Hey, what are you drawing?" The voice didn't sound rude or unfriendly, but plainly interested. Still, Nathan flinched visibly. The attractive man on the other table had removed one earplug and turned towards Nathan.

"Uh, sorry?" stuttered Nathan, not quite sure how to react. The guy pointed at Nathan's drawing pad and smiled: "You're an artist?"

Nathan could feel the blood rushing to his face. The drawing pad was tilted towards Nathan, so his unvoluntary model could not have seen what exactly Nathan was drawing. He could - no, he should - just lie and tell him he was sketching something in the room. But he just couldn't think of anything and the time for a good answer was running out. Almost involuntarily, Nathan stuttered, with his head red like a tomato: "Uhm, yeah, kind of. I was sketching you, actually."

The guy laughed a short and friendly laugh: "Really? Cool! Can I see it?"

Nathan could feel his heartbeat quicken, and his face got even redder. This was so embarrassing! But he couldn't very well refuse now, could he? So, he placed the pad flat on the table, just as the guy came over and sat himself down on Nathan's table.

"Oh wow!", he sounded impressed. "You're really talented! It's like looking into a mirror."

"Thanks" - Nathan hated getting compliments. Not only didn't he know how to react to them, but he also found them mostly fake. He was an art student, but he wasn't that good really, at least in his own opinion. In the dictionary, there was probably a picture of Nathan right next to the entry for "Imposter Syndrome".

"But why are you drawing me?" Although Nathan had feared that this question might come up, he didn't have a good lie to answer it. It was almost as if his mouth was acting on its own, when Nathan heard himself stammer: "Uh, eh, it's because I... I find you quite handsome actually. Good-looking I mean."

Nathan wished for nothing more than to be swallowed by the earth here and now. But to his big surprise, the guy just laughed again and said: "You think so? Thanks! The name's Oliver by the way." Oliver had, apparently, much less of a problem taking a compliment.

"Nathan." said Nathan and started to relax a tiny bit. However, the situation suddenly got even worse, when Oliver continued, in the same light-hearted voice. "Nice to meet you, Nathan! Are you into guys?"

Nathan froze solid. He hadn't expected that. And even worse, the answer was, of course, yes. But there was no way he could say that, was there? So, instead, he just stared at Oliver with his eyes wide open and a deer-in-headlights look.

"I mean, I'm gay - are you as well?" Oliver explained. "With the whole drawing dudes and all."

Nathan's brain had stopped working properly, so he couldn't help but nod and mumble a faint "yes".

Oliver's smile broadened and he said: "Really? Cool!"

Nathan's mind was racing. He had just admitted his homosexuality. To a complete stranger. Out of the blue. He didn't plan to come out that way, it just... happened.

A moment of awkward silence radiated from Nathan, but, thankfully, Oliver salvaged the situation pretty elegantly.

"Listen Nathan, I'll have to run now. But are you free tomorrow around 2? We could grab a coffee and you could show me some of your drawings if you like."

A spark of bravery, completely foreign to him, awakened in Nathan and he answered: "Y-yes. I think I would like that."

Oliver smiled another of his broad smiles. "Awesome! Let's meet here then tomorrow!"

With that, Oliver nodded at Nathan and left the cafe, putting in his headphone again while humming happily.

Did that really just happen? Nathan looked from the unfinished drawing towards the cafe door. Did he really just... got invited to a date? With a handsome guy named Oliver? Nathan wasn't sure whether to be happy or not. On the one hand, it was a miracle, a once in a lifetime opportunity. A cute and hot guy was actually interested in him! But on the other hand, there was no way he could make a good impression. How desperate had that Oliver guy to be to actually ask *him* out?

A small voice in his head insisted that he could just not show up tomorrow and avoid the whole disappointment. But the spark of bravery was still there, and Nathan fought down the feeling. No, he was going to show. If it turned out to be a disaster, he could still flee the scene - it wasn't like Oliver knew literally anything about him.

Nathan quickly packed his things and returned to his dorm room. Once he arrived, he noticed that he was completely covered in sweat of fear. His shirt showed wet spots under his arms and felt cold to the touch. Disgusted, Nathan immediately went for a shower. Only there, standing under the hot steamy water, Nathan could appreciate what happened. He got *asked out*. On a *date*. With a *guy*. Yesterday he had been certain he would die alone and lonely but then, today, he got *asked out*. Was this really a thing? Did it really happen?

He wasn't sure. He had a hard time believing it. Perhaps the whole thing was just a weird dream? A figment of his imagination. But no. The half-finished drawing was proof enough that Oliver really existed.

When Nathan exited the shower cabin, the whole bathroom was covered in steam, blinding the mirrors. Perhaps this - or the spinning of his thoughts - was the reason that he didn't notice that his hair had changed. Instead of his usual medium length brown-ish hair, he now sported a much shorter hairstyle - in a much darker color, almost black. Be it as it may - Nathan had other things on mind than checking his hair. He spent the whole afternoon and even the evening researching on how to make a good impression on a first date.

The next morning, Nathan slept in, which was pretty unusual for him. His whole frame felt weird, when he crawled out of bed. It wasn't too late, either - he had a comfortable 3 hours until the date. When he passed the bathroom mirror on his morning routine, however, he stopped for a moment. Something was... off about his face. His hair. It looked kind of... different?

Nathan stared at his reflection for a few seconds, straining his mind. Somehow, the shape of his jawbone seemed unfamiliar. And was his hair always that dark, almost black?

Finally, he shook his head. No, he was just seeing things. Of course, that was as it always had been. After having finished his bathroom business, Nathan went for a shower and prepared himself.

An hour later, he stood in front of the mirror, trying out a bunch of outfits and felt slight panic rising inside of him. None of his clothes fit very well, it was like he was cursed! It wasn't that his shirts and pants were much too big or much too small, but for some reason none of his clothes really felt comfortable. Both his favorite shirt and his usual jeans felt somewhat constricting today. Finally, Nathan just put on an outfit, and left his room.

When he entered the cafe, Oliver was already sitting there, two coffee mugs in front of him. He smiled, waved and gestured for Nathan to join him.

"Hello, Nathan!"

"H-hi." said Nathan, his nervousness returning.

"Here, I bought you a coffee!" Oliver pushed one of the mugs over the table.

"Thanks." Nathan was somewhat distracted by the ill-fitting clothes, and he could pretty much feel the nervous sweat practically pouring out of his pores.

"No problem!", said Oliver. "I was early, anyway. How are you doing today?"

"Fine." said Nathan and took a sip of his coffee, trying to hide his nervousness. He vividly remembered all the good advice he had read yesterday, but all that felt just impossible to him.

"So, you're an artist? What do you do?" Oliver asked with genuine interest.

"Well, I study art, I guess. I want to be a concept artist, you know, for games or movies or so. But, eh, right now, I'm just a student, and I'm not really that good."

"That's not how I remember it!" smiled Oliver. "Can you show me more of your work?"

Nathan nodded as he got out his sketchbook. Talking about his art was something he was comfortable with and allowed him to warm up somewhat over the course of the conversation. Oliver appeared to be quite a nice guy and had a lot of questions about drawing, so, Nathan, in turn, started to relax and talk more freely. He found out that Oliver was a veterinary technician and had a part time job at a dog shelter. That, combined with the fact that he was, in general, a really nice and positive guy, made him incredibly appealing to Nathan.

After the two had talked for a while, Oliver suddenly remarked: "You know, I really like your stubble! It really suits you!"

Stubble? What was he talking about? Nathan rarely needed to shave, but he had done so this morning, so, it was absolutely impossible that he should have visible facial hair. And yet, as he felt his chin, his fingers met with bristly short hair, so dense and long that there was no way he could have missed it this morning. Nathan found it strange, to say the least, but didn't want to make a scene in this situation. His spark of courage was a small candle flame now, as he just smiled while he felt his chin and said "Thank you!"

The two continued to chat a bit. While doing so, Nathan tried not to think too much about the fact that his clothes were, somehow, tighter than before.

Finally, Oliver's phone buzzed, and he looked at the screen.

"Damn, it's that late already?"

"What is it?", asked Nathan.

"Oh, the dog shelter. I have a shift soon, I need to go!"

Nathan sighed inwardly. He was really enjoying the date and didn't want it to end. He was pulled out of his thoughts by the feeling of Olivers hand on his. It felt... good. Good and strange, like the texture of his own hand was somewhat wrong, somewhat rougher than before. When he looked up into Oliver's eyes, he found the other man smiling.

"I really enjoyed this. You are a wonderful person, Nathan. We should do this again."

Nathan nodded. He didn't trust his voice right now.

"How about... tomorrow?", Oliver continued. "There's an art exhibition in town, perhaps you would like to go there with me?"

Nathan's heart jumped a beat. He didn't have time or courage yet to go to the exhibition and the prospect of seeing Oliver again so soon was wonderful.

"I would very much like that", Nathan replied and smiled.

"Great! Let's meet there, say at 5?"

"Sure!"

Oliver smiled his beautiful, broad smile, and stood up, leaving some money for the coffees on the table. Nathan too got up, but before he could leave, Oliver stopped him with a warm expression in his eyes. "You know, I really think I like you a lot." He said, and his hand touched Nathan's somewhat bristly cheek. Almost automatically, both of their faces drew closer to each other, until their lips met with the slightest touch. It was a chaste, short kiss, but Nathan could feel Oliver's lips smile when they broke apart.

"See you tomorrow!", said Oliver and left the cafe.

Nathan's knees felt weak, and his heart was beating rapidly. There were a thousand feeling, all happening inside him at once and Nathan needed a moment to sort through them before he was able to move again. There was a part of him that couldn't quite believe what just happened, but the biggest part was just euphoric. He basically jogged back to his home, full of a never experienced energy.

When he arrived in his room, his body was feeling even weirder than before. All of his clothes were way too tight. It was not just that he felt constricted, no, the clothes actually were much too small. He quickly got rid of them, noticing that, again, he had sweated like a pig. As Nathan glanced down on himself, he could almost see that his body was somehow different. Fitter, healthier. It was probably just his imagination, though, caused by his ecstatic mood. He briefly considered taking another shower but postponed it to tomorrow. There would be plenty of time and Nathan felt really glad and tired for today.

Nathan woke up from two different feelings the next morning. First, he felt itchy and sweaty all over his body and was subconsciously scratching himself in his sleep. Second, and perhaps even more importantly, Nathan was experiencing a severe case of morning wood. His manhood was rigid and pulsating under his sheets and was begging for attention. Nathan had a hard time remembering when he last experienced such an urgent urge to jerk off. He wasn't sure, but the memories of their kissing yesterday came to his mind as soon as he woke up, so, he couldn't resist closing his hand around his hard cock and started pumping. His hand felt rough and big, and Nathan couldn't be sure, but both length and girth of his tool seemed increased, too. However, Nathan could hardly concentrate on that due to the waves of pleasure washing over him.

It didn't take very long for Nathan to shoot a big load onto his stomach, with a moan. It was a big and sticky load, too, mixing with the little dark hairs on his stomach and chest. Nathan blinked in post-nut clarity. Hairs? He didn't have body hair.

Nathan got up quickly and went to the bathroom. Something about his perspective was off, too. It was like the ceiling was closer than it was supposed to be, and the ground further away. Once Nathan had used some toilet paper to wipe away most of the cum, he took a look at himself in the mirror. There was no denying that he looked different. He was definitely somewhat taller and broader than before. He didn't have a scale, but he was sure that he had gained quite some weight as well - not only due to the increased height and broader shoulders but also because his previous stickman-like appearance had been altered quite somewhat. All over his frame, a lean definition was visible, hinting at muscles even. His chin was covered in visible stubble and there was a bit of body hair visible, mainly on his chest and stomach as well as peeking out under his armpit.

Speaking of which, as Nathan raised his arm to look at his pits, a certain smell reached his nose. A musky, manly, slightly sweaty odor that wasn't quite unpleasant but was certainly unfamiliar.

Nathan had a hard time wrapping his mind around what he was seeing. There was no denying he looked *good*. He just didn't look exactly like *himself*. And for some reason, this didn't bother Nathan quite as much as it probably should. He should be panicking or calling a doctor. People didn't just grow taller overnight or put on definition without working out. And yet, Nathan only felt a slight bit of curiosity and a weak impulse that he probably *should* work out then.

Nathan shook his head and went back to his bedroom. He didn't bother putting on clothing and tried to pass the time until afternoon. The only thing that he *really* regretted about his sudden changes was that his favorite shirt and jeans would definitely not fit anymore.

He ended up watching a bit of TV and browsing the internet, before he decided it was time to prepare himself. Finding clothes that would fit now proved to be quite a challenge, but in the end, he settled on a plain t-shirt and some cargo pants. He had bought both of them a number too big by mistake, which came in quite handy now.

Walking through the city was a strange experience. He felt good about himself and held his head high. Combined with the fact that Nathan's head was, indeed, higher than before, it was like seeing the city in a whole new perspective. Less looking at the ground and more looking straight ahead.

His new posture seemed to have another effect, too. Where before he had to avoid people, trying not to get in their way, now they seemed to be stepping aside for him, which was a foreign but not unpleasant experience.

Finally, he arrived at the exhibition and found Oliver already waiting for him. They greeted with a hug and a short kiss, both fully reciprocated by Nathan, and went inside. Although Oliver seemed to notice something was off about Nathan, he didn't mention it and apparently forgot about it quickly.

Today, Nathan found it much easier to talk to Oliver and brought up topics by himself.

The exhibition however was kind of a let-down for Nathan. Although he could judge on a rational level that the art presented here was really well-done and interesting, on a purely emotional level, Nathan found it mind-numbingly boring. The conversation steered away from the art quickly, and more towards personal matters, which was a relief. So, even though they didn't care much about the paintings around them, the two of them ended up wandering around the exhibition for hours, talking and having a good time.

During the date, however, Nathan was quickly experiencing an unfamiliar feeling. The company of Oliver was... exciting. Exciting on a sexual, primal level. Nathan's larger manhood grew semi-hard in his underwear quickly, so Nathan had to readjust himself more than once. At first, he was very self-conscious about it and tried to be as subtle as possible. However, with every push his cock needed in order not to be too obvious, Nathan actually cared less about who saw him readjust himself. He was a guy after all, and all big-dicked men had that particular problem from time to time.

Besides forming a bulge in his groin, however, his constantly semi-hard cock did one more thing: Nathan was leaking precum in his underwear. First, it was just a drop or two on an involuntary throb, but it quickly became more. His underwear was feeling damp before long, and a faint note of sexuality mixed into his still present smell.

After a while, Oliver even commented on it, in his usual upbeat way: "Hey, Nathan, I have to say, you smell pretty good. Are you using cologne?"

Nathan hadn't noticed his own smell too much. His first impulse was to apologize, but the burning campfire of courage inside of him quickly told him otherwise. Oliver didn't complain. In fact, he liked it.

So, Nathan answered with a grin: "Nope. That's just how I smell."

Oliver took another whiff of the mixture of sweat, dried cum and precum and smiled. "Well, I like it!"

Nathan wasn't quite sure how to react, and just said: "Thanks!"

The exhibition was closing down soon, and Nathan offered Oliver to accompany him to the train station, which he gladly accepted. When they parted, they kissed again. This time, it wasn't a small, timid kiss like before, but a long, sexual one that made Nathan's dick twitch like mad in the confines of his pants. Since their bodies were pressed closely together, Nathan could be sure that Oliver felt the movement against his own groin.

Only after they broke the kiss, Nathan noticed that he was now looking down on Oliver slightly. He could have sworn that Oliver had been slightly taller than him yesterday.

There was no telling on how the evening would have continued hadn't it been for Oliver's train to arrive just then. Before Oliver could board the train, however, Nathan grinned at him and said: "Dinner tomorrow? The Italian place downtown, at 6?"

"I would love that!"

They kissed again and Nathan watched as the train pulled out. Then, he went back to his dorm, whistling a happy tune. It didn't even occur to him that he had taken the initiative in asking Oliver out for a third date. The fire of confidence was burning bright inside of him.

When he came home, Nathan immediately stripped out of his clothes. Even the larger shirt had become somewhat tight. He took a short look at it. There was a wet patch under both arms from his constant sweating, and the t-shirt had adapted his smell. There was something else in the smell, though. At the chest region, there was a medium sized stain, machine oil from the smell of it. Nathan wondered briefly how he could have missed it this morning but then diverted his attention to more pressing matters. His cock was fully hard and was poking out from the waistband of his briefs. Nathan hadn't had an erection like that since puberty and, if he was honest with himself, the feeling was rather nice. Without hesitation, he closed his hand around his hard meat and gave it a few experimental pumps. A low growl escaped his mouth, and a shiver went through his body. He didn't want to go slow, he wanted to fuck. His mind was focused on the task at hand. He didn't even bother to close his curtains, as he went for it. Nathan was jacking himself off, fast and hard, growling and groaning, until he finally exploded all over his chest and face, shooting multiple loads of thick white cum everywhere.

As Nathan was catching his breath, the smell of cum was heavy in the room. God, he needed that. Ever since he met Oliver today. He wiped his face and chest with his discarded t-shirt and briefly considered if he wanted to take a shower. The smell emanating from him was rather strong now, but still, he didn't want to. Oliver seemed to like his body odor, and, if Nathan was being honest, he did so himself, too.

Nathan was woken by his alarm the next morning. As his mind came to focus, his hand reached for the smartphone automatically and dismissed the alarm. He yawned and stretched. He was really looking forward to today. Given, it was the last day before classes started again, but he was going to a third date with Oliver this evening!

When Nathan crawled out of bed and went for his bathroom, however, his body felt weird again. The muscles had become more defined over the course of the last two days and now, the whole body structure felt *strong*. The few hairs from before had become a small forest of body hair and the stubble had grown thicker. He still didn't feel the need for a shave, though.

Nathan wasn't quite sure about the whole situation. Of course, he was enjoying the change. On the other hand, ... No, fuck the other hand. This was great, plain and simple. He finished his morning business standing up while peeing, which he usually never did. But right now, it just felt *right*.

After that, he inspected his wardrobe. He had half-feared that he would need to go and buy new clothes, but apparently, overnight his wardrobe had changed as well. It was filled with sturdy cargos or work pants as well as simple shirts and the occasional overall. Good!

His underwear choice had also changed. Instead of briefs or boxers, the drawer was now filled with jockstraps. That made sense, of course - only a jockstrap would set his large dick in the right scene.

None of the clothes qualified as "clean". Sure, they had been washed before they went into the wardrobe, but permanent grease or oil stains had permeated the fabric just as Nathan's manly stink - both marks no washing machine could ever erase entirely.

Nathan grabbed one of the pants and smelled it. He couldn't help but smile. This was his smell. This was *his* smell. His manly, sweaty, dirty, horny smell. He even felt his ever-present dick twitch a bit at the smell. Nathan wasn't sure if he would ever get used to this new reality. Or if this even was the final reality.

The hours passed quickly. Nathan was keeping himself busy, playing games or listened to music. Not once did it occur to him to draw something or even look at his art. This new him wasn't particularly creative, it seemed.

Nathan's mind wandered back to the date this evening. He couldn't wait to see Oliver again. In fact, he couldn't wait for more than that. It was a third date and Nathan wanted to go all the way with Oliver. He wanted to take his ass and fuck it into oblivion.

At around 5 pm, Nathan stood in front of the Italian place, waiting for Oliver. When Oliver finally arrived, the two men greeted each other with a passionate kiss. Nathan could tell that the kiss was having an effect on Oliver, as his breathing was quicker than usual.

They went inside and sat down on a table. Almost automatically, Nathan's legs spread wide, taking up space, establishing presence and, most importantly, giving his equipment the necessary space. The *old* Nathan would have sat with his legs closed or even crossed, in order to not draw any attention to himself. However, the new Nathan didn't want to draw *less* attention.

The two chatted a bit, with the main topic of the conversation being the menu, before ordering. When he spoke, Nathan noted that his voice had dropped an octave, making his voice gravely and his laugh a low rumble. When Oliver had chosen, Nathan summoned the waiter and ordered for the both of them, his lower voice full of confidence. For Nathan, it was a large meat pizza and a beer.

"You know, I have never seen you drink before", remarked Oliver.

"I don't usually", replied Nathan. "But I thought I'd have a beer today."

"You're not driving, are you?"

"Na, I'm here on foot."

Oliver smiled his usual smile. "I'm here by car, so if you like, I can give you a ride home afterwards."

There seemed to be some subtext to this offer, but it went over Nathan's head. Not that it was necessary, because he had the exact same plans, anyway.

"Sounds great!"

A couple of minutes later, their pizzas arrived, and the two dug in.

"I really like your style, Nathan." said Oliver after a while.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, the way you dress. The way you talk. The way you act."

"Oh. Thanks."

Nathan thought for a moment before he added: "You know, I go by Nate these days."

"Nate, eh?", smiled Oliver.

"Yeah. Fits better, you know."

"I guess so. I like it a lot!"

"I like your style, too."

"What do you mean by that?", Oliver laughed.

"Just, the way you talk, the way you walk. Everything. You're cute, you know."

"Why, thank you!"

The conversation was definitely a lot more flirtatious than yesterday. When they had finished their meals, they didn't linger much longer in the restaurant but got into Oliver's car.

Nate proceeded to give Oliver directions to his home. However, at a certain crossing, he had to stop and think for a moment. He knew for a fact that his dorm was to the left. But he also knew for a fact that his *home* was to the right. Nate decided not to overthink it and directed Oliver to the right with a firm voice.

They didn't get very far from that point, when suddenly, the car stopped with a jerk.

"Damn, sorry!" said Oliver. "The engine is acting up again. It's probably too cold or something like that. I'll just try to start it up again."

When after the third try, the engine didn't start again, Nate laid a hand on Oliver's. "Let me try." he said with a confident voice and left the car. When he opened the hood, the problem became clear to him right away.

"The carburetor is a bit clogged, I'll unclog it real quick and we're ready to go."

While Oliver was staring at Nate in surprise, as the latter quickly and with trained skill removed a few parts and then, with a flex of his mighty arms, applied percussive maintenance to the part in question. After Nate had reassembled the engine, he cleaned his hands on his pants and got into the car again, filling out the passenger seat with his presence.

"It should work again for now, but I'll have to clean it thoroughly tomorrow. The thing is just old and worn down, it needs replacing soon. Just try starting the engine."

Oliver was still staring at Nate with a disbelieving look on his face. Finally, however, he tried starting the engine again, and the car did indeed start running smoothly.

"Wow, Nate, that was amazing! Where did you learn that?"

"What do you mean", grinned Nate. "That's what I do!"

Oliver stared at him for a moment. "Wait, you're a mechanic?"

"Yeah, sure, didn't I tell you when we met?"

Oliver seemed to think about it but then slowly nodded: "Yes, I... think so. Weird. I could have sworn..."

Nate shrugged and pointed down the road: "Shall we go?"

They arrived at Nate's place shortly after. He had a cheap apartment directly over the car garage where he worked. Nate did try to clean up a bit the afternoon, but the place still screamed "Manly bachelor" all over the place with the occasional beer can or jockstrap scattered around.

Neither of them had time to care, though. As soon as the door closed, the two kissed. It wasn't just a chaste, romantic kiss. This was a heated, passionate kiss, full of desire and lust. Nate took Oliver's body and pushed him against the wall, grinding their bodies together. Both were hard and their breathing was rapid. Nate's hands wandered up and down Oliver's body, squeezing and grabbing his body. His fingers were strong and forceful, and he squeezed the smaller man's buttocks and his dick with the same intensity. Oliver responded by moaning and pushing his groin against Nate's, humping him.

Suddenly, Nate broke the kiss. "Oliver, I... I want you. I want to fuck you."

Oliver didn't answer, but kissed Nate again, harder this time. Nate's tongue invaded his mouth, and the bigger man's hands were ripping Oliver's shirt and pants off him. Once Oliver's dick was free, it was enveloped by Nate's big calloused hand, and Oliver's breath hitched in his throat.

"Oh god, Nate, yes!" he moaned.

Nate had enough of foreplay, and he wanted to fuck, now. Without wasting any time, he quickly pushed his pants down and pressed his dick against Oliver's. It was massive, even compared to Oliver's not insignificant size. While Nate's balls were big and heavy, his cock was thick, long, and veiny, with a fat mushroom head. It was also rock hard, and the head was already drooling precum.

With one hand, Nate stroked the two cocks together, rubbing them and smearing the precum all over his dick and Oliver's. With the other hand, he pulled Oliver close and kissed him again, a long, sensual, passionate kiss, which made Oliver moan into his mouth.

The two stood like that for a while, but finally, Nate's need to fuck was stronger than anything else.

"Bedroom. Now!" he growled and dragged the smaller man with him. Once there, Nate simply tossed him onto the bed and followed quickly, his cock pointing up. He positioned himself on top of the other man and kissed him again, their tongues dancing in their mouths.

When the kiss broke, Oliver was panting.

"You really are a big boy, huh?"

"Damn right I am."

"Oh god, I need your big dick inside of me!"

"Yeah? You want me to fuck you?"

"Please! I've wanted to feel your huge meat in me for days."

"Fuck yeah. You're gonna get it."

Nate reached under his bed and produced a bottle of lube, which he applied liberally to his dick.

"You're ready?"

"Do it, big guy."

Nate placed the head of his massive cock against the tight pucker and started to push. Slowly but steadily, his dick invaded Oliver's ass.

"Oooooooooh god, Nate, yesssssss!" moaned Oliver.

The pressure around Nate's dick was unbelievable. Oliver was clearly tight, and the way his asshole was massaging his dick felt heavenly.

Finally, Nate's dick was balls-deep inside Oliver. Both were breathing heavily, and Oliver was moaning incoherently. Nate gave him a moment to adjust and then started moving his hips, first slowly, but increasing his pace quickly. Soon, he was slamming into Oliver's ass as hard as he could, pulling almost completely out and then thrusting back inside the smaller man.

"Fuck yeah! You like that? You like my huge dick pounding your tight little ass?"

"God, yes, Nate, fuck me, fuck meeee!"

Nate was groaning and growling, a sound that came deep from his chest and made Oliver moan even louder.

"Oh shit, Nate, I'm so close! Don't stop, please don't stop, don't st- ooooooooh gooooooood!"

Nate felt Oliver's muscles clamp down on his dick, and that sent him over the edge. He buried his dick as deep as he could and shot a big load of cum deep into Oliver's guts.

The two of them collapsed on each other, spent but happy.

A lot had changed for Nathan in this new year. He had gotten a new body, a new job, a new identity even. But most importantly, he had found love. Nate the manly mechanic sighed. If he were to describe his feelings, looking into the future, there was only one fitting word: Confidence.

I actually generated a ton (okay, 50) of images for this story. If you want to check out the alternate versions of the different stages of Nathan/Nate, check out my tip jar, where I posted them!

#male transformation #muscle transformation #dumbing down #hairy #mental transformation #sweat #musk #romance

[desireangel]

Infernal Desires | Chapter 2 | Coriolanus Snow

Summary: as penance for your brother's sins, Coriolanus demands that you are sent to his household to work his debt. But Coriolanus does not expect to burn so strongly for you and finds himself addicted to having you as close as he can keep you.

Chapter 1

young!president snow x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: NSFW! Smut! enemies to lovers (??), biting, fingering, unhinged dirty talk I guess, degrading, swearing, talk of ownership, orgasm denial, almost hate fucking, stockholm syndrome maybe?

a/n: ok, i got a little carried away here and I'm sure you can tell because this one seems possibly more disjointed than the last. let me know what you think and if I've missed any warnings!

Days had passed and Coriolanus had been acting as if you didn’t exist. He had ignored your attempts at talking to him, pretended he didn’t hear the constant questions that you asked about what work you were supposed to be doing and why are you here if you aren’t doing any work like you were meant to?

Truth be told, Coriolanus had acted irrationally in making the deal. Jericho may have been someone he loved as a confidant and a friend but truly, he could have simply had him hanged without blinking an eye. Treason is treason and Coriolanus certainly would not stand for it - more so because of the sting of your brother’s betrayal. But here you were, waiting outside of the bedroom he had the staff keep ready for you with a fierceness in your eyes that managed to catch him by surprise. 

Without saying a word, Coriolanus stood in front of you and waited for you to speak. 

“I was supposed to be given work for our end of the bargain,” You avoided letting your anger seep into your tone. “Instead, you’ve been keeping me in your home and avoiding me like I’m some sort of disease.” Stepping towards him, you shook off the nerves that had your stomach in knots. “I tried to leave yesterday. Your guards–or whoever they are–stopped me from leaving. Said you told them I’m not to exit the grounds.”

Coriolanus was calm. “That’s right. That is exactly what I told them.”

“You said I could visit home.”

A shrug. “I lied.”

“You’d better start telling the truth-”

“Do not,” Coriolanus spat. Somehow, he resented you so much that he couldn’t hold back the worst of himself around you. “speak to me like that. I won’t tolerate disrespect. Not from the likes of you-”

Your hand met his cheek before you realised what was happening. It wasn’t hard and Coriolanus barely flinched more than the turn of his head but your hand burned hot at the mistake that had just been made. Pushing down the fear that bubbled in your gut, you squared your shoulders and spoke firmly. “You will let me serve my brother’s sentence so that I can get the hell out of your house as soon as I’m done. Or is there no honour to your word?”

Coriolanus was red with frustration and you were half aware that angering him would not turn out well. But you were not going to cower and fold to the power that he claimed to have over you. He may be ruler of Panem to its citizens but the two of you had grown up side by side and you knew the man he was past the charade of charm and carefully written speeches. Arrogant, greedy, entitled and selfish. 

“You still think that’s really why you’re here?” He looked terrifyingly handsome in his rage. “You should appreciate the generosity I’ve shown you. You’re living in my home, free of charge and free to do as you please with your time so long as you stay within its walls. I hardly see how that is a problem for you.”

“Generosity?” You scoffed. “You’re keeping me prisoner.”

Coriolanus’ expression was blank, his light curls casting shadows of his face as he let out a snarl. The fabric of his meticulously tailored jacket brushed against your hand and before you knew it, he guided you into the bedroom with a strong hand on your back that had you stumbling into the middle of the room. 

“Since you’re so ungrateful, I’ll show you what it means to be a prisoner in my home,” Coriolanus said, sticking his hand into the pocket of his dress pants and pulling out a set of two keys, dangling it in front of your nose. “You’re not to leave this room until I say so. Try to leave and I’ll have you whipped.”

And with that, he left you to yourself, slamming the door harshly behind him. The click of the lock was barely drowned out by your protests, palms smacking against the wood of the door. 

How dare he? 

Tears welled in your eyes but even in your own company, you refused to let them fall. The ache in your chest for the freedom to visit home, to walk the streets of the Capitol and to see your friends was overwhelming. You hadn’t been here long and you knew that the Coriolanus’ home was a luxury far beyond your imagination but the feeling of confinement ate at you. 

This was not fair. You had done him no wrong. In fact, his hatred towards you was entirely unwarranted and everything seemed so, so unfair. His problem wasn’t with you - it was with Jericho. So why did Coriolanus have so much rage for you? Even as a teenager, he was cold and detached despite your best efforts to warm him. 

If this was to be your prison cell then you were fortunate, you thought. At least he didn’t send you down to the bunkers or to whatever place was made for those who crossed the new President.   

The room you had been given upon your first night was unlike anything you had expected. It was red and big and the carpet felt like clouds under your toes - a luxury so simple and so particular that you wondered what kind of wealth could afford such minute pleasures. The wealth of a country, it seemed.   

You still think that’s really why you’re here? 

If you were being honest with yourself, you knew Jericho and your father had been lying to you. It made no sense - in fact, it was a ridiculous excuse that they had given you. You weren’t stupid - there was no work that you could possibly do to fulfil the extent of Jericho’s debt nor to save your family’s already tarnished reputation.  

So why were you here? You had your own doubts. Not only had you spent the last three days with little more to do than think but hours had passed alone in this cage since your confrontation with Coriolanus.

Jericho had said you were only part of whatever bargain he had struck. You figured that Coriolanus had use for Jericho and here you were, a token of control over your family. So long as Coriolanus had you here, Jericho would have to do whatever it was Coriolanus needed him to do. 

The sound of the door lock clicking pulled you out of your thoughts. Candice didn’t bother knocking before stepping into your room with her arms full of–dresses?

“Mr. Snow wants me to get you ready,” she said. “You’ll be attending the gala we’re hosting tonight.” 

What?

You eyed the dress that Candice laid down on your bed before rushing towards your wardrobe to put away the other dresses she held. From what you could see of the dress, it was unlike any dress you’d ever had the chance to wear. “I’m supposed to wear this?”

The look she gave was answer enough. “Take a bath first. I’ll help you into the dress once you’re out.”

You quickly washed up, half tempted to take your time but Candice was waiting for you and you didn’t intend for her to fall victim to your antics. There was a matching set of underwear laid out with the dress - if you could call it underwear. 

Clutching the towel to your chest, you decided against the g-string that accompanied the stick-on bra. Before Candice could turn around, you shrugged on a robe and turned to do your own makeup. 

Candice pottered about, seemingly displeased with your insistence on doing your minimal hair and makeup yourself.  She helped you step into your dress, adjusting the fabric wherever it needed. “Perfect, ma’am.”

“Please, you don’t need to call me ma’am,” you corrected. 

You stared at your reflection in the mirror.

Fuck. 

The dress was a perfect fit. It was a deep emerald green satin, floor length gown with a wired corset midsection. The bust was stiff and covered your cleavage just enough so that it could accentuate the swell of your breasts perfectly. Inch thick straps hung just off of your shoulders, leaving your neck and collarbones bare. The back of the dress dipped just above your hips. It made you look and feel sultry in an entirely new way. 

This was a powerful dress and you wondered if Coriolanus had intended it to be. Candice fastened a thin, crystal chain around your neck. You asked her the question that had been lingering at the back of your mind, “Why does he want me at the gala?”

“I’m merely the housekeeper,” Candice spoke, her voice stern. She reminded you of a teacher. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh,” you murmured. 

“I’ll leave you for now. Mr. Snow will escort you downstairs when he’s ready.” 

And just like that, you were locked in your room once more. 

Coriolanus was making you wait. He knew that your mind would be racing with questions - questions he knew you would assault him with as soon as you had the chance. If he wanted to, he was more than ready to pick you up from your room and show you to the main hall. But there was something so satisfying in knowing the effect he had on you. 

He could picture the scowl on your face and the way you’d be wallowing in your impatience.

Forty-minutes had felt like two hours before Coriolanus was standing in your doorway, dressed impeccably in a three piece suit that was tailored to every curve in his body. He was like the embodiment of Adonis, the way he radiated with beauty and temptation. 

Coriolanus’ gaze made your breath catch in your throat. It was hot and you swore you could feel it scorching your skin as he studied you from head to toe. “Let’s go.”

“Am I-Am I your date?” You still didn’t understand. 

“Of course not,” he answered. “You said you wanted to see your family. Your parents will be here tonight.”

A statement. That’s what you were. 

I have your daughter. She’s safe and sound so long as you behave. 

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered if it meant that you’d get to see your parents. A sense of urgency overwhelmed you and you rushed towards Coriolanus. “Let’s go then.”

Goosebumps arose on your skin the second that Coriolanus’ hand brushed against the dip of your back. It was a gentle graze, feather light and barely there but he drew his hand back and took a breath before you could even blink. 

“Follow me.”

Coriolanus had left your side before entering. The main hall was packed with people, many of whom you recognised from your days studying or as past friends of the family. They all looked at you scornfully and you knew that they were all thinking of you as a traitor to the Capitol. You weren’t but you had the same blood as one. 

The music was pleasant and some people danced while others were busy drinking and conversing. You searched the crowd for your parents, hoping that you didn’t look as crazed as you felt. There were so many eyes on you, so much judgment that it made you suck in a breath and keep your eyes anywhere but on the guests. 

Your mother was toward the entrance, a champagne flute held delicately between her fingers as she talked with your father. 

It was a miracle they had been invited after everything but you knew that they were only here because Coriolanus had a message for them. A message that was loud and clear just through your attendance. A message that told them that you were sitting comfortably in the palm of his hand, that he could use your entire family for whatever he pleased. 

“Ma,” you reached for her, willing yourself not to cry in a room filled with people. She gasped, arms wrapping around your shoulders as she mumbled incoherently. “Are you okay? And Jericho?”

“We’re all fine,” she smiled sweetly. “How is it? Over here? Are they treating you badly-”

“Ears everywhere, my dear. I see that Snow has been generous.”

Generous. That word was like a parasite, stuck to you and making you sick to your stomach. 

“Yes. I’ve been–I’ve been okay.”

You stayed with them for the entirety of the night, slowly making your way through one glass of champagne and a couple plates of the food that was set out for the guests. 

Slipping your glass onto a tray that one of the Avox were carrying, you smiled at Livia Cardew who barely spared a glance at you from where she stood. She was talking to Coriolanus and another man whom you could not name, a hand on his arm as she gazed at him through her eyelashes. 

You glanced towards the corridor. Coriolanus seemed distracted enough by the conversation. Maybe you could blend in with the guests, make your way out as part of a group and nobody would be any the wiser. 

A few steps at a time, you made your way towards the exit. Every now and then someone would try and make idle conversation, seeing you alone and extending a greeting. But it would only last a few minutes. 

By the time you were at the exit, Coriolanus was nowhere to be seen. Fine, as long as he was far away from you. The front door was grand and there were groups of people saying their goodbyes. It was the perfect getaway opportunity. 

You could disguise yourself within the guests, make your way a block down where your parents would drive past and leave with them. It would work and you’d be out. You could see Jericho, your friends and then you could disappear somehow. Jericho would help you if you explained things to him–if you asked him. 

The thought that you were making a mistake began to cross your mind but just as you were at the foot of the door, an arm wrapped itself around your waist roughly, fingers digging into your hip as you were pulled away. Coriolanus smiled at the people who turned to look at you, their eyes trailing to where his hand burned its mark into your side.

You could hear your blood rushing and heart racing, your palms growing clammy. You considered struggling, maybe putting up a fight. But it would be useless. Coriolanus was strong and how far would you even get before someone else caught up to you? Your plan was a desperate, confused mess. 

Of all the things happening in that moment, your mind was clouded by Corolanius’ cologne and the roughness with which he held you. The tick in his jaw and the slight purse of his lips gave away the anger he was suppressing as he dragged you through the crowd, opening the closest door he could find and pulling you in with him. 

Shit. 

Coriolanus pulled you so that you were facing him, holding your arms firmly in his hands. He all but growled, “Didn’t I tell you not to run away, little mouse?” 

Your cheeks burned and your chest felt as if it were about to explode. Corolanius had brought you into a closet which was the size of a small bedroom but you were flush against him, chest to chest and eye to eye. 

“What? Are you going to have me whipped for it?” Taunting him was not a good idea but it came so naturally that you barely realised what you were doing. 

Coriolanus pushed you into a shelf, pressed against the surface and your back flush against his chest. “I don’t like disobedience. My things are to stay where I leave them.”

You struggled against him. But it was for nothing. You barely stood a chance against the man who held you, his breath tickling your ear as you spoke. “I’m not something you own, Coriolanus. I don’t have to listen to you.”

“Oh but you do,” his knee lodged between your thighs, holding you down. “Where were you going to go, hmm? There’s not a single place in Panem where I couldn’t hunt you down myself and you’d be back here within a week.” Coriolanus could feel your rapid breathing, feel the way you squirmed against him but moulded so perfectly into his body. “Maybe I should have let you go. I do enjoy a chase.”

There was a seductive venom that coated his tongue. It was so unlike the Coriolanus Snow you had known all those years ago who may have been riddled with arrogance and dishonesty but he was never wicked. 

“What did I ever do to you, Coriolanus?” You gasped as he pressed himself further into you in an attempt to put an end to your struggling. Tears threatened to well in your eyes.  “Why are you doing this to me?”

Coriolanus stilled. He thought of the words to say, the words to describe the way that four years ago, he would have despised himself for making you cry. As far as you were concerned, all he was to you was Jericho’s friend. Jericho’s friend who never had the perfect home that you had, never had the wealth that he deserved, never had what he desired the most. 

He never had you. 

And Coriolanus hated you for it. 

“You were so blind,” he said. “So unaware. So selfish. All I had ever wanted from you was your devotion and all you gave me was resentment.”

Whether it was the gravity of his confession, or the way his body felt against yours, it took your breath away. What he was saying didn’t make sense. “I didn’t know. You were so cruel to me, Coriolanus.”

Your chest was heavy with so many conflicting emotions. Fear, shock, anger and desire. 

“You want to know why I’m doing this to you?” Coriolanus brought his lips so close to your ear that they brushed against your skin and sent a shudder through your body. “Because I hate your brother for what he did. Because I hate your family. Because I hate you.”

His hands, his hands. 

They were everywhere, dragging all over your body and leaving a trail of fire on your skin. He slid his fingertips down the sides of your dress, bunching it up at your hips. You couldn’t breath, couldn’t think of the words to say as the ache between your legs grew for him. It wasn’t right - Coriolanus was all but kind to you but your body yearned for him. 

He bit your ear. “I hate you but I fucking burn for you.”

Another gasp and you arched into him. Coriolanus’ words burrowed deep into your core and made your head spin with unfettered lust. After everything, you would have given him everything right then and there. The desire you had for each other was infernal, it was wrong and it was perfect. 

The air was thick and Coriolanus thought he’d choke on the passion that was heavy in his chest. Your skin was soft like the satin of the dress he had picked out for you and it drove him crazy to think about all the ways he could indulge himself in your flawless body. 

“So tempting all the damn time,” he touched you with so much determination you wanted to let yourself melt into him, to become one with his heart and body. “Would you let me fuck you like this, missy? How I should have done years ago and make your body mine?”

You let out a wanton moan as his lips found your neck, sucking roughly along the ridges of your skin. “I don’t know-”

“Of course you don’t.” Coriolanus let his hand slip to the inside of your thigh, roughly digging his nails into your flesh and dragging them up to the most intimate part of your body that was bare under his touch. He sucked in a sharp breath at your lack of underwear and placed his hand flat against your sensitive flesh.  “I’m sure you would. Look at how responsive you are to my touch, such a needy little thing.”

The feeling of his hand against your sex and his body pressed against yours sent shockwaves through your body, right down to the tips of your toes. With heavy breaths you reached for his arm, desperately scratching his skin because you needed more, more, more. 

You were blind with need for Coriolanus’ body, for him to make good on his words and show you all the filthy things you knew he’d have perfected. The little voice at the back of your head told you to slow down, to think and that you’d regret this tomorrow morning but you were far too weak to listen to it. 

“Just this once,” you were breathless as you spoke, chest heaving against the hard surface of the shelf. 

Coriolanus tensed against you in surprise, his hips pressing against the swell of your bum. He was hard, so hard for you. “If I’m going to have you missy, it’ll be in my bed. Where I can take you in every way I’ve spent hours dreaming about.”

Against your better judgment, you drawled, “Thought you hate me-”

“I do hate you,” Coriolanus growled, swiping the pad of his forefinger over your clit in one swift movement that had you writhing in an instant. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to fuck you.”

You were so wet for him, so prepared for him to push his cock into you right then and it made him throb under the restriction of his dress pants. But Coriolanus was a man of great self control and he refused to give in so soon. 

He sunk his teeth into your shoulder, the pads of his fingers rubbing circles over your clit, sending wave after wave of pleasure through your body. Your hips rutted against his hands, incoherent words tumbling from your lips. 

Coriolanus was usually a selfish lover. He didn’t take pleasure in someone else’s pleasure. But the way you trembled against him, the way that every inch of you called for his touch and the way you sounded so desperate and so filthy for him satisfied him in an entirely new way. It made his cock twitch and set a fire in his blood.

“Please, Corio–I’m so close,” you whined. He chuckled darkly before pulling his hand away from you.

There were people looking for him, Coriolanus could hear them through the door. He couldn’t care less.  “That’s enough for now. Seems like they’re looking for me.”

You turned yourself around, still squashed between Coriolanus and the shelf, just to gape at him. A smug smile graced his face, his pupils blown out with lust that you could feel pressed against your thigh. You resisted the urge to smack him again. 

“You can’t be serious.”

Coriolanus stepped away from you, taking a moment to look at the mess he had made of you while slipping his fingers between his lips. Your dress was caught at your hip and hitched up at your thigh, your hair was tangled and your knees wobbled gently. But your eyes, wide and full of innocent, unburdened desire for him had him questioning his decision to stop. 

How he longed to corrupt you. 

“Collect yourself. I’ll send Candice to get you to your room,” he was at the door by now, fixing his tie as his fervent gaze was focused on you. “If you ever try to leave again, I will not be so lenient.”

With that, he was gone and you were once again left alone with a mind full of wild, distressed thoughts. 

tags: @deadly-femme-bimbo @justaproudslytherpuff @10ava01 @edb954 @real-lana-del-rey @demyackerman @whatupitshuff @foreludes @motley-baby @unclecrunkle @cillianmurphysbxtch

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x you #tom blyth #tbosas #coriolanus x you #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #📝 #🥀

[coryosbaby]

Ultraviolence - E.L & C.M

(Pt. 4)

Fandom: “Scream Vi”

Pairing: stepbrother! Ethan Landry x fem! Reader, Chad Meeks Martin x fem! Reader, Ethan Landry x Chad Meeks Martin

Warning: stepcest A/n: It’s finally here ‼️ I apologize for the wait yall 🤝(stepbrother x stepsister), threesome, double penetration, oral (f & m recieving), cum play, daddy kink, degradation/praise, switch! Reader, switch!Chad,dark! Ethan, dom! Ethan

A/n: It’s finally here ‼️ I apologize for the wait yall 🤝

You’ve been hanging out with Chad a lot recently.

It’s the first thing Ethan notices after the whole ‘fucking at a party” ordeal. And the second thing he notices, is that you have gotten really extroverted.

It’s been a few weeks, so the change makes it course over time. But you’re so much more different than before; where you once wore your little outfits with a shyness to you, you now strut around like you own the place. You speak more, present yourself more. You’ve also went to a few parties here and there. And honestly, Ethan can’t blame you for that. You’re beautiful and perfect, and why would he expect you not to think it yourself? And why wouldn’t he expect you, as a young woman, to go and make your own decisions?

It’s just that, Ethan hates change.

At the beginning, you were supposed to be his. His little secret, his little doll to play with and fuck. And now Chad has joined the mix, and it’s all different. It makes his head spin.

Your parents, Chad, and Ethan are at the kitchen table when you come barreling down the stairs. Its a hot day, like most of this summer, and your cheeks are red and flushed. You’ve been getting sunburn a lot more, it seems.

Chad has been staying over a lot more, too. Maybe partly to hang out with Ethan, but the doe eyed boy knows it’s more than that. Because the moment he’s left alone, Chad is somehow ending up next to you. His hand always rests on your knee, and you always tilt your head back and giggle at what he says. It’s ridiculous.

You smile brightly at Ethan, and move over to kiss Chad on the cheek.

“Goodmorning, guys!”

Ethan scowls at your affection, at your happy demeanor. He doesn’t like to be left out. but then you’re pressing a kiss to his cheek, too. That surprises him, and his eyebrows raise. Your parents don’t seem to notice, too wrapped up in the conversation about bills they’re having to care. And maybe you don’t seem to care, anymore. You aren’t as discreet, aren’t shy to touch Ethan or actually spend more time with him in front of your parents. Maybe it’s better this way.

Except for Chad.

“Goodmorning, bunny.” Chad’s eyes follow your form, and he smiles up at you. “You look pretty today.”

The fucking nickname.

Chad’s been calling you that since the night of the party, when he had went home with you and Ethan and tucked your body into your bed and kissed you goodnight. Ethan had stayed with you, after that, and held you until you went to sleep. Chad had thanked him, and Ethan can remember it all clearly now: the expanse of Chad’s jaw as he spoke, his hazel eyes looking at him in appreciation. He had had a nervous flush to his cheeks. Ironic, considering what they had just done. He had almost looked...cute.

Wait, what?

And this is what brings Ethan to immense confusion. He stares at the bowl of fruit loops in front of him, and contemplates what the fuck he just thought.

And then he looks over at Chad again, from across the table. He’s letting you sit in his lap, and he’s feeding you a piece of toast.

You both look good, today. You’re wearing a tiny pink crop top, and a little skirt hangs low around your hips, thigh highs and garter belt showing. Ethan notices that you’ve been wearing them a lot, recently. And Chad is wearing one of Ethan’s Coldplay tee shirts, one Ethan has seen him in a thousand times whenever he stays over.

But now, he notices, it fits him quite well.

He audibly groans, and loudly. You and Chad’s eyes go to him, eyebrows raised, and he tilts his head back and sighs.

“I’m going upstairs,” he grumbles. The chair makes a loud scraping sound as he gets out of it, and you cringe. You notice the way his hands are clenched at his sides as he walks up the stairs.

“What was that about?” Wayne asks. He’s clearly uninterested; his reading glasses are perched on his nose and he’s looking at the mail. You shrug. Sometimes you wonder if he even has a personality, honestly.

It’s later that night, and Chad is staying over again.

He’s asleep beside Ethan, and he’s snoring softly. Something he’s been doing since high school; Ethan’s bed is like his own.

And when Ethan’s eyes are resting against his pillow, he hears the door open.

He knows it’s you, can smell your strawberry perfume from a mile away. He turns over, and lifts his head up to look at you.

You nervously twiddle your fingers and whisper.

“I’m sorry I woke you up.”

He shakes his head, looking down at your pretty pink nightgown and your bare feet sliding across the hardwood floor.

“You didn’t. What’s wrong, angel?”

“I uhm—“ you hesitate, and Ethan notices the tears going down your face. He sits up immediately, careful not to wake Chad, and moves over to you and pushes you out of earshot. He holds your face in his hands.

“You can tell me.”

“I just had a n-nightmare, that’s all..”

He wipes your tears away and pulls you into a hug. He’s sweet, pressing kisses to your cheeks and holding you for a moment so you can rest.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks.

You hesitate, but then nod.

“We can go outside next to the pool, if you want,” Ethan suggests. And when you agree, he’s quietly pulling you down the stairs. When you open the sliding door to go outside the concrete is warm underneath your feet; it’s a hot summer night, but not hot enough to be excruciating. Just enough to bring comfort. You sit down beside the pool and let your bare feet rest in the water. Ethan sits down beside you, his fingers brushing against yours.

“What was your nightmare about?” He asks.

“We got caught.” You murmur. “In the dream, we got caught. And they wouldn’t- wouldn’t let me see you..”

Ethan frowns. He doesn’t like thinking about that fact.

“We won’t get caught, honey.” Ethan coos. “And even if we did.. nothing will stop me from being around you. Nothing.”

The way he says it makes you shiver. His tone is dark, and you can see the way his fists are clenched at his sides. And when he relaxes, he begins to speak.

“Can I ask you something?” He says.

“Of course.”

“Do you like Chad?” He already knows your answer. There’s no need to say it.

“…Do you?” You glance at him, and he shrugs.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs. “Maybe.”

You place your hand on his thigh, and softly draw circles into clothed skin. He sighs and begins to relax. His hand goes up to cup your cheek in his palm.

You hesitate when his lips almost touch yours.

“We shouldn’t. Not here.”

“Oh c’mon, baby…” his teeth nip at your earlobe, and that’s all it takes before he slips his fingers underneath your nightgown.

“Don’t you want to make your big brother proud?”

And after, after he’s inpaled you on his thick length beside that pool, after he’s filled you full of his cum, he carries you back into his room. Chad surfaces when he feels your body land next to his. His eyes crack open, and in the darkness of the room, he can smell your sweet scent.

“Y/n?” He questions groggily, and you let out a little giggle.

“Mhm.”

“C’mere.” His hands guide your head to his chest, and you curl up against him eagerly. Then the boys eyes furrow in confusion.

“Wait, where’s Eth?”

“Right here, man.” Ethan says from the other side of you.

“Oh shit, hey!” Chad says in surprise. He can be so dumb sometimes.

And then he’s clearing his throat and muttering.

“You can- you can move closer.. If you want to.”

Ethan ponders, and then he’s nodding as a smile is plastered onto his face.

“Sure.”

He curls his body up, cheek resting on you shoulder, and his hand goes to lay across Chad’s lower stomach. Chad, yawns, and grabs Ethan’s hand as he goes back to sleep again.

Ethan doesn’t really care that Chad is here anymore.

I mean, he’s his best friend, right? And best friends always share.

Even each other.

And that’s evident now as Ethan’s lips are attached to Chad’s with an imminent longing.

It’s the first time they’ve kissed; and although it should be awkward, it’s not. Things have just always flowed between them like that. It’s easy.

You giggle as Chad moves from Ethan’s mouth to yours, lips swollen and kiss bitten. He’s got his shirt off, Ethan with his pants unbuckled and hair mussed. It seems that deciding to go to Chad’s apartment was a good idea.

“I told you guys you should’ve kissed sooner. I knew there was something going on!” You say. Ethan rolls his eyes. He hates when you’re right.

“Yeah, yeah, princess.” Chad teases. “Why don’t you take that little top off and come suck me off, hm?”

“Why don’t you let Ethan do it?”

Chad lets out a breath, and his cheeks become ablazed as he sees the look Ethan gives him.

“You want that, Chad?” Ethan asks. The boy nods, pretty eyes incredibly dark from the intimacy of the whole situation. The fact that he has the most beautiful girl and boy in his bedsheets right now is making his brain fuzzy.

Ethan grins, big frame moving over to push Chad down onto the sheets below him. He huffs.

“Why do you always have to be so aggressive about everything?”

“Bite me.”

“Maybe.”

The thing about Chad is, with you he’s so used to being in control. But when it comes to Ethan, he really just wants to sit back and submit. He doesn’t really know why; maybe it’s the other boy’s cockiness that makes him seem so intimidating, something about his build and that grin he gives Chad whenever he tells him about one of his shitty hookups. He’s never felt this way about another guy, but he doesn’t hate it. And as Ethan pulls down Chad’s briefs and pulls the boy’s thighs over his own, he whines.

“Eth, c’mon.. I want you to use your mouth. Please?”

It’s the first time you’ve ever heard Chad beg. And honestly, it sounds like something you’d like to hear more often. You watch as Ethan grabs Chad’s hard length in his hand, the tip flushed and leaking precum.

“No. Don’t be greedy. Besides, we still have to make our bunny feel good, don’t we?”

Chad flushes, arm going up to cover his face.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, baby. Bunny, C’mere.”

You crawl on your hands and knees over to Chad. He smiles, going up to press a kiss to your lips.

“I’m gonna take my cock out, sweet girl. Think you can use your hands on me?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good girl.”

Your hands reach into Ethan’s pants and you pull him out. You sigh in content, lips wandering over his biceps as you stroke his cock. He groans, leaning back to kiss you again. Chad makes a noise of displeasure, and it gets Ethan’s attention. He chuckles, hands going to stroke his thighs.

“Do you need something?” He jokes.

Chad pouts. “I want a kiss, too.”

“Poor baby.”

And then Ethan is pulling Chad up. The boy whines, lips crashing against Ethan’s again. He smiles into the kiss. Your hand is still stroking him, only steadily, but begins to increase in speed as his tongue goes into Chad’s mouth. Ethan groans harshly, pulling away.

“Little minx. Come give Chad a kiss.”

You smile, leaning over to give him one. Chad’s eyelashes flutter shut at the feeling of your soft hands going up to stroke his hair.

“Good boy..” you whisper. Chad keens, forehead resting against yours.

“Am I really?”

“Of course you are. Now lay back down, okay?”

His body goes down onto the bed and Ethan pulls him back over his thighs again. You move to the end of the bed, near his head. Your fingers softly stroke his face. His eyes flutter shut, and his mind becomes engulfed in the many sensations. Ethan begins to stroke him again.

“Oh! God..”

The boy can’t keep still, his hips chasing that beautiful friction. Ethan spits down on him.

“Good fuckin’ boy. I bet you wanna cum so bad, don’t you?”

“Yes!.. c-can bunny ride my face? Please?”

The nickname and the fact that he’s still worried about your orgasm makes you smile.

“Yeah, baby. She can.” Ethan replies.

You remove your panties, Chad looking up at you with a dazed look and his face contorted in pleasure. Your wetness trickles down your thighs as you sit down on the boy’s face. His reaction is immediate; the moment your pussy is close to him, he grabs you by your ass and holds you down onto him. His tongue rubs your swollen clit with vigor, and you gasp. Chad loves eating pussy, but you’ve got to top all of the other ones he’s become familiar with. Your juices are perfect, bitter and sweet all at once, making his hips fuck into Ethan’s hands more. If he could just sit there and take your wetness down his throat for the rest of his life, he would.

“Look at that,” Ethan coos. “Both my babies look so precious. Does his tongue feel good on your little clit, sweet girl?”

You nod aggressively. Your hands are dripping your tits harshly as you bounce up and down on him. “Feels s’good, daddy.”

“Yeahhh, that’s my fuckin’ girl. Bet you want both those little holes used, don’t you? Want them dripping both our loads?”

The thought of it makes your eyes roll back, and Chad moans underneath you. You feel your orgasm nearing, tummy tightening.

“‘M gonna cum.. oh! God, pleasepleaseplease-“

“Yeah. Go on, cum on our boy’s face.”

And when you do, you’re tilting your head back and obeying Ethan’s orders, just like you always do.

The next day Ethan is bending you over the desk in his bedroom. He’s harsh, hips slapping your thighs in the most filthy way. The door lays wide open because no one is home. Ethan’s hands are wrapped around your throat. His grip is incredibly tight, and he pulls your body against his in an unnatural bent position. He’s fucking you, so careless, as if you’re nothing to him. And although that’s not the case, the incredibly large cock kissing your cervix seems to deem otherwise. Sounds leave your sweet mouth as he pounds your little cunt, whispering dirty praises.

“You’re so fuckin’ tight- love this pussy so much, fuck!” He groans, his cock twitching.

“I know s-sir, feels s’good…”

Your legs shake, body trembling, your sticky wetness coating Ethan’s cock, and he spreads you apart to watch your pussy be pummeled by him.

“God. Look at you, baby. Yeah, you’re my good little slut. So pretty..”

His hand reaches around and he begins to aggressively rub your clit. Your juices gush out and fall down your thighs, your orgasm drawing near. And with one last squeeze to Ethan’s gigantic length, you cum. He groans, and his hips are stuttering as he fills you up for the third time that week. The fact that you aren’t pregnant is beyond the both of you.

When Ethan pulls out, your body lays limp against the wooden desk. Drool is all over your chin and lips. You smile, dazed, and let out a small giggle.

Ethan smiles, bringing his hand down to stroke your back.

“You okay?”

“‘M perfect, E. Can you help me up, please?”

He does, ever the gentleman, and brings you over to his bed. You stumble a bit, due to the process of getting up too quick and because of your sore legs, but you manage. And when Ethan joins you on the bed, he’s pulling your body against his equally nude one. His softening cock rests softly against your hip, and he kisses your cheek.

“Go to sleep, sweet thing. I’ll clean up.”

You nod, eyes droopy, and drift off.

Ethan really did mean to clean up. But your hair smelled so nice, and he hadn’t got a lot of sleep the night before. So, he falls asleep against your back, his lips pressed against your shoulder blade.

You were both so content that you never heard the sound of the door opening and closing. The sound of your parent’s voices carrying throughout the house. And when Ethan’s dad decides to make a trip upstairs, when he walks past Ethan’s room, his booming voice makes you both jolt awake.

“What the hell is going on here?!”

#Ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x fem! reader #ethan landry smut #chad meeks martin #Chad meeks Martin x reader #Chad meeks Martin x fem! reader #Chad meeks Martin smut #Chad meeks Martin x Ethan landry #Ethan landry x reader x Chad meeks Martin #stepbrother! Ethan landry #switch! Chad meeks martin #dom! Ethan landry #sub! reader #bisexual! Chad meeks Martin #bisexual! Ethan landry #scream #scream 6 #scream iv #scream 5

[cuubism]

touch-starved dream in a universe where any human who touches the endless falls to ruin. 6k. E.

--

Hob had always felt that his stranger was untouchable.

He was too beautiful, for one. The kind of face you imagined when you were young and dreaming of marriage (or, less respectably, when you were young and jerking off). The kind of face that didn’t appear in reality because real beauty had flaws—that was kind of what made it real.

Hob’s stranger’s beauty was a fall of light easily dashed by a hand. Impossible to touch.

For another thing: it was a bad idea to touch him. You didn’t go around offering yourself to strange beautiful things you met in the woods (or in a tavern). That was how you ended up a not-so-virgin sacrifice, or a meal, or a soul traded for riches. That sort of beauty was a lure. That was just common sense.

Hob had never had much of that. Hob very much did go and offer himself to a strange and beautiful thing he met in a tavern. A thing which never touched him, it must be said, but only offered an enigmatic smile, and a promise of a later meeting.

And then Hob dreamed of him. In his dream they were touching, in his dream Hob pulled his long robes away from his pale, slim thighs and took him in his mouth. He touched him a lot in that dream. Lips spread over his cock, hands wrapped around his thighs, his stranger’s nails scraping over his scalp.

In 1489, his stranger didn’t touch him, though the twinkle in his eye suggested their late rendezvous may have been slightly more than a dream.

In dreams that night, Hob had him as close as two creatures could possibly be, his stranger thrusting into him, one long-fingered hand wrapped loosely around Hob’s cock, the other around his throat, and it felt strangely like approval. Like appreciation.

In 1589, Hob didn’t expect his stranger to touch him, and he didn’t.

His dreams were absent, too, but for a flash of starlight eyes, a hushed growl, the ghostly, erotic drag of claws up his spine and over the back of his skull.

In 1689, Hob wondered if, maybe, his stranger would extend a hand. He didn’t, but for the first time there was a hesitant curl to his fingers.

In dreams, Hob was held, and sobbed with the lack of shame inherent to dreaming, because it had been so long since he had been touched kindly. And the dream repeated, in subtle variations, for many years after his stranger had gone again.

In 1789, Hob thought he’d be pinned against a wall. To be bitten, or fucked, or have his throat clawed out, he was really unsure. His stranger’s gaze held teeth. Disapproval. Heat. Appreciation of Hob’s swift if unneeded defense. A war of emotions, and Hob felt appraised, wanted, derided, devoured, and would have accepted any pleasure or pain his stranger saw fit to deal out, would have taken it gladly, on his knees, over a table, against a wall. Again, his stranger did not touch him, but his eyes were hot as coals.

In their dreams, he had his stranger on his back, fucked roughly into him, and it felt like judgment. Does that make you feel powerful, Hob? But his stranger’s moans were loud and his body tight and hot and his gaze haughty, and Hob knew he was enjoying himself.

Afterward, he combed his fingers through Hob’s hair, like Hob might still be redeemable. Hob didn’t know, but at least his stranger was touching him.

In 1889, Hob tried to touch him.

Just to lay their hands together on the table. Just to say, I know there’s something there between us and whatever it is, I’m telling you that I see it. Hob reached.

His stranger yanked his hands back.

He stood up, eyes flashing. Hob understood how colossally he’d fucked up before his stranger spoke a word. Before he stormed out, taking Hob’s hope that this might be anything with him.

He had the strangest dream that night. The only one of his stranger that could not actually be of his stranger. It must have been a fabrication of Hob’s mind, that time. A way to provide himself with closure that he wasn’t going to get otherwise.

In the dream, they were sitting again in the White Horse. Hob reached out his hands, palms up. His stranger hesitated. He did not look offended, this time. He looked—afraid. And wanting.

Slowly he reached out his hands, and laid them in Hob’s. Hob tangled their fingers together. Squeezed. And his stranger smiled.

His stranger didn’t come in 1989, and Hob didn’t dream of him either, no matter how much he wanted to. No matter how much he wanted to tell him, I won’t touch you if you don’t want. I think you do want, but it’s no matter. Just come back to me.

No matter. Hob would wait.

No human had touched Dream in many, many years. The last to try had been his captors. Burgess’s guards, as they tried to move him into his glass prison. Even with Dream’s magic bound, they had met the same terrible fate Dream had expected.

One could not look directly into the sun without burning one’s eyes. One could not stare into the swirling core of all dreams and nightmares without going mad.

The guards had clawed off their clothes, torn out their own eyes, scratched at their temples until broken nails pushed through bone to blood and brain matter and the knowing, the seeing, finally stopped.

It was not for living things to touch Dream while waking.

Thereafter the living guards had chased him with cattle prods to get him into his prison. Dream had held his ground for a long time, staring into their eyes as they coursed electricity through his nonhuman body, just to see their resolve weaken, to witness their terror. For them, he was the uncanny, the rabid dog fearing nothing, whose touch meant death. Still, they eventually maneuvered him into his prison.

No matter.

Dream was now free. Dream had his tools again, and his realm. And still he felt like that feral animal, poisonous to touch.

Worse that it was true.

He almost did not follow his sister’s suggestion to find Hob again. He did not trust himself. He no longer knew how to maintain a safe distance. After how Hob had touched him in their last shared dream, after Dream had fled from him, held his hands and later his body against his chest, Dream did not know how to keep his hands away. But he must. For Hob’s sake, he must.

Eventually, he found himself at the New Inn. Hungry. Starving. Cold. Would Hob welcome him back? Even if only in dreams?

At least in dreams, Dream’s touch could not burn him.

Dream found Hob sitting in the inn, like he had been waiting there all that while. The smile that graced Hob’s face when he saw Dream was beautiful, was terrible, for it bore the care Dream had not allowed himself to see, and the danger that care put Hob in.

And then Hob got up, and came around the table, and—before Dream could move away, or perhaps Dream just stood and watched it happen, awaited the immolation—Hob hugged him.

“No,” Dream whispered, and Hob chuckled, one arm wrapped around Dream’s waist, the other cradling the back of his neck, over his collar.

“I know, I know, you’re touchy about being touched—ha. Indulge me for a second, won’t you? I’ve been worried about you.”

“Worried?” Dream repeated at a whisper, for Hob had yet to run screaming, clawing out his own eyes.

“Haven’t seen you for a hundred thirty years, yeah, I was a bit worried. Even if I can imagine you taking that long just to think something over.”

He released Dream, then, and gestured for Dream to sit down. Which Dream did, still awash with confusion, and then realized:

Oh. Hob had only touched his coat, not his skin. Dream’s clothes were made of dream stuff, and, as was true of his tools, could cause madness or eternal sleep when possessed by humans for any significant duration. But a brief touch would not harm them. Not like touching Dream himself.

Hob had not come into direct contact with him. Dream hated that he felt disappointed, and not relieved, as he should.

Hob deserved an explanation, though. At least to be sure he would not try to touch Dream again.

“It is not that I wish for you not to hug me,” he said. Indeed, he had thought of their nighttime rendezvouses often, in his prison. Hob kissing him. Holding him. As no one had for many, many years. Perhaps, if Hob truly forgave him, they could have it again in dreams.

But he would first have to explain what he was, would he not?

“You don’t?” said Hob, looking surprised, but pleased. And then, with typical audacity, he took Dream’s hands.

“Do not!” Dream’s voice cracked with power, with desperation, but it was too—

Hob was standing on a vast field of black sand. A vast, empty field, glimmering and iridescent, the sky an utterly blank white, like light shining through an empty monitor. Like a blank sheet of printer paper, missing ink. The air was utterly still.

And standing before him was his stranger.

This was not the stranger Hob had met in dreams, that he had held and bedded in sheets of silken dream stuff, or sat across from in the inn. This version of his stranger was… magnificent.

He was robed all in black fabric that draped in illogical swirls and lines. He was tall and thin and angular, with hands sharp like claws, his hair blowing about without wind, and his eyes were terrible. Bottomless black void that made Hob feel like he was falling upwards into the sky.

He was beautiful.

“Hell of a place for a date, stranger,” Hob said, nervous despite himself. But at least he wasn’t here, wherever here was, alone.

“I am sorry, Hob,” said his stranger. Now Hob recognized the look on his face. It was grief. He had seen it once, in 1689.

“Why?” Hob asked, and then his stranger took his hands. The movement had an inevitability to it: Hob had done it in the inn, and now his stranger was bidden to do it, too, here.

He took Hob’s hands in his, those soft, fragile hands that Hob had always longed to hold when out of dreams, at their meetings. Hob ran his thumbs over his knuckles, and his stranger’s expression cracked, an iridescent tear slipping down his cheek.

Hob raised his stranger’s hands to his lips, and kissed his knuckles. And—

Oh.

Oh.

There was his stranger. Hob could see him now. Truly.

The strange being before him, his stranger, not so strange anymore—he was… everything. He was stars, Hob could see all of them wheeling, and he was music, a collision of notes all upon each other, and flowers in bloom, and children playing pretend, and meticulously typed memoirs, memories held by trees, and root networks, and insects singing. He was proposals, he was invention, and flickering film reel, and dance. And not only that, but shadow, and all of Hob’s fears of being left, and a bite to the throat, a claw to the chest, a haunting memory, and he was beautiful.

Hob came back to himself, to that blank, open space, head full of infinite visions, heart full of his stranger. His stranger was still looking at him with that grief. Did he really hate being seen that badly?

“I missed you,” Hob whispered, voice thick. He squeezed his stranger’s hands. He could still feel it. The massive everything of him.

His stranger’s eyes widened. “You… are not mad.”

“What, in general? I’m certifiably mad, I’m sorry to tell you.”

His stranger stepped forward, sudden as a flicker of light, and took Hob’s face between his hands.

“You should be ruined,” he said, staring into Hob’s eyes, that endless void of him.

Hob laughed nervously. “Should I?”

And then his friend threw himself at him. Hob could never have expected him to move so ungracefully. He clawed at Hob’s shoulders, pressed their bodies together, shoved his face into Hob’s throat. The clawed points of his fingers ripped holes in Hob’s jacket, drew blood from his skin, but he didn’t care.

Hob wrapped his arms around him, rubbed his back. “Is that all?” he said gently.

“All,” croaked his stranger, and then suddenly they were sitting in the New Inn again, but his friend had crawled into his lap and had his face pressed into Hob’s throat, just as in the dream.

Hob shook his head, working out the dizziness, then looked down at him. “You okay, love?”

“Hob Gadling, you are a marvel, and you do not understand.”

Hob definitely didn’t understand anything, but it wasn’t the end of the world. Not for now. He had his friend back, after all.

“Does that mean I get to touch you now, for real?” Hob asked. “Now that I’ve beheld your magnificence? Is that how it works?”

His friend pulled far enough away to look at him. He wasn’t crying, but his eyes looked raw. “Your dreams were real,” he said. Even though Hob had always known that, had felt it.

“Good.” He took his friend’s face in his hand, ran a thumb over his lower lip. Beautiful thing, him. “Hell of a waste not to be shared, those dreams.”

His friend’s eyes were blue here, but as deep as in the dream. “Indeed.”

Hob leaned in to kiss him. They were making an absolute scene here in the inn, with his friend in his lap, but Hob couldn’t care less. He drank of his stranger’s mouth, head tipped back, taking of those soft lips, that giving mouth, that wanting tongue. His friend whimpered against him, fingers wrapped loosely around the back of Hob’s neck.

“No humans can touch me,” whispered his stranger, pressing their foreheads together. “Not while waking.”

“No humans can live forever,” Hob pointed out, and his stranger gave a small laugh.

“Truly.”

“I always wanted to do this,” Hob confessed, stroking his hands over his stranger’s back. “Always wanted to touch you—outside of dreams. Just wasn’t sure you would want that.”

Tears beaded along his friend’s eyes. So much feeling from him today. “I did not, but only because it should be impossible. I am Endless, Hob Gadling. I am not a creature for humans to come so close to. You all visit my realm, but to perceive this concentration of my being—it can only harm you. It would drive you mad.”

“I’m quite mad already,” Hob reminded him, but his heart hurt for his friend. No one could touch him? Could hug him? Or bring him pleasure, like they had done in their dreams?

“I have seen men claw out their own eyes after seeing me,” said his stranger, with the inevitable intonation of a storm. “I have watched them crack their own skulls, take Death’s hand, so they would no longer have to know. And you wonder why I would forbid you to touch me.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to know you?” Hob asked. Yeah, yeah, the forbidden knowledge of the universe and so on. Hob still wanted to see it. Whatever writhing power existed at the heart of his eternal friend. Wanted to know it. To touch it.

“Thing is,” he continued, when his friend merely stared at him incredulously, “I wouldn’t claw out my eyes, ‘cause I want to see it. See you.”

“Even if I were to blind you?”

Hob gave him a cheeky grin. Not unlike the one he’d given him in a fourteenth century tavern, when for a moment he’d really thought he could charm the strange creature he’d encountered into his bed. “Darling, I was blinded by you the moment I saw you.”

His friend kissed him. Desperate enough that his teeth dug into Hob’s lip. Hob laughed. “Can’t believe that terrible line actually worked on you.”

“It is working,” said his friend, face still pressed tight to Hob’s, hands gripping his shoulders, sharp fingertips digging in.

“Wanna touch you more,” Hob murmured, and his friend nodded feverishly. “But they don’t love exhibitionism in this day and age.”

His friend looked up and around at the inn, as if suddenly remembering where they were. He did not seem embarrassed, but perhaps startled to have forgotten himself.

“Besides, I don’t want to share you,” Hob said. “Come upstairs with me?”

He held out a hand. His friend—lover?—took it, and they disentangled themselves, and Hob led him upstairs.

In his bedroom, Hob pushed his friend’s coat off his shoulders. In disbelief this was happening. His stranger, really here, in the soft lamplight, looking at him with wide, dark eyes. Looking like he had been starved. Recently I have seen men driven mad, he had said. Who had tried to touch him? Why?

“What’s your name, darling?” Hob asked. Just a bit choked up. “You never did tell me.”

“Oh.” Under the coat, he was wearing only a t-shirt. Hob wondered if he was cold. “I am Dream.”

Dream. Look into the heart of dreams and know it. How could that drive you mad? Wouldn’t it be brilliant?

“Dream,” Hob sighed, and kissed him again. This time it was soft, a meeting of lips in the semi-dark. Dream’s hands found his jacket, pushed it off, then stole under his shirt to press flat to the warmth of Hob’s chest. His fingers were cold. Hob pulled his shirt off entirely and tugged him close, wrapping Dream’s arms around himself, tucking Dream’s nose into his throat.  He let out a low whine that reverberated through Hob’s chest.

“Come on,” Hob murmured. “Come.” He got both their shoes off, and maneuvered them up onto the bed, where Dream pulled him down to drape Hob’s body over his.

It was not like any of the times Hob had been with him in dreams. Their dreams had been ephemeral, diaphanous moments spun of longing, where ultimately Hob woke aching and hard and lonely.

This was present and physical. Dream’s body was bony and real under his, each moment forced to connect in linear time so he could not miss or forget any touch of his old stranger’s.

Hob kissed him again, hungrily. He thought he would never tire of it. Dream’s long fingers skated up his back to tangle in his hair. He moaned into Hob’s mouth. Shivering. Oversensitive.

“Okay, love?” Hob asked, and Dream nodded.

“Do not stop.” It would have been an order were it not for the thread of desperation wound through it.

“I’d be mad to want to stop touching you. Madder than I am.”

“Be no more mad than you are, then,” Dream said. “Please.”

So Hob laid his hands on Dream’s body, held his narrow hips, pet his hard flank, pressed down on his soft, concave belly. He dipped his fingers under the waistband of Dream’s dark jeans to feel the bend of his hipbone and the sensitive crease of his thigh. He kept expecting to feel something strange, or wrong, a bone that bent the wrong way, something to mark Dream’s otherness, but for now, it seemed, he was human. Nor did he feel again the vastness of him that he’d seen on those sands, though he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it was still there.

“Take it off,” Dream breathed, and before Hob could, he let his jeans dissolve back into whatever dream stuff made them up.

“You’re showing me up,” Hob laughed, as he wiggled out of his jeans and briefs the normal, awkward way. Then he was naked with his stranger, and while they had been so before, in dreams, it had never felt so physical, and Hob had never been able to see all of him, only impressions, fleeting glimpses and sensations.

Hob was shocked by how much he just looked like a person. An otherworldly person, true, but a person all the same.

“Christ, you’re gorgeous,” he breathed. He thought Dream might have blushed, though it was too dark to really tell. “Truly no one’s been able to touch you like this? At all?” Hob couldn’t possibly imagine anyone not wanting to, so it must be a matter of ability.

“Not in this realm,” confirmed Dream. “You… are new to me.”

Hob didn’t like the idea of Dream held at a remove, unable to get even a hug, but he did, selfishly, like the idea of being new. Of being special, the only one to have Dream like this.

He’d have to be sure to do right by him.

He kissed his way down Dream’s chest and stomach, watching his skin jump at each press of his lips, each skim of his teeth. Dream wrapped his arms around him even as he moved, as if to pull away from Hob would see him cast away from a temporary warmth, into the cold.

“Won’t let go of you,” he promised as Dream kept clutching at his shoulders. Dream only held him tighter at that, fingertips digging in. Hob didn’t mind. Let him hold tight, it was what Hob wanted anyway.

He relished in the feeling of Dream’s legs wrapped around him as he kissed the jut of his hipbone, the vee of his pelvis, the soft skin of his inner thigh. Nuzzled the tender skin at the base of his cock, as Dream pleaded above him, hands in Hob’s hair, “Hob, please—”

So much for the domineering creature that had once taken Hob to bed in his dreams; this was a wanting, needy thing, a man desperate enough to beg for he hadn’t had in so long, or ever.

Hob hushed him, stroked his thighs. Dream was shivering now, though Hob had barely touched him. His fingers shook in Hob’s hair. But Hob did not think he wanted him to stop.

Instead, he devoted himself to making Dream fall apart. He wouldn’t have to go without, not with Hob around. Hob would touch him so much his skin would burn.

He licked up Dream’s cock, an echo of how he had once pleasured him in a dream, but this was a different kind of worship. Dream made a mewling sound above him, so Hob took him in his mouth, bobbed his head, swirled his tongue over the slit. Silent stoic stranger, if you don’t cry for me I won’t have done my job right. Dream would cry in pleasure and never know what it was to lack it again.

Dream’s hips thrust up, bumping the back of Hob’s throat, a jerky motion that felt involuntary as he tripped over into pleasure, but Hob hummed and encouraged him to do it again. To take what he wanted, what made him feel good. Dream groaned but did, thrusting into the back of Hob’s mouth, legs twisted around his shoulders. Hob greedily took the heft and pressure of him, the knock of Dream inside him. He felt only more euphoric the less control Dream’s motions had.

But. He did have other ideas, too.

He pulled off, crawled up his body to meet him in a kiss, turned Dream’s face to his and swallowed his whine, which was so high and sweet. Dream’s kiss was soft and pliant, his eyes closed. When they were close, when Hob broke the kiss but kept his hands on him, their faces together, he looked at peace. Blissful. Languid and warm, as of a late morning spent pleasantly sleeping in. Just from closeness, he looked that way.

Hob turned him on his side and pressed their bodies together, back to front. Like this, they could touch from ankles to hips, bellies to chests to shoulders, and Dream sighed into him, going boneless.

Hob held him close, Dream’s head pillowed on his arm, kissed marks over his shoulder and up his throat. Worshiped his skin. Meanwhile he slipped a hand in the tight space between their bodies and pressed an exploratory fingertip to Dream’s entrance.

Dream shivered all over and pushed his hips back against Hob’s hand. Thrilled, emboldened, Hob pushed the tip of his finger inside him. Much more and he would need to get lube, but that would require moving, and he did not particularly want—

“You need not,” murmured Dream and, as if Hob didn’t understand what he meant, pushed himself back on Hob’s fingers with another groan. “I. Can take you.”

Hob was inclined to take his word for it. Not least because he himself was desperately hard, and to be so close to Dream, to be inside him, was too enticing to resist.

So he lined up and slowly pressed in, still with Dream held tight to his front. Dream sucked in a gasp but his body gave to Hob’s. So easily and so beautifully. By some presumably dream-logic, Dream was already loose and wet for him, like he had been waiting with held breath for just this moment. Hob slid into him like he’d spent ages prepping, and it wasn’t until he was all the way in that he took a breath.

“Feel so good, love,” he breathed.

“Hob,” Dream croaked, a broken sound. He clutched desperately at Hob’s hand when Hob laid it flat on his stomach. If he pressed down he could feel himself inside Dream—oh, Christ.

“I have you,” Hob promised, his own voice shaky. “You okay, love?”

“I am,” said Dream, still squeezing Hob’s hand. “I am. Overwhelmed.”

Hob knew he had done this before—he had fucked Dream himself in his dreams in the past—but this world seemed to be so much louder for Dream. Each touch was like a scream—but Dream did not pull away from him. He held Hob to him and submitted himself to the maelstrom.

“It’s okay,” Hob assured him, kissing the back of his neck.

“I do not know if it is,” Dream confessed. “I am used to it not being.”

Hob kissed the hinge of his jaw, leaned over him to speak there. “It is. I want to touch you, remember? What could be wrong with that? Nothing bad’s going to happen. You believe me?”

“I trust you,” Dream whispered, which was not the same thing, but the more meaningful for it. Hob’s heart hurt to think of him so uncertain it was okay to have such a simple thing as touch.

But perhaps it wasn’t so simple after all.

“It’s okay, love,” Hob said. You can have what you want this time, please believe that.

“‘Love,’” Dream repeated, and released a long shuddering breath that drained the tension from his body. He took Hob’s hand and brought it close to his mouth, kissing and nuzzling at his fingers. “Please don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Dream chuckled. It was a lovely sound.

And so Hob started moving in him. His first few thrusts dragged a strangled groan from Dream’s throat, so he increased his pace, Dream’s impossible magic slicking the way, like a dream where there were no barriers to touching him. He lost himself to the heady feeling of having him in truth, the addictive heat of Dream’s body and the even more delicious moans pulled from his lungs, louder as he grew bolder in his pleasure. Hob spoke to him mindlessly, praise and sweet nothings against the nape of his neck, you’re doing so well, darling, you’re so beautiful, does that feel good? When he caught the right angle to hit his prostate, Dream’s body went tense and he let out a ragged cry. Hob smiled against his neck. Perfect, you’re perfect, everything about you is all I’ve ever wanted.

“Hob,” Dream moaned, “Hob, please—”

Hob redoubled his efforts to break him apart. He would have taken him in hand but Dream seemed more inclined to keep Hob’s hand in his own grasp. So Hob squeezed his hand and kissed a bruise into the side of his neck, and moved within him until Dream was writing and pushing back against him, torn between pulling away and desperately grabbing for more.

“I’m—” he gasped, then broke off in another moan. There was nothing better, Hob thought, than hearing his eloquent stranger broken into gasps of pleasure.

“Close, darling,” Hob panted against the back of his neck. The sight of Dream so wanting, combined with the heat of his body, had him balancing on the edge, holding on only because continuing to touch Dream was more delicious than letting go.

“Please,” Dream breathed, tears pooling along his eyes.

To reduce his once-stranger to such base expressions of emotion was too much for Hob, and he came inside him with a groan. At the feeling Dream clutched at his hand and came untouched, crying out.

And then he truly did cry, tears spilling over and streaming down his cheeks.

Hob clutched him tightly, arms around his middle, still coming down from his own climax. But he recognized the crash Dream was feeling. He’d experienced it himself, coming down off of certain drugs, collapsing in a war camp during a lull at battle—the absolute plummeting drop of adrenaline, of dopamine, after something so very intense. Dream hadn’t had anything in so long, and now he’d thrown himself on the fire of it, and that he wasn’t human didn’t matter when it came to getting burned.

Hob turned him, gathered him close, tucked Dream’s face into his throat, ignoring the mess between them. Dream sobbed raggedly as Hob pulled out, but still went, tangling his legs in Hob’s, tucking his fingers between Hob’s body and the mattress.

“Sweetheart,” Hob murmured, stroking his back as Dream shook against him.

“Help,” Dream whispered. A frightening word to come out of his mouth, truly. “I— I cannot—”

“Shhh. You’re okay.” Hob drew a blanket up over them. “You’re okay, my love. It’ll pass.”

He did know the feeling of that adrenaline crash, after all, though not how it felt for someone like Dream. Nor how long Dream had gone without any touch. A long time indeed. His heart, his throat hurt at the thought, and at the feeling of Dream shaking, even though he knew that, ultimately, this was good, a good thing, a cathartic thing. “I am not,” Dream insisted, but Hob shushed him again.

“You are, you are, sweetheart, I promise. Just breathe.”

He felt Dream, whom he was fairly certain didn’t need to breathe, take a breath. Then he let it out shakily. Then another, more slowly.

“There you are,” Hob soothed. Perhaps that had all been too much, too fast. Perhaps he should have eased him into it. Hob had never been very good at moderation.

Dream didn’t seem displeased, though. Merely overwhelmed. He was still clutching at Hob. And Hob was more than happy to hold him as long as he wanted. Forever, even.

“Breathe,” he reminded him. “There’s a love.” And finally Dream seemed to slump against him, his body unsticking from itself, and he let out a heaving breath, like a great animal finally allowing its massive lungs to rest.

“Alright, love?” Hob asked, and Dream nodded against his neck. “Bit overstimulated?”

“Yes,” Dream replied, quietly.

“I’m sorry.”

“No. It was—” he contemplated. “No,” he finally said, minimally verbal again.

Alright, then.

“Hope you’re staying a while,” Hob said, instead of asking if he wanted to. “Might need to pry me off you otherwise.”

He felt a tiny smile against his throat.

“Yes,” said Dream. Hob dragged his fingers through his hair. A fully body shiver ran through Dream at the touch.

“I would not care to give up this succor,” Dream continued, when they had lain together for some more minutes, apparently having recovered his voice. “I am too selfish to let it go, after all that has happened.”

“After all that’s happened?” Hob echoed, and Dream stiffened, realizing all at once that he had let slip something he had not previously revealed.

“No, don’t go,” Hob begged, desperation rising as he clutched Dream close before he could melt himself away. “Stay. Tell me what happened?”

Dream was silent for what felt like several full minutes as he thought. Hob waited.

“I was imprisoned,” Dream said at last.

Hob stiffened, holding him tighter, nails digging into his skin. Dream hummed in a way that suggested he found this pleasurable rather than painful.

“You were—” Hob repeated, choked. “What?” But he had heard him. He had heard.

“It kept me from our meeting,” Dream continued, too matter of fact for Hob’s comfort. “And reminded me once more of what happens to any man who comes too close.”

Hob felt ill. he didn’t even know the details, and he still felt sick. Dream, caged.

“Dream…” he didn’t know what to say.

“It reminded me, too, that to most humans in the waking, I am… a terror.” This, quieter. “So you see my astonishment that you should even want to touch me, never mind be able to, and how I will not be able to take my teeth from your throat now that I have tasted blood.”

That... sounded more appealing to Hob than Dream had probably meant it to. He recalled the eerie, otherworldly Dream of his past, the awesome Dream that had met him on that strange desert. If that Dream wanted to feed on him, he didn’t think he minded.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Dream... God.” Imprisoned. “You say that like I could possibly want you to go.”

Sharp teeth pricked at his throat. “You will.”

“No.” Imprisoned. I am a terror. What happens to men who touch me. “I won’t.” He squeezed Dream tighter, wrapping a leg around the back of Dream’s thigh. “I won’t.”

“You would keep me, then.” Half desire, half threat.

“Yeah. I would.”

Finally, Dream’s teeth left his skin. “Good,” he said, almost a growl, almost a purr. Then pressed himself in closer, more demanding now than needy.

“Imprisoned,” Hob echoed, at last.

“In iron and glass,” Dream agreed. “I have known… only hardness, this century. Before that, I suppose, nothing.”

“But our dreams,” said Hob.

“I am dreams. I cannot have, or experience them as you do.”

Didn’t that hurt. “Experience it now, then.”

Dream seemed to agree, for he kept his body tucked against Hob’s. His tears were now dry, but Hob could only imagine the well of pain within him. Held at a remove for so long.

He could not fix it all in one moment, though. Especially not for a being as grand, as magnificent, as eternal as Dream was. So he kissed the top of Dream’s head, tucked his nose into his hair, and like that, Hob tried to warm him, at least for a time.

Dream was untouchable. Until.

Dream was lying upon a fire. Every nerve in his affected body sang in pleasure and pain both. He wanted more. He could not handle more. Still he wanted it.

Until Hob dared to find him in dreams.

Hob was still holding him, and it was… everything. The most privileged balm after a century on cold glass. He had ceased crying, recovered, mostly, from the wave of stimulation that had swept through him, but still he was nearly overcome with the wealth of touch. And so easily bestowed.

Dared to chase him.

How much more might he be allowed? Was there truly an infinite depth of it, as infinite as his very being?

Dared to welcome him, hug him, see him.

“Hob?” he murmured. The King of Dreams should not be so needy, and yet.

Dared to know him.

“Yeah, darling?”

Dream had ruined men, burned away eyes, unmade neurons, made those who looked on him bleed as they clawed themselves apart. Had witnessed the annihilation of small worlds caused just by his wanting.

“Truly you wish me to stay?”

Hob could not be clawed apart, not even when Dream got his talons in him. Hob had proven resistant to annihilation.

Hob took his hand, and kissed his knuckles, the way he had done in a dream.

Now Dream himself was burning with hands on and in him and skin pressed everywhere to skin, and he knew why others were ruined. How he, himself, had already been in ashes.

“More than anything,” Hob said.

He suckled the blood of Hob’s veins and the succor of his fingertips. The grounding warmth of his skin. He sank into the bliss of being wanted.

“Very well, then,” Dream murmured, and laid his head back down on Hob’s chest.

Dream did not truly have blood, or fingertips, or warmth or skin, but. He was not meant to experience bliss or wanting, but. He was a terror, a nightmare, an ephemeral thing, and he could not be touched, could not be held, could not be kept.

But.

#dreamling #my writing #dream of the endless #hob gadling

[hihomeghere]

Hello my new favorite creator! I just saw your response to my last request (the soft y/n dom one) and I'm deffo going to formally request you turn it into a story (if you're not doing that already) I've been reading more of your content and it's quickly becoming an addiction 😅 any way I'll be a big supporter from the shadows <333 -🧛 anon (Naming myself lol)

Routine | Five Hargreeves / F!Reader

Part of the Tesoro series (Can be read as a one shot)

Word Count : 2.3k Summary : After the confession, Five and reader head back to a hotel room. Soft dom y/n. Aged up!Five Warnings/Tags : Smut, handjob, masturbation, piv, cursing, fluff at the end, this is filth enjoy <3 ( I do not own the umbrella academy or any of it's characters )

If Five was anything, he was a creature of habit. His father had ingrained that in him from a young age. Chores, training, studies, hell even his meal times were scheduled. His entire life was based on routine. 

Then he was stuck in the apocalypse, and even though there were millions of things Five could be mad at his father about, he had to appreciate his sense for routine. It kept him alive, he still had a set time to eat (if he had anything to eat), but instead of training he was scavenging. Picking through a wasteland for anything edible, along with trying to find a sustainable source of clean water. While picking through for food, he would also collect anything to help conserve his energy. Things like his bike or wagon, etc. His definition of ‘resting’ was mainly anytime he could sit down. During those periods he would work on equations, trying to find a way out of there and back to his family. And although it wasn’t strictly in his routine, mental breakdowns always seemed to weasel their way into his day. 

Thankfully, both of those routines were a thing of the past. Now his routine consisted of reading up on case files before going into the field. He’d kill whoever he had to and afterwards he’d reward himself with fucking his fist until he fell asleep. Did it make him feel a bit disgusted with himself, yes, but masturbation had been the only stress relief he’d ever had. Again, just another one of his constants throughout the years. What he hadn’t accounted for was you. At first he had marked you off as a nuisance. Like the cockroaches that somehow managed to survive alongside Five, although you were much nicer to look at. 

Five knew he was in trouble when he started subconsciously adding your routines into his. You would start getting hungry around 11:30 every day, like clockwork. So he had started planning his lunches for around 11:30, not because the thought of you eating alone made his heart seize in his chest, just to make his work more efficient. It aggravated him to have to wait for you to be finished with your lunch, only for him to get hungry once you returned. So out of convenience, he started eating lunch with you. Little things like that.

He couldn’t exactly say he was surprised. You were always one to throw wrenches in the works. Although he didn’t account for a deviation of this size into his plan. When he kissed you, a silent confession on his feelings, he knew there would be no going back. You were it for him. He loved you and you seemed to share those feelings. Your lips crashed against his as he fumbled with the key to the hotel room. You giggled into the kiss, something so sickly sweet. His hands were back on you as soon as the door swung open. Pulling the key out of the lock and throwing it onto a side table as he kicked the door close behind you. His hands were everywhere, touching and squeezing. Your breasts, oh god, your tits. He couldn’t get enough of them, his hand flew under your blouse, pinching your nipple through your  bra. You gasped softly, your hands threading through his hair. He stopped, admiring your flushed face as he kicked off his shoes. Your lips parted slightly, hot breath fanning across his face, a light splattering of blood across your cheek. 

You pulled away, and he almost whined at the loss of contact. What was happening to him? Did you really have such a hold on him? He was taken back to his younger years, when his father would read from Homer’s Odyssey. He had never paid much attention to the sirens, that was more of Diegos and Luthers interest. He wished he had listened to Circe’s warnings like Odysseus, now he was sure he had met a siren in person. He was bewitched by you, drawn to you like iron to a magnet. Five was sure you were more beautiful than Helen of Troy, hell even Aphrodite would be jealous of your beauty. 

“I’m going to take a shower.” You smiled, pushing him back onto the bed before kissing his cheek. Another one of your routines, always showering after a mission. You made a show of undressing yourself, slowly unbuttoning your blouse. Then shimmying out of your trousers. You hooked your fingers under your bra strap, pulling them down at an agonizing pace. You unhooked your bra, throwing it onto the chair. Five’s eyes never left your body until you were behind the bathroom door. He gulped, his cock painfully pressed against the crotch of his slacks. He hurried to pull himself free, the buckle of his belt clinking metal against metal. He started to get frantic in his movements, unzipping his pants and kicking them off along with his underwear. His cock sprung up against his stomach. He let out a sigh, spitting into his hand. He grabbed himself, lubricating his dick with his spit. At times like this he wondered if was seriously fucked in the head. But normally once he ran his thumb over the slit on his head any negative thoughts would be tucked away. He arched his neck, letting out a shaky breath as he started to stroke himself. His mind wandering to you, always you. “Fuck,” he sighed squeezing the base of his cock. Your flushed face, a blush painting your cheeks. That slutty fucking skirt you wore, tight around your hips, he didn’t know how you got that little thing over your ass. He groaned, his eyes rolling back as he picked up the pace. How your lips felt against his throat as you ordered him to cum, your tits bouncing with each of his thrusts. His hips jolted up into his hand, he craved more, his other hand gently cupped his balls. He was close, his breath getting caught in his throat. “Y/n.” He whined, his eyes fluttering close.

“Starting without me?” You asked leaning on the doorway to the bathroom. Clad in only a towel, tightly wrapped around your body. He froze, caught red handed with his pants down. Fuck he was so close. He tugged on himself, chasing after his high as it slowly slipped away. You stopped him, swatting his hand away from his dick. “Excuse me?” You scoffed, your arms crossed above him. You stared down at him, his chest rising and falling rapidly. 

“What?” He asked, his eyebrows knitting together. You grabbed his face, your fingers pressing his lips together, his skin dimpling under your grip. His breath hitched, his eyes going wide. “Y/n, what are you doing?” He said through squished lips.

“You started without me.” You repeated, a wolfish grin spreading across your face. He scoffed, rolling his eyes. You turned his face so he was looking at you, his green eyes wide. He let out a surprised sound, “Now, would you like to finish?” You asked with a commanding voice. His eyes flicked all over your face. 

“Y-yes.” He stuttered, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. You let go of his face, walking backwards until the back of your knees hit the plush chair. You sank down onto the chair, slowly undoing your towel, letting it pool around your body. 

He stared at you, his eyebrows still furrowed. You chuckled to yourself, his expression taking you back to the first night you spent together. So unsure of himself, his hands twitched against the sheets. His dick stood at attention, brushing against his white shirt. His angry red tip made a wet spot on his shirt. 

“Take off your shirt first,” you said, leaning back in the chair, spreading your legs. It was like he had been frozen until your command. His eager fingers moved to his shirt, unbuttoning the buttons quickly. He tore it off of him, throwing it onto the floor. He turned to you for his next instructions, a newfound glint in his eye. “You can touch yourself.” You cooed, immediately his hand wrapped around his cock. Stroking himself with fever, he wet his bottom lip, his hips jolting against his fist. Five was so pretty like this, not that he wasn’t a gorgeous man, but he was so vulnerable. Pride bloomed in your chest knowing that you were the only one allowed to see Five like this. His head fell back, giving you a gorgeous view of his neck. He let out a strangled whine, his lips parting. You sat up, unable to help yourself. You stalked towards him, your hands holding his shoulders. Your lips attacked his neck, nipping and sucking on his neck. Dark spots adorning his pale skin.

“Fuck,” he moaned, leaning into your touch. You reached down, pulling his hand away. He let out a frustrated whine, biting his lip as he stared into your eyes. You smiled sweetly, kissing his cheek over his two freckles, before squeezing his shaft. You began to pump him harshly, sucking a deep mark on his collarbone. His hands flew to your hips, holding them with a vice like grip. “I’m gonna cum.” He said through his gritted teeth, “please let me cum.” He squeezed your hips, his fingers digging into your soft skin.

“You can cum baby,” You chuckled, licking a stripe up his neck. He cried out his hips jolting against your hand as ropes of cum shot out onto your fist. You grinned, working him through his orgasm. A pained expression painting his features. As he came down from his high, he softly rubbed circles onto your hips. 

“That was…” He trailed off clearing his throat, his hands drifting upwards on his body. You giggled, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him flush against your body.

“Never would have guessed Mr. Five Hargreeves would be so obedient.” You laughed, kissing him. He pulled away from the kiss.

“Are you trying to get a rise out of me y/n?” He said, cocking his head slightly. A smug smile spread across his face, his eyes darkened. You felt like the prey instead of the predator under his gaze.

“I would never dream of it.” You smirked, feeling him get hard against your stomach. “Already?” You chuckled, rolling your eyes. 

“I can’t help that I have the most gorgeous girl in front of me, naked.” He mused, raising his eyebrows. You pushed him back, his back hitting the mattress with a soft thud. He smirked, propping himself up on his elbows. You crawled on top of him, setting yourself over his waist. He leaned his head forward, his lips covering your right breast. You lowered yourself onto him, moaning as he pushed through your opening. He let out a pained cry against your breast. 

“Are you alright?” You asked, stalling your movement.

“Mmm,” he hummed, his eyes shut tight, his hands gripping your hips, stilling any movements you would make. “Just sensitive, tesoro.” He chuckled looking up at you through his heavy eyelashes. You grinned, you wanted nothing more than to have Five under you a blubbering mess. And you were gonna have it. 

You rolled your hips against him, his fingers digging into the soft skin of your hips. He let out a choked gasp, his head falling back against the bed.

“You like that baby?” You asked, dragging your hips up and down against him. 

“Fuck yes.” He whined, arching his back off the bed, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his head into your chest. You rocked back and forth, Five’s fingernails dragging down your back. You moaned, pushing him back against the bed. You leaned back, propping yourself up on his thighs as you jutted your hips forward again and again. That familiar coil tightening in your stomach. “F-fuck.” He cried, his hips jolting against your pelvis, his pubic hair rubbing at your clit. His eyes shone with unshed tears as he bit his lip, his hands gripping the sheets beneath you. 

“You feel so good, you make me feel so good Five.” You huffed, struggling to keep up your pace. He whimpered a tear falling down his cheek. Suddenly his body jolted, his hands gripping your waist holding you down onto his hips as he came with a cry. You grinned against him, reaching your own orgasm. You moaned, high pitched and breathy as his cock twitched inside you. His cum painting your walls as you clenched down on him

“Christ woman.” He sighed, his arm covering his eyes. You pulled away his arm, wiping away a stray tear.

“Glad to be of service.” You asked sweetly, kissing his cheek before pecking his lips. You slowly got off of his lap, his softened cock slipping out of you. You laid down beside him, lightly trailing your fingers over his chest. He wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer. Your head laying on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your ear. 

“I love you.” He says, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Are you thinking of someone else?” You tease, staring up at him through your lashes. 

“No.” He says, rolling his eyes feigning annoyance. He sits up, you prop yourself up on your arm. “I’m serious,” he cups your face, “I love you so goddamn much.” He says kissing you. You were sure you had died and gone to heaven. His hand against your face, with his soft slightly bruised lips against yours. You sighed into the kiss, feeling like a love sick teenager.

“I love you.” You giggled wrapping your arms around his neck, “I love you, I love you.” You kissed the corner of his lips, his cheek, his forehead. He chuckled softly, as you met his eyes. “I love you Five Hargreeves.” You whispered, resting your forehead against his.

“And I you.” He smiled. Five would happily add anything pertaining to you into his routine any day. 

#the umbrella academy #tua #five hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #diego hargreeves #luther hargreeves #viktor hargreeves #alison hargreeves #five hargreeves smut #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreaves x reader #five x reader #number five #tua x reader #hihomeghere

[alwaysmicado]

Sunshine

6.7k | 18+ MDNI | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 7

Warnings: no outbreak AU, implied age gap, alcohol & painkillers, a little kiss, lots of sarcasm, angst, jealousy (reader would never!) Summary: A spontaneous meeting in a bar lays bare some uncomfortable truths. A/N: Why be sad when you can just turn off your feelings and not be sad anymore? It’s so easy. /s I can't tell you how much your messages about this series mean to me!! I love talking to you about it and I appreciate your enthusiasm and support soooo much!! Enjoy this part and let me know your thoughts! 🤍

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The Birds Don’t Sing, They Screech in Pain

– Werner Herzog

– – –

You don’t have feelings. You don’t have a heart. The world is a joke and nothing you do matters.

And you got a great ass. 

So fuck it.

You close the mirror cabinet and look at your reflection. The steam from your recent shower lingers in the air, creating a hazy atmosphere around you. With a determined gaze, you meet your own eyes, trying to convince yourself of what you so desperately want to believe. 

You. Don’t. Have. Feelings. 

Sighing exasperatedly, you leave the bathroom to go get dressed. You eye the empty space on the wall where the mirror used to hang in passing and can’t help but smile sardonically at the clean floor below. Who knew you had such a talent for cleaning blood? 

If your current job doesn’t work out in the long run, crime scene cleaner could be a viable alternative.

You rummage through your drawer for a fresh pair of panties, a soft bralette without any bothersome hooks, and a flowy dress you can easily pull over your head. Comfort is key today. Your morning shower proved tricky enough, but you managed somehow, maneuvering very ungracefully to keep your injured hand dry. 

Thankfully, you were smart enough to go to bed early last night and get up in time this morning, allowing you ample time to change the bandages and dress yourself with just one functional hand.

Exhaustion still lingers in every single one of your bones, but you’re determined to not let it get you down. Not again. So, you pour yourself a cup of strong coffee, sit outside on your balcony, pop the painkillers you got at the emergency clinic on Sunday, and browse the internet for a new mirror.

The sun kissing your skin feels nice, and the fresh air invigorates your senses. There’s even a flock of birds doing their choreographed dance in the sky. Just for you. You’re living in a goddamn dream, aren’t you? 

You scoff, down the rest of your coffee, cough when it goes down the wrong pipe, and go back inside once you don’t feel like you’re choking to death anymore. It’s time for work.

Your boss graciously let you work from home on Monday and Tuesday, but since there’s an important meeting scheduled this morning, she’s asked you to come to the office today. The meds should get you through the day, you’ll just have to figure out how to do your job effectively without the ability to type with your right hand.

You could try to push some of your workload onto the new intern who’s been unsuccessfully trying to flirt with you for the past month, but he strikes you as the type to show up with flowers and a teddy bear after you compliment his sneakers once — it’s probably not the best idea to entertain him.

An office romance sounds hot on paper, but your job is the only halfway stable thing in your life, so you don’t want to mess it up for some guy. Especially if said guy looks young enough to get carded in bars.

Why can’t you just not need money and not have to go to work at all? Is that really too much to ask? 

“Get your shit together,” you murmur to yourself as you grab your bag, your keys, and quickly check your appearance in the bathroom mirror. Eh, you look fine considering the messed-up past few days you had. The black wrist brace is kind of derpy—you can already see Kristen giggling at it and very much not believing any excuse you invent for it—but the smile you force onto your face looks virtually natural. 

What a little sunshine you are. 

Sandals on your feet, sunglasses sitting on your nose, wireless earbuds in your ears, your top three songs of the week on a blissful loop, you start your walk to the office. Nothing bad can touch you when the rhythm of your favorite beats courses through your veins, encapsulating you in an invincible cocoon.

For the first few minutes at least.

Your pulse quickens and your chest tightens as the gas station, where Joel could barely wait to pull out of you before gushing about his date, comes into view. And of course, Chris, the clerk, steps outside right as you pass it to inexplicably water the two withered plants next to the entrance.

You attempt to speed walk, hoping to avoid an embarrassing encounter, but where’s the fun in that, right? Sure enough, you hear him calling after you.

You roll your eyes behind your glasses and reluctantly stop, pulling out one of your earbuds as you turn to face him. His eyes fixate on the black brace around your wrist.

“What happened to your hand? Too much fun on the weekend?” he asks, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

You sigh, not in the mood for a detailed conversation, and also very much aware of what he’s probably insinuating. “Just a little accident at home,” you reply, keeping it vague. “Don’t do yoga if you’re drunk.”

He chuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind.” When he realizes you’re not going to say anything else, he’s nice enough to not keep you any longer. “Well, I hope it heals soon. And let me know if you, uh, need anything. You know where to find me.”

You nod, offering a polite smile, and continue on your way, reinserting the earbud to drown out the world. You turn up the volume, lip-sync, and ignore Joel’s call without missing a beat.

– – –

“Please, tell me. Please, please, please. Come on…you know you’re gonna tell me eventually, so let’s just save us some time and get it over with. You know I can keep a secret.”

As expected, Kristen is very intrigued by your wrist brace. In fact, she has been switching between begging for you to tell her what happened and coming up with some outlandish theories since you sat down at your desk four hours ago. To nobody’s surprise, they all involve some sort of sex accident. 

It’s kind of funny, though, that none of the elaborate stories she imagines come close to capturing the absurdity of your reality. Oh well, you’re used to it by now. And yet, there’s no way in hell you’re going to divulge one of your most vulnerable and embarrassing moments to her. Not a chance. 

“I already told you,” you say without stopping your one-handed typing. “I got drunk watching The Bachelor and then my genius brain decided that was the perfect moment to try out some new yoga positions. It’s a miracle I only sprained my wrist and didn’t break my neck.” You put on your most convincing smile and look at her. “It’s embarrassing as shit, okay? I mean, look at this thing,” you point at your injured hand. “I look like a kid who fell off a swing on the playground.”

Kristen giggles and is about to say something, but right at that moment, she receives a phone call from a client. She sighs, narrows her eyes, and mouths, “This is not over.” You wink at her and go back to typing with your left hand, occasionally swearing under your breath when you hit the wrong keys. This is all so much fun. 

The rest of the day goes by in a blur of emails, phone calls, bad coffee, painkillers, Kristen putting a heart sticker on your wrist brace, another meeting, and your phone lighting up with new messages from Joel. 

By 5:30 p.m. your brain is about to explode, so you decide to call it a day and leave. There’s a frozen pizza waiting for you at home and you can hear your pajamas and sofa calling your name. Sweet, sweet solitude; it’s so close you can feel it. You just have to walk out fast eno–

“Drinks.”

“Did you seriously just hide behind that plant and jump out?” you chuckle, and Kristen’s grin tells you that is absolutely, one hundred percent what just happened. 

“Drinks,” she repeats. And when you open your mouth, she says it again, but this time she gives you her most adorable pout.

“Okay, okay,” you say with a playful roll of your eyes. “You can stop the puppy routine.”

“I love how easy you are,” she beams at you and plants a kiss on your cheek. “Let’s go!”

The warmth of the summer evening envelops you both as you step outside. The sun, still casting its golden hues across the city, paints the urban landscape with a vibrant palette. Kristen, with a fancy sun hat perched on her head that perfectly complements her black hair, looks for bars near you on her phone.

As you try to decide on a bar, the balmy air carries the distant sounds of the city’s summer symphony. The occasional laughter from a nearby cafe mingles with the hum of traffic, creating a lively backdrop to your anticipation.

Amidst the ambient noise, your phone buzzes with Tommy’s name flashing on the screen. You answer, bringing the phone to your ear.

“Hi Tommy.”

“Hi honey,” Tommy’s voice comes through, the background noise indicating he’s at a lively place. “Just calling to ask how you’re doing today.”

“You know you don’t need to call me every day to ask me that, right?” you chuckle, still unable to understand why he even cares. You don’t deserve him.

“Come on, it’s the highlight of my day,” he says in mock offense, and you can perfectly picture the grin on his face. 

“Well, if it’s that important to you…” you say, a smile on your lips. “I’m good. My friend and I are going for drinks. Just need to decide on a bar first.”

“What a perfect coincidence! I’m at this new place right now. They got great burgers and drinks, even non-alcoholic stuff,” he tells you excitedly. “Oh and Joel’s here, too.”

Your heart skips a beat at Tommy’s words. Joel is there, at the same place. The thought of seeing him again stirs a concoction of emotions within you — longing, uncertainty, and a subtle yearning for things to be okay. There’s an undeniable pull. You miss him.

As you take a moment to think of your answer, Kristen mouths, “Who’s that?”

“It’s my friend, and he’s inviting us to join him at a bar,” you explain to her.

Tommy’s voice perks up on the phone, “Come on, it’ll be a blast. The more, the merrier!”

You look at Kristen questioningly, and she gives you two thumbs up and a big smile. 

You sigh and look up at the sky. There’s a big bird chasing a smaller one. “Okay, we’re in,” you say to Tommy, and his excited shouts in your ear make you giggle. He sends you the location and you immediately order an Uber for you and Kristen. You don’t have to wait for long.

Sitting in the car, your initial, albeit reluctant, excitement has turned into annoyance as the hands of the clock seem to move at an agonizingly slow pace. What was supposed to be a ten-minute journey has stretched into an interminable thirty minutes, courtesy of the unrelenting rush hour traffic. 

The air inside the car feels stifling, even with the AC humming, and the incessant chatter about football between the driver and Kristen becomes an indistinct drone. Your lack of interest in the sport combines with the whirlwind in your head, making their conversation an incomprehensible blur.

As your stomach churns, a sense of queasiness settles over you, intensifying the already uncomfortable ride.

By the time you make it to the bar, you’re tired, cranky, and wish you had just gone home after work. You could be lying on your sofa right now, stuffing your face with pizza, watching Netflix, and testing your new vibrator before falling asleep in your soft bed. But no, you just had to be social, hm?

As you enter the crowded and lively bar, the buzz of upbeat chatter, clinking glasses, and the rhythmic thump of music surrounds you. Everyone’s loud and happy, and you’re just not in the right mood for it. Slowly making your way through the sea of faces with Kristen trailing behind, you spot Tommy seated in a cozy booth.

The mere sight of him puts you at ease — for about a second, that is.

Your eyes fall onto Joel and the woman who’s casually touching his shoulder, comfortably nestled against the plush cushioned seats. You’ve never seen her before, but it doesn’t take a rocket scientist or even a sober brain to figure out who she is. What is she whispering into his ear now? He’s laughing. You can see his eye crinkles from where you’re standing.

The sight is like a punch to your gut.

For a moment, you’re frozen in place, and the urge to turn around and run away grips you. Unwelcome emotions and memories surge back, catching you off guard and leaving you breathless. Just as you contemplate an escape route, Tommy spots you from across the room, his face lighting up. 

“Sweetheart,” he shouts, rising from his seat and waving enthusiastically. His excited shout draws the attention of everyone around him, including Joel. Your eyes lock, and for a brief moment, the world around you fades. The corners of his lips instinctively turn upwards as he looks at you, but after spotting your wrist brace and the pained look on your face, he furrows his brow.

What the hell happened to you?

In the blink of an eye, you flip a switch in your brain, put on the most radiant smile you can muster, straighten your shoulders and cross the room. Joel’s concerned eyes don’t leave you for a second.

“There she is,” Tommy says, genuine warmth in his voice as he leans in to plant a kiss on your cheek, followed by a tight, comforting hug. “It’s so good to see you.” 

“You too, Tommy,” you murmur, a sense of momentary relief washing over you in the wake of his presence.

He pulls away from the hug, extending his greeting to Kristen, before introducing you both to the beautiful brunette sitting next to his brother. Draping his arm around your shoulders, he tells you with a smile that, “This is Jan, an old school friend of mine. We actually didn’t plan this whole meeting with everyone, somehow we just all ended up here. Funny coincidence,” he chuckles and you strain the muscles around your mouth so hard it hurts.  

“It’s nice to meet you, Jan,” you say, reaching out to shake her hand. She reciprocates your greeting and gives you a charming smile. 

“And I don’t need to introduce you to this guy, huh?” Tommy grins, squeezing your shoulder.

Your gaze shifts to Joel, who’s caught in the limbo of whether to remain seated or stand up, so he ends up awkwardly half-standing, caged in the narrow space between the bench and table.

“Hi, Joel,” you say, your eyes lacking their usual vivacity—a detail not lost on him.

He settles back into his seat, audibly clearing his throat. “Hi, darlin’.”

He studies your face as you settle down beside Tommy. You look as beautiful and glowing as always, but the longer he looks, the more cracks in the carefully put up facade he can see. Your smile isn’t genuine, your eyes look a bit swollen—like you’ve been crying or not sleeping well—and your body language screams unease.

The others may not notice, but he does. Because he knows you.

Kristen takes a seat beside Jan, seamlessly weaving herself into the ongoing conversation with Joel. Her ability to navigate social dynamics with such ease leaves you marveling – how is she so good at this? Her charm extends, connecting the trio in animated small talk.

Your body eases into a semblance of relaxation as Tommy pulls you closer and presses a kiss on the crown of your head. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he whispers into your hair, a tender reassurance that brings a sense of solace.

Sitting up straight, you return his smile, gratitude evident in your eyes. “Thanks to you.”

Tommy beams at you, momentarily lost in the exchange, before redirecting his attention to the group. “Are you guys ready for a first round of drinks?” he asks, the unison response from everyone echoing with enthusiasm, a collective “yes” that adds a burst of energy to the already vibrant atmosphere. 

– – –

After three rounds of drinks (you very responsibly decided to change to coke after one mojito), burgers, nachos, sharing the epic tale of how you managed to hurt your hand doing yoga, Jan gossiping about the guy her adult daughter brought home last week, Tommy sharing hilarious stories from his and Joel’s workplace, and everyone seemingly having loads of fun, you let yourself relax a bit.

It’s nice witnessing Joel’s laughter and enjoyment. A warmth spreads through your heart at the sight, a flicker of happiness for him. Yet, the subtle discomfort lingers as Jan’s touch becomes a constant presence on his arm. Rationalizing it as a casual gesture during conversation and under the influence of drinks doesn’t fully erase the twinge of unease settling within you.

But you can handle it, you convince yourself.

Until you can’t. 

You can’t handle it when Jan’s hand finds its way to Joel’s thigh and her lips brush the shell of his ear.

You glance at Joel, searching for a reaction, a flicker of discomfort perhaps, but his response is subtle. A shift in his seat, a movement so slight it could be mistaken for a casual adjustment, yet there’s a discernible change in his demeanor. It’s a momentary pause, a beat in the rhythm of the evening.

The weight of the scene bears down on you, and you feel a pang of vulnerability, a subtle ache in your chest. In that split second, a mix of emotions surges within you – a tinge of hurt, a brush of jealousy, and a sting of betrayal.

Emotions you haven’t felt in years. Emotions you have sworn to yourself you’d never feel again.

Why does it bother you so much? Is it because it reminds you of how you touched him, how you ran your hand further and further up his thigh when he was taking you home for the first time, teasing him until he couldn’t take it anymore, pulled his car over and fucked you in the driver’s seat? Has she done that with him? Is she as addictive as you are?

This close to a full-blown panic attack, you jump up from your seat to the surprise of everyone at your table. You make brief eye contact with Kristen, who shoots you a sympathetic look. 

Excusing yourself, you navigate through the bustling crowd towards the restrooms, located downstairs and accessible via a staircase. There are three separate spacious restrooms, and you choose the first one. Inside, you immediately head to the sink, running your left hand under cold water. The sensation helps to calm you down.

Closing your eyes, you take deep breaths, reassuring yourself that it’s not a big deal, and that it’s exactly what it was always meant to be—probably even for the best.

Then, as you try to find composure, a knock on the door interrupts your thoughts.

“Occupied!” you yell in response to the knock, and then you hear Joel’s deep voice saying, “It’s me.” 

Of course it is.

You sigh exasperatedly and shuffle to the door to let him in. Joel enters, swiftly locking the door behind him.

“There’s two other restrooms, you know,” you murmur as you walk back to the sink and divert your attention to your reflection in the mirror, concentrating on fixing your hair. 

“Yeah, well, I specifically want the one with you in it,” he says with a little smirk, his eyes searching for yours in the mirror. As your gaze meets his, he’s taken aback by the lack of the usual sparkle that used to light up your eyes at the sight of him. The absence of that adoration he’s grown accustomed to leaves a void, and a tinge of concern creeps into his expression.

“Hey,” he says tentatively, his voice softer than before. “Are you okay, darlin’?”

You look at him, and the weariness in your eyes doesn’t escape his attention. There’s a distant quality to your gaze, and it sends a pang of worry through him. The connection he once felt in your eyes seems to have dimmed, and he can’t help but feel a sense of loss.

It’s the same expression you had when he last saw you. He hates it.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you respond, putting on your fake smile again, but the lack of conviction in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed.

Joel’s concern deepens as he steps closer, the teasing smirk replaced by genuine worry. “I’ve been trying to reach you, but you haven’t responded to any of my texts or calls.” He rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat, his brow furrowed. “I was worried something happened, and—he points at your injured hand—my feeling was right.” He tilts his head and studies your face. “What happened?”

You turn around and lean against the sink, holding your right arm with your left hand, your eyes revealing a complex mixture of emotions. “I told you already,” you say nonchalantly. “Getting drunk and trying to do elaborate yoga poses is a dumb idea if you’re as clumsy as me.”

Joel raises his eyebrows, not believing a word you’re saying. “That’s not all, is it?”

“What do you mean?” you say, feigning ignorance.

“You don’t seem like yourself and I’m…worried about you.” Joel’s concern etches lines on his forehead as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. His eyes, usually warm and comforting, narrow slightly as he studies your seemingly cheerful facade.

“But this is myself.” You point at your smiley face with your left hand and tilt your head. “You don’t like it?”

He shakes his head, a subtle sigh escaping him. “That’s not what I said. I just feel like something’s off.”

“Is it because I’m happy?”

“It’s because I don’t believe you’re happy. I know you too well, baby.”

You scoff, a defensive edge creeping into your voice. “Why is it so hard for you to believe that I’m happy? Do you want me to be miserable?”

“No, sweetheart. There’s nothing I want more than for you to be happy. But you’re lying to my face right now and I don’t appreciate that.”

You turn your head to avoid his gaze, your silence speaking volumes, your hand tightly gripping the flesh of your arm as if to contain the emotional turmoil threatening to spill over.

Stop it.

“Darlin’,” Joel says gently, closing the physical gap between you two, and reaching out to place his warm palms on your shoulders. “Look at me.”

A shiver runs down your spine and tiny goosebumps instantly form on your skin. You’ve missed his touch more than you care to admit — to yourself or to him. His touch is tender, a plea for connection, but you hesitate. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze, revealing the deep sadness you tried to conceal.

What happened to you? Whatever it was, it breaks his heart that he wasn’t there to protect you.

“Why didn’t you call me?” he asks softly.

“Not everything’s about you, Joel.”

“I know that. I just…wish you would let me know what’s going on.” His touch becomes a subconscious reassurance as he absentmindedly rubs your arms, as if trying to make sure you’re really there in front of him.

“Why do I owe you that? Why do I owe you every shitty detail of my life while I know virtually nothing about you?” you say a little sharper than intended. 

Joel takes a deep breath. “You don’t owe me anything. I just thought–” he pauses, searching your eyes. “I miss seeing that spark in your eyes when you look at me,” he admits, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek. “I never fully realized how much it meant to me until now.”

You take a moment to process his words and his touch as frustration bubbles up inside you. Your heart aches.

“Why are you doing this?” 

“Doing what? Caring about you?”

“Ruining the mood.” You shake your head, swallowing what you actually want to say, any traces of happiness erased from your face. “If you’re trying to make me feel bad, it’s starting to work.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I’m trying to understand what’s happened since the last time I saw you.” He tilts his head and studies your face, genuine concern in his eyes. 

All you can see, though, is disappointment. He’s disappointed in you, you can sense it. And how could he not be? You’re a liability, a mess. Looks like he’s finally seeing you for who you are, and that’s why he replaced you.

“And now’s the best time to do that?” you scoff, averting your gaze and looking around. 

“What am I supposed to do when you don’t respond to me for days on end and this is my only chance of talking to you?”

You look back into his eyes. “How about leaving it alone?”

“I can’t do that. Not when it comes to you,” he says, shaking his head and moving closer, his cologne filling your senses like a familiar embrace. His hands trace the contours of your neck, a gentle and deliberate touch that ignites a cascade of sensations. His thumbs brush your cheekbones with a tenderness that speaks of longing, his gaze dropping to your lips before finding your eyes again.

In that charged moment, the air between you thickens with unspoken desires before you both succumb to the magnetic pull drawing you together. Your heartbeat quickens, matching the rhythm of anticipation. Without breaking eye contact, he closes the remaining distance, his lips meeting yours in a soft yet passionate kiss. The familiar sensation of his lips on yours is both electric and comforting, and you allow yourself to get lost in it for a bit.

As he eases away, his fingers trail lightly down your neck and arms, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. There’s a soft smile on his lips as he breaks the silence. 

“I mean it when I say I care about you and want the best for you, darlin’,” he murmurs. “And you don’t have to tell me any details about what happened if you’re not ready yet, but I need to know what made you not want to call me. We’ve been there for each other in difficult situations before, so I just really don’t get it.”

You raise a skeptical eyebrow, frustration and anger intertwining with the lingering memory of his lips on yours.

“Why in the world would I ever call you while you’re on a date?” you say quietly, a steely edge in your voice, no trace of a smile to be found on your lips.

Oh. So it did bother you. 

Joel’s expression shifts from concern to a momentary realization, the lines on his forehead deepening. “I would always drop everything to be there for you. No matter where I am or what I’m doing.”

You laugh wryly. “Joel. Seriously. Are you really trying to tell me you were oh so worried about me while you were fucking someone else? And that you’re worried now even though she’s currently upstairs, desperately waiting for you to take her home? Come on, don’t insult my intelligence.”

He stares at you in utter disbelief and takes a step back, as if physically recoiling from the weight of your words. “That’s not what–”

“Look, Joel,” you push yourself off the sink, straighten up, and walk past him towards the door. “It doesn’t matter. You can fuck or date whoever you like. Jan seems nice and like a good match, so I’m very happy for you.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not doing any of that. You misunders–”

You turn around sharply to look at him. “I misunderstood the woman who’s had her hands all over you the whole evening?” 

“It’s not like that,” he insists, trying to get through to you. “She’s drunk as hell and probably doesn’t even realize what she’s doing. And I’m not interested anyway.”

“Sure. That’s why she’s here right now.”

“I had nothing to do with that. Tommy invited her without telling me,” he says, running his fingers through his hair as his stress is mounting. “Darlin’, please. This isn’t even about her; it’s about you and me. And maybe it’s time to stop pretending everything’s okay when it’s clearly not.”

You turn your head, deliberately avoiding the intensity of his gaze as the weight of his words settles in. His plea sends palpable waves of discomfort through your already wounded emotions, causing your chest to tighten further. Why is he doing this? Is this fun for him? 

“So you’d rather keep pretending everything’s fine?” he presses, his tone a mix of concern and urgency, the edges of his patience beginning to fray. 

Okay, now you’ve had it.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Joel. What do you want from me?” you hiss at him, frustration dripping from your words.

Joel is momentarily taken aback, but his own agitation prevents him from fully grasping your distress. A deep sigh escapes him as he props one hand on his hip, rubbing his eyes wearily with the other.

“Since when does it matter what I want?” he murmurs.

Ouch.

That hurt.

Your face falls, and you feel like he just slapped you across the face. The sting of his words cuts deep, causing tears to well up in your eyes.

Joel’s eyes widen in shock when he sees the look on your face. “Shit, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” he stammers, realizing the impact of his words a moment too late. “I’m sorry, baby, I–” his voice trembles with regret, desperate to undo the damage he’s done.

“Is that how you really feel? That I don’t care about what you want?” you ask, your voice shaky.

“No, I shouldn’t have said that, I’m so–”

“But that’s how you feel? Deep down?”

Why are you acting so surprised? Were you really naive enough to believe him when he said he was happy with you? God, you’re dumb.

“Oh, sweetheart…” he reaches out to wipe away the tears that are making their way down your cheeks, but you push his hand away.

“I came here for you, Joel,” you blurt out, your raised voice startling him. “And I–I spent the last three hours making conversation with everyone, including the woman you’re fucking, because I care about you and want you to be happy, even though my hand is killing me and I’m so drained I have to force my eyes to stay open.”

You express yourself with animated hand gestures as you talk through your tears, your voice breaking. 

“I had a horrible weekend and needed some time to recover, but I was so fucking happy to see you tonight because I’ve missed you and I’ve–I’ve never hidden how much I like spending time with you. Why is that not enough? What more do you want from me?”

Your big, watery eyes pierce Joel’s, and the fact that he’s the reason for your tears pierces his heart.

“Darlin’, I’m so sorry. It wasn’t right what I said.”

He takes a step closer to you, the desperation in his eyes matching the pain in yours, intending to pull you into a comforting hug to calm you—and himself—down. However, you immediately take a step back, creating a physical distance between you two.

“Do you want me to cry ‘cause seeing you with another woman breaks my heart? Is that it?” 

Joel stares at you incredulously, your accusing tone making him wince. “No, of course no–”

Your heart is racing, and you can feel the tightness in your chest growing with every second you’re looking into Joel’s eyes. Eyes that—until now—have always made you feel so calm, so safe, so…loved. Your hands tremble slightly, and a lump forms in your throat, making it difficult to speak.

“Do you want me to make a scene in front of everyone ‘cause it physically pains me to think you’re touching her the same way you touch me?”

Joel opens his mouth to say something, a fleeting impulse to express himself and try to console you, but he catches himself, realizing that uttering those words might inflict more damage than repair right now. 

“Do you want me to beg you not to leave me ‘cause I can’t even imagine my life without you anymore? Is that what you want?”

“Sweetheart...” He takes a step towards you, his eyes pleading, but you cut him off.

“No, I’m fucking sick of this,” your words spill out between sobs as tears stream down your face. “It’s always the same. I’m good enough only as long as I act the way you want it, and the minute you get bored or realize I’m not as perfect as you imagined, you replace me with someone better. Everyone always fucking leaves and I’m so sick of it.”

“Darlin’, I swear that’s not what’s happening,” Joel implores, his whole body so tense and hot he’s sweating through his shirt. “I’m not leaving and I really didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

You sigh deeply, grab a paper towel from the dispenser on the wall, blow your nose, and dry your tears.

“I knew this was gonna happen and I still let myself believe I could be enough for once,” you murmur more to yourself than him, your head pounding painfully.

Serves you right for having feelings.

Joel says your name gently, trying his best not to spook you. His words hang in the air like a lifeline, a desperate attempt to mend what is broken.

“You are enough. You’ve always been enough. I’m so sorry for making you feel otherwise.”

Your head is spinning, emotions tumultuous and unyielding. In dire need of fresh air and distance from Joel, you stagger towards the door. His voice follows you, pleading.

“Sweetheart, I promise I’m not going to leave you. And I’m so incredibly sorry for upsetting you, I just–” he exhales deeply and clears his throat. “I wanted you to be honest with me about your feelings, but this wasn’t the way to go about it. I’m sorry.”

The door swings open, and you turn around, the forced smile from before back on your lips. 

“Well, congratulations, Joel,” you say, your tone laced with a mix of bitterness and anguish. “You got what you wanted. I hope you’re fucking happy.”

The door slams shut behind you, leaving Joel stunned, alone with the haunting echoes of shattered trust and unspoken pain, the distant thump of music mirroring the beating of his remorseful heart.

As you make your way back upstairs, the residual heat of the argument lingers on your skin. Taking a deep breath, you enter the lively space once more. Tommy, who’s standing at the bar, notices you, concern etched across his face.

“Hey, is everything okay, honey?” he asks, his voice soft with genuine worry.

You manage a tight smile. “Yeah, I’m okay. My hand’s just hurting really bad now and the meds make me dizzy, so I’ll head home.”

He furrows his brow. “Joel’s my designated driver, but I can take a cab, so he can drive you home.” He looks around, searching the bar for his brother. “Where is he anyway?”

“There’s a huge line in front of the restrooms, he’s probably still waiting. And it’s okay, Tommy, really.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, seeking solace, and bury your face in the crook of his neck. He responds by pulling you into a warm and reassuring embrace, a gesture that speaks volumes without the need for words. Luckily, he’s drunk enough not to smell his brother on you.

“I missed you,” you murmur, your eyes closed. 

Tommy strokes the back of your head and chuckles. “I missed you, too, sweetheart.”

He pulls away far enough to look into your eyes, giving you the brightest smile. “Tell you what. You come over for dinner on Friday — no ifs, ands, or buts. Maria’s been wanting to see you, and we just finished our patio, so it’s perfect.”

You pinch his cheek and shake your head at him. “It’s not fair that you’re this charming, you know? How could I ever say no?”

“Don’t say no, then,” he says playfully,  a hint of worry still in his eyes.

You sigh exaggeratedly. “Okay, okay, I won’t.”

“Attagirl. And you’re sure you don’t want Joel to drive you?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I always find my way home somehow.” You plant a kiss on Tommy’s cheek, and he finally agrees to release you from his embrace after securing a pinky promise that you ‘a hundred percent won’t flake out’.

You walk over to Kristen and Jan, who are still sitting at your table, engrossed in an animated conversation. Observing them for a moment, you find yourself captivated by Jan’s effortless charisma. She’s a real sunshine — and unlike you, she doesn’t have to fake it. Had you met her under different circumstances, you might have liked her. 

Kristen’s eyes meet yours, and her brow furrows slightly, registering the expression on your face for a fleeting moment. Swiftly, you put on a polite smile and step closer, masking the momentary vulnerability with practiced ease.

“Ladies,” you say, a touch of self-deprecating humor in your tone, “I know I’m lame, but I’m actually going home already. Just wanted to say goodbye.”

Jan answers first, surprising you with a warm smile. “Oh, that’s not lame at all! You’re just smarter than us.”

You hold up your injured hand and deadpan, “Yeah, I’m a real genius, aren’t I?”

Jan and Kristen giggle, and you join in, sharing a brief moment of camaraderie. You’re so good at this. Almost believable. 

As you look for your bag on the bench, contemplating the logistics of your departure, Kristen catches your eye and winks at you.

“I’ll come with you,” she says, giving you a reassuring look. “Our boss is gonna have a fit if I fall asleep at my desk again, so…I guess this is what being a responsible adult is,” she sighs. She hands you your bag, downs the rest of her drink, and the two of you say goodbye to Jan, who’s now getting up to search for the Miller brothers.

Kristen takes you by the hand, gently leading you outside. The cool breeze brushes against your face as the sun starts its descent, offering a much-needed breath of fresh air. Settling down down on the curb together, you find a comfortable spot, trying your best not to inadvertently flash someone as you adjust your dress. 

“I’ll call us an Uber,” Kristen says, her tone comforting. You appreciate the warmth of her presence as you wait for the ride, the fading sunlight casting a soft glow on both of you.

“Done.” She wraps her arm around you, providing a supportive shoulder for you to lean on. The two of you sit in silence, the ambient noise of traffic and distant chatter from the bar filling the air, serving as a backdrop to the racing thoughts in your mind. Eventually, Kristen succumbs to her curiosity. 

“So…” she starts, her voice carefully navigating the sensitive terrain. “That’s him?”

You chuckle faintly. “Yup. That’s him.”

“Hmm, I get it now. He’s hot as fuck,” she says, happy that she can make you laugh. “Do you think he’d be up for a threesome?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’d be up for it. I’m just not so sure about his heart being able to take it. Or his back. Or his knees.”

Kristen giggles and then looks at you for a moment, fascinated by this evening’s revelations. “It’s so interesting, I had no idea you were into older guys.”

“I, uh, didn’t know either before I met him.”

“I see,” she nods, a thoughtful expression on her face. Another minute of shared silence passes before she decides to just come out and ask you the one burning question on her mind.

“Do you love him?”

You don’t need a second to think about your answer.

– – –

Thank you for reading!! 🤍

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[ugh-yoongi]

by the time i've figured out what it's worth | myg

(or, sometimes you go through hell, and sometimes you make it to the other side.)

✤ PAIRING musician!yoongi x f. reader ✤ SUMMARY you used to find comfort in it—listening to those old songs. the shy sounds of falling in love, the tinkling of a ring in a dish, the inevitable crash and burn. all those songs aren’t so comforting anymore, when you’d do anything to keep him and yoongi’s got one foot out the door. ✤ GENRE est. relationship, marriage au | angst, smut, fluff ✤ RATING explicit. minors dni. ✤ WARNINGS this fic deals with a lot of unhappy topics: mental health, self-worth, divorce, the general demise of a relationship & marriage, counseling & therapy—therefore, there are moments of heavy-ish angst. there are moments where this couple is not all that nice to each other. there are arguments and resolutions. so, it's heavy but they get through it (aka there is a happy ending). american setting, yoongi is a solo artist, everyone pls pray for marriage counselor kim namjoon, seokjin is once again the fic's mvp, swearing, alcohol, recreational drug use (weed/edibles), one quick reference to c*vid, emotional hurt/comfort, miscommunication, two knuckleheads engaging in knucklehead behavior, lots of repetition and space metaphors. this is basically "what would happen if yoongi wrote tiny vessels about his wife: the fic," so do with that what you will. ✤ SMUT WARNINGS oral sex (both receiving), fingering, very slight dom yoongi, dirty talk, unprotected vaginal sex, multiple orgasms, angst and crying during sex, hands on throat but no choking, fingers in mouth bc it's me. i think that's it. the smut is mostly tame. ✤ WORDCOUNT 20k ✤ LISTEN TO all of transatlanticism by death cab for cutie, especially "tiny vessels." all the lyrics used throughout the fic are from this album, so it'd help contextualize a lot! also "monday morning," "stay young go dancing," and "you are a tourist." ✤ WRITTEN FOR the composition of the century collab. thank you to isi (@raplinesmoon), ryen (@kithtaehyung), and mars (@joheunsaram) for letting me participate. ♡ ✤ THANK YOU to jess (@the-boy-meets-evil) and bee (@hot-soop) for being my betas. this was a labor of love and a big ask, so i appreciate the both of you very much. ✤ AUTHOR'S NOTE hi! thank you for checking out my fic. before you read, i just want to overemphasize that this is a pretty angsty piece at times. a lot of it is very personal, and therefore i understand if it's not your cup of tea! if you do read it, i hope you enjoy it and find something human here. relationships are messy because humans are messy, and sometimes both the easiest and most difficult thing you can ever do is love another person.

so this is the new year, and i have no resolutions / or self-assigned penance for problems with easy solutions.

There’s a woman on the television trying to sell you a recliner.

Yoongi isn’t paying attention. He’d downed two glasses of whiskey and said he had something to work on, and he’s here, just like you’d asked, but the distance between the two of you feels insurmountable. Your ninth New Year’s Eve together, and all you’ve got to show for it is a crumbling foundation, a pair of headphones shoved over his ears, a woman on the television trying to sell you a recliner. Some home shopping channel, because you couldn’t bear to see anyone else having a good time. Selfish. Fucking selfish, and you wonder if Yoongi would be on your end of the couch if you weren’t.

What does it matter. You’d be here either way, because you’ve made peace with knowing there are things that are built to last and things like what you and Yoongi have: things that make you hesitant, things that make you yearn, things that sit in your stomach all wrong, taste caustic on your tongue.

It’s logical, then, that you just need something to do. A distraction. You push yourself up from the couch with a sigh, joints cracking, and you feel old. Exhausted, more like; something bone-deep and not easily cured. You pass through the dining room on the way to the kitchen, and all those wedding photos taunt you. Happier times, the two of you smiling into a kiss, Yoongi’s hands on your waist, fingers tangled in chiffon.

You wonder which one of you will stay here after it all goes to shit.

Him, if you were a betting man.

You scrub at the dishes in the sink until your hands are nearly cracked from the scalding water. Yellow gloves sit unused on the counter—sometimes you want the burn because pain is familiar, and a physical pain is easier to solve than your failing marriage. So you scrub away the remnants of a dinner that found you and Yoongi eating in silence. Nothing to say to one another after another year gone by. Not much to look back on fondly. And then you scrub some more, like you could get rid of all the scabs inside of you just as easily.

Some things circle the drain and wash away. Others stain.

You already know which one Yoongi is.

From the living room, the muted sounds of a countdown. Palpable excitement you should be able to feel, but find only numbness instead. Yoongi must have changed the channel. There’s a supercut playing in your head, all the past celebrations. All the parties the two of you have gone to, the years spent alone but together. All the people you’ve kissed in front of. All the quiet, private ways Yoongi used to tell you he loved you. When was the last time? What does it matter. There’s seven seconds until the new year and Yoongi hasn’t come looking for you, so what does it fucking matter.

Fireworks explode outside. A sob wracks your body as you crumble to the floor. There’s a small puddle of dishwater that seeps into the hemline of your shirt. Yoongi hasn’t come looking for you and he can’t hear you, so there’s no one to witness your breakdown but the fucking dishes in the sink. Yoongi had chosen the countertops.

You’re going to miss this place when it’s no longer your home.

instincts are misleading / you shouldn't think what you're feeling / they don't tell you what you know you should want.

Kim Namjoon wouldn’t have been your first choice, if you’d had the luxury of choice.

You like him enough, though. Wicked smart, patient to a fault, pragmatic when it’s required. There’s not much more you could ask for in a marriage counselor besides not needing one at all, but that hadn’t been in the cards. The first time you and Yoongi had met him, you’d cracked a joke that hadn’t landed. The embarrassment of it still stings, made worse by the discomfort of the couch in his office.

“How are things?” he asks. He always dresses impeccably. Today he’s in a sage green sweater and tan trousers that must’ve cost a fortune to get tailored. Even his notebook is genuine leather; sometimes it squeaks when he jots down notes too fast, friction against the fabric of his clothing.

Yoongi is quiet. If you’re embarrassed over a joke, he’s embarrassed over everything else. At least you’re willing to work on things. Getting Yoongi to do anything these days is akin to pulling teeth, and you’ve got a mouth full of blood. “Fine,” Yoongi answers, eyes locked downward. Namjoon’s office has hardwood floors. Tigerwood, he’d said once. Yoongi had complimented them. That had stung, too.

Wicked smart. Namjoon turns to you, glasses slipping a little down his nose. “Would you agree with that?”

You wouldn’t, but the urge to make this easy on Yoongi is hard to fight off. Everything is hard. It’d taken him twenty minutes past midnight to come find you in the kitchen all those weeks ago, chest still heaving, eyes swollen. He’d been distraught, tried to kiss your tears away, apologized over and over like they were the only words he knew. Things aren’t fine, but at least you’ve been willing to fight, and the cost of that persistence feels like the weight of the world.

“No,” you admit, and Namjoon just nods. Writes something down. You don’t have the courage to look at Yoongi. Sometimes it’s easier to let go of a dying thing.

“Okay. How were the holidays?”

It’s hard to breathe around the lump in your throat. All you want to do is hold Yoongi’s hand, scream at him, shake him and ask why he’s doing this to you. Why he’s giving up. Why you aren’t worth more effort—not worth it anymore, when you used to be. If he doesn’t love you anymore you’ve already said you’ll go, and he begs you not to, says he’ll do better, he’s sorry, please don’t.

“They were hard,” you answer, and Yoongi nods his agreement in your peripheral. “We didn’t exchange gifts this year. First time ever.”

“And why is that?”

Yoongi stays quiet. Like pulling teeth, you think, and there’s a flashbang of anger, resentment. Sometimes you want to hurt him. Sometimes you want to make him feel as awful as you do, want him to suffer, want him to atone. It isn’t fair, the things you think, and all you want to do is love your husband without guilt, without wondering if there’s someone out there who’d appreciate it more. Still, you’ve got a nasty streak, and you can’t help but press on the bruise. “Because I knew I’d be the only one.”

“Can you expand on that?”

You shrug. Pick at invisible dirt beneath your nails. “Yoongi said he’d be busy this year. I know what that means.”

“That’s not—” Yoongi sighs, cuts himself off. Runs his hands over his face, sick of this same argument. “Baby, that isn’t fair. I asked you if you wanted to do gifts this year and you said no.”

The laugh that bubbles out of you is derisive, cruel. You’re sick of the same arguments, too. Sick of feeling stuck, some helpless animal in a glue trap. Sick of this office, with Namjoon’s priceless art that doesn’t mean a fucking thing to you; the tigerwood floors that got nicer words out of Yoongi than you have in months; the low thrum of the baseboard heat. Sick of asking Yoongi what you can do, what you can change to make this work, and getting nothing besides a self-deprecating sigh.

Yoongi loves you. Doesn’t want to hurt you. Doesn’t want you to put those kinds of burdens on your shoulders, but taking on all that water himself does nothing but make the both of you sink.

He’ll write about it, though. That’s the thing. Yoongi will write about it, and it used to bring you comfort—listening to those old songs, an aural timeline of your and Yoongi’s relationship. The shy sounds of falling in love, the tinkling of a ring in a dish, the inevitable crash and burn. All those songs aren’t so comforting anymore, when you’d do anything to keep him and Yoongi’s got one foot out the door.

“Because I listened to the song,” you say, and it should feel relieving, should alleviate some of that weight you’ve been carrying around. Instead, you just feel guilty, confessing to some cardinal sin. Yoongi goes stock-still, doesn’t dare to breathe, spine straighter than it’s been in years, and all you feel is guilt.

Namjoon quirks an eyebrow. “The song?”

this is the moment that you know that you told her that you loved her, but you don't / you touch her skin and then you think that she is beautiful but she don't mean a thing to me.

“It wasn’t meant to be about you,” Yoongi says, and his words are pleading, like if he uses the right inflections he can get you to understand. “It was just—shit, I don’t know, I just. I was just writing. I needed to do something with the way I was feeling.” His words take on more panic the longer you’re quiet, and by the end there’s a dazed look in his eyes. They’re taking on water, too. “Baby, please. Did you really think—”

This isn’t the kind of argument meant for an audience, and you’d said as much in therapy. Told Namjoon you’d like to discuss it with Yoongi in private and maybe you could all hash it out during your next session, because you knew this would happen. Knew you’d break down, knew you’d be embarrassed. How do you say your husband wrote a song about not loving you anymore and make it out still feeling whole? How do you swallow all that anger and remember all that bullshit Namjoon had taught you about how to communicate? Your stupid fucking “I” statements.

“Silver Lake?” you retort, resentment burning in your veins. “That wasn’t supposed to be about me? What, are you fucking someone else out there?”

Your husband looks like you’ve slapped him, and sometimes you want to. Sometimes you want to opt out of this life—where they’re just words to Yoongi, but a little too biographical to you. Because you’re not the only one who listens. Yoongi writes these songs and people listen to them and they think, isn’t he married. They think, did he really write a song like this about his wife. They think, that’s a little fucked up. Because they’re just words to Yoongi, and the rest of the world doesn’t know. They’re not in on the joke, and neither are you.

There are few words you can use to explain your hurt. How you’ve sat with that song these past few weeks, scouring each line for something to tell you it hurts now, but it’s going to be okay. Always coming up empty. Those lines you’ve fixated on, refused to let go of—

So when you ask, "Is something wrong?" I think, "You're damn right there is, but we can't talk about it now.”

—because that’s how it is, how it goes.

“This is my fucking life, Yoongi.” There’s only heat where there used to be patience. “You write these songs and you don’t spare a single thought for how they might affect me. You write these songs instead of talking to me, and I’m supposed to know how to fix everything, right? Aren’t I? You can’t even tell me how to fix this fucking marriage, but you’ll write a song about how I don’t mean a goddamn thing to you.”

There are tears rolling down your face. You hadn’t realized you started crying, but everything feels wet, feels wrong. Feels like you’re occupying a body that isn’t yours. You’re having this argument in someone else’s bedroom. You’re watching someone else’s marriage fall apart. Someone else’s life. “Either help me fix this and put in the work or let me go.” Everything boils over eventually. There’s only so much you can stave off before the inevitable, and now it’s come for you. “Please.” You choke on a sob. “Yoongi, please, I’m so tired.”

And Yoongi—Yoongi’s got a lot of nervous habits. Little things he does when the anxiety gets to be too much, and there’s one you share, one of those couple things where you pick up one another’s mannerisms, ways of speaking, specific inflections. Yoongi fidgets with his wedding band, pushes it up to that knobby fourth knuckle with his thumb, twirls it around.

Usually, when he pushes it far enough, there’s a strip of even paler skin. A place the sun hasn’t touched; a place that bears proof that Yoongi is yours. Yoongi pushes his wedding band with his thumb and that strip of skin matches the rest, and it strikes someplace deep that’s irrational and unfair. Because it makes sense that there isn’t a discrepancy, that everything is uniform. It makes sense, but everything is so fragile that the thought comes unbidden. Maybe there’s no discrepancy because Yoongi isn’t wearing it. Maybe there’s no discrepancy because Yoongi has let go without letting go, and there’s nothing to salvage, no point in begging, in putting the gun in his hand and forcing him to make the decision. It all tastes sour, tastes like your tongue has crumbled to ash, but—

“I’m not letting you go,” Yoongi responds, words just as waterlogged as yours. “I can’t. I won’t.”

“But you want to,” you say, and it sounds like a conclusion but you mean it like a question. A plea. Perhaps that’s the crux of it: you just can’t say what you mean. Sometimes Yoongi’s honesty feels like a brand, a permanent reminder of everything he’s ever felt that you’re forced to carry, but at least there’s honor in that. At least Yoongi doesn’t talk in fucking riddles.

He shakes his head. “No.” At least there’s conviction in his words. “No, I don’t. This is just—it’s hard right now, okay. It’s hard and it fucking sucks, and I don’t know why, but I’m not—” He sucks in a breath. Sometimes Yoongi can’t say what he means, either.

“Just say it, Yoongi.” So, you prod. Sometimes you find the most mottled bruise on his body and you press on it, because when you love someone the way you love Yoongi, you also know all the ways to hurt them. Sometimes you hurt Yoongi when you mean to hurt yourself because it feels the same.

“What do you want me to say,” he answers, defeated and raw. “Tell me what you want me to say, because if I didn’t know better, it’d sound like you wanted me to leave. It sounds like you want that but you want me to be the bad guy. You want me to pull the trigger.”

You don’t. You know that for certain, just by the way it feels excruciating to merely think about. What would your life even look like without Yoongi? What would it be? But you’re still that caged animal. Still resentful of Yoongi’s composure, because you can fall apart at a moment’s notice and Yoongi is always calm, prepared; always the last building standing in a hurricane.

“I don’t want that,” you say, borrowing a bit of your husband’s honesty, his fortitude, “but I need you to know that’s where we’re at. I need you to be able to say it, instead of treating it like it’s some impossible thing—“

“It is,” Yoongi argues, brows pinched, lips pouted. “Baby, what are you saying? It is. Why wouldn’t it be? That’s what you want?”

“You don’t write songs like you did about someone you’re not planning on leaving, Yoongi. I don’t know how you don’t understand that. I don’t—how can you think it’s impossible? You think I’ve just been doing all of this for fun? The therapy, the crying? You think I haven’t already—” Mourned the end of my marriage, you want to say, but you can’t. You need to be realistic. You need to say what you mean, and even if it’s true—even if you’ve mentally divided up everything in this house, thehouse itself—it doesn’t do you any good to create new wounds when both of you are already beaten and battered.

“You’re my fucking wife,” comes Yoongi’s response, and the way he says it feels dirty. Yoongi calls you his wife the way lesser men would use a slur, and sometimes Yoongi is composed but sometimes he’s angry. Sometimes he’s so angry the world becomes too small to contain him. “I’m not gonna—you’ve already what? Given up? Checked out? It’s not fair, this thing you do. Decide how things are gonna play out before they even happen. It’s fucking bullshit. You’re my fucking wife, and the least you could do is give me a little credit—”

“Oh, that’s rich.”

Yoongi’s pupils blow wide. Sometimes you think they’re the darkest thing in the universe. Vantablack. “Yeah, it is. It is fucking rich.”

“At least I’m trying! At least I’m doing something, not just writing little fucking songs about how much I don’t care about you.”

Yoongi slams the door behind him.

For the first time, you wonder if he’s coming back.

i am waiting for that sense of relief / i am waiting for you to flee the scene / as if you held in your hand the smoking gun / and on the floor lay the one you said you loved.

You feel him before you hear him, and he doesn’t wake you up.

It’s dark. Probably sometime between one and two, judging by the pillar of moonlight creeping in through the curtains. Yoongi is quiet as he moves around the bedroom, still so considerate even now, and you just watch. Jeans removed one leg at a time, hung neatly in the closet; socks removed one by one, into the hamper; flannel unbuttoned with calloused fingers, dropped on the floor. He’ll pick it up tomorrow, just like he always does. Down to just a t-shirt, neckline loose and stretched from overwear, and black briefs.

Moonlight suits him, you think. (You’ve always thought.) Casts silver shadows on his skin, fills in the contours, lends credence to the thought that Yoongi is something ethereal, someone wasting his time on earth.

He’s down to a t-shirt and briefs, and he hesitates. Takes a step toward the bed and thinks better of it. Doesn’t know what to do in this liminal space, in this liminal period of time. There’s only two ways to go, and Yoongi will either leave or he’ll stay, and right now he doesn’t know which one it’s going to be.

“Yoongi,” you say, and you try to make the decision for him. “You’re home?”

You see him swallow, watch his shoulders slump. “Yeah,” he says, and it’s quiet like the nighttime. You’re in the middle of the city and this moment is so quiet. “I’m—did I wake you? I’m sorry, I just—”

“No,” you answer. You don’t want to fight. “You’re fine. Do you—are you coming to bed?”

He nods. Seems to fold in on himself just a little more. “Yeah. Yeah, just have to brush my teeth.”

There’s the padding of feet on hardwood. Something that sounds like a stubbed toe. A loud curse. The flick of the bathroom light, the faucet, spit. The padding of feet on hardwood, then the bedroom rug. The depression of the mattress, his phone plugged in and discarded carelessly on his nightstand. An exhale, like he’s finally home after a long day.

Does Yoongi still consider you his home?

“I’m sorry,” you say. Still quiet, just like the nighttime. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

You hear Yoongi swallow again. Smell just the faintest hint of alcohol. “No one’s fighting, baby,” he answers. Woven into his words is a softness you don’t deserve. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

“Can we talk about it now?”

Yoongi suits the moonlight, but so do you. It makes you brave. Sometimes things are easier to say in these in-between spaces: love and heartbreak, midnight and morning. Sometimes the sun is too reflective, and sometimes it burns.

“Do you want to?” You nod, even though instinct tells you to shirk away and take it back. A small piece of honesty to work yourself up to something bigger, more consequential. “Okay.”

Sometimes you get what you want and aren’t sure what to do with it, so you roll onto your side, the one facing your husband, and suck in a breath. Hold it. Count to five. Let it go. Yoongi reserves all his patience for you, always. “I’m really scared, Yoongi.”

His sigh is fractured, watery. “Me too,” he admits. “There’s a lot I want to say and I just—I don’t know how. Which makes it worse, I know, and then I don’t know how to fix it.”

Is that why… “The song?”

Yoongi nods. “I needed to get it out. Like, some call of the void shit, you know? Put those big fears into words in a way that—it doesn’t make sense, looking back, because I thought it was just an outlet. Just, write this hypothetical song about the collapse of our relationship because it fucking terrified me and then let it go. Like how sometimes Namjoon tells us to write letters to each other and burn them.” He fists the duvet. Moonlight gleams off his wedding band. “I’m sorry. I need you to know it wasn’t real… like that.”

“Okay.”

“I—you were right. About the other thing. About me not being able to say it.”

“Can you now?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “I don’t think I can. Makes it real.”

“You also can’t stand in a burning house and pretend it’s not on fire.”

That gets a laugh out of him. Sardonic, a little self-deprecating, but it’s there. “Is that where you’re at? With me.” He makes a sound that’s a lot like a whimper. “Divorce.”

“I don’t want to be,” you answer. Another small truth leading up to a bigger one. “I’m trying not to be.”

“But you are.”

Shakily, you nod. “Yeah, I am. Things just aren’t… they’re not working, even though I’m trying, and I just.” Yoongi’s hand finds yours. It’s sweat-slick and cold. “Sometimes I think it’d be the kind thing to do. Put us both out of our misery.”

“Relationship euthanasia.”

“Yeah, kind of. It’s funny, you know. My vet always used to say you’d know it’s time when there’s more bad days than good, so I guess that really is the best way to put it.”

“What would that even look like?”

You want to say you don’t know. That you haven’t thought about it. Is this the call of the void again or is this for real? But the twilight makes you honest, so you tell the truth. “I would leave,” you say. “I wouldn’t be able to stay here, and I couldn’t ask you to go. It’s always been more your space than mine.”

Yoongi hums an agreement. Not cruel, it just makes sense. “I’m not tied to this place,” you continue. “This city. This state. I’m not sure I’d be able to stay, knowing you’re still here in a house that used to be ours without me in it. But sometimes I’m scared I wouldn’t be able to leave, either.”

“You could,” Yoongi answers. When you look up, he’s crying. Cheeks streaked with tears, eyes swollen. “You can do anything, you know? You’re so much stronger than me. You could do the hard thing and be okay. It’s part of the reason I’ve been so scared to have this conversation. You might leave, and you’d be okay, and I wouldn’t.”

“Yoongi...”

“I know you’re tired,” he says, voice laying his own exhaustion bare, “but I want you to be happy. So I will—I’ll let you go, if it’s what you want.” He’s crying harder now, staccato sobs wracking his body, making him smaller. “I don’t want to,” he whispers. “I don’t think I can, but I will. For you. If it’s what you need. If it’ll make you happy.”

You can’t stand it. “Yoongi, no.” You’re on your haunches, wiping furiously at his cheeks, thumbing beneath his eyes. “Being apart from you would never make me happy.”

You’re in his lap. He’s still too anxious to reach out and touch, maybe still a little scorned, and his hands lay at his sides. Twist into the duvet again. You want them on you. You always want Yoongi on you. “Tell me how to fix this,” he begs. “Tell me and I’ll do it, I promise, baby, please just tell me. I can’t—I don’t want to—”

“Yoongi.” He looks up, meets your eye. Moonlight suits him. “Something has to change, and you know that as well as I do. We can’t keep going like this, but just—just meet me in the middle, okay? Help me. Let’s start there.”

“Okay,” comes his automatic response. He’d agree to anything right now. Take any lifeline. And then the words sink in, and the sobs taper off but he’s still got the shakes, so you hold him. Wrap him in your arms and just let him breathe. “Okay,” he repeats. Measured. Considered.

Still standing, even after a hurricane.

i need you so much closer, so come on.

Morning comes, and with it—tenderness.

Also the mug of coffee on your nightstand, Yoongi’s hand splayed on the swell of your hip, the warmth that seeps into your skin. He’s typing away on his phone with the other, and he abandons it to pull you closer when you stir.

“Morning,” you murmur. Yoongi’s reply rumbles against your back.

“S’the afternoon, baby.”

Your laugh is abrupt, soft. Dissipates into the air as quickly as it’d arrived. “Okay. Good afternoon, then.”

Yoongi shuffles closer, adjusts so he’s pressed fully against your back. The hand that was on your hip moves beneath the hemline of your shirt. Explores the soft skin of your stomach, thumbs at the valleys between each rib. Yoongi’s touch is always laced with soft confidence; now, he still knows the way, still has the map memorized, but he’s reluctant.

You place your hand over his, move it higher. His thumb grazes the bottom swell of your breast and he sighs, presses impossibly closer still. “I love you,” he says quietly, like a secret. “Want you to know that.”

“I do,” you answer. He sighs again at your affirmation—more of an exhale, all relief—and drops his head to the crook of your neck. Presses a kiss there. The heat of him is almost disorienting, especially after being deprived of it for so long. “Haven’t been this close to you in months.”

He nips at your ear with his teeth. “I’ll make it up to you,” he says, and something stirs low in your belly. “Take a shower with me. I still smell like the bar.”

You snort. “Very sexy. Top tier dirty talk.”

He presses another kiss beneath your ear. “Please?”

“Let me drink some coffee first. I’m barely awake.” When you roll onto your side, Yoongi looks small, on the verge of dejection. Soft. You can’t help but smile. Can’t help but reach out to smooth the furrow between his brows, kiss away his pout. “I’ll be there, I promise. Give me five minutes.”

He wants to push it, you can tell, but he just says okay, baby. Presses one final kiss to your forehead before he’s gone, before the sound of bare feet on hardwood returns, before you hear the shower turn on, Yoongi’s low hum as he patters around and talks to himself.

You sit up and take stock. Your eyes are sore, head feels like it’s been split in two, but your heart feels… lighter. Scabbed over. Another battle fought and won, and even though the war isn’t over, you feel cautiously optimistic. Better than you have in a while, and you’re smiling when you press the coffee mug to your lips. Still warm, so Yoongi hasn’t been awake much longer than you. You wonder how many cups he’s already had, if he drank them black.

Half your cup is gone before Yoongi starts yelling from the en suite, complaining loudly that he’s cold and lonely, to hurry up. That he’s going to use all the hot water out of spite, but what if it gets too hot, what if he perishes in here and you have to live the rest of your life overcome with guilt. If it’s too hot, wouldn’t I perish too? you call back. Yoongi’s responding silence is so loud, but you fill it with a wild cackle.

“I’m gonna use all the nice shampoo!” he yells, but you’re already in the bathroom.

“And you’re gonna pay to replace it,” you retort, and he’s so caught off-guard that you’re there that he screams, drops a bottle on his foot, screams again. Up and off goes your t-shirt—Yoongi’s; smells like him and not a bar—and then you’re peeling off your underwear, tossing everything in the hamper. Into the shower. You reach out and touch Yoongi just so he knows you’re there even though he already does, but you press a kiss between his shoulder blades all the same. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he grumbles, all embarrassment.

Yoongi had insisted on a large shower. Something big enough for the both of you to fit in, and he’d blushed furiously when talking about it, but it was never anything sexual. You’d tried shower sex once, back in that shitty Silver Lake apartment, and never bothered again. But Yoongi craved the intimacy of showering together, the vulnerability, and over time you found it almost lonesome to shower by yourself.

So when he says, “Come here,” there’s enough space to maneuver beneath the spray, warm and not perishable-hot, and stand beside him. Enough space for Yoongi to rake his hands through your hair, get the strands wet; enough space to reach back for the nice shampoo he didn’t use all of; enough space for him to lather it in his hands and massage it into your scalp. A practiced song and dance. Something Yoongi could never forget the steps of.

Rinsed out, down the drain. Yoongi works in the conditioner next, brushes it through with his fingers, presses a kiss to your shoulder. “I was talking to Jin,” he says, and your mind is blank for a second. Then—when you woke up and he was on his phone. “About the cabin.”

“The one in Oakhurst?”

Yoongi nods. Turns you around so your back is to the spray, facing him. Lets the water rinse the conditioner away, too, before he’s placing a hand beneath your chin, tilting your face up. “Would you wanna go? Just us?”

“How long?”

A thumb settles in the contour of your cheek. Third finger traces the bridge of your nose. “However long you want. I—I don’t have anything, for a while. Could you work from there?”

You nod, a little delirious on how gentle Yoongi’s being with you. “Ye-yeah. Should be fine.”

You suck in a breath, shuddering as Yoongi brushes your rib cage when he reaches for the loofah. “D’you—” A pause. Time for you to swallow that familiar lump in your throat, keep from crying. “D’you think it’ll help?”

He pauses. Nods, so minutely you almost miss it. “I don’t know,” he admits, “but I want to try.”

“Me too.”

“Okay.” Presses his lips to yours. “However long you want, then.”

After he’s scrubbed the scars from your skin, the sadness, he wraps you in a warm towel. Stands behind you and wraps his arms around you as you both brush your teeth. Presses a kiss to your temple. Watches, so fond it makes you ache, as you dry your hair. Cracks little jokes about each product you use, says surely you don’t need all that, and you swat at him because you do. Because he uses just as many as you do, and sometimes uses yours. Tenderly takes the lotion from your hands and rubs it into your skin. His hands are firm when they run over your calves, your thighs, and your moan is quiet but it’s there, and you watch, mouth open, as Yoongi’s eyes flutter shut. As he takes a second to collect himself, breathe through it.

He just hasn’t heard that sound in a while, is all.

“Can I make it up to you now?” The words are spoken into your skin, pressed into the ditch of your knee, all warm breath skirting along your skin. “Show you how much I missed you? How much I love you?”

Goosebumps erupt all over. Dazed, you nod, and instead of words, you can feel the way Yoongi smirks. “Gonna take my time with you,” he promises. “Gonna take you apart. Would you like that, baby? Want me to take you apart?”

You meet your own eyes in the mirror, quick to forget where you are when Yoongi’s like this. You already look picked apart. Glassy eyes, mouth parted. The towel slips in your slackened grip and you dare another glance in the mirror, already knowing you’ll find Yoongi’s hungry gaze staring back, at full height.

“Look at you,” he chides, tone husky, and it’s not a shock that your husband wants you, that you’re both desirable and desired, but Yoongi is usually so unshakeable. Stable. Seeing him so affected from so little has you lightheaded, has your thighs clamping together unconsciously. “No.” Words firm. “Don’t hide from me.”

You reach back, still staring into the mirror, eyes still locked with Yoongi’s. Your hands tangle in his hair. Dark, longer than it’s been in so long, soft when you pull on it a little. Yoongi groans, buries his face in your neck, nips at the skin there. Through half-lidded eyes you watch as his hands roam your body. Feel the way he grows hard against the small of your back. Briefly, you think you might want it like this. Might want Yoongi to hike up the towel, bend you over the counter.

(Impersonal, because that’s what you’ve grown used to.)

But your hand finds his, slow their travel, lace your fingers together. “Not here.” He bites at your skin again and your whole body flushes when he begins to suck a bruise into your neck. “Yoo—Yoongi. No-not here.”

The bites slowly melt into something taunting, almost cruel. “You sound a little needy, baby.”

“I am.” You’re not embarrassed to admit it. It’s been so long you’re nearly aching with want, and you know Yoongi, know the kind of lover he is. The want is so strong you’re trembling with it. “Yoongi, please.”

Your words are hushed, meant only for the sanctity of this moment. Yoongi looks up long enough to catch your eye—long enough for the corners of his lips to pull into a smirk, to squeeze your hand tighter. “You don’t want it like this?” he asks, even though he knows your answer. But he still makes a show of it. Uses his free hand to grip the edge of your towel, drag it up and over your ass. Pauses to knead the flesh there before planting his hand in the center of your back and bending you over the counter. “Bet I could take you just like this, couldn’t I? Bet I’d just slide right in.”

The whine that escapes you is honestly pathetic, but you’re already so wound up, coiled tight, that you’re long past the point of caring. And you wonder, briefly, why you should care at all; why you care about the sounds you make, the way your body looks, when it’s Yoongi. When it’s your husband and not some random hookup. It’s that thought—this is my husband, my husband, my husband—that has your toes curling against the cold tile. It’s seeing the glint of his wedding band in the mirror.

“Do it here.” Your voice betrays your desperation. “Just—fuck, Yoongi, do it here, I don’t care.”

It’s maddening, the fact that he hasn’t even touched you yet. Not properly. But that’s the thing about space: sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes it’s a dying star, a supernova explosion, and you know what comes after. A black hole. Endless, inescapable, dark dark dark. That’s where the two of you are. That’s what all of this is, just a perpetual pull towards Yoongi, fated. Perhaps nothing more than gravity, but you let it reel you in nonetheless.

If the two of you are fated to go out the same way, the same dying star, you’ll go willingly.

“I’ll give it to you how you wan’ it,” Yoongi slurs. Leaves wet, open-mouthed kisses across your neck. “Get on the bed, baby, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

He’s on you before you even have a chance to drop the towel. Drapes his body over yours and presses you into the mattress, wraps one hand around your throat just to keep you there. Like you might leave. Like you might decide you don’t want this, don’t want him. As if you could. “Tell me what else you want,” he says, words unstable and wavering. He’s so fucking hard.

“Your mouth.”

He cock twitches at your words, your direction, and he smiles down at you in a way that makes you feel like you’re burning. “Yeah? That’s what you want?” A switch flips when you nod, chest heaving. Yoongi gets so serious, laser-focused, and it’s overwhelming when it’s pointed at you. You reach out, trace two fingers over his cheekbones just to make sure he’s real, and Yoongi captures them, presses a kiss to the center of your palm.

He’s not so gentle after that.

Yoongi moves slowly, intentionally, and you feel like prey, all part of the show. He trails his tongue down the column of your throat, the space between your breasts, your stomach. Spreads your legs and settles between them, places them over his shoulders. Stares. You can only imagine what you must look like: how wet, how open. His breath is so warm against you when he speaks. “You have to come on my tongue before you can have my cock.” He presses his thumb against your clit and circles slowly, and you can’t remember the last time he touched you like this. “Do you understand, baby?” A few months at least, maybe longer.

You nod. You’d agree to anything to feel Yoongi’s mouth on you, and he knows this, laughs before he leans in to lick a fat stripe against your slit. It’s instinct, the way your hands fly to his hair, trying to pull him closer. Having him here isn’t enough; you need to be consumed by him, need him to ruin you from the inside out, even though he already has. It’s also instinct, the way you know you belong to him, the way everyone who might come after him will pale in comparison.

As diligently as ever, Yoongi works you over. Eats you out so sloppily you can feel it pooling between your legs, seeping into the sheets below you, and the way he’s moaning around you makes you writhe. Has you gripping at the duvet, his hair, his hand. Has you rolling your hips against his face, groaning when Yoongi just takes it. When he says like that, yeah, so fucking hot, baby, love when you use me. When he reaches up to shove two fingers in your mouth and gives you no warning before he presses them inside.

“Fuck, fuck—”

Embarrassing, the way you can hear yourself, the way you can hear every wet pass of Yoongi’s tongue. Embarrassing that he’s only had his mouth on you for a few minutes and you’re already teetering on the edge. Embarrassing how hard Yoongi has to grip your hips to keep you where he wants you. Embarrassing that you welcome the bruises, want to be marked by him. “Are you close?” You think you nod. It’s hard to do much of anything when Yoongi crooks his fingers, presses firmly against your g-spot. “Is my beautiful girl gonna come from my fucking fingers? My mouth?”

(You are beautiful, but you don’t mean a thing to me.)

You try not to go there. You squeeze your eyes shut and try not to think about the words in that song, try to remember that’s all they are. If Yoongi had meant to hurt you, though, he’d hit his mark. Just words, you remind yourself, but they take you out of your body completely.

And it’s a funny thing, this almost-grief, because you’re hurting so badly it feels like you’re drowning, but with the pain comes guilt. What do you do when the person who cut you is the only one who can bandage it? What do you do with this pain when you want to talk it to death, make sense of it, but you don’t want to make Yoongi feel worse?

You hide—hide the pain, hide yourself.

You’ve gotten good at it over the last few months, too much practice, so you let Yoongi suction his lips around your clit and get you off just the way he said he would. You let him kiss you after, taste yourself on his tongue, and you think, This is what you deserve, I hope you taste like me forever, I hope it never washes away. You tug your lip between your teeth when you push him away and reach for his cock. Spit into your hand and say something dirty as you jerk him off, and Yoongi falls for it. Moans brokenly and thrusts into your hand, gets greedy just the way you had before reality humbled you.

“Ba-baby,” he whines, rutting a little harder, a little faster. Everyone gets selfish eventually. “Gotta fuck you.”

It should feel satisfying, seeing him desperate like this, seeing firsthand how badly he wants you, the fucked-out look on his face, but it all rings hollow. So you finish the show—push two fingers into yourself and coat Yoongi’s cock once more with your own slick—and roll over onto your stomach, arch your back the way you know he likes, and beg him to fuck you.

Yoongi falls for it. Yoongi pushes inside and groans, and you moan because you should and not because it’ll cover the sound of your sobs. Yoongi rolls his hips and lets whatever he thinks come out of his mouth, all filth, and it should do something for you but instead you’re wondering what he’d say to someone else. Would he fuck someone else like this? Would he be as desperate for it?

Eventually you forget to keep moaning but you don’t stop crying. You wonder if it should feel cathartic or if it’ll just feel like this forever. You think about New Year’s Eve and crying alone in the kitchen, how Yoongi hadn’t known. You think, I’m scared I could eventually hate him. I’m scared that line gets blurrier everyday.

“Baby?” Yoongi realizes this time.

You think, Another dying star.

“Did I hurt you?”

You think, Maybe I’ve already burned up. Maybe this is all that’s left.

“Baby, talk to me, please—”

You think, How many holes can you patch before it all sinks anyway?

“I’m sorry—”

You think, I’m scared of how much I want to hurt you. I’m scared I’m going to be angry forever.

Yoongi turns you gently onto your back. Takes a long, hard look at the tears rolling down your cheeks. Seems to commit them to memory. Starts crying, too, and it’s nothing more than vindication that doesn’t feel satisfying. Everything just tastes like ash: remnants of the supernova, the crash and burn, a thousand cuts.

Yoongi loves you. “Keep going,” you say, because you both need it. Not every problem can be fucked through, but you think this one can. “Please, keep going.”

Yoongi hesitates. Must find whatever he’s looking for as he stares down at you before he nods minutely and pushes back in. This is not the way you thought you’d heal, but there is only one way this is going to end, so you might as well. The first time was always going to be the hardest.

“I love you,” Yoongi says, and it’s raw. It’s real, the way he drops his head to the crook of your neck and cries. The way he finds your hand and laces your fingers together. His wedding band is cool against your skin. “I fucking love you. I’ll love you for the rest of my fucking life, you know that?”

He’s got something to prove. Wants to fuck devotion into you, wants to promise you impossible things. You wrap your legs around his waist and whimper, ask him to fuck you harder, but he doesn’t. Fucks you steady. “We’re gonna go to that cabin,” he rasps. “We’re gonna figure this out, and we’re gonna do all those things we talked about years ago. I’m gonna fuck you in every room in that place, just like this. I’m gonna make sure you know—even if you leave, you’re gonna know how much I love you.”

He’s going to be the end of you. “Yoongi.” He already is.

He moves your hand to your clit, tells you to make yourself come. Tells you he wants to see it. Fucks into you just a little faster, a little deeper, and you can feel the coil tightening again. Another supernova, you think as your body surrenders and shudders, and buries himself to the hilt and comes with you.

Sometimes space is a dying star, and sometimes it’s salvation.

and when i see you, i really see you upside down / but my brain knows better. it picks you up and turns you around.

There had been a time, years ago, when you and Yoongi would sit at your cramped kitchen table and pluck scraps of paper out of a bowl.

A lot had been left to chance back then. Probably too much, in hindsight, but that’s just the way life was. Carefree, a summer breeze, blissfully naive. The two of you were young and love-drunk and warm from the sun. Yoongi had worked endlessly—gigs for shit pay in shittier bars, overnights in his studio, fingers calloused from guitar strings and networking—to put a ring on your finger, nothing certain except how he felt about you, and that had been enough.

It’d gone like—

(“What’d you write on that one?” you ask, trying to peek over the bowl between you to see. Yoongi laughs, swats your hand away, says oh my god, go away, you’ll see if you pick it. “You’re no fun.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m no fun because I don’t want to spoil a surprise.”

“But you know what’s on all of mine!” you argue, and you feel more in love with Yoongi than ever, picking a place out of a bowl, leaving things to fate.

It’s your pout that does it. You jut out your bottom lip and turn on the puppy dog eyes, and Yoongi folds like a bad hand. Yah, yah, don’t do that! he says, laughing harder than before, covering his eyes with those calloused hands. There are so many stories in those hands.

So Yoongi laughs and unfolds his scrap of paper and pushes it in your direction. Refuses to meet your eye as you read it over, and you can’t figure out why he’s embarrassed of it. “Jin’s cabin? It’s up in Oakhurst, right? That’s only a five hour drive.”

“For a honeymoon, though?” Yoongi’s question is quiet, small. Still embarrassed. “Isn’t it kind of lame?”

“No, it’s not lame. You’ve wanted to go to Yosemite forever.”

“Yeah, I’ve wanted to go. And it’s mostly just for Horsetail Fall—”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing dramatically. “Yoongi. Put it in the bowl.”

“But—”

“Put it in the bowl.”

A flush creeps up his neck but he listens nonetheless, re-crumpling the paper and tossing it into the bowl. You’ll be picking soon, and you know the odds are slim, but you put a silent hope into the universe for Jin’s little cabin in Oakhurst to be the one, to be able to do this one thing for Yoongi when he’s been working himself to the bone to do so much for you.)

—and it hadn’t worked out, that cabin trip. The two of you had gone to Italy, Yoongi having been the one to pull it, and you rented scooters and ate gelato and soaked in the coastline. You’d dragged Yoongi on a tour of the catacombs and he spent hours at the Roman Forum, reading all the plaques and taking it all in.

You hadn’t felt like you’d missed out. Time hadn’t been wasted, and you still look back fondly at those pictures—the one of Yoongi with powdered sugar on his nose from too much sfogliatella, the two of you at Lake Como, you with all the stray cats at the Gatti di Roma, one in your lap, all gray, that you said had looked like Yoongi.

But, going to that little cabin in Oakhurst now, it feels a little like redemption. It feels like the universe is handing you the keys on a silver platter, saying, it’s okay to do it again; even if you got it right the first time, who says you can only do it once. So you take a day off for the drive and your boss gives you the week; you pack as many clothes as you can fit in your suitcase; you set an alarm for seven o’clock and try to stay grounded.

First, though, you have to survive Namjoon.

“How are things?” he asks, folding one endlessly long leg over the other.

Beside you, Yoongi radiates nervous energy. Jittery but not anxious. The kind of pent-up energy a runner might have: in position, awaiting the gunfire before a race. Composed to a fault, it’s not often you see him like this. Maybe right before an album drop or a big show, but never in marriage counseling.

So it doesn’t feel like a lie or lip service when you say, “Better,” and Namjoon and Yoongi both swallow down the same kind of smile.

“And why is that?”

“We’re going on a trip,” Yoongi says, and this surprises you, too. Protective, fiercely private Yoongi. “To, um. A friend’s place. Up in Oakhurst.”

Namjoon looks excited. “Near Yosemite,” he says. Not a question. “Is this a getaway or just a change of scenery?”

You look at Yoongi; Yoongi looks at you. “I’ll have to work some of the time, so I guess it’s a little bit of both,” you answer, “but it feels… good, exciting. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Yeah?”

You’re fidgeting, digging imaginary dirt from beneath your nails again as your cheeks warm. “Yeah. I know Yoongi has wanted to go for a long time, so I’m excited for that. I think… I think it’s important for him to do something like that, right now. Something big, you know? Or, something that feels big, I guess. I think it’ll be good for him, and—”

“It’ll be good for us.” Yoongi’s correction is gentle, dandelion-soft. He can’t look you in the eye as he says it, but he doesn’t need to. His neck is flushed and Namjoon’s expressive enough for all three of you. “Anything that’s good for me is good for us.”

If you’re stunned, Namjoon is shell shocked. It lasts all of five seconds before he’s coughing to cover his grin, jotting down notes like a mad professor, and it’s a little tooreminiscent of the way your parents had pushed you out the front door on your prom night—that same brand of giddy excitement, like they knew something you didn’t. But, Namjoon is a professional before anything else, so he simply asks, “How long are you going?”

“TBD,” Yoongi answers again.

“You’re able to take the time off?”

Right back to earth. Another sore point, because sometimes, like now, it’s easy to forget who you’re married to; easy to forget when you’re the pinnacle of American suburbia—standard nine-to-five, family health insurance plan, a maxed-out Roth IRA—and Yoongi is anything but. It’s easy to forget when your lives are so different. When Yoongi’s got songs and albums to write, for himself and everyone else, and shows and tours to plan, for himself and when someone else needs him as a fill-in, and you’re gearing up for another half-year spent alone at home.

Sure, it sucks sometimes, but getting to watch Yoongi live out his dreams tampers down all that negativity. When it’s two a.m. in Los Angeles but midday where he is and he sends you pictures of whatever he’s doing, what he’s eating, candids of his tourmates, all the sights and sounds. Yoongi’s doing exactly what he’s always wanted, what he’s meant to, and it’s okay.

What’s good for him is good for you, after all.

“I, uh—” He pauses, rubs at the back of his neck. The flush is still there. “I put a pause on the stand-in work for the rest of the year. Told everyone I wanted to focus on writing and producing and… stuff. Everything else. Getting my shit together.” You can hear it when he swallows, can see the slight tremor of his hands. Yoongi has never done well when he’s not working himself to the bone—when he has too much free time to spend in his own head. “And I can do that from anywhere, so.”

Namjoon catches your eye over the rim of his glasses. Seems to ask a question you’re not sure the answer to so you just stare back, and then his attention turns back to Yoongi. “When you say ‘stuff,’ what do you mean?”

“Well, I wound up here, didn’t I?”

From anyone else, it would sound snappy and bitter, but from Yoongi it’s just… self-deprecating, wounded, like it’s nothing more than a personal failure. Like Yoongi is the only reason the two of you are in marriage counseling and not a million little things the two of you have done. “We,” you correct, dandelion-soft just like Yoongi had been, and his head turns toward you so sharply you worry his neck is going to snap. “Don’t do that, Yoongi.”

He’s stock-still, back uncharacteristically ramrod straight, jaw dropped slightly. “Don’t take on the full burden of this. We wound up here. It’s okay to say that.”

Namjoon tries so hard to hide another smile that his dimples look more like craters.

i roll the window down and then begin to breathe in / the darkest country road and the strong scent of evergreen.

“Hi.”

Yoongi is slouched in the doorway of your office, beanie pulled down low. Strands of curls stick out of the bottom and you shoot him a smile, distracted from your task of packing up your work equipment. “Hi. What’s up?”

“Are you all packed?”

You shrug. “Just about. I don’t really have that much stuff. Just my laptop and some files.” You eye him skeptically, already sensing where this is going. “Are you?”

Your husband pouts, and it’s such a pathetic expression that you swear you can feel your heart grow three sizes. “In my defense—”

“Oh my god.” You try to look stern, but a laugh bubbles out of you anyway. “Why do you always do this?”

“I don’t like packing,” he whines. “And I need help.”

“With what?”

“Some of my production stuff.” He pouts deeper, sends you an impressive pair of puppy dog eyes. “Please help me. You’re my only hope.”

“How much are you bringing?”

“Not that much,” he answers in a way that sounds like a promise. “I wanted to bring the Yamaha because the cabin has that screened in porch and I think the acoustics could be really interesting in there, but it’s really heavy—”

You sigh. Look down at your laptop and stack of paperwork and wireless mouse and sigh again, then nod your agreement, because it’s not the first time you’ve helped Yoongi lug his gear in and out of your place and it won’t be the last. You’ve all but perfected it by now.

The car looks more like you’re moving than going on a trip. Your neighbor’s such a shithead you’re surprised he hasn’t poked his head out by now and asked when the house is getting listed so he can buy it and flip it for three times the price. Another brainless capitalist shill, Yoongi always says, and you laugh to yourself as you force another duffel bag of god-knows-what into the trunk. And we’re his neighbors, so what does that say about us? you always reply.

It takes the better part of twenty minutes, but then it’s done and you’re left with sore arms and a sweaty brow. Yoongi looks like the weight of the world’s been lifted from his shoulders rather than his hefty digital piano, and the thankful smile he shoots at you is worth any price.

“Do you need help with anything?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“No,” you respond, picking up the stack of files only to drop them back down on your desk. “It’s really just my laptop and this stuff. I’m fine; go do whatever it is you’ve got left to do. I’ll take care of it.”

There’s a look Yoongi gets when he’s laser-focused. Intense, unmistakeable, intimidating, especially when it’s trained on you. That’s how he’s looking at you now: looking at the sheen of sweat on your skin, the way your tongue runs along your bottom lip, your mussed-up hair. Both of you know exactly what he wants, and it drives you a little crazy when he’s shameless like this. When he’s not shy about looking, about wanting.

So Yoongi bends you over your desk and fucks you right there, right in your office in front of the street-side window. It’s hazy and primal but he takes his time, does and says exactly what he wants, has you a trembling, incoherent mess in record time, and it works. You come so hard you don’t think about the song, you don’t cry, and those threads of optimism start weaving something you can hold in your hands.

—

“Shut it off,” Yoongi slurs, voice deep and raspy from sleep.

You snort, turning off your alarm, seven a.m. sharp, and roll over to press a kiss to his forehead. “Wake up, sleepyhead, I got breakfast.”

He opens one eye, looks at you questioningly with it, blinks in confusion. “How long have you been up?”

“A while. Now, come on, I ordered your favorite.”

That piques his attention. “The breakfast sandwich?” You nod. “And the little strudels?” You nod again. “Coffee, too?”

You grab the plastic cup and shake it, rattling the ice. “One large iced Americano, at the ready. I even got you one of those bottled horchata cold brews for the road, even though you swear you don’t like them.”

“They’re too sweet,” Yoongi answers. It might be early, but apparently not early enough to not lie right through his teeth.

You glare. “You steal mine every time I order one.”

“That’s not true,” he grumbles, accusations forgotten as he spots the greasy takeout bag. “I should brush my teeth first,” he whines, looking agonized. “I should, right?”

“Says who?”

“I don’t know. The universe or whatever.”

You laugh. Watch, fond, as he drags himself out of bed and into the bathroom. Watch, even more fond, as he returns with a little toothpaste on the corner of his mouth that you thumb away. Watch, hopelessly and forever endeared, as he buries himself back under the duvet, pulls it up and over his nose. You can see the way he’s pouting from his eyes alone, and he starts whining about the cold, how early it is, how the only thing that’ll cure him is a kiss.

Which you give. Freely, without thought.

(And the two of you barely make it to Santa Clarita before Yoongi cracks open the cold brew he didn’t want. Doesn’t say a word about it being too sweet, just sits quietly in the passenger seat, half asleep, as he scrolls through his playlists. Queues up something soft, easy to listen to, and talks your ear off about Jeff Beck when one of his songs comes on.

Beck’s Bolero, which is not as soft and easy as the songs that played before it, but it makes Yoongi’s eyes light up. Has him seemingly speaking in tongues as he spits guitar terms to you, half of Jeff Beck’s life story interwoven with endless praise and awe, all the while he drinks his horchata cold brew and doesn’t say a word about it being too sweet.

You want to listen to him for the rest of your life.)

—

Oakhurst is small.

Only two traffic lights before you reach the road Seokjin’s cabin is on—a sharp right turn off the main highway, an acute angle, a steep decline. You’re glad you’re doing this in early March and not the dead of winter. Doubly glad you’d ignored the judgmental stare Yoongi had given you at the car dealership when you’d insisted on an SUV, all-wheel-drive.

You’d know the cabin was Jin’s even without an address. Baby blue exterior, pink front door. Blends in but still manages to stick out, much like the man himself. More like a bungalow, maybe. Looks, from the outside, like the kind of place that might be good for starting over. Someplace small and unassuming—someplace with a screened-in porch with two rocking chairs. A place where you can drink coffee. Decompress from the city. A place where the only thing you know is Yoongi, so he’s your focus.

A place that makes you smile.

You kill the engine. Just sit in the silence for a moment, hesitant to wake up Yoongi. Unsure, honestly, how he’d slept through the last leg of the trip, all the hairpin turns and uneven roads, but you close the car door gently and punch in the lock code for the house and lug in everything except Yoongi’s gear and let him sleep. Then, when he stirs awake, looking confused and a little lost, you press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth and gesture theatrically at the baby blue bungalow with the pink door and say, “Surprise! We’re here!” even though it’s not a surprise.

Yoongi laughs anyway.

There isn’t much to unpack, nor is there much space to put it. Only a closet in each of the bedrooms, so you dump everything out of your suitcase and thread your clothes through velvet hangers. Laugh at the thought of Yoongi doing no such thing—of Yoongi living out of his luggage for the next couple weeks, everything wrinkled and looking lived-in.

He comes and finds you, places a hand on your hip as he asks for the car keys, says he’s going to the store. Seokjin had stocked the pantry, but he wants to get fresh stuff, and you know that means he’s going to come back with more coffee than groceries. So you just nod, say okay, ask if he’d like you to unpack and put away his clothes. His nose scrunches; you hide your smile and leave it alone.

When he’s gone, you crack a window in the living room to air out the lingering emptiness. Suck in a mouthful of fresh air that seems to sting your lungs, all evergreen. There’s still so much to do, and you should probably stretch your legs after so long in the car, but the temptation to sink into the couch is strong. Seokjin’s got a soft blanket thrown over the back that you arrange over your legs, and then you’re asleep, some stupid paranormal show playing on the television to greet Yoongi whenever he gets back.

You dream of forgiveness, endless sprawling mountains, and the smell of coffee.

the rhythm of my footsteps crossing flatlands to your door / have been silenced forevermore. and the distance is quite simply much too far for me to row. it seems farther than ever before.

There’s a dive bar up the highway that does karaoke on Friday nights. You crack a joke about going.

“Fat chance,” Yoongi answers. He’s driving this time, and his hands are gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles have gone purple-white.

It shouldn’t mean anything. It doesn’t. Yoongi isn’t a dive bar karaoke kind of guy anymore. Left those days back in college, where you were suffering through your economics courses at USC and barely had two nickels to rub together. Yoongi would play open mics during the week just to cover the bus fare for the two of you to go into Koreatown on Fridays—enough to cover a noraebang for an hour, just to sing some girl group song horribly off-pitch just to make you laugh.

So it shouldn’t sting when Yoongi scoffs and says fat chance about singing karaoke at the dive bar when you drive past it, because Yoongi isn’t a dive bar karaoke kind of guy anymore. Now he’s the kind of guy who gets up on a stage and sings songs to thousands of people. They don’t laugh; they take pictures and videos and sing along to words he wrote, so it shouldn’t sting, and you try not to let it.

Instead, you focus on the blur of scenery: all the greens and browns; whites and deep grays from all the trees that have burned; the blue of the endless sky; the color of the asphalt, the edge of the world, like you could tip right over and disappear, nothing beyond the margins. Yoongi drives the thirty minutes to the park and it doesn’t sting, and you wonder if it’s just because it doesn’t or if it’s because you’re numb.

—

Yosemite is hard to put into words.

You feel small, wrapped in the expanse of the mountains, in this ancient nature that has existed long before you and will persist long after you’re gone. Maybe insignificant is a better word for it, because there’s so much to see—so much that’s known and unknown—and it feels like counting grains of sand. Feels like you could never possibly catch up.

So you sit on the ledge of an overlook and just exist. You don’t watch Yoongi take pictures on an old point and shoot, the one he’d ordered from Japan, because this is just for you. Whatever happens between you and Yoongi, these memories will only belong to you, and you don’t want to override something that’s happy with something that could eventually be sad.

The two of you get back in the car. The drive to Yosemite Village is slow, made even slower when you pass a bunch of cars pulled over. There, about thirty feet from the road, is a baby bear and a crowd. There’s a woman standing too close in order to take a picture and ten more people screaming at her for it. Yoongi looks awestruck when you catch his eye.

“I’ve never seen a bear before,” he says, and you nod. Neither have you.

Maybe you were a little stung before, about the karaoke, even though it’s stupid. But the fact that you and Yoongi have been together for so long and still manage to see new things together eases it a little. Plants a tiny, hopeful little seed.

All you have to do is water it.

—

The weather in the village is bitter cold.

Both of you are wrapped up tight, only your noses peeking out from between the layers of your scarves, tinged pink. Yoongi had wanted to go to Mirror Lake; didn’t seem at all deterred when he found out the shuttles were only doing basic routes so the two of you would have to follow the trail from the shuttle stop. Just under two miles. Hadn’t seemed so bad at the time, but now your lungs ache.

Snow and ice cover most of the lake. It isn’t as reflective as it’s known for, but you’re glad to experience it nonetheless. The sand crunches beneath your boots as you look for a log to sit on, the chill seeping through your clothing as you rummage through your backpack for a protein bar. Yoongi’s off taking pictures again, and it’s another moment you’re content to sit in the quiet.

Gives you time to take stock, figure out how you’re feeling. Instinct wants to say better, but you know it’s wishful thinking. Immature. The tendrils of hurt are still wrapped around your heart, and it’s only been a few days. Not enough time to hack them away. But you’re… at ease. For the first time in a while, it feels like you can breathe, and doing so doesn’t make you feel heavy, doesn’t weigh you down with guilt. Things might not be okay right now, not all the way, but you think your compass is finally pointed in the right direction.

Your husband joins you once he’s done. Doesn’t say anything, just sits beside you on the log and accepts when you offer him half of your protein bar. He’s got a nervous energy about him, like there’s something he wants to say but can’t figure out how to, and that feels familiar. That feels like the status quo. Two people who love each other but can’t figure out how to talk to one another.

So you say, “It’s gorgeous here,” and hope it’s enough. You’re not going to push him if he doesn’t want to talk, but it feels necessary to extend an olive branch. It feels necessary to try.

“It is,” Yoongi agrees. Rubs his hands together. Watches his breath dissipate in front of him. “It feels different.”

“What do you mean?”

A bird lands on a branch in front of you. Orange chest, vibrant blue on top; striking against the dreary backdrop of winter. You watch as it ruffles its feathers, shakes off the snow, and Yoongi cocks his head to the side. A guy who knows a little about a lot, full of knowledge, so you aren’t surprised when he says, “That’s a western bluebird.”

You hum an acknowledgment, because you know what it means to see a bluebird. You know the symbolism, but it feels a little too heavy to bear right now. “Pretty.”

“Yeah.” Then he’s sucking in a breath. Says, “There’s a ramen spot in Mariposa, if you’d wanna go there for dinner.”

It’s not what you were expecting him to say, but you nod anyway. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

Yoongi finally turns to you, then. Raises an eyebrow in question. “But is it what you want?”

“It’s just dinner,” you shrug. “Something warm will be nice after this.”

That nervous energy amplifies. Turns all those words clearly biting at the back of his teeth into a tangible thing. “Something warm—yeah, okay. Sounds good. They have matcha cheesecake.” He smiles, like he doesn’t want to but can’t help himself. “Seemed like something you’d like.”

Two things strike you, then: that your husband is always centering you in his world, even when the two of you are like this, and how badly it hurts that you can’t seem to talk to one another. Because you aren’t taking pictures with him because they might turn out sad, and Yoongi is choosing restaurants because they have matcha cheesecake.

And to hell with that, you think. Yoongi is your husband, and if you can’t talk to him then who can you talk to? So you sigh, say, “Look at me, Yoongi,” and you know there’s a fragment of surprise evident on your face when he listens. You know there’s a fragment of sadness on yours when you take in how exhausted he looks. Almost defeated. “Why can’t we seem to talk to one another?”

It must be what he was working up the courage to say, because his shoulders sag immediately. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m trying, but it’s just… I don’t know. Sometimes I’m scared I’m gonna say the wrong thing and that’s gonna be it.”

Your brows pinch. “Okay,” you say, because sometimes you aren’t easy to talk to. Sometimes you take things too personally, sort of revel in the hurt. You understand hesitation. “I… want to fix that. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me.”

Yoongi nods. “Yeah,” he eventually answers. “I do, too. We’re not really gonna fix anything unless we can talk to each other.”

“Yeah, true.” The bluebird chirps from its spot in the tree. Stares down at the two of you with these jerky little tilts of its head. “Do you think that’s our problem? How it got… like this.”

“I don’t know, baby,” he says again, and you immediately want to push back on it. I don’t know doesn’t tell you anything. Doesn’t tell you how to fix it, how not to let it get this bad again. But then he says, “It could’ve been anything, you know? A million things. I think—I know that doesn’t help you, but for me, it’s less important how and why we got here because that’s… gone. I can’t change it, and the more I dwell on it the more I spiral, so I’m trying not to do that.”

A stuttered exhale. “I haven’t felt present in a long time and I guess it just compounded. Like, once I realized something was wrong, it felt like I’d left it too long to try and do something about it. I knew you were hurt, and instead of trying to fix it, I’d just think, of course you hurt her, because you’re good at that.”

“That’s what you think?”

“Sometimes.” You reach over and take his hand, barely able to slot your fingers together with the thickness of your gloves. “I know I explained it to you before, but the song… it wasn’t honesty, it was self-destruction. Because I thought if all I do is hurt you, then you should be with someone who doesn’t do that. Someone who knows what they have and is able to hang onto it.” He hangs his head, guilt-stricken. “I don’t know why I wrote it. Call of the void shit, I guess, like I told you. I knew the whole time it was a bad idea. I just thought… maybe you’d hear it and do what I couldn’t.”

“Leave?”

He laughs, all derision. “Yeah. Stupid, isn’t it? I’m scared to death that you’ll leave me, so I tried to speed up the process.”

You sit with his words for a minute. “I don’t think it’s stupid, Yoongi. Can I tell you what I think? I think you feel like you deserve to be a little sad, like some kind of artist’s curse. I think you think you need to feel tortured in order to create, and I think you’ve appointed yourself the arbiter of my happiness, so you see me being human as a failure on your part. And I think I made a very smart choice when I was twenty-one years old, because I think you’ve taken my heart and kept it safe all these years.

“It… does matter to me, how we got here,” you continue, “because if I don’t know why, I’m scared it’ll happen again. But you told me I need to give you more credit, and that goes both ways. I know I can be a bastard, so I’m going to be selfish and ask for patience, and I’m going to give you the same. Just… please believe me when I say I’m not going anywhere. Not as long as we’re both gonna try to fix this.”

Yoongi stays quiet. Sticks out his pinky, and you hook yours around it.

(You know what it means to see a bluebird. Remember reading about it once, back when you were desperate to find meaning in everything. Right after a time of tremendous difficulty, the bluebird comes to bring good fortune in all things such as love, healing, and happiness.)

and together there in a shroud of frost, the mountain air / began to pass through every pane of weathered glass / and i held you closer than anyone would ever get.

Yoongi’s birthday is soon.

Four days, to be exact. The two of you will be celebrating in Jin’s cabin in Oakhurst, surrounded by nature and a town still foreign to you, Yoongi’s music gear scattered all around like a treasure hunt. Follow the cables until you find him, hunched in front of a glowing computer screen, massive headphones shoved over his ears as he gets absorbed into his own world, strumming his guitar all the while.

You think thirty will look good on him.

The weather’s still mild, still colder than you’re used to, but the breeze feels nice when you open the small windows in the kitchen and let it blow through. It feels nice when you run to the grocery store and stand in the foreign aisles, staring at all the ingredients you’ll need to bake a cake. You haven’t done it in ages; since Yoongi’s twenty-sixth, you think. Almond with chantilly cream. It had taken you ages because the cream kept splitting, and you insisted on meticulously arranging little strawberry slices between the layers, but Yoongi had loved it so much it hadn’t felt like work at all.

So you grab what you need and some things you don’t and you feel as light as the breeze on the drive back to the cabin. You make a last-second decision to stop at the donut shop because it closes in the afternoon and you never catch it when it’s open. Two blueberry old fashioneds, a large Americano for Yoongi, and a mocha iced coffee for yourself. Six dollars, and the woman behind the counter is kind.

“What’s that?” Yoongi asks when you place the coffee and donut on his makeshift desk. The headphones are looped around his neck.

You click your tongue, all sugar. “What does it look like?”

“This looks like a donut and an Americano. What’s in the bag, though?”

“I went to the grocery store.”

“For what?” he pouts. “I was just there!”

That pout fades when you press a kiss to the top of his head. “Don’t pout. I picked up stuff for your birthday cake.”

“My birth—” he begins, seemingly offended by the mere thought of his birthday and that it might be soon, and then he looks at the date on his computer and mumbles an, oh shit. “You’re baking me a cake?”

“Yeah, I thought it’d be nice.”

He tries to peer into the bag. “What kind?” You swat him away.

“It’s a surprise,” you deadpan.

“But I saw strawberries in there.”

“No you didn’t. Now, eat your donut and get back to work.”

Yoongi pouts again. Really exaggerates it. “I’m really stuck on this bit. I might need a kiss for good luck.”

As you press a kiss to his lips, you think you might give him whatever he wants.

—

Yoongi spends the morning of his birthday tucked in bed.

You spend the morning of Yoongi’s birthday beneath the duvet, hands roaming every inch of your husband’s body. Thumbs digging into the muscles of his calves, sore from the overuse they’ve suffered the last few days. Nails grazing the sensitive skin of his biceps, his stomach, the insides of his thighs. Lips pressing open-mouthed kisses to his forehead, his temple, his neck, down his chest, the jut of both hip bones. And then, once he’s whining and writhing and just on the verge of begging, you spend the morning of Yoongi’s birthday making him come with your mouth.

He spends the early afternoon in his makeshift studio with a cup of coffee. Answers a couple emails. Calls his parents. Messes around on Cubase. Fixes the two of you a quick lunch and says he might want to wander around town for a little bit. Check out the antique store down the street, maybe spend a few hours in the park with his guitar, get some fresh air. Thirty feels weird, he says, and you’re anchored to your laptop at the small dining room table, so you just say okay, I’ll see you later for dinner. There’s a crooked smile on Yoongi’s face as he hikes the gig bag over his shoulder, and then he’s gone.

You: He just left. Coast is clear.

Seokjin: Thank fuck, I’ve been sitting at this Starbucks for 500 hours

You: No you haven’t

Seokjin: 499 hours*

When he arrives, Seokjin blows right by you and locks himself in the bathroom. You know I refuse to use public restrooms, he says after, slinging his arm around your shoulders. He’s not a hugger, so it’s the closest you’re going to get to one.

“My car reeks of kimchi and soup,” he says, dropping a bag of groceries in front of the refrigerator. “Won’t be able to get that smell out for weeks, probably.”

“Thank you for your sacrifice,” you intone. “You’re a god amongst men, Kim Seokjin.”

It’d been your idea. Wanted Yoongi to ring in his thirtieth birthday surrounded by as much love as possible, and a cabin-bungalow nearly five hours away from home wasn’t especially opulent. Not to mention Yoongi had been on tour the last two years—spent twenty-eight and nine in grimy venues in Texas and Birmingham, respectively—and the less said about 2020 the better.

So Seokjin had fucked off from his cushy job for the day and made the drive from San Francisco. Made the miyeokguk and myeongnan-jeot himself, and had whined when you told him you already bought the ingredients for a cake because I was gonna pick up mujigae-tteok, to which you replied, pick it up anyway.

Now he’s standing in the small kitchen of his own small bungalow, and you’ve got a one-thirty meeting so you can’t help, but he’s determined to make gyeran mari anyway, even if it inconveniences you. “Maybe I should make it closer to when he’ll be back?”

“Up to you,” you shrug. “You could also stand on the side of the road and resell all those eggs for ten times the price.”

He just sends you A Look.

—

You watch through the small window above the kitchen sink as Yoongi returns just after six, cheeks pink from the wind, arms full of goodies.

“Hey,” he says, kicking his boots off on the porch, “is that—”

“SURPRISE!”

Seokjin’s scream is so shrill you think you black out for a second. Nearly topple over from your spot in front of the island, frosting knife poised to strike. Yoongi’s still out on the porch, and there’s a terrible crash that can only be him startling and knocking into one of the rocking chairs. He’ll appear any second now, brows pinched, and go is that Seokjin? and once he confirms it is, in fact, Seokjin, he’ll start yell—

“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, appearing in the doorway. Brows pinched. “I was gonna ask if that’s Seokjin’s car outside, but now I don’t fucking need to.”

Seokjin tuts, ladles another bowl full of miyeokguk. “Is that any way to speak to your elders? Now, get in here and sit down. It’s not breakfast, but it’ll have to do.”

Yoongi grumbles the entire time, but you see the way the flush deepens on his cheeks. The way he’s pleased to be fussed over, to have you and Seokjin in the same room as him. Pleased to be celebrating thirty surrounded by people who love him, people he loves in turn.

“Did you call your mother?” Seokjin asks, setting the bowl in front of him. He jokingly tucks a napkin into the front of Yoongi’s shirt.

“Of course I called my mother.” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Are you stupid? It’s not my first day being Korean.”

“That’s correct! It’s your 10,950th day being Korean.”

“How did you—”

“I knew you would say that so I looked up how many days are in thirty years. Now, is your lovely wife done with the cake?”

You are, just about. Just a few more slices of strawberry to place on top, and you take a step back once you do so. Admire your hard work. Send up a quick thanks that the cream hadn’t split this time. Seokjin and Yoongi are still bickering—

(“Did you make the miyeokguk last night?”

“I’m offended, Yoongi. Of course I made it last night, the broth needs time to develop! It’s not my first day being Korean, either!”

“No, it’s your ten billionth, you decrepit bitch.”)

—and your heart feels full. Content. You see Yoongi laughing, all gums, and feel untethered. Like any second now your ribs are going to crack apart and give way, let your heart tumble right out of your body. Because it belongs next to Yoongi, always. Because it wants to be next to Yoongi.

So you finish the cake and set it aside. Sit down at the place Seokjin set for you, right next to your husband, whose hand immediately goes to your knee; who immediately turns and smiles at you, even though Seokjin is still squawking in the background. Yah, Yoongi, compliment the soup! Tell me how good it is! Yoongi doesn’t, because he’s still smiling, can’t look away from you, and you swear you can hear a fissure forming, except this one doesn’t hurt.

This one doesn’t hurt at all.

—

Yoongi is sufficiently drunk by nine.

That traitorous combination of alcohol and sugar. A shot of soju, a bite of cake, some mujigae-tteok. Seokjin’s endless chatter as background noise. Yoongi’s hand still on your knee, warm warm warm. Liquor loosens him up a little, has him bashful, chin tucked to his chest, when he offhandedly mentions Namjoon and Seokjin says who’s this Namjoon, and Yoongi says he’s our marriage counselor. Seokjin looks to you, then. Connects some dots.

Says, “Ah, Yoongi, did you eat your tteokguk on Seollal? No? See, this is why things are hard right now, because you didn’t eat your tteokguk. It’s good luck, that’s why you eat it,” because it’s easiest to get through to Yoongi, to let him know he’s okay, when you’re scolding him a little. When you treat it kind of like a joke. No big deal.

And Seokjin follows that up with, “How are you settling in here?” when what he really wants to know is are things better, are the two of you doing okay. Yoongi grumbles again, barely coherent at his current level of inebriation, and Seokjin says, “Ah, I bet not well, huh? There’s just the one Starbucks, can’t find your bougie pour-over, LA coffee here, can you? Do they even have oat milk? Are you—”

“It’s still California,” Yoongi argues, “there’s fucking oat milk everywhere. Hey, hyung, did you—did you know there’s, like, the tree nut milk orchard near here? Not far. Close by. I could drive to see the al-almonds.”

“Tree nut milk,” Seokjin deadpans. “You know, Yoongi, I did not know that. Why don’t you tell me all about it.”

—

By eleven, Seokjin is passed out on the couch.

By eleven-ten, Yoongi has convinced you to lay in the grass with him. A minute later he’s staring up at the sky, making wishes on superstitions. His breath vaporizes in the cold, and he’s not wearing a jacket, but he’s still flushed from the alcohol, feels invincible.

“Think the edible’s hitting me.” He laughs, short and raspy, and he doesn’t seem to care that the grass is wet with dew. Doesn’t care that it’s in his hair, seeping through his clothes. “What’s your favorite one of those?”

He’s pointing at the stars, wants to know your favorite constellation. All of them, you want to say, following his line of sight. Because they’re all different. All meaningful in different ways. All have their own story. Instead, you roll your head to the side, take in Yoongi’s profile. Say, “You’re my favorite,” and laugh at how flustered he gets, laugh at his gravelly protests.

“Yah, you can-can’t say that,” he whines. “That’s so greasy, you can’t say that, it doesn’t count. Give me a real ans—”

“Then why are you smiling?” You laugh as he grows even more thunderstruck, completely caught-out, and it’s nearing midnight but it does nothing to hide the blush creeping down his neck, tingeing the tips of his ears. “You’re so red. That’s exactly what you wanted me to say, you absolute—”

“Real answer, please.”

You decide to take pity on him. Poor thing, can barely look you in the eye because of one terrible pick-up line. “Fine. Pisces.”

His responding groan is so loud you have to slap your hand over his mouth. The grass is so cold but Yoongi’s laughter, the way his shoulders shake with it, makes you warm. “You’re just saying that,” he says once you remove your hand.

“Am not. Ask me why.”

“Okay. Why?”

“Because you’re a Pisces, first of all—”

“Oh my god, here we fuckin’ go—”

“—but I just like the myth. Aphrodite and Eros transformed themselves into fish to escape Typhon, and tied themselves together with rope so they wouldn’t lose one another.” You sigh, watch your breath dissipate into the dark. “I don’t know. I like to think… I don’t believe in soulmates, but I like to think some people are meant to tie themselves together. Some people aren’t meant to be apart.”

There’s a quiet little oh, and then there’s silence. Just the distant sounds of the highway, a dog howling, and, if you listen closely enough, Seokjin’s snoring from inside. Yoongi finds your hand, brings it to his mouth to press a kiss to the back of it, and he’s oddly quiet. Contemplative, maybe. Usually gets a couple drinks in him and starts talking your ear off, but this is nice, too. It’s nice to just exist in the silence alongside someone else.

“Do you know the myth about Eurydice and Orpheus?” he finally asks, and you nod, suddenly understanding why Yoongi doesn’t care that his hair is wet. So inconsequential to this moment where you can exist in the silence alongside someone else. “I was thinking about it today.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think… I think I’d fuck it up. I think I’d look back. And I think you wouldn’t.” He sighs, and the weight of the world expels alongside it. “What you said about Aphrodite and Eros, that some people are meant to be tied together—if I couldn’t hear you, or touch you… That’s what you are for me, you know? An anchor. The first time I read it, it made me so fuckin’ angry, like why can’t this guy just listen, if he loves her that much wouldn’t he listen, but… I dunno. I think I get it.

“I’m so scared all the time that one day I’m gonna look back and you won’t be there anymore. What would I even do? Baby, what would I do? Sometimes I’m fuckin’ terrified that I don’t think I could have that kind of faith in anything, and I’m finally gonna make it to the end of this cave and they’re gonna lay all my betrayals at my feet.”

Midnight finds you still staring up at the sky, hair wet, breath tangible, wondering how you can be both an anchor and an albatross.

—

(In the morning, Seokjin makes tteokguk and ladles extra into Yoongi’s bowl.)

i'm reaching for the phone to call at 7:03, and on your machine / i slur a plea for you to come home, but i know it's too late / and i should have given you a reason to stay.

The thing about grief is that it’s indiscriminate.

Because it has no context. Grief doesn’t know that things are better, doesn’t know that the two of you have stuck to your appointments with Namjoon and are able to talk honestly; doesn’t know that laughing feels lighter, easier; doesn’t know that guilt isn’t weighing you down as heavy. So it feels a lot like treading water, and sometimes you’re able to float and sometimes you slip beneath the waves, struggle to breathe.

And it’s stupid, you think, that you can disappear too far into your mind to the place where everything feels bad. Where progress is meaningless. Where there’s still you and Yoongi and a crumbling marriage. Where the only words ringing in your ears aren’t I love you, but you are beautiful but you don't mean a thing to me. Just like last time. Regression.

There are only so many distractions. Work helps, because you can’t focus on how shitty you feel—how scared you are—when your boss is on your ass about deadlines. The antique store in town helps, too, though you must’ve worn a pattern into the floors by now, but you can’t help it. It’s nice to hear the stones crunching under the tires when you pull into the parking lot; nice to laugh at the giant Sasquatch outside and greet them like a friend; nostalgic to breathe in the scent of old stuff—belongings that were once well-loved, now free to be loved by someone else.

Grief doesn’t care that you’re sad and Yoongi has that spark in his eyes.

But Yoongi is smart. Wickedly perceptive. Knows there’s something bothering you long before you gather the courage to say it, because it feels wrong to dim that spark, take it away, so he lets you sit with it. Lets you take your time, and that endless patience just makes you feel worse. Makes you think, he deserves better. Makes you think, what’s the point of any of this. Makes you angry, because things aren’t fixed but they’re better, and why can’t everything hurt all at once instead of incrementally.

And, just like always, you can only tread water for so long, stave off the inevitable.

Because Yoongi’s giving you time but when you feel like this, everything reads like an attack. Feels like disregard and indifference. What you want is unfair, and you know it, because you want Yoongi to be able to reach into your mind and see everything that’s turned necrotic. You want him to know how to fix it without having to talk about it, because talking about it makes you feel guilty. How many times can you press your fingers into the same wound and be shocked when they come out bloody?

So it isn’t fair and it’s also hard. Words bite at the back of your teeth, because this is your husband—if you can’t talk to him, what are you even doing? Namjoon would laugh. The one that’s equal parts patient and exasperated, like he can’t believe someone like you exists even though he’s seen some shit. Worse shit than you and Yoongi have, that’s for sure, so it should be reassuring.

(Everything reads like an attack.)

“Hey,” Yoongi says, hip resting against the counter, towel thrown over his shoulder. (These things always happen in a kitchen.) “You okay?”

How doubly unfair is it that your first instinct is to lie? To say yeah, I’m fine—not to be deceptive, but because you’re sure with enough time you can make it true, foolishly certain you can either bury it or delude yourself. But Yoongi is looking at you like a caged animal; like he, too, is foolishly certain of foolish things. Yoongi is looking at you like he knows this is it. Like this is where you say I’m sorry, this just isn’t working, we were stupid to think it would even though we’re trying. Like this is where you take off your wedding band and place it calmly in his hand. No dramatics, just resignation.

So you don’t lie. You can’t. Instead, you say, “Yeah, I think… I think it’s just been a little hard lately.”

Yoongi tries to lie, too. Tries to hide how relieved his exhale is, but the smile peeks through, the flush on his cheeks. Can’t hide that he’s pleased because all those nightmares he’d conjured in his head aren’t coming true.

“I should’ve said something earlier,” you say, because it’s something that’s true, “I’m sorry. I just—I don’t want you to feel bad, you know? I don’t want to keep rehashing things.”

He closes the distance. Wraps you in his arms, all warmth. Presses a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s okay. I know it’s hard to talk about these things sometimes. I just wanted to make sure we’re okay.”

“Yeah. Yeah, Yoongi, I think we will be.”

(Something that’s true.)

it felt just like falling in love again. and it felt just like falling in love again.

On Friday, the two of you go to the bar for karaoke night.

As he’s buttoning his shirt, Yoongi says do you think they’ll have Epik High? and you can’t help the ugly laugh that tumbles out of you even though it’s not really funny. Because no, this two stoplight town won’t have Epik High, but it’s the kind of thing you laugh at when you’re feeling terribly fond, horribly endeared—it’s the kind of thing you laugh at when you’re riding the high of going through hell and making it to the other side.

It’s the kind of thing you laugh at instead of detailing every reason you’re in love with him.

So you do your hair and makeup nice. Barely make it out the door, because Yoongi stumbles into the bathroom to fix his hair and put on cologne and stops dead in his tracks when he sees you. Mutters a goddamn under his breath before he’s all over you. Kisses pressed to the nape of your neck, hips pressing you against the counter. The right side of painful.

You manage to pry him off of you long enough to shove him out the door, thighs just a little bruised, Yoongi’s lips a little too red. He’s still all over you at the bar. Still rests a possessive hand at the small of your back, still presses a kiss to your cheek every time he gets up to order another round of drinks, still whines and pretends to drag his feet when the house music plays and you pull him onto the dancefloor.

Someone sings “Fly Me to the Moon” by Frank Sinatra. It’s off-key and a little grating and Yoongi’s got wing sauce smeared on his cheek, but he still mouths the words to you. You are all I long for. All I worship and adore. You know you look lovestruck, and you think it’s a shame there’s barely anyone in this bar to witness it. What you and Yoongi have—it should be seen. It should be screamed from rooftops.

When the two of you go back to the bungalow, you split a bottle of red wine and sit on the living room floor. Yoongi has his guitar in his lap, barely able to play the chords properly, but he serenades you anyway. Does a better rendition of Fly Me to the Moon than the guy at the bar just because it’s his, and he’s singing it for you. He sweeps the blankets from the back of the couch onto the floor and fucks you slow. Holds your hand and kisses you until you’re breathless. (You already were.)

The rest of the weekend is spent similarly. Yoongi can’t keep his hands to himself, fucks you in nearly every room of Seokjin’s little house in Oakhurst, and presses praise into your skin like a brand. Sits on the living room floor again as you cook dinner, back ramrod straight against the couch; has a spliff stuck between his lips as he jots down words into a notebook. Looks up and over at you every now and then, cheeks reddening each time you catch him staring. You, too, refuse to smile until you’ve turned back around.

On Sunday night, Yoongi ducks out to go to the drug store and returns with an armful of bath bombs. Looks like he looted a bank, but he asks do you want to use the lavender one in that soft, shy voice, and you wouldn’t be able to say no to him even if you wanted to, so you don’t. You sink into the warm water, let the lilac swirl around you, make you soft, and you feel safe here with your back pressed to Yoongi’s chest. With his legs caging you in. With his words in your ear and his lips pressed to the top of your head, fingers dancing along your ribs, clearing the cobwebs from in between.

Monday comes before you’re ready. Insistent, inevitable—the sunlight streams in, wakes you slowly. Yoongi’s arm is thrown over your middle, both of you still lavender-soft, and he groans when you stir, buries his face in your neck. Everything is warm. A blissful little cocoon, made even more so when Yoongi pulls himself out of bed, makes a pot of coffee, returns with your mug steaming hot. He sets it on your nightstand, doesn’t want to risk burning you by handing it off, and tilts your chin up to press a quick kiss to your lips.

You’ve got a nine-thirty meeting, so you tangle your legs together and drink it as fast you can. Shameless, Yoongi watches as you undress—watches as the sun paints you in golden light, watches as you pull his t-shirt up and over your head, watches as your shoulder blades move beneath your skin. It’s the t-shirt that fucks him up the most, has him a little hard in his briefs. One of his tour shirts, the last one he’d gone on before the two of you got married. Says, a little awed, “I’d follow you anywhere,” and he doesn’t elaborate but somehow you know exactly what he means.

And he stays in the bedroom when you log on for your meeting. Listens to you talk to your team, your laugh soft and bright, and feels entirely dumbstruck. Feels overwhelmed, wonders how his body can possibly contain so much affection. Wonders, briefly, where it goes when everything hurts. If it’s just in a reserve, because Yoongi has loved you as long as he’s known you, and he’s not sure it’s ever felt like this; ever hit him this hard.

So, he locks himself in the second bedroom until the late afternoon. Pours over his notebooks, strums every chord he knows until he finds the right one. Jots down words he scribbles over and jots down more. Writes until the calluses on his fingers turn to blisters, writes until the words all blend together, until there’s something singular instead of tendrils. Yoongi writes until there’s something he can feel proud of; something that might feel a lot like redemption.

[interlude: monday morning]

(You listen to it far later. Back in your home that isn’t the apartment in Silver Lake but contains just as much love—perhaps more now than before you left; certainly more patience, more hope, more resilience. And as you take in Yoongi’s words, wrapped in their metaphors and their honesty, you cry again, but this time it’s quiet rather than heaving.

This time Yoongi is singing love, keep your arms around me.)

looking upwards, i strain my eyes and try / to tell the difference between shooting stars and satellites from the passenger seat as you are driving me home.

“Should we go home soon?”

It’s a Saturday morning, and you and Yoongi are on the porch. The air is crisp and cool, makes your coffee a tolerable temperature, and it’s early enough that the world is largely still asleep. There’s no polluted noise, just the rustling of the grass that’s now a little overgrown and the one neighbor from down the road who always wakes up early to run. He must hear your muted voices, because he waves as he passes by.

Home. Back to Los Angeles. Back to your two-storey home with the awful neighbor who doesn’t wake up early to run and never waves to you. Back to the chaos you know. Back to a home that hasn’t felt much like one lately, but one that can be repaired, just like everything else. A home that’s got enough love stored between its walls that you aren’t worried.

But it’s still daunting, somehow. Things feel solid here, like a houseplant sprouting new life—resilient, but a little fragile, too. So you’re scared to burst the bubble and doubly scared of what that hesitation means. “I don’t know,” you say. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know, either,” Yoongi answers. Takes another sip of his coffee, rocks a little in the chair. He’s got his knees pulled up to his chest. Looks impossibly small, especially in his oversized pajamas and the even larger hoodie he’d thrown over them. “It’s nice here.”

It is, in more ways than one. “Yeah, I’m gonna miss it.”

Yoongi hums. “Maybe I’ll just buy it from Seokjin.” Words muffled by the rim of his mug, like he’s trying to hide them from you.

Doesn’t work. Instead, you turn to him, eyebrow quirked. “Oh, really?”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Gotta do something with all this money, hm?” Then he sighs, picks at imaginary lint on his pants. “You like it here, though, right? Not saying I am, but—”

“Oh no,” you interject, voice at least fifty decibels higher. “I know you, Yoongi! You wouldn’t be asking me any of this unless you already had some half-baked plan in the works—”

“Yah! It’s at least seventy-five percent baked!”

You laugh, the sound the loudest thing for miles. “Yeah, okay. How much did you offer him for it? You spend all my money?”

“Your—that’s not funny.” He pouts. “I didn’t spend all of it.”

“Just seventy-five percent?”

“I’ll have you know I am a very successful musician. I could buy you ten of these cabins if I wanted to.”

You drop your mouth open in mock-affront. “And yet I have zero cabins, so what does that say about the state of your priorities?”

“Not this shit again—”

“I think it’s more of a bungalow, anyway.”

“Yeah, Seokjin said the same thing. Was really offended that I offered to buy his cabin.” A pause. A small lift at the corners of his mouth. “Still offered to sell it to me, though.”

You can’t help the smile that splits your face. “And I’m sure you said yes, of course.”

“I’ve grown very attached to those blueberry donuts.”

“Uh-huh.”

“...And it’s been good for us. We’re happy here. Happier.”

“Yeah, we are. You just needed some fresh air.”

Yoongi’s cheeks tinge pink. “Yah, knock it off! You’re making me sound like a tuberculosis patient. Like I just needed a trip to the seaside to heal.”

“I’m just stating facts, Yoongi. You’re a little studio hermit, barely witnessing the light of day. I bet you got one lungful of this mountain air and almost keeled over.”

“You’re a pain in my ass,” he accuses, “I’m revoking my offer.”

“That you extended with my money.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

—

Saying goodbye is hard.

As you load the last of your belongings into the car, it feels like you’re leaving behind a friend. You know you’ll be back (because Yoongi actually did offer to buy the cabin-bungalow and Seokjin seems keen, but whether that’s because he actually wants to offload it into the two of you or because he wants to salvage your marriage any way he can, you can’t be sure), but tears prick at the corners of your eyes anyway. Because you were desperate when you arrived, and now you aren’t. You were scared and lacking direction, and now you have another place to rest when you get tired.

Yoongi joins you at the car, his guitar bag slung over his shoulder. Just stares at the little blue bungalow with the pink door and doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. Whatever he’s thinking, you know he’s saying it in his head in that fond tone of his. The one that’s bordering on thankful, and you are, too.

On the way home, Yoongi drives and treats you to (read: makes you suffer through) John Denver karaoke. Sings “Take Me Home, Country Roads” the way he used to sing girl group songs at the noraebang. Holds your hand the entire way, and the two of you stop at some hole in the wall for lunch, still a few hours from the city. He orders a beer—some disgusting IPA you know he only drinks to seem distinguished, even though this is the same guy you watched do keg stands in college for free Natty Light—to get out of driving the rest of the way and it’s your turn to call him a pain in the ass.

But he’s quiet in the passenger seat, and it’s not from the alcohol. He’s typing intermittently on his phone, pink tongue darting out from between his lips when he gets especially focused. “I think I got something,” he says eventually. “If I read it to you, will you tell me if it sounds alright?”

“I majored in economics,” you say, because you always do. It’s been your go-to since the first time he asked, all the way back in your junior year.

He laughs anyway. “Perfect, then you can tell me if this shit is gonna make me any money,” he answers with a wry smile, because he always does. “I’ve had this stuck in my head for days.”

You nod. You listen.

“And if you feel just like a tourist in the city you were born, then it’s time to go. And you find your destination with so many different places to call home.”

You wonder how Yoongi is always able to put to paper all the feelings you’ve got locked up tight. You wonder how Yoongi always makes Los Angeles seem less daunting.

there'd be no distance that could hold us back. so this is the new year.

It’s the thirtieth of December.

Your shithead, capitalist shill of a neighbor doesn’t wave when you and Yoongi pack up the car this time, either, just watches from his front porch. You can feel his brooding; worse ever since Yoongi had offhandedly mentioned buying a place up near Yosemite. Got a really good deal from a friend, he’d said, just when we need to get away, you know how it is, and that had your neighbor’s jaw clenching, nodding in faux politeness. Even illuminated by the golden ambiance of icicle lights, he still manages to look like a dickhead.

Good riddance.

“Ready?” Yoongi asks, catching the keys with one hand when you toss them to him.

You nod. Then you fold yourself into the passenger seat and reach for his hand.

—

Oakhurst is still small, but it’s made room for you, now.

There’s still only two traffic lights before you reach the road your cabin is on—a sharp right turn off the main highway, an acute angle, a steep decline. It doesn’t matter what time of year you make the trip, because the uneven, precipitous little road always makes your stomach drop, but it’s home now. Another physical one, because you and Yoongi have worked hard over the last year to make as many as possible.

(And, even still, the strongest home you’ve made is Us. What the two of you have is something still standing long after the storm. Something that has persevered and stood tall, even when the foundation was shaking. Even when you wanted to tear it down. Even when it seemed beyond repair.)

“Home sweet home,” Yoongi jokes as he kills the engine, and you laugh because his tone is flat and dry. Belies his excitement, his insistence on digging out an old box of Christmas lights from the attic and bringing it with you. That he has this whole plan to spend New Year’s Eve decorating, bringing life to this little blue bungalow with the pink door.

“It is pretty sweet,” you agree, and just like before, you neatly unpack your stuff and thread your clothes through velvet hangers and Yoongi abandons his suitcase in a corner of his studio.

—

There’s a woman on the television with rosy cheeks and a drink in hand. She isn’t trying to sell you anything.

She’s lovely and very drunk and even more beautiful when she laughs, teeth perfectly straight and blindingly white. She’s prattling off questions to some celebrity, rapid fire, and they’re trying their best to keep up but it’s hopeless. Eventually they, too, just smile into the camera.

Yoongi’s in the kitchen fixing drinks. Expensive champagne flutes filled with inexpensive champagne, a pair of raspberries tossed into each one as a garnish. Your husband doesn’t even like raspberries, but he’d wanted to feel fancy, so you don’t bother questioning it. You know what it means—wants a do-over of last year. Wants this year to be what the last should’ve been, because this year the two of you will be sitting on the same side of the couch, drinking cheap champagne from Vons out of expensive glassware.

A gift from Seokjin, because he’s a bastard. A housewarming gift for a house you’d bought from him.

There’s still an hour before the countdown. There’s still an empty pot on the stove that used to be full of tteokguk. It’s a different New Year, not Seollal, but Yoongi had wanted to make it anyway. Cracked a joke about not wanting to risk it, so he’s going to eat as much tteokguk as possible, that he might need the luck, you never know. I didn’t eat any last year and still bought a second house, he’d said. Imagine how powerful I’ll be if I eat ten bowls of this.

Your husband is always powerful, but you hadn’t pointed that out. Hadn’t pointed out that the only reason the two of you could afford a second house was because Seokjin gave you a steep pity discount, either. Sometimes it’s just nice to believe in luck, on top of all the other things you already have to believe in.

(Like each other.)

There’s still an hour, and Yoongi hands over a flute of champagne and sinks into the couch beside you. You forget about the woman on TV, but you don’t forget about—“You know, I distinctly remember you making me a promise before we came up here last year.”

Yoongi quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah? Did I make good on it?”

“For the most part,” you answer. “Like, eighty percent.”

Yoongi snorts. “Refresh my memory.”

You set your glass on the coffee table. Angle yourself so you can swing a thigh over Yoongi’s lap to straddle him, earning you another quirked eyebrow. “I distinctly remember you promising to fuck me in every room of this house.”

His own glass abandoned, Yoongi settles one hand on your hip, the other on your thigh. “Surely I already did,” he answers, words spoken into the crook of your neck, goosebumps rising along your skin. “No way I would’ve been able to keep my hands off you.”

Warm lips press against your neck. Kiss their way to your jawline to the corner of your mouth. “Do you remember me fucking you on this couch? On the floor? You remember how hard you came that time?”

Your hips start to grind, seeking friction. This time, the cool metal of Yoongi’s wedding band against your flushed skin doesn’t shock you. Just feels like another home. His hands slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt feel like home. His tongue licking into your mouth tastes like home. When he pulls away to say, “I know you remember the time in the kitchen, the way I fucked your mouth,” you lose all concept of home entirely.

Home is just Yoongi. Everything is Yoongi.

“I fucked you in that bed so many times. Against the bathroom sink. Always so good for me.” He’s thumbing over a nipple, embarrassingly hardened from the husk of his voice, the way his cock is filling out in his joggers. “Where’d we miss, baby?”

You swallow. Know it’s audible even over the sound of the television. People are cheering, but you aren’t turning around to look, because what could they possibly have to cheer for when they don’t have Yoongi? When Yoongi only looks at you like this—like he’s already a little crazed, a little fucked up?

“The st-studio,” you choke out. Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy. Not a drop of champagne made it past your lips and still the world spins.

You can feel Yoongi’s smirk against the column of your throat. Hate what it does to you, because Yoongi could talk you off a ledge when he’s like this. “Ah, you’re right.” Fingers trail along the hem of your pants, toying with you. “Is that what you want? You wanna ride me in my chair? You want it fucking dirty like that, my sweats barely pulled down, like you’re fucking desperate for it?”

You are, and you do.

So that’s how Yoongi fucks you. Gives you exactly what you want: sits in his oversized chair, pulls you into his lap. Sweats pushed down only as far as he needs to fish his cock out, slick it up, and then he’s pushing inside of you. Groans loud, tells you how tight you are, how wet and warm. And it’s stupid, because your husband is fucking your brains out, but there’s a little window in his studio, just above his desk.

Through it, you can see the Christmas lights the two of you spent the afternoon putting up.

You can hear Yoongi’s grumbling in your head, all his shouting when he thought he was going to fall off the ladder even though you were holding it steady. Cursed about not having enough zip ties. Cursed about one lightbulb being burnt out. Cursed when the extension cord wasn’t long enough. Only stopped cursing when you shut him up with a kiss.

You come hard. Yoongi makes good on his promise.

Another home.

—

(From the living room, the muted sounds of a countdown. Palpable excitement you’re finally able to feel, last year’s numbness long gone and replaced with endless warmth. Yoongi only leaves to grab a warm washcloth from the bathroom, and then he’s cleaning you up and pressing his lips back to your kiss-reddened mouth. There’s a supercut playing in your head, all the past celebrations. All the parties the two of you have gone to, the years spent alone but together. All the people you’ve kissed in front of. All the quiet, private ways Yoongi used to tell you he loved you. When was the last time? Just minutes ago. There’s seven seconds until the new year and Yoongi is right beside you.

Fireworks explode outside. You cry this year, too, but they’re happy tears. They’re tears that serve as proof you survived, that you went through hell and made it to the other side. Yoongi sheds a few of his own. Laughs, almost disbelieving, as he tells you he loves you. Smiles, certainly disbelieving, when you repeat it.

You’re going to miss this place when you leave, but there’s a ring on your finger and a man beside you that tells you home can be anywhere, be anything. Tells you that sometimes you’ll have to fight for it, but it’ll always be there so long as you choose to.)

if you've made it this far, i'd like to say thank you again for reading this. as i said, this fic is deeply personal to me, and i hope you find something relatable in it as well.

i know people don't always love to read the members in westernized settings, and i completely understand. i chose oakhurst/yosemite because it's where i went for my own honeymoon, and, well, personal.

i'd love to hear your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are always appreciated. ♡

#btshoneyhive #btswritersclub #kvanity #bangtantheatrenet #bts smut #yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts x you #bts fanfiction #bts angst #yoongi imagine #bts imagines #bangtan #yoongi

[wheresarizona]

September Part 1

Austin, 2003

summary: Joel comes over on his lunch break for not-birthday sex.

rating: E (18+!! This is smut with some plot. Oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, dirty talk, praise kink, TLOU spoilers, slight angst, emotions)

pairing: Young Joel Miller/f!reader

word count: 2.9k+

a/n: Yeah, the show got me in my Joel feels. I think this will be two parts. Thank you to @invisibleismyname for betaing, @juletheghoul for giving it a look over, and @perropascal for coming to my aid last night to let me know it was okay. Love you all!

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs appreciated!

Part 2 - Series Masterlist - Masterlist

“Oh god,” you moan, staring down at the man’s face between your legs. The bed sheets are soft under your bare body, big hands holding your thighs open, hearing the obscene slurping sounds as he ate you out like a man starved. “I’m so close, Joel,” you continue.

His eyes are on yours, “You gonna come for me, baby?” The words are muffled into your sex. Joel sucks your clit between his lips, making you gasp his name, your body alight in pleasure, feeling your muscles tightening, your hand grabbing onto his hair for something to hold onto, keeping yourself up with your other elbow digging into the mattress.

He groans when you tug on the brown waves of hair, your back arching when he presses two thick fingers easily into your slick entrance, reveling in how they stretch you, his tongue swiping through your folds as he pumps his digits.

You were so fucking close, could feel your orgasm just in reach.

Crooking his fingers, he searches for a moment until he hits something that has you shouting his name, your body tensing as white-hot pleasure pushes you towards your release. He pulls your clit back into his mouth, while focusing his attention on rubbing that spot, and you’re gone, euphoria exploding in your veins as you come with a silent cry, falling back onto the bed.

“There it is,” Joel says, his fingers still working. “My good fuckin’ girl.”

You ride out your high, pussy spasming around his digits, breathing hard.

It takes you a second before you can speak, your eyes open, sitting up on both elbows to see the bottom half of Joel’s face wet with your slick, a smile on his lips, his naked shoulders so broad and golden.

“You’re too fucking good at that,” you pant.

He chuckles lowly, taking his fingers out of you and kissing your thigh.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Yes. Now, how much time do we have before your lunch break is over, because I need your dick inside of me, and I don’t think I can wait until Sarah goes to bed tonight for your birthday sex,” you reply, pulling your lip between your teeth.

His eyebrow quirks.

“This isn’t my birthday sex?” he asks.

It was just your luck that Joel was doing a job in your neighborhood, and on lunch, he’d come over, his mouth on yours the moment you’d opened the front door, him stripping you as he walked you to the bedroom. He’d kissed you ravenously the whole way, like it’d been on his mind all day, and he wanted to taste every inch of your mouth, until he got you onto the bed, where he dropped to his knees beside it to eat your pussy.

“No,” you answer, shaking your head. “The birthday sex involves lingerie, me giving you the sloppiest blow job, and letting you fuck me however you want.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“Lingerie?” he asks thickly.

You smirk.

“Oh, yes. Something I think you’ll really like—time, Joel. Do we have time to fuck?”

You’re needy and wanting him inside of you, wanting to feel him split you open on his dick.

“Fuck, right,” he says. You watch as he leans back to pull his Nokia from his pocket, eyes squinting as he reads the time before tossing it haphazardly onto the bed.

You giggle when he starts moving quickly, him getting up with a groan, seeing his hard cock bulging against the zipper of his jeans.

“I can get you off again before I have to go,” his voice is deeper, his hands working to unbuckle his pants and get them undone, your heart thumping hard in your chest when he pushes his jeans and boxers down, freeing his throbbing length.

Your mouth waters at seeing the reddened tip of him glistening with precum, your cunt clenching at his thickness—foreplay was essential when it came to fucking Joel, him needing to open you up to be able to take him.

He grabs the meat of your thighs, pulling you to the bed’s edge, his eyes locked on your pussy, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip.

He spits on his fingers, using them to wet his dick, pumping it a few times before sliding it through your wetness, a moan falling from your lips when he nudges your clit, meeting your eyes when he notches himself at your entrance.

“You gonna give me one more?” he asks.

Seeing the hunger in his gaze has you fighting not to let a moan break free from your throat, your cunt already pulsing, wanting to feel him inside you. You know for a fact that he’d get you off again, your body already thrumming in anticipation.

You nod your head.

“Fuck me, Joel.” His eyes are so dark you can’t see any of the familiar brown remaining. “And finish inside me, I wanna feel it.”

He groans at your words, eyes closing for a moment.

“Best fuckin’ birthday,” he rasps.

He starts pushing in, and your back arches, moaning as he stretches you open, filling you inch by inch, your fingers digging into the bedspread. You’d been dating for over a year, and no matter how wet he got you, there was always a slight burn that you loved.

“God, you feel so good inside me,” you moan, feeling so fucking good when he bottoms out, his hands gripping your thighs hard, his eyes on where you were both joined.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans. “Fuckin’ love bein’ inside you.”

He pulls out halfway and slowly pushes back in, him watching his cock moving in and out of you knowing it was shiny with your arousal. His pace starts out languid as he lets you get used to him before he speeds up, it feeling like electricity is flowing through your body with every push and pull of his hips.

You’re on cloud nine with how he’s fucking you, his grunts and your moans filling the room with the wet slap of his hips, hearing your pussy taking him over and over again. He’s so thick and hard, your cunt weeping around him, his rhythm pushing the air from your lungs with how he’s pounding into you, your skin hot and buzzing, him working you up as the pleasure heightens.

You get louder the closer you get to your release.

“Scream my name, baby,” he says through gritted teeth. “Want the fuckin’ neighbors to hear how good I make you feel.” His hand leaves your thigh, licking his thumb and pressing it to your sensitive little clit, moaning his name as a jolt runs through you. “Want you to come for me,” he continues. “Want another one.”

Your body is winding up, his cock spearing into you over and over again, feeling like you were going to snap at any second, your pussy fluttering, chanting his name with your eyes squeezed shut, feeling so good.

“Open your eyes, baby. Let me see you come.”

You do as he says, staring into his dark ones, the skin of his neck and chest flushed and glistening with sweat, his lips slightly parted, brows furrowed.

“Come for me,” he orders.

His order is your undoing, all of it coming to a head; his thumb, his cock, the way he was looking at you like you were the only woman in the world, it all sending you over the edge with a cry of his name, your pussy clenching around him hard enough to make his hips pause.

“There we fuckin’ go,” he groans. “So fuckin’ good to me.”

Pleasure was radiating through your body, Joel working into you again, his thrusts wetter from your release as he extended your high and chased his own.

When you catch your breath, you speak, “You fuck me so good, Joel.” His breathing is shaky, seeing his eyes shut, looking like he’s in pain with his rhythm not as steady as before. “You gonna come for me?” you ask through heavy breaths. “You gonna fill me up? Fuck me full of you, baby?”

The groan he lets out is low and long, his hips stuttering.

“Fuck, baby, you’re gonna fuckin’ kill me,” he says through his teeth.

His hands grab onto your legs, hoisting them up onto his hips as he leans forward, sucking your pebbled nipple into his mouth and making you moan as pleasure shoots to your pussy.

“Yeah, but you love it,” you pant, pushing your fingers into his sweat-damp hair.

His thrusts get short and shallow, his head moving up to look you in the eyes.

“I love you,” he says, kissing you hard, knowing he was close with how desperately his tongue licks into your mouth and tangles with your own. It doesn’t take much longer for him to finally push in deep, Joel raggedly groaning into your mouth as he comes, feeling his cock jerk and the wet pulse as he fills you.

He moves to nuzzle his face into your neck, feeling the sweat on his chest against your own, him panting hot breaths into your skin, while you rub your fingers through his hair, scratching lovingly at his scalp, hearing him hum happily.

You stayed like that for minutes, basking in the post-coital bliss.

“Happy birthday, babe,” you finally say, kissing his hair.

He lifts his head, giving you a boyish grin.

“Thank you, baby.” He kisses you sweetly.

When you break the kiss, you ask, “What time do you want me to come over tonight?”

His smile turns to a frown, him sighing as he looks away.

“I’m pullin’ a double—promised Sarah I’d be home by nine and that I’d bring a cake.”

“Well, I’ll just keep Sarah company after school, and we’ll go get you a cake, so you don’t have to worry about it,” you reply, kissing the tip of his nose.

He smiles crookedly.

“Sarah would love that.”

He’d been nervous about introducing you to Sarah, with her mom being out of the picture, but the two of you had gotten along swimmingly, and you absolutely adored her and she you.

He kisses you tenderly.

“I don’t want to leave,” he murmurs against your lips.

“I don’t want you to go.”

Beeping sounds on your bedside table, your work pager going off.

“Shit,” you say, Joel already reaching to grab it for you. You take it. “Goddammit,” you groan.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“There’s an emergency at the clinic, and I have to go in. Hopefully, I’ll be done before Sarah gets home.”

His hand strokes your cheek, him looking you deeply in the eyes.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. If you do, then great, she’d love to spend time with you. If you’re there late, just head to the house when you’re done.”

“Okay,” you reply. “I’ll try to be quick. Happy birthday, Joel.”

He smirks at you.

“Thank you for the not-birthday sex.”

You laugh.

“I promise the actual birthday sex will be better.”

He leans in to kiss you.

“I thought this was pretty fuckin’ good,” he says against your lips.

You hum in the back of your throat, your hands cupping his cheeks.

“It was, but it can be better.”

“Mmm, I like the sound of that.”

He kisses you harder, pushing his tongue into your mouth and kissing the breath from your lungs.

“Tommy, we gotta go to her house!” Joel shouts, looking at his brother in the driver's seat.

Fear is curling in his gut, Sarah safe, him not hesitating to kill a woman to protect her, and now he’s panicking because he hadn’t been able to reach you with the phones being dead. His priorities had been to get to Sarah, then find you.

“Okay, okay,” Tommy replies, the tires screeching as he sharply turns a corner. “She’s over by the job site, right.”

“Yes, next street over.”

His heart’s pounding a mile a minute in his chest, sirens, and explosions sounding in the distance. He can’t believe what’s going on, how the world’s going to shit before his eyes.

“Daddy, is she okay?” Sarah asks, taking him from his thoughts.

He turns his head to look over the seat at his daughter, seeing the fear on her face, and he wants to take it away from her, hating she was having to live through this, having to see the things she’d seen.

“I’m sure she’s okay, baby girl,” he replies, doing his best to sound reassuring, but his guts were churning, thinking the fucking worst because he wasn’t sure, not with what he’d seen tonight, and he's so fucking scared. “She should be safe at home by now.” He hoped she was, was praying that she’d left the clinic and made it home, which was why she wasn’t at his house. God, she better be okay. He couldn’t lose her. She’s the best thing to happen to him in a long time, wanting to spend his life with her, and had planned to ask her to move in tonight when she came over. Sarah loved her, he loved her, fuck, he needs her to be safe.

Sarah distracts him with questions about what is going on, him and Tommy answering the best they can but both having barely any idea, passing houses on fire, people running, police cars racing towards something.

“Turn right here. It’s her street,” Joel says, his heart feeling like it was going to beat out of his chest, his brain chanting over and over, please, be okay, please, be okay.

Something has the night sky lit up, and his stomach plummets when they turn down your street.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he murmurs.

“Is that?”

“Stay in the truck, Sarah,” Joel orders, not bothering to answer Tommy as he jumps out of the vehicle before it’s even fully stopped.

Hours ago, he’d been with you here. He’d kissed you goodbye, told you he loved you before he left, and now the house was engulfed in flames, his eyes burning, the heat hitting him, his heart shattering into a million pieces.

Were you in there?

“Joel!” Tommy shouts, him jogging to reach him.

Joel’s frantic mind whirling, looking at his brother.

“I need to see if she’s in there,” he says, already moving, but Tommy grabs him and stops him in his tracks.

“You can’t go in there,” he reasons. “I’m sure she made it out. She’ll be okay. We need to get out of town—get Sarah someplace safe, then we can try and find her. I know how much she means to you, but we can’t do much right now.”

“Fuck!” Joel shouts, hitting his thigh. He presses his hands to his face. “Shit, you’re right.” He looks at Tommy again. “We need to get the fuck out of here—need to get Sarah out of here. Fuck,” he says again, tears brimming in his eyes. “I love her, man,” his voice cracks on the last word. “I can’t lose her, not after…” He sucks in a breath.

“Not after Sarah’s mom,” Tommy finishes for him, rubbing his shoulder. “Yeah, I get it. Let’s get somewhere safe, then we’ll figure shit out and find your girl.”

“Okay,” Joel replies, nodding his head. “Sarah’s safe. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

You’d gotten out.

Barely.

Halfway to the clinic in the city, something deep down told you not to go—an instinct, and so when it was safe to do so, you were doing a u-turn in the middle of the two-lane highway to head back to Austin, planning to go wait at Joel’s house for Sarah.

You must have run over a nail or something because your tire went flat, finding yourself on the side of the road, trying to change it out, annoyed when you realized your spare was flat, too.

Miles were between you, Austin, and San Antonio, your cellphone not picking up a signal to call a tow truck.

No one stopped to help you.

No one stopped to offer you a ride when you started walking back towards home.

The military aircrafts screaming across the skies had frightened you, many police vehicles flying down the highway towards the city, realizing something was going on, worrying about Joel and Sarah.

To your dismay, a gas station you’d come across was closed, and the payphone outside not working.

Hours you spent walking, hours you spent hoping the two people you loved most were okay, wanting to get to them as soon as possible, trying to stop any car that drove by you with no luck.

Chaos awaited you when you arrived in town with the dark sky as a backdrop, hearing screaming, sirens, explosions, knowing you weren’t safe, and hiding from anyone who came near.

Joel’s house was empty, the elderly neighbor dead outside, and you feeling so fucking scared, your only option being to find a car and get as far away as possible, knowing deep down that Joel would’ve done the same to keep Sarah safe, and that gave you the strength to walk through the Adler’s open front door, find the car keys hanging in the kitchen, and start driving.

You’d made it out, hoping and praying that somehow Joel would find you, that he and Sarah were okay.

He didn’t find you.

You never found out if they made it out.

Days turned into weeks, turned into years of surviving and using your medical skills to get by and eventually join the Fireflies.

Joel Miller never found you in 2003.

But twenty years later, you found him in a Firefly hospital.

Part 2 - Series Masterlist - Masterlist

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