#in the sense that it was like “fuck it tell your story however you want to”

[sunkissed-zegras]

𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 ─ PB⁵

౨ৎ ─ summary | request -> "hey! I think u should right a fic about the night ice and paige were in miami out partying (obviously including reader) but paige has a little too much fun, so reader and ice to take care of her. reader is also dating paige at this point they are just on the down low 🤫 anyways adapt on the story however u want i just think this would be super cute!!" or, paige wants to finally tell ice that you two are together.

─ word count | 1.2k

─ warnings | drunk!paige, mentions of being wasted af, emotional paige, confused af ice, scared y/n, ummm... confessions, idk what else

─ taglist | @xocherishxo @iienstein @yazmunson @euphternal @uraesthete @hello-nah817 @wanderlusturous and here's a link to my taglist if anyone would like to join!!

PAIGE STUMBLED FORWARD as you and Ice grabbed her arm, making sure she didn't fall.

You and Ice exchanged amused glances as you got Paige up to her feet, drunken giggles coming out of the blonde's mouth. She had one too many drinks tonight and now, you're not sure she'll remember tonight.

Paige's hand went up to grab your shoulder, holding on tightly. "Hey, you guys are the fucking best," Paige slurred, her words weaving together slightly. "I love you guys, have I ever told you guys?"

You chuckled, exchanging another glance with Ice. "We love you too, P," you replied, steadying her as she swayed. "I think it's time to call it a night, what do you think?"

"But we're out here in Miami," she slurred as she let out an amused chuckle at her own joke. "L-Looking for the hoochie daddies,"

"Yeah, it's time to go back to the hotel." Ice held in her laugh as she looped Paige's other arm around her shoulder. You carried their bags as you guided her through the crowd.

The cab drive back to the hotel was anything but peaceful, Paige almost puked five times and she kept talking about how much she cared about you guys and the team. When you finally made back to the hotel, Ice threw Paige on the bed with a groan.

With a weary sigh, Ice carefully helped Paige settle onto the bed, making sure she was lying down comfortably.

"You're lucky we love you, Paige," Ice said with a playful grin, shaking her head as she glanced back at you.

"Yeah, me too." Paige sighed as she glanced back at you with a grin. "C'mere,"

Your face felt warm with embarrassment as Ice gave you an amused look as Paige kept gazing at you expectantly. Oh shit, she wasn't about to air you two out, right? Well, drunk Paige was very unpredictable you slowly made your way over to where Paige lay on the bed, her gaze fixed on you with a playful glint in her eyes.

With a nervous chuckle, you took a hesitant step closer to Paige's side, unsure of what she had in mind. "What's up, Paige?" you asked, trying to keep your voice casual despite the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Paige's grin widened as she reached out to grab your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours. "Just wanted you closer," she said softly, her words laced with drunken boldness. "You know I love you, right?"

Your heart skipped a beat at her words, warmth flooding through you as you squeezed her hand gently. "Yeah, Paige. I know, I love you too."

"Damn, am I interrupting something?" Ice joked as her amused expression faded into a confused one. You and Paige exchanged glances as Paige laughed, pulling you closer.

Ice looked very confused as you shot Ice a slightly panicked look as you tried to figure out how to respond.

"Oh, no, nothing like that," you stammered, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "Just, you know, friends being close."

Paige sent you a glare as she sat up. "A friend? Are we really still doing this, Y/N?"

Ice looked slightly uncomfortable as she watched the interaction, sensing the tension in the air. "Um, I'm gonna go get us some water."

You shot Ice a grateful look, silently thanking her for the distraction, before turning your attention back to Paige. "Paige, I..." you began, searching for the right words to say.

But before you could continue, Paige let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through her hair. "I'm tired of pretending, Y/N," she admitted, her voice softer now, tinged with vulnerability. "I'm tired of hiding how I feel about you."

Your heart skipped a beat at her confession, a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside you. "You're just drunk. Are you sure you wanna do this, now? On vacation, with Ice?"

But Paige shook her head, her expression determined as she reached out to take your hand. "No, I've never been more sure of anything in my life," she insisted, her eyes pleading with you to understand. "I love you, Y/N, and I don't want to hide it anymore."

You felt a lump form in your throat at her words, torn between the fear of what could happen if you gave in to your feelings and the overwhelming desire to be with her. "Paige, I..." you started, your voice faltering as you struggled to find the right words.

But Paige pressed a finger to your lips, silencing you. "Please, just hear me out," she urged, her voice soft but determined. "I know this might be scary, but I can't keep pretending that I don't feel this way about you."

You looked into Paige's eyes as she sobered up, seeing the depth of emotion and vulnerability in them, and felt your resolve crumbling. "You're sure?" You whispered, your voice just above a whisper as Paige nodded.

As if on cue, Ice came back with three bottles of water and an awkward smile. She looked at you, noticing the proximity before handing you the bottle. You both mumbled a quick thank you before glancing at one another.

"So..." Ice began, her voice soft as she looked in between her close friends. "What's going on-"

"We're dating, Ice." Paige ripped the bandaid off quickly as your eyes widen in panic, shooting her a glare. "For like three months, I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"Just three months?" Ice asked as she opened her water bottle casually, taking a sip. There was a moment of silence as you all just stared at each other, waiting for Ice to continue. "What?"

"That's all you're gonna say?" Your tone was slightly annoyed as Ice shrugged, sending Paige a grin.

Ice laughed as she shook her head, as Paige pulled you into her chest. "We've been known, Y/N. It's pretty obvious, trust me."

You blinked in surprise, feeling a mix of relief and disbelief wash over you. "Wait, you knew?" you asked, feeling a bit dumbfounded.

Ice chuckled, nodding as she took another sip of her water. "Yeah, it was kind of hard to miss," she admitted, a playful twinkle in her eyes. "But hey, I'm happy for you guys. You make a cute couple."

"That's all you're gonna say?" You repeated as Ice sent you a glare, Paige stifling her laugh.

"What do you want me to say? Oh my god, really! You guys are fucking, wow what a surprise." Ice exaggerated as you let out a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. It was really that easy, huh?

You couldn't help but laugh at Ice's response, feeling a sense of relief wash over you at her easy acceptance. "I guess we were just expecting a bit more of a reaction," you admitted, still chuckling.

Ice rolled her eyes playfully, nudging you with her elbow. "Come on, you know me better than that," she teased, a smirk playing on her lips. "I'm happy for you guys, really. You guys are adorable but I hope I don't become, a third wheel or something."

You grinned at Ice's playful remark, appreciating her lighthearted approach to the situation. "You could never be a third wheel. You're an essential part of this trio." you reassured her, nudging her back gently.

Paige nodded in agreement, looping her arm through Ice's. "Yeah, we're a package deal, remember?"

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#uconn women’s basketball #uconn #uconn huskies #uconn wbb #paige buckets #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers #paige x reader #paige bueckers fluff #paige bueckers smut #ice brady #ncaa women’s basketball #ncaaw #women's college basketball

[nepenthean-sleep]

Hey hey! For the character meme Gideon!

hello thanks for the ask :)

favorite thing about them i love how she speaks. someone said once that everything she says is like the wrong option in a video game dialogue choice list. all of tamsyn's characters have incredible dialogue but gideon is so goddamn funny especially. like it wraps around from being cringe to being funny again. her narration is excellent.

least favorite thing about them i'm gonna say what i said for harrow, everything about her makes sense for her character and her role in the story.

favorite line given the first answer here you can imagine this is extremely difficult for me. however. i'm going to go with a decidedly unfunny one from chapter 25 of ntn because it makes me feel insane.

Nona had never seen anyone so sad in her whole short life. It made her nearly afraid to die. “Nobody locks me up anywhere,” said Kiriona.

she says!!! while locked in her corpse by her dad!! after being locked in harrow's brain for a year by harrow!! after being locked in drearburh for 18 years by the ninth!! ohhhhhhh my god

brOTP sorry i'm going with gideon and ianthe because they hate each other and i just find that endlessly amusing

OTP griddlehark sweep

nOTP don't really have one, just don't like when she's shipped with men

random headcanon after she goes to canaan house she starts getting freckles because it's her first time in sunlight

unpopular opinion idk i don't really see people talking about this much but like she's an asshole. she has a mean-spirited streak. and like yeah i guess if your opponent in the cartoonishly evil contest is harrow it's gonna make gideon look like a much better person but like. idk everyone was shocked by her being a dick in ntn but it's not really that different from how she was before?

also i really really hate the fandom himboification of her turning her into a one-dimensional horny fuckboi vehicle for harrow to have 36 orgasms or whatever. or the opposite where they make her a loyal idiot golden retriever. butches often have personalities that are not either of these things, actually!

song i associate with them it is 100% absolutely from hell with love and sweet true lies, both by beast in black. not only do they sound like songs i think gideon would listen to, like, the lyrics are so.

Killed my light To serve your delight Now see me ripped apart Ripped apart

Another voiceless cry Another hopeless try I wish you'd open your wings and take me inside From hell with love I write Confess my passion crime Cause to my heart, soul and mind, you are kryptonite Oh babe

like cmon.

Baby, baby tell me more of your lies Say you want me for a lifetime I believe you even when I know it's a lie Love's so blind Sweet true lies

AAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!! thank you @oceanwrath for introducing me to these songs with your tlt art.

favorite picture of them again i can't choose just one there's so much good art in this fandom but my favorites are this FUCKING STUNNING kiriona piece by @nil-elk and this amazing one by @battletailors and this incredible piece by @notedchampagne and this one by @may12324 and this one by oceanwrath and listen ok i just really really like gideon nav 😭

thanks for the ask!

#gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #nona the ninth #the locked tomb #ask games #neph.txt

[lastoneout]

People don't like to admit it bcs cringe or w/e but Homestuck really did revolutionize the webcomic as a storytelling medium and I am endlessly frustrated that before webcomic artists could really stretch our legs fucking webtoonz swooped in, set a new, more restrictive standard, and then monetized and monopolized the ever living fuck out of the concept of The Webcomic until it drove away anyone who couldn't be a professional quality manga artist for free, and now the only webcomics that actually feel like spiritual successors to Homestuck are so obscure they're basically cult classics that you have to beg people to read.

Like it's just so wild to be in high school and see Homestuck be like "we're using like fifteen different artistic mediums to tell this story bcs we can" and be really fucking inspired by that, only to grow up and see basically every webcomic ever have to conform to One Single Standard or fucking perish.

#I decided I wanted to be a comic artist bcs homestuck inspired me #in the sense that it was like “fuck it tell your story however you want to” #and now it's like “tell your story this one specific way or fucking die” #wtf

[rs-hawk]

Kinkmas: Day Three

The Yeti

You’ve always hated camping. Actually, hating it is an understatement. You loathe it. Whoever invented camping can go get fucked, disrespectfully. However, when the rest of your Sorority Sisters beg you to go with them because they want to do “bonding” over Winter Break, you don’t feel like you have much of a choice. With a groan and constant complaining, you reluctantly go with them.

You all have your own tent, which you comment on how that really makes no sense if this is supposed to be a bonding thing, but they tell you even for bonding you need privacy. You’re annoyed, mad, cold, and now kind of scared as the night is coming and they put out the fire because no one is going to stay up with it. You want to offer to, but you’re also too scared to be out of the tent by yourself.

You have a fitful sleep, so when you hear a twig break outside, of course it wakes you up. Your mouth feels dry, and you’re shaking in your sleeping bag. Part of you wants to call out to see if it’s one of your Sisters, but you’re scared of the possibility that it’s not. So, you stay huddled in your sleeping bag, staring at the front of your tent, trying to make out any shape.

You feel relieved when you see that it does look like a humanoid figure. However, that doesn’t last long when you realize how large it is. Your mouth goes dry again, and tears prick your eyes. You purposefully picked the most secluded place. No one else should be out this far.

The figure makes its way to you, and before you could cry out, your tent is ripped open. Before you stands a giant creature with long, white hair, and a soft blue tint to its dark skin. You swallow hard when you see a large cock hanging between its-his- legs, and quiver when you notice it hardening as it regards you.

The creature grabs you, tossing you over his shoulder and covering your mouth with one of his large hands. In a matter of moments, you’re far from the campsite, and approaching a cave. You start squirming, trying to escape the grasp of this thing, but to no avail. You get thrown down on a bed-like nest, your sleeping bag ripped off of your body as the creature shoved a finger down your throat.

You gag and drool around it as you try to push it away, but it’s no use. The creature rips off your clothing the same way he did your sleeping bag, and before you realize it, he shoves another of his large fingers inside of you.

You whine and squirm, trying to escape it. It’s bigger than anything you’ve ever taken, and him moving it impossibly slow is still painful. The finger in your mouth pushes deeper, making you audibly gag. That’s when the creature seems to take a bit of care with you. He takes his finger away from your mouth, letting you take deep, greedily breathes.

“Please,” you pant, trying to push his hand away from you. “Stop.”

Of course, he does no such thing. Instead he pushes you down, his fat tongue licking down your neck before he begins to lick and suck on your nipples. Unable to help yourself or stop it, you whine in pleasure. The creature, which you finally recognize as a Yeti from stories, seems to take this as encouragement. The finger inside of you quickens it’s pace as he licks and sucks on your nipples, using his other hand to hold you against him. Your slick finally makes it easier for him to move deeper inside of you.

You let out a chorus of repressed and reluctant moans as he moves inside of you and pleasures you. As much as you hate to admit it, it feels amazing. He starts making his way down your body again, and his large mouth is sucking on your clit. You yelp, bucking your hips against him.

Fuck. Oh fuck.

You groan and whine, panting again as you approach your orgasm. However, just as he’s about to put you over the edge, he stops. You’re about to move to finish it yourself when he buries his massive cock inside of you. A cry bubbles up from your throat as he stretches you impossibly wide, his cock bullying directly into your cervix. You can feel his precum leaking into you as if coating your womb for his cum. You start begging him to stop. It’s too much, but he either doesn’t understand you or doesn’t care.

He repeatedly bullies his cock into your cervix, ramming into you enough to show an imprint of his cock in your stomach. He flips you over, shoving your face into the nest and making him feel so large you feel like you’re going to be split in half. You’re still on the edge of your orgasm, despite all this, so when he starts playing with and teasing your clit, you cum almost instantly. You tighten around his cock, drawing it somehow deeper into you. You grunt and whine as you spasm around him, gripping the nest under you.

In only a matter of moments, he cums deep inside of you, pumping you full of thick ropes of cum. Enough that it spills out of you, but he doesn’t stop. He moans and growls, cramming his cock as far as he can inside of you. All you can do is lay there and take it, and hope that after this, he takes you back to camp.

#writers on tumblr #writing #fantasy romance #monster lover #author #monster romance #monster fucker #monster fuqqer #smut #fantasy smut #monster fluff #monster bf #monster husband #monster kink #monster boyfriend #monster #monsterfucking nsft #monsterfucking cw #tw monsterfucking #monster fudger #monster k!nk #25 days of kinkmas #kinkmas #cnc somno #cnc free use #rough cnc #cnc kidnapping #cnc k!nk #rough kink #k!nk blog

[ioniiaa]

My Darling, My Honey

Alastor X Fem!Reader (Part 6)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Quick Notes:

This is when both reader/you and Alastor are both alive. (... we'll probably end up in hell later on btw so stay tuned...)

Reader is an artist/painter.

Part 6:

When you arrived at the bar alone, Mimzy asked you where Alastor was, with a look of fake shock on her face which made you squint and scrutinize her lousy attempt at lying. Ironically, Mimzy was always a bad liar despite being the owner of a bar/speakeasy, but you wouldn't ask any questions, if it was a surprise then you'd rather not have anything spoiled for you.

Since Alastor wasn't there with you, you take the opportunity to chat and catch up more with Mimzy and some of the other patrons that you hadn't seen swing by in a while.

Unfortunately, a couple of the patrons in attendance tonight were ones you weren't fond of. Two guys that you could tell always eyed you up whenever they had the chance, there was a reason Alastor was usually so insistent on keeping you right by his side at all times whenever he could- except for tonight.

These two guys were the type that would likely try to follow you home or spike your drink if they didn't know that you were in a relationship with Alastor, who wasn't afraid to pull up his sleeves and get his hands dirty if anyone dared threaten your peace and happiness.

For most of the night, Mimzy was able to keep those two in line. So luckily there were no major incidents and Alastor wouldn't have to worry.

Then it was time to leave.

Unbeknownst to you, the two men followed you out of the bar when you decided to head home for the night.

You had a strange feeling as you walked down the dimly lit streets, heading towards your home with Alastor on the outskirts of town. You even checked your surroundings, to hopefully satisfy your paranoia, but saw no one.

Approaching your home, you start to feel a sense of relief when the forest you've come to know as home comes into view.

However, before you could make it to the path that winded through the forest and led to your house, you felt hands grab you from behind.

You try to call out for Alastor but before you can let even a sound escape, another pair of hands cover your mouth with a rag, and then you fall limp into the men's arms.

When your eyes open, you feel so groggy and dizzy. You lazily and slowly swing your head around to assess your surroundings to the best of your abilities.

You're still in the forest near your home, but you're tied to a tree and there's some cloth tied around your mouth to keep you quiet.

But what you notice next is that your clothes are in complete disarray. Some parts are torn, crumpled, and dirtied, and some articles are completely removed from your body.

It was at this time that your entire body started to ache from god knows what they did to you. Tears start to well up in your eyes when suddenly you feel the cold metal of a pistol barrel pushed up against the center of your forehead, making you gasp.

The owner of the pistol was none other than one of the creepy guys from the bar, "Oh the little bitch is awake now huh? Darn, guess our fun time is over!" The other one chimed in, "Didn't have your little bodyguard to protect you this time, princess. You done fucked up, girlie."

"We know what you did and who you are, don't think you can ever escape your past. Little miss widow."

Tears start cascading down your face as the sobs rack your body and you try to shake your head.

The pistol only presses harder in the center of your forehead, the sinister man's facial expressions warping even further, "Oh yeah, cry all you want. But it'll get you nowhere. The only place you're going? Is hell."

Those were the last words you heard before a gunshot rang in the air, and then everything went black instantly.

You died right then and there.

But this isn't the end of your story.

-> Part 7

#hazbin #hazbin hotel #fanfic #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #radio demon #alastor radio demon #alastor x you #alastor x y/n #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #x y/n #x reader #x you #alastor the radio demon #alastor hazbin #alastor

[sabertoothwalrus]

I’ve seen you post some labru stuff and I’m curious what your thoughts on it are. personally I don’t see it? I can buy Kabru having feelings for Laios, but I think Laios wouldn’t be interested in Kabru, so it makes me wonder why so many people ship them. (Tbh I feel like Kabru has more chemistry with Mithrun anyway)

Sorry if this ask sounds rude, I just genuinely don’t understand the appeal of the ship, but I want to understand and I trust your analysis of characters very much :] maybe there’s something I’m missing

I really like both ships, actually!

For labru, there’s sooooo much I could talk about. The inherent homoeroticism of being narrative foils. The inherent homoeroticism of being the king’s advisor. All of chapter 76. The fact that Kabru has mask upon mask upon mask, and Laios is the first person that made his facade absolutely crumble.

Kabru struggles with being genuine!!! Everything he says and does is so perfectly calculated, even when he sort of means it. But since Laios doesn’t get social cues, Kabru gets thrown for a loop.

I get so frustrated when people act like Kabru still hates Laios by the end of the manga!!!!! He killed those corpse retrievers for being corrupt, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to kill Laios. He has such a strong sense of justice, and knew that killing Laios would be a mistake. Because, after meeting him, he could tell he wasn’t actually evil. He’s strange, sure, but not evil.

Kabru DEFINITELY wants to be friends with Laios!! He was not lying about this!!!

But this last comic shows how much Laios wants to be friends with Kabru, too. He’s so nervous after calling Kabru his friend 😭 he doesn’t want to be presumptuous and fuck it up again.

Laios does show an interest in Kabru, at least when Laios thinks he’s interested in eating monsters too. Like,, what was up with THIS

Laios’s gaze is LINGERING. Plus, (this is before that bit at Thistle’s house when he forgets his name) he brings up Kabru when they first form their plan to eat Falin.

And maybe this is just because of my own personal experiences, but Laios reminds me a lot of my own girlfriend. I think they have a similar flavor of gay/aspec & autism combo where, had I not asked her out first, she probably never would have considered being interested in me. But she was very down when I did.

The tricky part about labru is more the political aspect. Regardless of whether you see Laios as aroace or not, he’s in a situation where he will probably get married. He had a fiancée before he was age 13, likely betrothed since he was a baby. He’s already comfortable with the idea of getting married because He’s Supposed To.

However, Laios is king, and could make gay marriage legal if he wanted to (He would probably do this for his sister and Marcille before considering it for himself ). But at the same time, I think Kabru would object to Laios making whatever policies he wants without considering the repercussions of how other kingdoms might react, especially when they’re just getting Melini off the ground and need lots of support from other countries. Laios and Kabru getting gay married anyway and dealing with the aftermath could make for a really compelling story.

I do think Kabru would be a good ruler. He’s already fit for it. He speaks a dozen languages, he knows people and their motivations, and likes politics. The manga already joked about Chilchuck’s daughters trying to marry a king, so it seems like noble blood isn’t too important, but Kabru’s foster family IS nobility. When it comes to heirs, I do like trans Kabru headcanons, but at the same time, I think it’d be cute if they adopt anyway. Kabru seems like he’d have strong feelings about adoption given,,, yknow.

The alternative version of labru to this is Laios gets straight married out of obligation, and Kabru is his mistress hdhdhshsj. I don’t know if I could see Laios doing that? or if Kabru would risk the scandal of being outed as Royal Advisor and Regent trying to seduce the king. It could go SO downhill. but maybe that would be fun.

NOW FOR KABUMISU.

I knew people shipped them, and I could see the basis for it while reading, but I wasn’t really sold on it until the very end. There’s something about “I had no desires left. I decided to create new desires, and one of them is you” that’s really charming.

There’s also something funny about “the demon ate my heterosexuality so I’m gay now”

I think it’s interesting that Kabru hates elves. He was raised by them, and he hates them. He hates feeling patronized by them. He made absolutely sure that elves wouldn’t take control over Melini, not just for his sake, but for Rin’s.

But Mithrun’s interactions with Kabru are founded on more mutual respect. Though, that’s not to say that Mithrun doesn’t still have his biases towards short lived races..

Where Laios doesn’t understand social cues, Mithrun does but just doesn’t care. For that reason, I think Kabru would enjoy spending time with Mithrun. It’d give him a break from his compulsion to calculate all of his social interactions. But at the same time, Kabru is the KING at bottling his emotions. Mithrun is blunt, but also doesn’t care enough to pry. If Kabru had anything bothering him, I could imagine him seeking Mithrun’s company to avoid thinking about it. Could make for a fun dynamic.

I do think it’s funny that Milsiril 1) took care of Mithrun for potentially 20 years and 2) is only four years older than him. I imagine this could lead to funny situations.

I don’t ship things for no reason! I think both of these could work platonically, romantically, one-sided, or even “requited but they don’t do anything about it.” Their relationships compel me and I think it’s sort of bad faith to brush off either like they’re nothing more than baseless yaoi pair-the-spares. To me, I see just as much of a foundation in the source material as farcille.

After all, dungeon meshi isn’t a story about romance, but it IS a story about love. It’s a story about life and death and grief and the love that comes with it. Regardless of shipping, these characters love each other!!! And I love talking about it!!

#long post #dungeon meshi #laios touden #kabru #mithrun #labru #kabumisu #dungeon meshi spoilers #photos

[moonlinos]

Invisible string (pt. I)

♡ Pairing: Lee Minho × fem!reader / Hwang Hyunjin × fem!reader

♡ Synopsis: With your terrible history of boyfriends during high school, you swore off love and vowed to get through university without a relationship. Things are great: you’re in your junior year, in an uncomplicated arrangement with a friend with benefits, and living in a nice sharehouse with two amazing roommates. But things begin to change once you meet Lee Minho, a student in your new class who vows to change your perspective on love.

♡ Genre: A ‘lite version’ of a soulmate AU, fluff, eventual smut, light angst, pining, jealousy, strangers to friends to lovers, friends with benefits

♡ CW: Swearing, sexual themes and discussions, mentions of anxiety/panic attacks, alcohol consumption, mentions of smoking

♡ Word count: 16.4k

♡ A/N: This is a three-part story because I can’t shut up. The second part will be posted sometime next week, and I’ll link it here. I’ve been writing all my life and have written for maaaany fandoms, but being on Tumblr as an active reader of SKZ fics made me want to write for them. So, yeah, guess this is what I’m doing now.

part II →

You are woken up by Hyunjin shifting beside you on the bed. He groans, arm reaching to mess with your already closed curtains. You chuckle.

“You know, the curtains won’t close any more than that.”

“I keep telling you your bed is in a terrible position,” He grumbles as you turn to face him with a smile. “Who thought placing a bed right under a window would be a good idea? Mornings are fucking hell here.”

You shrug. “Well, it’s not my house so I didn’t exactly have a say in that matter.”

“I told you a million times I could help you move it.”

“And I told you a million times Mrs. Choi doesn’t like for us to mess with her furniture,” You explain, turning under the sheets so you could face him before bringing your fingers up to pinch his cheek. Hyunjin scrunches his nose. “Speaking of which, you need to leave. You know her rule: no—”

“No boyfriends spending more than two days at the house,” He interrupted you with an eye roll. “I’m not your boyfriend, though, so that rule shouldn’t apply.” He shrugs.

Hyunjin has been one of your best friends since you first met over two years ago. It was Hyunjin’s first college party and one of the many times your housemates had dragged you along on a night out. His friends had dared him to try and chat you up, arguing it would be hilarious to see him get turned down by an older girl. What they hadn’t expected, however, was for Hyunjin’s clumsy attempt at flirting to be so endearing to you; his pink cheeks and bowl-cut hair made him look like a helpless kid despite his height towering over you. Before you knew it, you had spent the entirety of the party talking to him about everything and anything, only stopping once your housemate Eunha emerged from inside the house to drag you home with her as she desperately tried to dodge a rather insistent guy’s advances. After that day, you and Hyunjin became almost inseparable.

You can’t quite pinpoint when you began hooking up. It was meaningless in the best sense of the word. It was simply something that had happened. All you can remember is that Jisung had recently bleached Hyunjin’s hair after yet another dare from his friend. It had started with cuddles, which turned to kisses, which turned to touches, until you eventually slept together for the first time sometime last year after an excruciatingly stressful exam period. It had never once gotten weird between the two of you; the line was always clear: you were just friends who hooked up due to convenience. Everybody had needs and stress and shit complicating their lives, and fucking your best friend was far more practical and safe than going out to look for a random hook-up whenever you needed it.

You find yourself smiling at Hyunjin once again. His now long black hair fell in his eyes as he stretched his arms over his head.

“Yes, you’re not my boyfriend, but how am I supposed to explain what we are to a little old lady?”

“Doesn’t she always say she’s super modern?” Hyunjin raises his eyebrows at you with a chuckle. “Maybe she’d like a situationship of her own and you’re depriving her of that by keeping this knowledge to yourself.”

You roll your eyes at his words, attempting to push him off your bed. “Why did you sleep here, anyway?”

Hyunjin sits up on the bed, a pout on his full lips. “I had a shitty date. I was sad and lonely. Glad to know you were paying attention to my story.”

“Hyune,” You sigh, ‘When you tell me said story while fucking me, can I really be blamed for not remembering anything?”

Hyunjin flicks your forehead lightly. “Yes, you can. At this point, it’s like our thing to vent about bad dates during sex,” He argues before getting up from your bed, finding his shirt, which had somehow been thrown over your study desk.

“You mean it’s your thing,” Correcting him, you get up as well, turning to fix up your sheets. “I don’t even go on dates and you know that. The only thing I vent to you about is how awful academic life is.”

Once you turned to face him again, Hyunjin was busy messily tying his hair. His brows promptly furrowed as he took in your words. “Remind me why you literally never leave the house again?”

“Just don’t want to get distracted. Getting my degree is more important than getting a boyfriend.” You lie with a shrug.

Your history with relationships was something you kept secret from everyone you met after high school. You feel embarrassed, as if it was all somehow your fault. After five failed relationships where you had been the one to be broken up with or cheated on, you began to accept that maybe the problem really was you. Maybe something about you makes men want to yell at and cheat on you. Perhaps you are just bound to be a distraction until they find someone better.

Which is why you don’t date.

Would anyone go through the hassle of reading a long, tedious book if they already knew about the bad ending?

Hyunjin rolls his eyes at your answer, crossing his arms over his chest. “Your degree isn’t going to keep you company when you’re eighty and alone.”

“Well, my degree isn’t going to wake up one day and suddenly decide to leave me either,” you refute, earning an annoyed groan from your friend as you walk past him to leave your room.

“You literally never have fun, though. All you do is go to class, work, and study. You should at least pick up a new hobby,” Hyunjin insists as he follows you, walking into the kitchen-living room area. “Go out more, stop avoiding college parties like the plague before it’s too late to experience the joys of watching your friend throw up on some random person’s couch.”

You make a face at the offers, grabbing your mug from the cupboard. “Why would I want to see that? Besides, I have hobbies.”

“I meant a social hobby. Sitting in your room watching fucking iceberg videos isn’t sociable,” He explains, and you let out an aggrieved gasp. Your iceberg videos were educational and entertaining, thank you very much. Behind you, your housemate’s bedroom door opens, and you turn to watch as she stumbles out of her room, looking half-awake. “Soojung, don’t you think she should get a new hobby?” Hyunjin addresses the blonde girl, who stares daggers at him.

“If I say yes, will you two stop speaking so loud?”

Hyunjin slams one hand on the kitchen counter, his other pointing a finger at you. “See, she said yes. You’re outnumbered, now you have to stop spending all your free time holed up inside your room.”

Soojung groans, stepping into the kitchen and shoving Hyunjin to the side. “He’s annoying, but he is kind of right,” she mumbles.

Truthfully, you did feel bad about having essentially wasted three years at university by actively avoiding parties and invitations any chance you got. The only parties you did attend, however, only served as an irritating reminder as to why you shouldn’t put yourself in those situations. Parties and bars only meant desperate college boys. Desperate for sex, for attention, for a potential relationship. For someone’s heart to break. You had met Hyunjin at a party, for fuck’s sake. Who knows just how south things between you two could’ve gone if he had become interested in you romantically?

But, as much as you hate to admit it, Hyunjin is right. Your life is essentially an endless loop of studying and working. You only socialize when your roommates are home, when your few friends come over, and when you and Hyunjin hook up. But you aren’t ready to step out of your comfortable bubble of avoidance, so you settle for the best thing you can think of.

As Hyunjin rummages through your fridge like he lived there and Soojung stirs her coffee blankly, you loudly set your mug down on the counter. “An elective course,” you announce.

The both of them turn to face you with the same puzzled expression.

“The fuck?” Hyunjin questions, and you roll your eyes.

“I’ll take an elective,” you explain matter-of-factly, “The university offers a lot of great courses in things I’m actually interested in. It’ll be a way for me to get out of the house without having to watch a friend of mine puke on a couch or whatever atrocity it is that you said.”

Hyunjin slams the fridge door closed, earning a scolding scream from Soojung, and walks over to where you’re standing. He pulls you into a tight embrace, and you can hear the smile in his voice as he says, “You’re such a fucking nerd, what the fuck, but I’m so glad your hermit life is coming to an end.”

The elective course you choose is Japanese. It’s a language you’ve always been interested in learning, and while you know the class is merely introductory, you figure it will be fun to learn some phrases and expressions. You might even find yourself wanting to learn more in the future, and you’ll undoubtedly be glad you took this class during university.

Even if that means having to endure Hyunjin calling you a weeb.

You are able to begin attending classes a week after signing up; the lessons lining up with your work schedule to a T. The professor explained that, since you had joined the course late, you would likely need some guidance with phrases and words the class had already been taught. You didn’t mind, actually feeling excited in the morning despite your boring routine classes since you knew you would be doing something new you enjoyed in the afternoon instead of simply killing time around your house until it was time for you to work.

You walk into your first class ten minutes late, mentally cursing Eunha for being so good at telling stories about her weirdly entertaining life that it made it physically difficult for you to drag yourself away from her. You mouth a brief apology to your professor before scanning the room and scurrying over to the only available seat. 

You sit down in haste so as to not disrupt the class any further, swinging your bag over your chair and accidentally knocking over your seatmate’s water bottle all over his side of the desk. Luckily, the bottle lands on the soft surface of his notebook, barely making any noise. Unluckily, said bottle had been filled with coffee, staining his notes a faded brown color. You silently gasp, instinctively reaching out your hands to fruitlessly try and dry the pages that are now sticking to each other.

“I am so sorry, what the fuck,” you mutter under your breath as you continue to inspect his notebook frantically. “I’ll buy you a new notebook and another cup of coffee as soon as class ends, I promise,” You whisper to him, your eyes boring holes into the stained pages as you watch the bitter liquid slowly dissolve some of the black ink. At this point, you’re rambling out of nervousness, but you can’t seem to stop, adding, “Hell, I’m so angry at myself for what I did I’d bind you a new notebook and brew you some fresh coffee myself.”

You mentally berate yourself for your word vomit. It was just your luck that you would make someone hate your guts on the first day you attended a class.

After what feels like minutes of silence from him, you are prepared for the imminent burst of rage bound to come your way, the guy’s wrath more than likely stirring inside him as he sits beside you and watches as you foolishly shake the piece of paper, hoping it will miraculously return to its untainted state.

However, what you aren’t prepared for is the small burst of laughter that leaves your seatmate’s lips; it’s quiet, but you’re close enough to him to be able to hear it.

You furrow your brows, finally mustering the courage to look up at him for the first time.

“Did you…” You trail off. You feel a strange sensation inside your chest as your eyes meet his. It was something you had never felt before, a small burst of a fluttering that briskly washed over you before disappearing just as quickly. Like a pinwheel was placed inside of you and a strong wind had suddenly started blowing. You shake your head, returning to the matter at hand. You are probably just experiencing some anxiety due to what has happened, you argue mentally. “Did you just laugh at me?”

As you finally take him in properly, the guy before you looks as dazed as you felt just now, courtesy of your minor panic attack; his lips agape and his round eyes blinking while his dark pupils are fixed on you. You two remain that way for a few seconds in an impromptu staring contest that causes the peculiar feeling to bloom inside your chest once again.

When he finally speaks, his voice is soft. “You… offered to bind a notebook for a stranger,” His lips twitch into a grin. “It was a little funny.”

You open your mouth but promptly close it, unable to come up with an answer that wouldn’t make you appear like more of an idiot than you already do. You sigh. “Sorry,” you mumble, your voice low as well. “I say stupid shit when I’m nervous.”

He waves his hand dismissively. “It’s okay. I’m—”

“You two, on the back,” your professor calls out in a louder voice, however still keeping her calm demeanor. You and your seatmate turn to look at her. “I’m going to teach a few new phrases useful for traveling now. How about you two talk after class? This is actually quite perfect. Minho is one of my best students, so he could help you catch up to where we are.” She offers the two of you a small smile, and you feel your cheeks burn.

This class wasn’t mandatory, and you didn’t need it to get your degree. It is still a class, nonetheless. Ever since high school, you’ve always hated people who disrespect their professors by brazenly talking or sleeping during class.

“I’m sorry, professor,” You muttered. Beside you, your seatmate — Minho, as he was just called — scoots closer to you and whispers something you don’t understand under his breath. You look at him, confused. He chuckles, and you feel his breath on your cheek. It makes the odd fluttering return.

“Gomenasai,” He repeats more clearly, his voice louder, “It’s ‘I’m sorry’ in Japanese.” He offers you a smile, and you soak in just how good-looking he is. Ever since you first raised your head to look at him — when the pinwheel inside your chest rapidly spun and unexplainedly made you feel nervous — you knew he was a handsome guy, but his soft smile and calm eyes made him look even more annoyingly pretty.

Before you’re able to do it yourself, your professor speaks again and pulls you out of your trance.

“In this case, Sumimasen would be a bit more appropriate,” she corrects Minho, who clicks his tongue and mutters something under his breath. The woman chuckles at his reaction. “It’s okay. This is also something you can explain to Y/N after class.”

As the class went on, you couldn’t help but notice how Minho didn’t take any notes. Your mind latched onto how you ruined his notebook and how it was your fault that he couldn’t properly study during today’s class, so you couldn’t find the courage to offer him some paper so he could take notes.

After almost an hour of unrelenting guilt swallowing you up slowly, you place your hand on Minho’s shoulder as soon as the professor announces class is over after assigning the students a small written assignment.

“We could talk outside? If you want,” you offer him, feeling the now-familiar nervousness come back, making your mouth speak faster than your brain can even think to rationalize, “There’s a bench I really like outside this building. It’s a good spot. There’s a nice shade, and it’s secluded enough that people don’t bother me when I’m studying. Or googling how to bind a notebook.”

Minho lets out a brief chuckle. “Okay. I would love to talk on your favorite bench.”

You blink at him. “I don’t have a favorite bench.”

“Hm, it sure sounded like it. You listed some good attributes of that bench,” He argues, a grin etched onto his lips.

“I told you I say stupid shit when I’m nervous.”

He raises an eyebrow at your words. “You’re nervous?”

“Of course I am. I never bound a notebook before.”

Minho lets out a hearty laugh this time, his head thrown back and his eyes turning into crescent moons before he shakes his head. He picks his notebook off the table, showing you the crinkly light brown-tinted pages. “It’s dry now. I actually kind of like it, gave the pages a sort of vintage vibe. You don’t have to bind me a new notebook,” He reassures you, placing the small book into his bag. “As much as I would love to see how that would turn out.”

And just like that, your nervousness fades away. You smile at Minho, asking that he follow you over to your favorite bench.

The two of you talked for almost two hours. During that time, Minho helped you catch up with the vocabulary and phrases you had missed in class. When you asked him how he was able to know so much off the top of his head, his lips curled into a crooked grin as he sheepishly told you that he had been taking Japanese lessons since he was in high school. He explained that because he procrastinated signing up for an elective course, the advanced class was full by the time he got to it, so he decided to go for the introductory one instead. You chuckled and questioned why he would choose to spend his time on a course when he already knew everything being taught. He shrugged and explained that it was nice to have at least one class in which he didn’t have to try and that the fact that it made him feel smart also helped.

Not even your shift at work was able to make your conversation stop flowing, as Minho offered to walk with you to the coffee shop upon realizing it was near his apartment.

That was one of the many coincidences and things in common you found to have with each other that day.

It started with ordinary things like the fact that Minho had three cats back home just like you and how he had been collecting plushies since he was a child, while you had started your own collection as soon as you had access to money of your own. Or how your favorite authors were Jane Austen and Charlotte Brontë — Minho swore you would die if you saw the special edition books he had back at home.

Then, it became a bit more amusing as you found out that Minho had worked at a convenience store chain when he first finished high school, and it was the same one you worked at for your first job after starting university. And you both had worked there for exactly a year and two months before quitting. You then told him about how you ended up attending this university after your top three choices turned you down, and his choices were the same as yours. And just like you, he also got rejected by his top three options, which led him to attend the same university as you.

You two couldn’t hide your bewilderment, eyes widening and lips bursting into laughter as these linked facts kept spilling out during your conversation. It was strange, you thought, but in a comforting way. It was almost as if you two had been living weirdly similar lives, all while having no clue about the other’s existence.

The two of you approach the small coffee shop while talking about your degrees. You try your best not to bore Minho with your ‘existential crisis-inducing psychology talks,’ as Hyunjin always put it, and you mostly listen to him as he talks about programming. He tells you that his dream is to develop cozy games that people can jump into without much thought, simply to relax. He says he knows how stressful life is and that people sometimes need something they can mindlessly do to get their minds off of shit. You resonate with it more than you care to admit, as cozy idle games are one of your favorite things to do while locked inside your room.

“So I do these freelancing gigs to make money but I’m actually set to start my first quote-unquote real job in two weeks,” he beams as you two stop in front of the coffee shop. Minho’s eyes lit up the moment he started speaking about his degree, and although you didn’t understand most of the terms he used, it is always endearing to watch someone talk about something they’re so passionate about. “There’s this guy who’s graduating soon who recruited me and a friend for a project he’s working on, so it’s not technically a job and we’ll work in his living room. I’ll still get some money and the chance to actually develop something, though, so it’s better than nothing.”

You smile at him. “If you like programming as much as your words led me to believe, I’m sure it won’t even feel like a job.”

Minho’s ears turned a faint shade of pink, and he scratched his head. “Sorry, I talked your ear off about shit you don’t even understand.”

“I think everybody likes to hear people talk about things they like,” you assure him, “It was a good talk. I still can’t believe we have so many things in common. It was kind of funny how they kept coming up.”

Minho chuckles, bouncing on the heels of his feet. “Guess the universe is giving us signs that we should be friends.”

“It seems like it.”

That day, you work with a persistent smile engraved on your lips. You can’t remember the last time you felt so good about meeting someone new. Despite your awkward first encounter, you found that talking to Minho was as easy as talking to an old childhood friend. It felt refreshing. The last friend you made was Hyunjin — whom you were so grateful to now for pushing you out of your comfort zone — and after that, you had unknowingly closed yourself off.

Minho had managed to open up your mind to the idea of letting someone in almost comically fast. And you loved that.

It’s been a month since you’ve been attending Japanese classes, and your studying sessions with Minho — which always turned into long conversations on what now had really become your favorite bench — were a weekly appointment, much like having him walk with you to work twice a week.

Today, however, Minho stopped you with a hand on your shoulder as you made your way toward your usual spot. When he asked you if you would like to study at his favorite bakery today instead, his eyes rapidly blinking as he looked at you through his bangs which had grown to slightly cover his eyes since you met him, you just couldn’t say no. He stammered as he promised that the place was even closer than the one where you worked, so you wouldn’t be late for your shift.

You smiled at his apparent nervousness, finding it endearing. You knew all too well how stressed you felt when offering something new or initiating plans with a new friend, and Minho seemed to be the same.

“Good thing you made this offer today, on my day off,” you bumped shoulders with him. “It’s almost like you knew.”

You begin walking, and Minho gently pushes you to the side so that he’s the one walking on the edge of the side of the sidewalk. You shoot him a questioning look, and he blinks at you again.

“Sorry, force of habit,” he chuckles, “My mom taught me a guy shouldn’t let a girl walk on the street side. I know it’s old-fashioned and probably made me seem like an ancient guy who wouldn’t let his wife work or something. Sorry.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s kind of sweet. I never had anyone do that with me.”

You feel the pinwheel twirl inside your chest again.

The two of you approach a familiar building together. You furrow your eyebrows as you take in the floral curtains on the windows and the pretty font adorning the store sign of your favorite bakery. You think about how it would be nice if you two came here on another day. Maybe you could use that opportunity to finally introduce Minho to your other friends.

You only realize Minho has stopped walking when he calls out your name. When you turn around, he’s standing in front of the bakery with a smile.

“This is the place.” He points toward the white door with a nod as you return to where he’s standing.

No fucking way.

“This is your favorite bakery?” You ask, although it is a stupid question. Minho nods. You play with the strap of your bag. “Okay, this is starting to sound ridiculous, but I swear I’m not lying. This is my favorite bakery, too.”

Minho’s eyes widen at your words, and his lips curl into a smile again. “Shut the fuck up.”

“I will not,” You chuckle.

Minho opens the door and the two of you walk inside, the familiar smell of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods bringing back great memories you made in this place. You often come here with your two roommates; it’s close enough to both your house and university that you can skip out on taking the bus, the atmosphere is always relaxing and comforting, not to mention the delicious cakes they sell. You smile to yourself as you remember Eunha scuffing down far too many slices of their chocolate cake after a nasty breakup a couple of months ago, tears streaming down her face so violently that the poor little old man who owns the shop appeared to check up on her.

“Their lemon cake is my favorite.”

“The lemon cake is what made me—”

You and Minho speak concurrently, with you unable to even finish your sentence before you both freeze for a couple of seconds in front of the only small table available at the crowded shop.

He’s the first one to move, pulling out his chair a bit awkwardly. “We should…” He trails off before clearing his throat as you sit down before him. “Should really make a written list of things we weirdly have in common.”

“At this point, I think it’d be easier if we made one of what we don’t have in common.”

You two settle for the obvious choice of two pieces of lemon cake with a cup of coffee for him and a glass of cola for you. Minho almost looked offended when you informed him that you hate coffee, wondering out loud why you even worked at a coffee shop before ensuring he could change your mind with just the five amazing facts about coffee he thought about off the top of his head. You shrugged him off with a grin. You couldn’t deny the irony of being a barista and having to make endless cups of a drink you despised daily, but you were sure Minho could never change your mind about coffee.

You two talked about your improvement in Japanese in the last month until the waiter returned with your order. Minho insists you’re a natural and could be on his level in a couple of years if you tried, but you roll your eyes at his compliments. You’ve never been naturally good at anything. That wasn’t about to change now.

“You know,” Minho begins once the waiter steps away from your table, looking around the coffee shop. People slowly started to leave as it got later in the day; the place was now much quieter, and the atmosphere even more cozy. “I used to think I would meet somebody in a place like this.”

“Like, in a romantic sense?”

Minho hums, still looking out to his side. You notice his side profile is really pretty, and you have to hide your smile by sipping your drink.

When he returns his gaze to you, he’s the one smiling. “Yes, in a romantic sense. Like being destined to meet someone.”

“Look at you, a hopeless romantic,” You roll your eyes with a chuckle. You never thought of Minho as someone like that. He seemed rather methodical, always following a routine and too engrossed in his codes to be preoccupied with something like love.

Minho furrowed his brows. “Why the eye roll?”

“I just don’t believe in that stuff,” you shrug with a small smile, “Stuff like destiny, soulmates, love…” You trail off, taking your spoon and poking the slice of cake in front of you. “Love has the awful tendency of being bad.”

Of course, you once believed all those things. Doesn’t everybody? But love has shown you time and time again that those are things reserved only for some people. And, clearly, you are not one of them. So why believe in it?

“It’s the most amazing thing in life,” Minho’s voice almost startled you as you were so deeply entranced in your thoughts.

You don’t lift your head to answer him, instead drawing mindless shapes on the icing on top of your cake.

“What is?”

“Love,” He replies in a soft voice. When you finally look at him, you’re surprised to find Minho’s deep eyes already looking at you, a small smile adorning his lips. “Love is the most amazing thing in life.”

You freeze.

You tear your eyes away from him, gaze focusing on the plate in front of you again.

You were careful with your rules. No parties, no bars, no talking to your male co-workers unless absolutely necessary, and no male friends unless they were in a relationship or proved beyond a reasonable doubt to only be interested in you platonically — which was what Minho was. So, why did him bringing up love make you feel so nervous?

Under the table, you unwittingly bounce your leg. This was stupid. Minho has been your friend for a month now; you see each other twice a week, and you talk for hours, always so comfortable around each other in a way that is still so new to you. He has never flirted with you or treated you in any way that led you to believe that he wanted anything more than to be your friend. You will not let your foolish trauma ruin what was proving to be an amazing friendship. He was simply sharing his thoughts on a topic. That’s all love was: a conversation topic.

You force out a chuckle as you snap yourself out of your senseless panic and look up at Minho once more. “We can just agree to disagree?”

He’s quiet for a few seconds, something you can’t quite pinpoint swimming in his deep eyes as he looks at you. Instead of breaking the silence, he scoops up a piece of cake with his spoon and raises it like a glass. You shake your head with a giggle as you realize what he’s doing, toasting your spoons together at the center of the table before you both eat your spoonfuls of cake.

“You know,” He speaks as soon as he’s done eating, his eyes having never left yours. “Love can never be bad. I don’t think so, at least. It never makes anything worse. It can only ever make things better.”

You hum and shift in your seat, lowering your gaze toward the table. The truth is, you hate talking about love. That — coupled with your shame regarding your past relationships — is the reason why you never indulge in this type of conversation, even with your own mother. But years of swallowing down your thoughts and opinions whenever the subject was brought up only caused a buildup of emotions in your throat. So much so that you only realized you were talking once you were midway through a sentence.

“Love can make so many things worse,” you affirmed, your eyes following the polka-dot pattern on the tablecloth, “Losing someone is bad enough, but put love into that equation, and it just worsens tenfold.”

Minho nods. “By that logic, you can say that having someone by your side is always good, but if it’s someone you love, it makes it better tenfold, right?”

You let out a chuckle as you realize you two could go back and forth about that subject for ages.

But it felt good to finally speak out your feelings on the matter, so you continue, “Love can’t be that great if people can so easily fall out of it and for so many different but equally stupid reasons. You’re suddenly not attractive to them anymore, or you have different opinions, or they love picking fights but hate it when it’s the other way around…” You trail off, swallowing down a lump in your throat as you speak out of experience. But Minho didn’t need to know that. You lift your eyes. “Not to mention falling in love with a new person all while supposedly already being in love with someone.”

“That’s not genuine love,” Minho shakes his head with furrowed eyebrows, as if it was his first time hearing of such things happening. “Real love is unconditional and understanding. Real love makes the person you love beautiful simply because they’re them. Real love doesn’t allow you to hurt the person you love because it feels like you’re hurting yourself as well.” His expression softens, and his eyes lock onto yours. “And real love makes it so that you can only see the one you love. You can’t possibly fall in love with someone else if you’re truly already in love.”

You gnaw on your bottom lip, nodding slowly. You hate the fact that part of you is desperate to believe that what Minho said was true. And you hate it even more that an even bigger part has already dismissed every single word that left his lips.

Desperate to shift the subject from Reasons Why My Exes Left Me — which only leaves you feeling sad and pathetic — back to Love Is Amazing, you decide to try and lighten the mood.

“Okay, but then explain to me how love is so great when you can just have sex with anyone, and it feels the same either way?” You question him with a teasing grin on your face. Minho shakes his head with a smile and eats another bite of his cake. You continue, “Be it a stranger at a party you met ten minutes ago or the love of your life, sex will always be sex. Therefore, you’re wrong, mister Love-Makes-Everything-Better.”

Minho chuckles around his mug, eyes closing as he almost spits out his coffee. His eyes are like crescent moons when he looks at you again, clearly amused by your words. “Well, yeah, of course, sex will always feel good no matter who you’re doing it with. It’s sex, and sex feels good,” He shrugs dismissively. “But sex with love is different. You aren’t just fucking, just fulfilling your own desires selfishly. Love makes sex better because you feel good simply by making the person who’s so important to you feel good. It makes you want to melt into the other person and become one with them because close isn’t close enough when you’re in love.

“Touching them feels like a gift, like heaven. Tasting them feels like heaven. Hearing their voice in their most blissful state feels like heaven. The trust and connection you feel in that moment is heaven, and that’s only possible through love. You can have sex with anyone, but you can only make love to someone you love, and those are two different things. That’s how love makes sex better. Therefore, I’m not wrong.”

As you take in Minho’s words, spoken so casually, like it was common knowledge, they leave you speechless. You watch him as he smiles triumphantly when he realizes you aren’t going to refute him — because you can’t refute him.

You berate yourself mentally as you notice the familiar feeling of arousal wash over you as you repeat his words inside your head. Not because it was Minho who said those things, but simply because that kind of sex sounded so good. Good in a way you had never once experienced before. Like heaven, as he had put it.

Your experience with sex has always been simply about fulfilling desires. You thought that was all there was to it.

Until now.

And even so, with your ex-boyfriends, it was always unbalanced. Ninety percent about their pleasure and only ten percent about yours. The first time you had a guy go down on you was the first time you had sex with Hyunjin, and by that point, you had already had five boyfriends. It felt weird when it happened, and you remember Hyunjin whining about how you didn’t have to ask him every five minutes if he was really okay with doing that. It had always been different with him, the good kind of different. He had never been selfish during sex; if anything, Hyunjin was too much of a giver, sometimes forgetting about his own pleasure in order to focus on yours. You thought that was the best sex you could ever have.

Until now.

Because, even with Hyunjin, there was never a genuine connection. It never felt like a gift to touch him and have him touch you. It was never anything more than sex, more than something you both did because it felt good and it was easy. He slept in your bed, and he cuddled you until morning came, but it had never once felt anything close to what Minho described.

You can’t help but wonder if Minho has ever experienced that. You desperately want to ask him, but you two aren’t close enough for that yet.

You also can’t help but wonder why you spend the rest of the evening raging a war against yourself as your mind is consumed with thoughts of what it would be like to experience that kind of sex with him.

It’s late in the night on the following Saturday, and your phone incessantly vibrating under your pillow rudely demands your attention just as you’re about to fall asleep. You squint your eyes as you type in your password. You sigh as you see Hyunjin’s name on your screen because of course it’s him.

Hyune: I’m outside open the door Hyune: please open the door? quick? Hyune: mrs. choi is gonna kill me if I use the intercom pls I don’t wanna die Hyune: I’m in my pajamas do you know how humiliating this is

Hyune: and I’m highkey pissed off Hyune: I WILL sleep on the bench outside your house if you don’t let me in and then I’ll die and who’s gonna live with the guilt? Hyune: you Hyune: OPENM TEH DOOR

You roll your eyes at his dramatic texts, stepping out of the comfort of your bed and padding across the floor as quietly as possible so as not to wake up your roommates. You open your front door and speed past the hallway and Mrs. Choi’s home, reaching the outside door in record time. It’s something you’ve done more times than you care to admit in order to let Hyunjin into your house. Your tenant was a sweet woman, insistent that she was modern and understanding of ‘young people’, but she despised people coming into your home any later than midnight.

You step outside, finding Hyunjin pacing back and forth like a creep in front of your house. True to his words, he stood in his checkered pajama pants and a black t-shirt. His hair was in a ponytail, the strands messily sticking out everywhere like he had tossed and turned in bed before coming here.

“You look like shit,” you speak up, causing him to jump and let out a gasp. You chuckle as he scowls at you, climbing the few steps to reach the door.

“I had a fight with Mingyu,” he grumbles as you two walk toward your front door. “He told me I spilled paint on his favorite shirt, which is fucking impossible since I don’t even paint anywhere near his shit.” 

“I mean, you are a messy painter.”

Hyunjin shoots you a look as you close your front door behind you. You take off your shoes and walk toward your bedroom in silence. This was routine. Hyunjin knew the rules: no knocking on the outside door, no buzzing the intercom, no shouting from outside, keep your voice down in the hallway, no talking until you reach your bedroom. It was all automatic at this point.

His voice is louder when he speaks again inside your locked bedroom. “First of all, I am not a messy painter. The paint is messy, not me. Second of all, if Mingyu wasn’t a fucking idiot, maybe he wouldn’t leave his favorite shirt on the floor of the living room right by my art corner,” Hyunjin huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, “If that’s how he treats his favorite shirt, I feel bad for his girlfriend.”

You let out a chuckle, which is cut short by him pulling you into his arms. “Hyunjin, that analogy makes no sense.”

“Yes, it does. You treat your favorite shirt like shit, you treat your girlfriend like shit,” he states matter-of-factly before pulling you into a kiss.

This was routine. It was all automatic at this point.

Hyunjin kisses you like he’s angry. Because he is, and that’s one of the reasons why you two do this. You let out your frustrations during sex. You complain, and you let off steam until you both feel okay again. It’s been this way for a year and some months now, and you never once thought anything of it. It was beneficial for you both, so why change or question it?

But that was before your talk with Minho. Before you were awoken to the truth that you’d been having meaningless sex your whole life.

When you’re pulled away from your thoughts, you’re already laid in your bed with Hyunjin hovering over you. His lips and hands wander through your body as he mumbles things you can’t quite understand; you can only make out your name and Mingyu’s mixed with curses. You try to bring yourself back to the moment, bringing your legs to wrap around Hyunjin’s waist and bring him closer to you.

He stops kissing your neck and yanks his shirt over his head, his hair untying in the process and falling on his face like a curtain. You giggle and try to fix it with your fingers. Hyunjin pouts.

“Don’t you think I’m right?”

You frown and hope he can’t see your confused expression in the dim lighting. You truly weren’t paying any attention to what he had been saying, too engrossed in your thoughts and too busy feeling sorry for yourself. Hyunjin’s tendency to tell you about his frustrations during sex always left you a bit puzzled, but it was also oddly sweet. It was like he trusted you so deeply as a friend that he believed he could share anything with you, no matter the time.

So you nod, lightly pulling at his hair. “Of course you’re right.”

He hums and buries his head on your chest, grinding his hips into your clothed core. “Of course I’m right,” he mumbles under his breath.

Everything is a blur after that, your mind insistent on repeating Minho’s words like an annoying echo. When Hyunjin’s tongue fucked you hastily, and he murmured something about you tasting so good, all you could hear was Minho’s voice telling you how tasting the person you love feels like heaven. When Hyunjin pushed his cock into you, his hands gripping your thighs and head buried in your neck, all you could think about was how this sex paled in comparison to what you could’ve been having — what you could have already had — if only you weren’t so damn unlovable. 

You knew that Minho didn’t intend to make you feel bad with his words. They weren’t targeted at you. But that didn’t stop your mind from sabotaging and putting yourself down. It was one of your biggest talents, after all.

Your body was present and responsive the entire time; you moaned because it felt good, and you kissed Hyunjin because you wanted to. But you were mentally somewhere else.

And the worst thing is, you’re a hundred percent sure Hyunjin doesn’t even notice it.

Because this wasn’t love. This was only sex.

And this was all you had ever known.

Time flies by faster than your brain can comprehend; before you know it, another month goes by. You only managed to go to your favorite bakery with Minho one more time before your work hours were changed, your shift now starting a mere thirty minutes after your Japanese class ends. He still walked you to work twice a week, but you would be lying if you said it didn’t upset you to have to let go of your weekly talks.

Minho also became busier due to his own job. With so little time to see each other face to face outside of class, most of your talks took place over text. He talked about his job with so much adoration it made you a little jealous; his partners were now simply friends he worked with, and his joy over finally being able to create a cozy game made it so that he pushed himself over his limit, often sleeping on his friend’s couch after working until four a.m. and getting through the next day on excessive amounts of coffee.

That was how you two came up with the idea of Minho dropping by the café where you work to pick up coffee for him and his friends. He would drop by at least twice every day, his friend’s house — which also served as their office — only one bus stop away.

The first time Minho came by, he had his wallet and phone in one hand, a sharpie and a block of sticky notes in the other. You eyed him curiously as he scribbled on the piece of paper while your co-worker prepared his coffee. When he was done, he stuck the note to the monitor in front of you on the counter. You furrowed your brows as your eyes shifted from the Japanese words on the bright yellow note back to Minho’s smug face. You were certainly grateful he at least had the courtesy of including the romanization of whatever he had written down. Not that it helped you in any way.

“Since our studying sessions after class were rudely taken from us, this is your extra homework. It’s all words we already learned. You just gotta think a little bit, and you’ll figure it out. You’re smart, I know you can do it,” He assured you.

Expect you weren’t that smart and ended up giving up by the time you got home that night. The piece of paper was no longer sticky on the border due to you carrying it around all day, boring holes into it as if that would magically give you the answer. You snapped a picture of it as you got ready for bed and sent it to Minho, begging him to put you out of your misery and simply give you the answer. ‘I want to drink coffee,’ he replied. You slapped your hand over your forehead with so much force you were sure the entire house had heard you. He was right; you did learn that in class. Curse the Japanese language for being so difficult.

After that, it became a routine. You waited expectantly for Minho’s visits daily, but you are extra excited today. It’s a Friday, and your birthday is tomorrow. After much pestering from Eunha, you agreed to have a small gathering at your house. It only made sense to invite Minho; he’s become one of your closest friends in the two months you’ve known him, after all.

As he walks into the coffee shop, sticky notes and sharpie in hand, you chuckle to yourself. You two chat about the development of his game, with Minho kindly using layman’s terms when explaining it to you. He also tells you about how one of his friends got so frustrated with a code that he threw his phone at a wall before immediately regretting it and crying on the floor next to Minho’s desk. Before you can get worried, he assures you that it’s just an ordinary day at the office, and the three of them end up laughing everything off at the end of the day.

After taking his order, you watch as he begins writing down your homework for the day on the small piece of paper in his hand. As you look around the coffee shop, most tables are empty, and the sun is starting to set outside the glass doors.

“You wanna come over this Saturday?” You ask Minho, who looks up at you before adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. That was one thing you learned about Minho since he began coming over: he wears glasses. Not every day, but enough times for you to notice how good he looks with them. But friends find each other attractive all the time, you justify it. “You never came over to my house, and my roommates really want to meet you. Plus, it’s my birthday tomorrow.”

Minho’s eyes widen. “Your birthday? And you save that information to the end?”

“It’s not a big deal. I usually never even celebrate.” You shrug lightly. You’ve never been big on birthdays, as you just don’t see the reason why it’s supposed to feel different from any other day of the year. “But my roommate pestered me to do something this year, so I agreed to have a party.”

Minho shifts on his feet. “I… really hate parties…” He trails off.

“It’s not a party party. I promise!” You hold up your pinky finger. “It’s more of a get-together, just my roommates and my only two other friends. And, you…” You trail off, “If you come.”

Minho blinks his eyes a couple of times before tearing the piece of paper he was writing on from the pad and crumpling it in his hand. He quickly jots down something new and sticks it to your forehead.

“Minho!” You scold him, to which he laughs, his nose scrunching and eyes crinkling. You advert your gaze from him as your persistent thoughts regarding how unfairly pretty Minho is begin to flood your brain once again. You take the note and analyze it:

はい (Hai)

You smile as you understand the word, looking up at him.

“I’d love to come to your birthday party,” He beams. “Thank you for inviting me.”

To say Minho is nervous would be an understatement.

He gets out of his car twice, ready to march back inside his friend’s apartment like a coward and pretend that nothing happened both times. Only when he thinks back to how you smiled at him when he agreed to your invitation does he find the courage to start the car and drive to your house. He’d noticed for a while now how much he likes you. But it was when he agreed with the idea of going to the café you worked at to pick up coffee that it truly dawned on him that he really liked you. Minho hated taking the bus, he hated doing anything other than zoning out on the couch during his breaks, he hated bustling shops, and he hated how his co-workers both managed to have such intricate coffee orders.

Yet he agreed to that idea, even suggesting he drop by two times a day.

He noticed he’d felt a familiar small whirlpool inside his chest whenever he was with you, when he heard you talk about something you liked or saw you smile. He’s also noticed that this tiny whirlpool has been growing bigger and bigger the more he’s been around you.

But that doesn’t scare him. Minho loves love. He loves to be in love, to love someone, and to make that person feel loved. It’s his favorite thing about life. If he was honest, he missed it so much he didn’t know how he was able to live without it.

Just down the block from your house, he parks his car and gathers his phone and his present for you — clearly clumsily wrapped, even with his co-workers’ help. He feels another wave of nervousness wash over him as he approaches the house; he’s an hour late and needs to mentally prepare to socialize with people he’s never met before. Minho chuckles as he realizes a silly party makes him more nervous than the prospect of possibly falling in love.

You open the door almost as soon as he rings the intercom, and he walks down the hallway into your house door; the crooked box he’s been holding makes his hands sweat. The first thing he notices as you open the door is your styled hair with a big white bow on the back, looking much prettier than the ugly bow he and his friends managed to stick on top of his present. He smiles at the sight and scratches his ear in a futile attempt to stop them from turning red.

God, he really liked you, didn’t he?

“Thank you for coming,” you tell him with a smile. Minho notices the quiet music playing inside the house, the simple decorations, and the cake on top of the kitchen counter. He mentally sighs in relief. This truly wasn’t anything like a big party. “You’re wearing your glasses again,” you point out as Minho walks inside and removes his shoes. He subconsciously reaches his left hand to touch his wire-rimmed glasses that sit on his nose bridge. He grimaces and curses at his friend for making him stay later than he was supposed to today.

“I had no time to go home and change,” He apologizes, fingers now toying with the stupid bow on top of the box. “I usually wear contacts, but they make my eyes dry if I stare at the computer for too long, so I just… wear my glasses at work…” Minho trails off, suddenly feeling stupid, his eyes looking anywhere but toward you.

You chuckle, lightly touching his glasses for a second before moving away again. “You always come to the coffee shop wearing them, and I think you look really good,” you assured him. His eyes quickly met yours, only for you to advert your gaze this time. “You should wear them more often.”

Minho only hums, lightly nodding his head. He feels stupid all over again as the image of himself throwing his contact lenses down the drain crosses his mind.

Clearing his throat, he finally hands you your gift. You giggle at the mismatched wrapping paper and poor excuse of a bow, which makes Minho let out a chuckle and murmur an apology. You open the box, and your eyes light up when you spot the stuffed bunny you have been raving about since you two met. It was the only animal missing from your collection, but you couldn’t find the right time to save up money to buy it. Minho didn’t need to ask if you liked it as he watched your smile grow bigger as you looked at the brown bunny.

“Come, I gotta put him in my bed now,” you beamed and took Minho’s hand in yours, leading him to the living room. There, five people sat on the couch and on the floor. Minho furrows his brows as he takes in a head of light brown hair covered by a familiar beanie. “These are my friends. Eunha’s the girl with short hair on the floor, and Soojung’s the one with blonde hair next to her. They’re also my roommates,” You point at them as you speak. “That’s Jisung sitting next to Soojung; he’s also her boyfriend. And then Hyunjin, with the long hair, sitting next to Chan on the couch. Everyone, this is Minho from my Japanese class.”

With that, you pad off to your room with your bunny in tow. As Chan finally turns to look at Minho, his shocked expression mirrors his. They stare at each other for a while before Chan finally breaks the silence.

“What the fuck, that’s my co-worker.”

Minho narrows his eyes. “So this is why you had to leave an hour earlier today?”

As you come out of your room, you chuckle. “Chan is your co-worker?” You ask Minho, “I can’t believe this. He’s been our friend for longer than I’ve known you. He came like a package deal when Jisung began dating Soojung.”

“Damn, dude, you hate me so much you never talked about me to your friend?” Chan gasped, a hand over his heart. “I’m hurt.”

Minho rolls his eyes but is unable to stop a small grin from forming on his lips as the entire living room erupts in laughter. “Of course I talked about you. I talked about you and Seungmin all the time. It’s just I…” Minho shifts on his feet, shrugging. “I never said your names.”

More laughter seeps out of the group of people, including Chan, and Minho finds himself laughing along this time, shaking his head at his own stupidity. 

He sits beside Chan on the couch while Hyunjin heads to the kitchen with you. He quickly asks him how he came to be friends with you in the first place. Chan explains that he’s been in a class with Jisung for almost two years, and the boy had always pestered him about ‘old people’ needing to hang out with people their age. That’s how he ended up meeting Soojung as soon as she became Jisung’s girlfriend. You and Eunha were an inevitable addition, seeing as you were not only roommates but also great friends.

You offer Minho a beer, which he declines. As much as he wanted to, no beer was worth having to take the bus back home. He silently sips his cola as he watches your group of friends chat. You end up sitting beside him on the couch, your friend Hyunjin to your right.

Minho finds that he missed getting together with people like this and didn’t even realize it. His only friends were left behind back at home, and although they were less than an hour away by bus, their busy lives prevented them from meeting in person. Minho’s favorite memories from his teenage years were having his friends over and just doing nothing for hours, talking about stupid shit until their stomachs hurt from laughing. Eating takeout on the couch with Chan and Seungmin after work came close, but they were always too tired and too stressed to entertain the idea of making jokes. Those were times when Minho realized he had really become an adult.

Jisung’s loud voice suddenly booms through the living room and startles an already drunk-looking Eunha, who murmurs something about the younger boy giving her a heart attack one day. 

“I’m bored,” he grumbles, draping his body over Soojung. “Let’s play spin the bottle.”

Soojung rolls her eyes at him, flicking his forehead. “Are you a teenager?”

Jisung pouts, sitting up straight once more. “We’re in university. University students play this fucking game all the time,” he states matter-of-factly. “Don’t make me regret falling for an older woman.”

“Jisung, I’m only three years older than you, I’m not—”

“Don’t make me call you noona.”

Soojung inhales deeply before turning to face the people sitting on the couch, placing one of the empty beer bottles scattered around her feet on top of the coffee table. “Let’s play spin the bottle. But let’s do dares instead of kissing, that’s too boring.”

Jisung beams, cuddling close to her like a needy child. Minho chuckles at the sight.

Eunha scoots closer to the couple so the group is seated in a circle around the coffee table, half of them on the couch and half on the floor. Minho never had the chance to play spin the bottle, which seemed to be such a staple game of one’s teenage years. By the time his friends were off sneaking into clubs and drinking behind their parents’ backs, he was already in a committed relationship and well aware of the fact that he didn’t enjoy parties.

It seems silly, but he’s glad he won’t live past his youth without experiencing such a trivial thing.

Soojung spins the bottle, and the neck stops facing Chan while the bottom faces Jisung.

“Take your shirt off,” Jisung waves a finger at Chan, who looks somewhat disoriented. Minho chuckles under his breath just as you do the same. You two face each other and let out a hearty laugh, your arm coming to rest on his bicep before retrieving back to your lap faster than Minho hoped it would.

Soojung squishes Jisung’s cheeks and places a small kiss on his lips. “You’re such a fucking chaotic bisexual,” she giggles, “Y’know, Chan, Jisung has had the biggest crush on you since you two first met.”

Chan shakes his head with a stifled laugh and proceeds to remove his shirt, neatly placing it on his lap.

Jisung is next to spin the bottle, this time landing on Soojung, who you dare to show her most embarrassing text. After showing the group a string of texts showing raunchy screenshots of a manhwa she’d been reading at that time, all sent to one of her class group chats which included some professors, she lets out a heavy sigh and orders Eunha to spin the bottle before any questions can be asked.

This time, the neck faces you while the bottom faces Eunha herself. With a smile, the short-haired girl dares you to kiss Minho.

He feels his smile drop at the very second the words leave her lips. This was not what he had in mind for tonight.

“What?” You sputter, “Why?”

Eunha shrugs, adjusting herself so she’s seated upright and staring right at you. “Well, he’s the only one here who would be actually fun to see you kiss. Jisung and Soojung are okay with each other hooking up with other people, so that’s no fun,” she explains, using her fingers to list her reasons, “I’m not into girls, so that’s no fun for me. Hyunjin is too obvious. We all already know Chan, so it would also be boring. Minho is like fresh meat. That is fun.”

Minho’s brain begins finding a suitable excuse for why you two can’t kiss, because he’s certain you have no interest in doing it. Not only are you friends, but your reaction didn’t exactly exude excitement at the prospect of kissing him. Just as he’s ready to lie through his teeth, you turn to him and place your hand on his shoulder, a touch so soft he’s barely able to feel it through the fabric of his shirt.

“Is this okay with you?” You ask him, the tone of your voice so sweet Minho feels like it melts his every thought until his brain is nothing but a sugary pool filled with only you. So he nods because god, yes, this is okay with him.

You gingerly place your right hand on his cheek, bringing your faces closer until your lips press together. The whirlpool inside his chest spins fast, like a vortex dragging every sense of his body toward you and only you.

You remain still for a few seconds, Minho’s eyes opening slightly to search for any sign of regret on your face. Before he can even properly look at you, your lips begin to move against his — gently and carefully, like you’re not sure if this is what he wants. Minho deepens the kiss and hesitates three times before committing to placing his left hand on your waist. The giggles around the two of you nothing but a muffled murmur to him. He presses another kiss to your lips, his body shifting until he is all but caging you against the back of the couch. But just as he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip, you push him back with a smile, Minho chasing after your lips.

He blinks a couple of times, eyes zoning into your smudged red lipstick. He subconsciously bites his own bottom lip, wondering if any of the color transferred to him. The surrounding murmurs bring Minho back to the moment this time, awkwardly clearing his throat before lifting himself off of you and sitting upright on the couch. He tunes out every comment regarding the kiss to the best of his abilities, focusing his energy on slowing down his heart rate. When he catches you giggling while looking at him, your arm touching his bicep yet again, he nods, grabbing his cola bottle from the floor and taking a sip.

Minho can’t remember the last time kissing someone got him so worked up. He entered a long-term relationship at such a young age that he’s only now realizing how unaccustomed he is to kissing someone new, to the rush that comes with having your lips pressing against the ones of someone you like. It was exhilarating and a bit terrifying all at the same time. He was awkward, unsure where to put his hands, uncertain if you were enjoying yourself. He was also greedy, wanting the moment to last for much longer than it had.

This had cemented the fact that he does, in fact, really like you.

After kissing you, the whirlpool living in his heart had now fully transformed into a tiny hurricane — with great chances of growing even bigger.

Minho only notices the game has continued upon hearing your voice complaining beside him. He watches as Soojung shrugs.

“It’s the only thing I could think of, sorry.”

“But why?” Hyunjin asks, placing his cup on the coffee table. “It’s a stupid dare.”

The blonde girl scoffs. “No, it’s not. I’ve had to basically live with you two for the past year, and it’s common knowledge how easily you get a boner for her.”

“Not true,” Hyunjin retorts, although it sounds more like a question than an affirmation.

Eunha blurts out, “You once got a boner watching her stir a cake mix.”

Hyunjin opens and closes his mouth before groaning, pulling you into his lap by the waist. You apologize to him quietly, to which Hyunjin shakes his head with a small smile.

Minho feels as if he’s intruding on something private.

You sit on Hyunjin’s knees, almost falling off his lap as you clearly try to keep some distance between the two of you. Hyunjin clicks his tongue and pulls you closer to him until your back is pressed up against his chest. He whispers something in your ear, to which you lightly slap his arm as his lips upturn into a grin.

Minho is definitely intruding on something private.

At some point, you turn so you’re sitting across Hyunjin’s lap, your body now facing Minho. He can’t help but watch with dark eyes as the younger boy’s hands wander through your body; playing with the buttons on your blouse, squeezing your thighs, and caressing your skin a little too close to the hem of your skirt. He furrows his brows as he tries to understand your relationship with Hyunjin, seeing as you’re obviously not put off by his hands on your body.

Minho is so transfixed by the sight and his racing thoughts that he only realizes the game has ended when someone taps his shoulder from behind the couch.  When he looks back, Chan is holding a cigarette and motioning towards the stairs that lead to the house’s terrace.

In the chilly open space above the house, they sit on a bench behind a tall vertical planter. Minho wonders who tends to the garden as he observes the various flowers, as well as some vegetables and herbs scattered around him. The terrace is small; the garden taking up all the space, an old wooden railing that overlooks the quiet street the only other thing in his sight.

He and Chan chat about school and work, as they often do nowadays. After Chan recently broke up with his girlfriend, Minho found that his friend had become much more closed off, so the list of subjects they would talk about became minimal. Chan bites his thumb before taking a long drag of his cigarette. He chuckles when he mentions being scared of graduating next year. Minho bumps his shoulder with him, arguing that being in his situation is worse. He admits that he regrets starting university late and that being in his first year when he should already be in his third is discouraging. Chan dismisses his worries, reminding him of how Minho is often the one to fix broken codes and come up with ideas for their game whenever Seungmin gets stuck.

“A degree is just a piece of paper,” Chan says, throwing his cigarette butt at a nearby trashcan. “You’re already a fantastic programmer, Minho.”

“You’re just saying that because I saved your ass today.”

Chan shrugs. “You’ve saved my ass basically every day since we started working together.” After a beat of silence, he asks, “Why did you start uni so late, anyway? You never told me.”

Minho hums, digging his brain for a way to sum up the entire story. “It’s complicated—”

He’s interrupted by footsteps on the stairs leading to the terrace. A loud giggle echoes through the open space before you and Hyunjin step into their field of vision. The long-haired boy holds you from behind, and you two stagger toward the railing.

“Wish everyone would go home already so I could just fuck you,” Hyunjin whines as he turns your body around so you’re facing him. Minho almost chokes on nothing at those words, and Chan stifles a laugh with his hand. He curses the small space as they’re able to so clearly hear everything you’re saying.

You playfully kick Hyunjin’s shin. “Don’t say it like that, Hyune, what the fuck.”

“It’s true, though,” Hyunjin continues, pressing you against the railing. He towers over you, so the only thing Minho can see from where he’s seated is your white skirt floating in the wind behind the tall boy. “I had a stressful, terrible, awful, dreadful week. All I kept thinking about was coming over and relaxing with you.”

“See, when you put it like that, it doesn’t sound so awful.”

Hyunjin clicks his tongue. “There’s nothing awful about fucking. I know how much you like it, don’t act so coy.”

Minho watches as your hands clench around Hyunjin’s gray shirt, pulling him closer and kissing him softly, much like you had done to him a few moments before.

Minho presses his lips into a thin line. He connects every dot available to him inside his head and suddenly feels pathetic.

Hyunjin being too obvious of a choice for you to kiss, his hands all over your body, his words about fucking you, the way you kissed him like it was a habit.

If you had a boyfriend, why did you agree to kiss him?

The words swarm Minho’s brain. He vaguely recalls you and Hyunjin eventually walking out of the terrace. Chan starts a one-sided conversation about one of his classes, with Minho humming after every couple of sentences to appear like he’d been listening when his head is too busy wondering how to feel about everything.

Minho recalls Eunha walking up the stairs and shouting for the two of them to come downstairs to sing you happy birthday. He recalls Hyunjin’s hands wandering through your body throughout the song, his lips pressing small kisses on your face and lips as you smiled. He recalls feeling confused, stressed, jealous, and pathetic.

Minho is only truly back to the present moment once Chan’s voice bids him a loud goodbye, and the door slamming behind him makes his senses finally return to him. As he looks around, he notices that the only people left in the living room are Jisung, Hyunjin, and you. Beside him on the couch, Hyunjin stretches with a loud groan.

“I’m gonna take a shower. D’you have any of my clothes in your room?”

You sigh from where you’re sitting on the floor, resting against the television stand. “Of course, I do. You’re always living shit behind, you’re like our third roommate at this point.”

Hyunjin chuckles, walking over to give you a small peck on the lips before disappearing into your room. Minho gnaws on his bottom lip with a bitter smile as he realizes Hyunjin will sleep over at your house. The ugly feelings return as he remembers his thoughts about you these past few weeks when he unknowingly cultivated too big of a crush on you. Even on his way here tonight, when he had chuckled to himself at his lack of nervousness in the face of potential love.

Love.

Minho can’t help but wonder why your view of love is so negative when you’re in a relationship. And, at the same time, he doesn’t dare to think about it for too long, fully aware that his foolish affection-filled brain will come up with a myriad of reasons — all where your boyfriend is the sole culprit for your distaste — and Minho knows better than to let those thoughts linger for too long inside his mind. He knows himself all too well, knows only awful shit would come out of assuming things about your relationship; the urge to beat Hyunjin senseless for being a shitty boyfriend and making you think that way about love being the worst of them.

“I’m too drunk to go back to my dorm,” Jisung suddenly speaks, his eyes glazed over as he stares ahead. “Gonna crash here tonight, too.”

Minho takes that as his cue to leave.

You walk him outside, a small smile on your face the entire time. He feels guilty not being able to reciprocate the gesture. As you tell him goodbye, thanking him for coming, you pull him into a hug. You hadn’t hugged much since you met, and Minho foolishly wants to draw you closer to him, to feel your body pressed against his just as it was pressed against Hyunjin most of the night. But he can’t do that.

“Are you okay to walk back by yourself?” You ask him as you pull away.

Minho nods, forcing out a small smile. “My car is parked just down the block.”

“That’s why you didn’t drink!” You exclaim with a giggle, “I forget that most people our age already drive. My anxiety didn’t allow me the chance to even try and get a license, so I just accepted my fate of taking the bus.”

“I could drive you…” Minho trails off. There he goes again, being pathetic. “If I have the time… You can give me a call and I’d be happy to drive you anywhere.”

You smile at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into another embrace. Minho smiles genuinely as he buries his head in your hair.

The drive back home has Minho feeling stupid all over again as he thinks about how you’re probably in bed with Hyunjin by now. The whirlpool is back inside his chest, but it isn’t good or welcome this time. It’s agonizing and painful.

Love had never been painful. Love had never been bad.

But he had never experienced love toward someone who already loved somebody else. Although you brazenly state that you don’t believe in it, you must feel some type of love toward Hyunjin if you’re willing to be his girlfriend.

As he silently drives home, Minho finds himself agreeing with you.

Maybe love can be bad, after all.

Minho feels stupid.

This has become a constant in his life.

He had always thought of himself as a logical person. Programming had taught him that everything is predictable and fixable if you work on it hard enough. A broken code? It may take him six hours of staring at the computer to figure out it was nothing but a missing semicolon, but he will get there in the end. It was annoying and frustrating, but it was always something easily fixed.

He thought love was like that. It had always been like that with him.

Until he fell for you.

Minho was coming to terms with the fact that maybe love and programming were nothing alike. Love isn’t predictable. Loving someone who is already in love with someone else isn’t easily fixed. He can’t backspace and delete your boyfriend from the equation.

It’s been a little over six months since you two first met. Minho has consistently gone to the café you work at every day, and you two still had endless talks over text messages. You talk about everything and anything, from silly things like sharing pictures of both your growing plushie collections or your love of that particular coffee shop’s lemon cake to more serious topics like how Minho learned how to cook when he was twelve so his mom wouldn’t have to do it by herself, and now his roommates take advantage of that, or how sad you are that next year you will have to leave the house you’ve grown to love so much.

But, whether it is in person or through text, you still avoid the topic of love. You don’t ever bring up Hyunjin unless he’s part of a story you were already telling, and Minho feels his heart heavy as he slowly allows himself to imagine what it could be that led you to hate love so much.

He desperately wants to ask you, know your reasons, and make sure you’re happy with your boyfriend. But he doesn’t want to overstep any boundaries and doesn’t know how to go about it without scaring you. So he never does anything, like a coward.

Minho finds himself coming over to your sharehouse on most weekends since summer break ended. Your countless get-togethers at that house have become a hard-to-break habit. Hyunjin, Jisung, and your roommates are always assured to be there, with Chan joining whenever he isn’t overwhelmed with work or school, which was rare.

Minho had always been a hopeless romantic, always doing things for love that people repeatedly warned would result in regret. This time, it was forgoing visiting his parents and friends back home just to spend most of his summer with you. Despite not being able to pursue you in the way he truly wanted to, Minho still wanted to be your friend. You were still a fantastic person he loved to have around; that didn’t change simply because you had a boyfriend. Although he could feel a bit of his heart cracking every time he had to see you, all while knowing he couldn’t do anything about his feelings for you.

He couldn’t change your perspective of love if he weren’t allowed to love you.

In all the time he spent at your house during summer break, he ended up becoming good friends with Jisung, as you tended to stick next to Hyunjin most of the time. Minho didn’t mind it; he is your boyfriend, after all. At least, that’s what he repeats to himself every night he comes over like a mantra as he almost masochistically forces himself to watch how Hyunjin kisses your lips and caresses your skin or how you play with his hair and snuggle with him on the couch. He also endures the countless nights he’s left your house knowing all too well that Hyunjin would be spending the night with you in a way that Minho can only ever dream about.

Tonight, in particular, Hyunjin seemed to be all over you like bees on honey, buzzing around you everywhere you went, his hands never leaving your body as he pulled you closer to him every time you even slightly pulled away. Because god forbid your bodies not be touching in some way for even a split second. Before he knows it, Minho is downing his third bottle of beer of the night.

From where he’s sitting on the couch, Minho rolls his eyes as discreetly as he can while he watches Hyunjin pull you to sit on his lap on the floor as you all get ready to play a game of cards. He gnaws on his lower lip because he knows he’s being petty and borderline childish. You’re Hyunjin’s girlfriend. Of course he’s all over you, of course he wants to be close to you, of course he wants you on his lap. Minho concludes with a bitter chuckle that he is, indeed, pathetic when it comes to you.

He gulps down more of the awful-tasting cheap beer.

The night comes to a close after far too many rounds of Cards Against Humanity, with Jisung winning more than half of them. His ethics and morals fly out the window the moment the cards are handed to him, as he manages to create the most absurdly offensive phrases known to men every single time. Minho found himself groaning and yelling at the younger boy as the alcohol took over his system. He doesn’t know how much of it was simply his annoyance at Hyunjin clinging to you like a koala throughout the entire game disguised as competitiveness.

He doesn’t think he’d like to know either.

Like every night he comes over, Minho is the last person to go home. He has to call an Uber, far too buzzed to want to sit at a bus stop all alone at this time of night. He hadn’t even noticed how he kept downing his drinks until he felt the familiar buzz of inebriation wash over his body a while before the game ended. Although slamming his fist into the coffee table with a whine about how he had only been given lame cards should’ve been a sign.

As he waits outside your house by the fence, he suddenly hears the door shut behind him and your voice calling out to him. He smiles at the faint slur of your speech and the way you drag out the last syllable of his name like you always did when you were a bit drunk.

“I told you to wait for me!” You reprimand, opening the gate to stand next to him. “Look how lonely you look here all by yourself.”

Minho just shrugs with a smile, shaking his head. He did wait. He waited almost half an hour after announcing he should leave as you disappeared into your room with Hyunjin. He was still waiting, in fact, only mindlessly scrolling on his phone for the past ten minutes instead of finding a ride as he hoped you would come outside when you saw he wasn’t in the living room anymore.

You poke his shoulder, bringing his attention away from his phone to your smiling face.

“Tonight was fun, wasn’t it? Especially that last round when Hyunjin won after being tied with Jisung for the whole game,” you grinned, “Seeing Jisung make a whole damn case about how much better his card was really made my night. Think that’s the first time I’ve seen him act like a law student since I met him.”

Minho chuckles, bringing his attention back to his phone. Seeing your smile and how your eyes light up while you talk about something you like brought back the whirlpool inside his chest, which wasn’t a pleasant feeling any longer. It made him glum to think how a once beautiful feeling had turned into nothing but discomfort simply because he was lovelorn.

He hums. “You must be proud to have your boyfriend put an end to Jisung’s annoying winning streak.”

“What do you mean?”

Minho looks up from his phone, eyes wandering through your puzzled face. He furrows his brows for a second. Maybe you’re both drunker than he’d thought.

“I mean, it must’ve been nice to see Hyunjin win after Jisung basically made us all want to quit the game,” he explains, watching as your expression turns from confusion into shock before you let out a loud laugh.

Minho’s eyes widen, worried your laughter might wake up your neighbors. He gently shushes you, his arm grabbing your shoulder, but your smiling face only makes his lips stretch out into a grin. He suppresses a giggle as you catch your breath, shaking your head.

Minho smiles at you so fondly he’s certain he looks like an idiot. “What’s so funny?”

“Hyunjin isn’t my boyfriend,” you explain like it’s obvious. “We’re just friends. I thought you knew that.”

Minho only then realizes he had never once heard you refer to Hyunjin as a boyfriend, nor had any of the people around you. But his assumptions weren’t so ill-judged, either. You two acted like a couple. It wasn’t so absurd to assume that you were one.

He finds himself staring at your amused face for a few seconds before forcing himself to turn his attention back to his phone.

You acted like a couple, but you were just friends. Minho groaned mentally.

“So, you’re like friends with benefits?”

“Yeah… I don’t particularly believe in love anymore, Minho. I thought you knew that from our talk a while ago,” You chuckle, shifting on your feet. “Hyunjin is one of my best friends. We just hook up ‘cause it’s convenient.”

Minho hums, his fingers ghosting over his phone screen. “Sounds like you’re running away from love.”

He blinks a couple of times as he takes in his own words. He would have never said such a thing if it hadn’t been for the liquid courage flowing through his veins.

You shrug, moving to sit on the white bench just outside the house. “Well, yeah, that is what I’m doing. Love hasn’t been kind to me at all. I have no interest in going after it, only to be hurt again. It’s a movie I’ve watched before and I hated the ending every time.”

Minho bites the inside of his cheek, finally clicking the button to find a ride, his thumb pressing on his phone screen more forcefully than he intended. He felt angry. You didn’t deserve to settle for a friend with benefits due to convenience. Had you wanted to be in that situation, it was your every right to do so, but you were in it out of fear of being hurt.

He felt sad. He wished you didn’t equate your past experiences with love to everything it could be. Bad experiences in love were possible for everyone — even for him, who used to believe unwaveringly that love could never be hurtful — but that didn’t mean it was all there was to it. Minho desperately wanted to show you that. The good side of love, the side that made him put it above everything else in his life on so many occasions, the side that made him crave it even now when it hurt more than it felt good.

And, strangely, Minho felt relieved. It was a small percentage of the chart of current emotions he was experiencing, but prevalent nonetheless. He would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he felt happy Hyunjin wasn’t your boyfriend and, most importantly, that you weren’t stuck in an unhappy or toxic relationship, as he had so often feared.

His ride arrives, and he’s overcome with a wave of courage. Minho would much rather live with regret than with a constant ‘what if’.

Shoving his phone inside his pocket, he offers his hand to you, who looks up at him curiously from where you’re sitting on the bench before taking his hand. Minho pulls you to your feet and hugs you. With his hand on your waist, he pulls your body closer to him, finally holding you tightly the way he’s always wanted to do. He presses a kiss to your head, bringing his lips to your ear and whispering, “I’m gonna change your mind.”

He feels your body shake with a chuckle, but he only tightens his hold on you.

“What?”

“About love, I’m gonna change your mind,” He answers matter-of-factly, “You deserve to feel love without being afraid.”

Minho pulls back from the embrace just enough to see your face, and he’s surprised to find you smiling up at him. He smiles back.

“I will change your mind.”

Minho had just dropped you off at your house, ready to drive around aimlessly until he absolutely had to go back to his dorm, when Seungmin texted him.

Kim Seungmin: hey my sister’s engagement dinner is tonight Kim Seungmin: and i might have fucked up something in the code i was working on so now there’s a chance that you fish 100 rare fish at once 🤪 Kim Seungmin: pls pls do me a solid and fix it before chan sees it and kills me? Kim Seungmin: love you hyung 💚

Minho initially groaned at the messages, thinking of the many ways in which he could murder Seungmin and get away with it. But, ultimately, he didn’t want to go back to his dorm anyway, so he gladly turned his car around. If he was lucky, this would take hours and he would have a valid excuse to crash in Chan’s cramped living room.

He punches the code to the front door and his friend greets him with a puzzled expression.

“I forgot to do the, uh, troubleshooting for this week,” Minho blurts out. It’s the first lie he can come up with, and he hopes it’s convincing enough. Chan nods slowly. Seungmin might have saved him from having to endure his roommates on a Saturday night, but he still owes him.

“It’s all good,” Chan says with a sigh, “I’m most likely gonna pull an all-nighter designing these new characters. Anyway, how did you waste your time today?”

Minho has been taking you on what he likes to call Subtle Dates for a month now.

Chan affectionately calls them Waste of Time Dates.

Minho rolls his eyes, sitting down on his own desk. “We went to Han River and walked around till sundown, then watched the Banpo Bridge water show.”

Days like today were rare, so Minho was happy. Most weekends, it seemed as if the whole world was conspiring against anything he planned with you.

“Oh, how romantic of you,” Chan gasps, feigning amazement. “Did you at least kiss her this time?”

“You know I can’t just kiss her like that. I know she’d freak out if I tried to do anything romantic with her,” Minho taps his fingers on his desk, knowing he sounds ridiculous. But he has a plan. He just hopes this plan actually works out soon. “I don’t mind being patient.”

He hears Chan scoff. “So, you took her on another one-sided date and then drove her home so Hyunjin can fuck her?”

Minho’s fingers stop tapping on his desk, his hand coming down to slam on it before he can stop himself. He lets out a heavy sigh, and Chan mumbles an apology. But, the truth is, he knows his friend is right. Just last weekend, Minho dropped you off straight into Hyunjin’s arms, the younger boy waiting for you to come back in front of your house.

And Hyunjin wasn’t the only inconvenience that rendered it almost impossible for the two of you to spend time together. Minho had to cut most of your dates short due to Chan calling him about something urgent that only he could fix at work, or you canceled altogether because your roommate was upset and you didn’t have the heart to leave her alone like that. There were also times when Minho was too tired to even go out at all, like on the day of his birthday, which resulted in you coming over to Chan’s apartment and eating cheap takeout food with him and his two friends.

Minho found himself dealing with countless bumps in the road when it came to finding a way into your heart.

“I didn’t mean to say it like that,” Chan says hesitantly, “You clearly like her a lot.”

Minho repeatedly opens and closes the code he’s supposed to fix. He sighs. “I like her more than a lot, and I don’t even know when that happened.”

“I don’t want to see you get hurt,” His friend explains, his face disappearing behind his own computer screen. “I just can’t see what will change if you go on dates with her when she doesn���t even know they’re dates and if she’s just gonna go home and have sex with someone else. I don’t get it. What difference does it make?”

He can hear Chan scoffing, although he tries to disguise it by clearing his throat. Minho shakes his head.

“It makes all the difference because that’s not love. I wanna show her what love is, and that it isn’t always bad. I promised her that I would.”

Chan sighs, sliding his chair toward the mini-fridge by the couch. “Agree to disagree?” He asks, grabbing a bottle of water and tossing it in Minho’s direction. He grabs it mid-air, just before it hits him in the face, and clicks his tongue.

“Agree to disagree.”

Minho plugs his headphones into the computer, drowning out the noise of Chan’s pen sliding across his iPad with his brown noise playlist. But he can’t drown out the obstinate thought ringing inside his head, screaming at him that Chan is right.

Taking you out on dates — which you don’t even know are dates — doesn’t really make a difference if you’re just going to go back to your convenience with Hyunjin at the end of the day. If you think you’re just friends going out together, and you go back home at night to the comfort of sex without the love you’ve been running away from for so long, what Minho is doing truly is useless. 

It’s just like when he argues with Seungmin through their codes, screaming at the younger boy in all caps about something that’s broken, even though he knows he’s going to be the one who will end up having to fix it.

Minho’s fingers come to a halt on the keyboard.

Closing his work, he opens up Google and finds the first flight he can to Japan. Almost as if he’s on autopilot, and his brain is completely shut off. He books the flight and the cheapest hotel he can find, using almost all the money he’s saved up to move out of his hell of a dorm. It might be the most idiotic thing he has ever done in his life, but he’s so in love it hurts him. And he loves love, and love with you — the thought of that alone has his heart beating at his throat. He doesn’t want to keep on with these futile attempts at trying to make you see that love is good and that, maybe, love can be good with him.

The truth is, he feels scared. Maybe even more scared than you do. He is terrified of knowing the answer, of finding out that maybe he could change your mind about love but that it would simply lead you to someone else’s arms and he would have to endure the pain of unrequited love until it inevitably faded away with time.

Minho would gladly live with that pain if it meant you were happy.

But he needed to know.

He adjusted his glasses — a childhood nervous habit that returned after he started wearing them more often since you complimented him months ago — and retrieved his phone from his backpack.

He typed and deleted more times than he’d like to admit.

Me: Hey, it’s late sorry  Me: Just wanted to know if you’d be up for a trip to Japan? Me: In two weeks Me: For study purposes Me: We’d finally have the chance to use what we learned in class lol Me: Chan was supposed to go with me but he has a family thing so he can’t anymore Me: Everything’s already paid for and he said he doesn’t mind if you go in his place Me: Lmk what you think

Minho’s fingers typed as his brain came up with excuses and lies, sending more messages than he needed to. He couldn’t tell you he booked a whole damn trip with you just to see if maybe, possibly, you have feelings for him too.

He all but throws his phone across his table after turning on Do Not Disturb. He’ll need to muster up the courage before reading your answer, and having his phone buzz for anything that wasn’t your reply would just be torturous. He felt stupid, would feel even more so if you turned down his invitation. He almost doesn’t want you to answer, wants to pretend he never even sent anything.

Because it was stupid.

But love is stupid, and he is in love.

Worst-case scenario, he’s stuck with Chan in Japan for a weekend while he laughs at him.

Best-case scenario, he spends a weekend with you in Japan. No letting you go back to another man at the end of the day, no more hiding that he is taking you out on dates, no more distractions, no more inconveniences of your daily lives.

Minho opens the code he was working on again, quickly typing out:

// NOTE: Minho will fix this.

#stray kids #stray kids fic #skz smut #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz fic #lee know fluff #lee know #lee know smut #lee know scenarios #stray kids x you #skz #fanfic #lee know x reader #lee know x you #lee know imagines #lee minho #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #stray kids scenarios #stray kids smut

[sc0tters]

Baby Fever | Matthew Tkachuk

summary: on your wedding day Matthew thought he’d get you to himself, but seeing you with his cousins gives him an idea he just had to see through.

kinkmas: day four (breeding)

warnings: sexual themes, p in v, nipple play? swearing.

word count: 2.18k

authors note: can we believe that this is my first wedding fic? sorry it took so long but I think we got to a good place! Matthew is a man I haven’t written for a lot but I love it when I do get to. If you want to read more from kinkmas you can find the masterlist here!

You knew you had always wanted a winter wedding.

The cold had been your favourite kind of weather as it meant you could sit at a fireplace with a blanket over your lap. Now living in Florida you weren’t promised your white wedding, but Matthew found a cabin that you two had fallen in love with. After being together for five years and countless jokes from his family as they would ask how Matthew got you locked down and even moving to a different country for him.

A mere six years ago you started off as his neighbour who knocked on his door early one Saturday morning as you needed eggs to fulfill your pancake recipe. In return for those eggs he got himself a free breakfast that morning and your number after weeks for trying to muster up the courage to talk to you.

Yes you, the girl set on pursuing her dreams was the one who made Matthew a mess.

Now you were sat a few seats across from him as his younger cousins giggled recounting the story of how Matthew was in love with you “hey now let’s not embarrass me to my wife.” Matthew shook his head as his hand squeezed your shoulder “can we talk for a bit?” He asked motioning to you to follow him “I’ll be back.” You offered the girls as you nodded “didn’t know I’d be chasing my wife on my wedding day.” The hockey player mumbled as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders as he pressed a kiss to your head.

It made you smile “what can I say I’m a hot commodity today.” You teased as you two began to head outside where it was quiet “are you okay?” You furrowed your eyebrows sensing that something was on his mind “can’t get over how fucking gorgeous my wife is.” His confession made you scoff as your cheeks turned red “Matty.” You warned as his hands went dangerously close to your ass.

He laughed as he leaned down to kiss your lips “let’s go to the room.” Matthew proposed as you were all staying at the hotel tonight.

But of course you stood there like the good wife that you were as you shook your head “what about our guests?” You whisper yelled as his hand pressed against your lower back pushing you in the direction of the elevator “if anyone asks you can tell them I wasn’t feeling well.” He rolled his eyes pressing the button that illuminated your floor number as he waited for the elevator doors to shut before you dared to lay a hand on your now husband.

However Matthew didn’t feel the same way as you as he turned to you with a grin placing his hands on either side of your face as he leaned down to kiss you “fuck you’re so pretty.”He groaned swiping his tongue across your lower lip as you moaned into his kiss.

You two remained like that as the boy peppered kisses along your jaw and neck “I need to open the door Matt.” You coughed as you struggled to grab the keycard from his pocket.

Matthew opted to behave for a few minutes offering you your focus as you huffed opening the door as you both pushed in not letting your feet stop you until you were met with the couch. He took the opportunity to unzip your dress revealing your white lingerie “god.” Matthew mumbled watching as you stepped out of your dress that was now a mere blob on the floor. Leaving you in your underwear and heels.

What you didn’t expect was that he’d move to sit on the couch before he dared to touch you once more “c’mere.” Matthew motioned to you to sit on his thigh as he spread his legs open stretching the fabric of his pants over his muscular legs.

Your mouth watered as you straddled his thighs “so glad to finally have you all to myself.” The hockey player smiled as you gripped at his shoulders “been yours all along.” You quietly clenched your legs as his thigh bucked beneath your clothed cunt.

His lips brushed over yours “been thinking about you all damn day.” Matthew nipped at the skin of your neck forcing your breath to be caught in your throat “what about me?” You groaned feeling his eyes undress the little amount of clothes you had left on.

Matthew let his fingers brush over the strap of your bra “these boobs.” He began pulling the straps to your arms revealing your nipples that peaked from the cool air that hit them. His smirk looked up at you as you whimpered pinching your lower lip between your teeth as you oozed anticipation “please.” You begged giving Matthew a nod as his lips latched onto your left breast leaving his tongue swirling around your nipple.

His eyes fluttered shut as relief painted his body as he hummed at the taste of you on his tongue. Matthew continued his movements sucking and swirling the sensitive bud until you’re slick with his spit rocking your hips against his thigh. Your chest is heaving as you whined feeling goosebumps prick at your skin. Heat shoots from within you and it settles in between your legs “fuck!” You moaned making him sink his teeth against your nipple.

Matthews lips were plump as he brought his hand up to cup your other breast to equally share his attention with “gonna make a mess on your pants.” You warned tugged your fingers through his curls as he rolled your nipple between his fingers.

If this was any other day Matthew would have watched your eyes roll back into your head as you came by the mere flex of his thigh. But as his cock throbbed against the fabric of his pants and the knowledge that your loved ones would soon notice your disappearance “baby I need to fuck you so badly.” Matthews confession made you moan as you nodded.

Within the blink of an eye Matthew had his shirt unbuttoned and his belt unbuckled as you pulled his cock out from under his boxers “been thinking about your tight little pussy too.” The hockey player watching in awe as you drove the head of his cock over your clit making your body shake with pleasure “what about it?” You groaned smiling to yourself as you let your cunt swallow his cock as your walls adjusted to his size.

Foreheads pressed together as it seemed you both forgot how to breathe. The mere gesture of embracing each other almost being too much for you both but he couldn’t handle it as the first to pull away ���how you’d look so full with my babies.” Matthew cupped your stomach brushing his thumbs over where your uterus sat beneath your skin. It was a topic that neither one of you had ever gone into depth with as you both agreed that kids would be in your futures “how your breasts would grow full.” You began to move your hips as you smiled settling into your rhythm.

Matthew watched as your eyes adjusted to the dim lights that lowly illuminated the room around you both “I want you to put a baby in me Matthew.” You pleaded clenching around his cock at the thought “want to be full of your come.” You had gone off of the pill last month as you knew you were getting to the stage of wanting kids, now it was beginning to matter that he wasn’t wearing a condom either.

It was hot hearing those words fall from your lips “I’m gonna fuck my pretty little bride so hard she forgets her name.” As soft as Matthews words were you knew it was a serious promise when he picked you up and lay you on the couch bringing himself back to the driving seat of this moment. Your response came in the form of a yelp as Matthew wrapped your legs around his waist “please Matt.” You begged as his pace ruined your once slow one.

The hockey player was desperate to fulfill his desires of seeing you full as he watched his cock bottom you out, hitting your g-spot resulting in your moans painting the walls. Sure to be heard by anyone who dared to be on this floor away from the party. It was dirty how your swollen lips and squashed curls that pressed against your back acted like encouragement to Matthew as he laughed “and to think you acted like you wanted to be down there with all of them.” The hockey player clicked his tongue as he shook his head mocking the innocent act you upheld when you were downstairs smiling at his parents like you didn’t have thoughts of having their son between your legs.

With the only response you allowed to let leave your lips being in the form of whines “but now you’re sat here fucking my cock dumb.” Matthew cupped the back of your head bringing you even closer to him as your hand went behind your bodies finding your clit “want it so bad.” You felt your breathing grow irregular as you struggled to focus “fill me up Mat.” You pleaded beginning to cry as pleasure built up in your body.

Those words were like butter to your husband who tugged at your lower lip between his teeth “won’t last when you speak like that.” Matthew groaned shaking his head as your cunt clenched around his throbbing cock “me too.” You stammered feeling the room around you grow hot as your legs began to shake.

Sounds of skin slapping echoed between you both as your face began to contort “go ahead baby.” Matthew ordered as his cock could only handle so much of this before he came himself “milk my cock pretty girl.” His tongue swiped over your ear lobe finally sending you over the edge.

Low grumbles left your lips as you clamped around his cock in spurts as the movements of your fingers strumming against your clit struggled to keep you focused “s-shit Matt.” You croaked out as your vision went blurry making your eyes screw shut as white specks cascaded over your eyelids “don’t stop.” You pleaded finally getting shut up when he embraced your lips in a hungry kiss.

Matthew wasn’t far behind you as his chest began to grow tight but at the moment he was focused on fucking you through your orgasm “such a pretty girl.” He mewled flaring his nostrils as the coil in his stomach snapped “fuck!” Matthew took the hand that was once behind your head and now pressed it against the arm of the couch to keep himself up.

Your cunt was coated with his release making you smile as he continued to slowly fuck you “gotta make sure it all stays in there baby.” Your husband teased as he pecked your lips.

The moment that was so small was full of so much love between you both that you almost didn’t hear the knock at the door.

Key word, almost.

Brady had been sent up to see where the two of you were “I get you’re a happy couple you two but if we could go downstairs and act like I haven’t just heard that I’d be happy.” His words made your cheeks turn red as you were only met with the sound of Matthews laughter.

Matthew pecked your lips as he smiled “down in a sec!” The panthers player yelled back as he sat up straight hearing the sounds of his brothers footsteps leaving the hallway. His hand reached down to your panties that were on the floor as he smiled “you serious about wanting my babies?” Matthew looked to you for confirmation as you placed your legs in his lap “so serious.” You nodded smiling as he did the same.

The hockey player helped slide your panties over your legs and pressed against your cunt “gotta make sure you don’t lose any of that then.” It made you squirm as you thought about keeping his load of inside of you “now as much as I wanna stay here with you.” Matthew sighed as he brushed your hair out of your face.

You let your lips form a pout already thinking about what he was going to say “we should probably get back before they send him back up here.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice as he pecked your lips “would hate for him to have to hear what you sound like when I have your cock in my mouth.” You smirked seeing Matthew process the image in his mind.

Using the little energy you had you got up and giggled “you’re sending me to an early grave.” Matthew groaned pressing his head into the pillow behind him.

As he watched you place your hands on your hips “that’s why you married me Tkachuk.” You spun around and walked to your dress letting him stare at your ass.

Matthew was living, the life.

#ambers kinkmas 2023 #Matthew tkachuk imagines #Matthew tkachuk smut #nhl smut #hockey smut #nhl imagines #hockey imagines #nhl oneshots #hockey oneshots #imagines #oneshots #amber writes fics

[6urin]

HIS MOM'S FAVOURITE! (≧◡≦)

Or in other words, Scaramouche resisting (and failing) the urge to fuck you while his mom is in the same house.

contains: f!afab!reader x bf!scara, pussyjob, blowjob, fingering, degradation, praise, bath sex, nipple play, cumshot, cigarette use, breeding

(* ^ ω ^) : minor writing smut !!

When you revealed your outfit to Scaramouche, like usual, he adored your sense of style. However, there was a little hiccup. "Baby, why'd you have to wear such a skimpy skirt tonight?" He pouts as he tugs at the hem, trying to lower it a bit more in hopes of covering some of your skin.

You give him a glance from over your shoulder and sigh, "It's your fault for telling me we were going to have dinner with your mom in twenty minutes. I was rushing and on top of that, I still had to do my makeup. Why don't you ever tell me these things beforehand?"

The two of you were waiting on the front porch, still recollecting yourselves as Scaramouche's mother took her time in getting the door.

Scaramouche merely narrows his eyes and smiles, "No need to get all whiny; you have plenty more dinners with her in the future to make up for tonight." At what was supposed to be a playful tease made you even more nervous. You smack him with your handbag, whisper-shouting, "Not funny!"

Finally, the door opened. Ei gasps with a smile and pinches Scaramouche's cheek, which results in him swatting her hand away. "It's so great to finally meet my son's girlfriend. I've heard a lot about you, (Name)."

You stifle a surprised noise when you feel Scaramouche's hand harshly groping at your ass. "Ah, it's nice to meet you too, Ms. Raiden," you coyly say, bowing your head. Ei exclaims, "Well, come in! The food will get cold." The second she disappears into the dining room, you give Scaramouche a reprimanding glare.

He simply gives you an innocent smile in return.

Scaramouche walks ahead of you, saying, "Mom, don't tell me you cooked..." Ei hushes his remark while setting out the plates and cutlery. You instantly rush over and offer to help out. Ei clasps her hands, muttering, "Oh, thank you, dear. If it's not too much trouble, could you get the glasses from the cupboard by the fridge?"

Already heading into the kitchen, you nod, "Of course!"

When you get there, you find your snarky boyfriend whistling to himself while leaning against the counter. Scaramouche pushes himself off of it and scoffs, "The way you act like a goody-two-shoes in front of my mom is insane. If only she knew how vulgar you are."

You roll your eyes and reach up to open the cupboard. While grabbing the glasses, it obviously didn't go unnoticed by you when Scaramouche's gaze lingered on your thighs. "As if your mind in the gutter is any better than mine," you say, walking up to him and pressing your chest against his.

Scaramouche's hands attempt to grab your waist but you pull away and laugh as you return to the dining room.

You thought wrong if the sexual tension were to get any better at the dinner table.

You tighten your smile a little more each time you feel his hands grabbing your thighs and playing with the plush skin. It wasn't long before you had to slap it away when he slipped his fingers in between your legs.

Ei places her fingertips together, asking, "Is the food good, dear? I tried to make it taste nice for my future daughter-in-law!" Her joke emits a not so hidden chuckle from Scaramouche and you glare at him. You play along and giggle, "Jokes aside, it does taste amazing, Ms-"

Ei tuts, "Please, call me mom. We can drop the honorifics as you seem to have proven yourself a nice and worthy girl of my son from his endless stories about you." You blush in pride from her comment.

"Ah, why don't you stay the night? It's getting dark out and I'm sure you and Scaramouche can stay in his old bedroom." Ei's suggestion catches you off guard. Scaramouche slyly adds, "Oh, yeah, why don't you, (Name)? I wouldn't want you to go home all alone at this time of day."

You nervously clear your throat and sigh through your nose. "Sure, I don't see why not."

The moment you and Scaramouche got off of Ei's radar, he initiated a heated makeout outside of his bedroom door. The guy must have waited for this all evening. You tightly grip onto his biceps, moaning into the kiss. He pulls away and starts sucking on your neck, making you gasp out.

"W-Wait, Kuni, we should go in your room first..." When you realized your words were doing no good to control the lust driven man, you opened the door to his room and dragged him inside anyways. You fell onto his bed when he got on top of you.

"God, you're such a fucking whore, y'know that? Acting all sweet in front of her, but she just doesn't understand how slutty you actually are." Scaramouche slides your panties down your legs, leaving your skirt on. He licks the damp spot in the fabric, causing you to whine from the lewd action.

You softly breathe out, "Please fuck me, Scara." Scaramouche tosses the undergarment aside and lowers his head to meet your cunt. He presses his calloused thumb against your clit. You throw your head back and moan, balling up the sheets in your fists.

"That food was fucking disgusting, right? Unlike you, I couldn't even eat a spoonful. I need something to get rid of my hunger, don't I?" Scaramouche licks up and down and between your folds, around your clit and finally, into your hole. You buck your hips forward and cry out, "Fuck, that's so good!"

Scaramouche's tongue repeatedly delves in and out, your walls spasming around the slippery pink muscle. He wraps his arms around your thighs to force them open since you keep on closing them from the intense pleasure. He lets out heavy pants and removes his tongue before wrapping his lips around your clit.

Two of his fingers fill the empty space inside of your needy pussy while you arch your back and let out the most lewdest noises. You instantly tense up when you hear knocking at the door.

"(Name), dear, can I come in? I brought you a towel and some old clothes of my son's so you can take a shower."

In a frenzy, you try getting Scaramouche to let you go, however his grip on you was way too strong. You stammer out, "I-I'm a bit occupied right now, can you just-" You stop to suppress a moan when your orgasm finally reaches you. You bite down on your lip, thighs shaking as Scaramouche licks up the remains of your cum.

"Can you just leave it in the bathroom, please?"

Ei curiously raises a brow but hums, "Alright. Do tell me if you have any trouble finding the bathroom itself, or you can just ask Scaramouche. Where did that boy go?..." The sound of her footsteps fade away and you sigh.

You sit up, knitting your brows together with a frown on your lips. "We could have gotten caught; just imagine if she didn't knock." You get off of the bed, on your way to the bathroom when suddenly, his arms wrap around your waist from behind you. "Hey now, it's not fair if you're the only one who gets fun, huh?"

You give him an eyeroll. "I'll deal with you later, just let me take a shower first. You made such a mess in between my legs." You turn around and kiss him, tasting your climax on his tongue. Scaramouche holds the side of your head and you grind your bare cunt against the rough material of his jeans when he highers his knee.

"C'mon, I'll shower with you." The idea he proposes makes your cunt clench. You huff, "Fine."

You suck on the head of his cock, tucking a few strands of your hair behind your ear while watching him with half-lidded eyes. Scaramouche grunts, "Don't be such a tease, f-fuck..." His voice trails off and the hot bath water the two of you are in doesn't help his condition.

The salty taste of pre-cum flooded your mouth as you figured from all of the teasing before this.

You close your eyes and finally take his entire length into your mouth, not without a few gagging noises. Scaramouche mutters, "That's it, you little slut. Take it all." His lips hung agape as he released soft groans, his hand clutching the side of the tub while his other hand nestled within your hair.

You let out muffled noises, bobbing your head up and down and running your tongue against every single vein of his cock. Your hands encase around his shaft for stability as you increase the pace. Scaramouche seethes through his clenched teeth, "Your throat is so tight, God, I'm gonna-"

He couldn't even finish his sentence, coming inside of your mouth with a long moan followed by profanities. You slowly pull yourself off of him and the rest of his semen splatters against your tits, now drenched with both water and thick, white substances.

You swallow his load and open your mouth with your tongue lolled out. Scaramouche pushes the back of your head to lean against him, pulling you into a kiss. You rub your pussy onto his toned thighs, whimpering and mewling against his lips. His hand grabs at one of your boobs, playing with the nipple and pinching it.

The water in the bath swishes with the movements and you feel his fingers prod at your entrance. He sinks three digits inside of you and you start gasping. "O-Oh, Scara... mmh, you're so needy tonight, ngh~" You start jerking off his cock that got hard again, easily slipping your hand up and down with the help of the water.

When you cum on his hand from him rapidly pumping his fingers inside you, you tightly squeeze his dick, letting him release his sperm onto the soft skin of your stomach. "You better be ready for tonight, I'm going to fuck you full... going to fuck your cute cunt and watch you squirt, yeah?"

"Then you better not disappoint."

But it's Scaramouche you're talking about. He never disappoints you in bed, ever.

He knew that you knew what you were in for, entering his room only wearing his shirt and your panties. Your tits poke through the flimsy fabric, the rest of your skin on display for him to see. "Well, aren't you going to fuck me instead of smoking those cigs all night?"

You join him on the bed and Scaramouche removes the blunt. He holds your chin and presses his lips against yours, letting the toxic air trap itself into your mouth. Scaramouche chuckles, "And you said I was needy." He places himself on top of you and you meekly spread your legs for him.

He tucks his bottom lip beneath his teeth and pulls down your panties, your strings of fluid sticking to the fabric. Scaramouche gulps, wanting to eat you out again but his cock needed you more. It's easy to plunge inside of you with one thrust and how wet you are for him.

You moan out as he starts rutting into you at a fast pace. Scaramouche groans, tightly holding your hips for leverage and fucking his cock in and out of you. You wrap your arms around his neck, burying your face into his shoulder.

You gasp and whine by his ear, emitting a moan from him. "Jus' love it when you make those adorable sounds, baby. F-Fuck, you like that?" Scaramouche chuckles when he feels you tighten around him. You nod, "U-Uh-huh, mngh! G-God, honey, more, please,"

Scaramouche mutters under his breath, "As you wish." He slides his cock in and out of you, making sure to leave you writhing and squirming in his hold. Your pussy releases the most vulgar noises, squelching and tightening each time his dick fucks into your womb.

The head repeatedly smashes into your cervix, causing tears of both pain and pleasure to spring to your eyes. "Oh, don't stop, Kuni! I'm so close!" You arch your back and push your clothed tits onto his bare chest, making sure to grind up against him. Scaramouche hisses in pleasure, feeling your hard nipples atop his.

You dig your nails into his back, your breaths and moans getting louder and faster. You squeal, "Oh, my God! Fuck, fuck, Kuni!" Scaramouche seals your cute noises with a messy kiss, drool seeping from his mouth and yours.

The slapping of his balls against your clit gets faster before he finally cums inside of you. You orgasm at the same time, letting out shaky sighs and mewls. Scaramouche moans, "Mmh, baby," He lays you onto the bed and continues to kiss you, all the while keeping his cock snug inside of your walls.

His cum pours from your cunt as he pulls out, but he's quick to scoop it up and finger it back inside you. You, who's still sensitive from the intense climax, clutch onto his wrist, whimpering, "K-Kuni, don't-" You're cut off with your own moan, his fingers curling inside of you.

"Gotta keep it in there, sweetheart. My mom's always telling me how her grandkids would look beautiful when you end up being my wife," Scaramouche playfully bites on your lower lip and you huff. "When? It's a promise now and you better keep it," you say, burying your hand in his hair.

Scaramouche chuckles and slides his hand up your shirt to fondle your breast while his other hand continues to pump his fingers in your soaked pussy. You quietly whine, resting your head on the pillows. He lays next to you while touching your body up, his gaze admiring your lewd expressions.

You gradually fall asleep to him fucking the energy out of you with his fingers still inside of your sopping cunt. When he notices you're unconscious, Scaramouche removes his hand from your chest and pulls up your shirt. He peppers kisses all over your plush skin before wrapping his mouth around one of your nipples.

He bites and sucks on the bud and finally takes his fingers out of you to fidget with your other nipple. You rub your thighs together in your sleep, gasping and putting one of your hands in his hair. You tightly grip a fistful of his cerulean locks, awakening from your short slumber.

With sleepy looking eyes, you release a soft moan. Scaramouche looks at you and his gaze is absolutely glazed over with a new-found lust. He releases his lips from your nipple with a string of saliva and licks on the areola around the mound. "Ready for the next round?"

Suddenly, Ei's voice calls from the room next to his.

"Scaramouche, I didn't raise you to be a horndog! Go take out the garbage!"

#purin writes :3 #afab reader #female reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche smut #genshin smut #genshin fanfiction #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #scaramouche imagines #scaramouche fanfiction #scaramouche fanfic

[thinkwosolife23]

The Set-up, Leah Williamson

In Y/N's POV:

"You expect me to do what!"

Okay, let's rewind a bit.

I'm Y/N Steinfeld. Yes, it just so happens that my older sister is Hailee Steinfeld. And, it also just so happens that i'm a singer, just like her.

I never did the acting like Hailee has, my main focus has always been my music. I've always done really well with my music. So at the end of this year, I start my very first World Tour. After 5 number 1 singles and a number 1 album, it made sense for a World Tour to be my next step.

However, unbeknown to me, my agent had other plans.

And this is where it all begins.

Somehow, i've ended up on a plane, with my sister and agent, flying from America to England.

2 weeks ago:

The phone call:

Me and Hailee were currently sat in our shared studio; just messing around with different tracks, when my phone rang.

"Hello?" I said when I answered the phone.

"Hi Y/N, it'a Nick." My agent answers.

"Oh, is everything okay?"

"Yes. Well, sort of." He sounded hesitant, almost nervous.

Hailee glanced at me with a questioning look, to which I just shrugged my shoulders at. I was as confused as she was.

"Y/N, I need you to hear me fully out on this okay." He continued.

"I'm not gonna like this, am I?" I could feel myself getting more fustrated at his ominious answers.

"So, as you know, we need to get as much publicity around you as we can before your tour."

"Yeah? Can you just get to the point Nick!"

"Right. Yeah, sure. Me and another agent have been in contact over the past couple of weeks regarding your publicty and we've come up with a plan to heavily boost your publicity." Nick told me, still hesitant to finish.

"And what is this plan?" By this point, my patience running thin. Hailee always knew when I was getting fustrated at something, and gently took ahold of my hand, trying to calm me down.

"Long story short, we are basically planning to stage a relationship. However, it is required of you to be in England for this, so your going to have to fly out."

"You expect me to do what?"

"Y/N, your tour is in jepardy if your don't do this." His voice becoming firmer as he spoke.

"What! So your telling me, that if I don't do this stupid publicity stunt, that I won't be able to go on MY tour. Do you know how fucked up that is?" Anger and fustration now, completely getting the best of me.

"Your flight is booked for 2 weeks from today. You and Leah will be expected in a meeting the day after you land." He answered, not even acknowledging my arguement.

"Leah? Who's Leah?"

"Leah Williamson. She has just captained the England Women's Team to winning the European Championship. Obviously, winning the Euros has brought a lot of attention to her name. Hense, why she is the option we have goe with."

"Right, so, an arrogant, cocky footballer. How lovely."

To say that I was angry would be an understatement. My hands running through my hair in fustration as Hailee pulled my phone from my hold.

"Nick, it's Hailee. I think it's best if you finish this conversation another time. You've clearly upset her, so I would leave her alone for now."

I couldn't hear Nick's response to Hailee. But after a couple of minutes the phone call ended.

Hailee placed herself down, next to me, wrapping her arms around me. Tears now flooding down my face in fustration and realisation of having to leave my country, let alone home, for someone I don't even know.

"Sis, look at me. Whatever it is, we'll get through it." She told me, grabbing my chin to look at her.

"He's making me go to England for some stupid footballer."

"Wait, woah. Calm down, he's making you do what?"

"I've got to go to England. They want to stage a relationship between me and this Leah, to basically bring more attention to me for my tour. But he told me, that if I don't do it, my tour could be cancelled." I told her, through stuttered breaths.

"Right, okay. So, this Leah girl, she hot or no?"

"Hailee, you can't say that." I said, laughing slightly at her outburst.

"Why not? Only the best for my sister. And I made you smile."

Back to now.

Me and Hailee have just arrived, with Nick, for the meeting with Leah and her agent.

We were there before them, so we were already sat and waiting by the time they got there.

Oh Shit. That's Leah.

She fucking gorgeous.

Fuck Me.

Right Y/N, get yourself out of them thoughts. Your not actually supposed to fancy her.

"Hey, i'm Leah." She said, as she got to me, holding her hand out for me to shake.

"I'm Y/N." I took her hand in mine, giving it a squeeze before quickly smiling at her and gently letting her hand go.

Her hands. God, there so soft.

After all the introductions, and everyone meeting each other. All 5 of us sat back down at the table.

We had to listen to our agents bang on about how this plan was supposed to work and what me and Leah had to do to make it believable. They spoke for a good half an hour. I hope they don't expect me to remember all of that.

Leah was sat opposite me. She kept pulling faces and rolling her eyes when either one of the agents were talking. making sure only I saw her doing it, it made me smile back at her before putting my head down so I didn't laugh out loud.

"Right, I think that's everything. We'll leave you two to get to know each other." Nick said, which pulled me out of my thoughts.

Nick, Hailee and Leah's agent all left the table, heading towards another room, leaving me and Leah alone in ther room.

"So…" I said, kind of akwardly. Not really knowing what to say.

"I've followed you for ages, y'know." Leah told me, after another couple minutes of silence.

"You have?"

"Yeah, I love your music. My teammates do too, but they always complain that I play your songs a slight bit too much, before and after matches."

"Your making me feel bad now." I told her, feeling kind of guilty.

"Why? What did I do?"

"No, no. You didn't do anything. I just, when I got told about all of this and you, I didn't really know who you were. Football has never really been my thing."

"Well, at least you say football and not stupid soccer. And hold up, your telling me that you've never watched or been to a football match." Leah said shocked, jokingly clutching her chest.

"No."

"Well, that's definatly gonna have to change. You'll have to come and watch me play."

"You want me to come and watch one of your games."

"Yeah, course."

Her hand reached out for mine, across the table, mine going straight into hers as if it was normal. It felt comfortable, almost natural for us.

"You know, I don't want this whole thing to be all contract and serious. I want us to be comfortable with each other and for us to be able to have fun. The least I want is a friend by the time it's all over."

Maybe this won't be as bad as I thought it would be.

INSTAGRAM

y/n.steinfeld added to story

#woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics #arsenal wfc #leah williamson #arsenal women #awfc #lionesses #engwnt #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson x you

[httpwintersoldier]

『 hate fuck. || bucky barnes x reader 』

pairing: Bucky x f!reader words: medium summary: having sex with someone you love was good, but having sex with someone you hated was even better.

A/N: this takes place in a universe where Steve didn't make the dumbass choice of going back in time and staying there.

You became friends with Steve Rogers when you decided to join a help group for people who had lost their loved ones during the snap. You had lost all of your family, and in a way, so did Steve.

Your loss served as a way to bond, and you became great friends over time. Although it didn't fill the constant sense of emptiness, having each other's company and comfort made it a lot easier to cope.

The two of you would often sit over coffee and go on and on for hours, sharing stories about the people you loved and had lost. It kept the memory of them alive and made the pain a little easier to bear.

You learned that Steve's family had died long before he had even become Captain America, and his only family was Bucky Barnes - a.k.a the man who used to be the Winter Soldier.

The man spoke so highly of his best friend that you couldn't help but imagine the kindest, funniest, best person in the world.

So it came to you as a shock when, 5 years after Thanos visited Earth, everyone came back and Steve finally introduced you to Bucky, and you hated him. Not only that, he hated you too. You couldn't stand each other.

The air was heavy and tense in every room you shared, and everyone caught the very obvious hateful stares you sent each other's way.

It confused Steve. You didn't have a major disagreement, and neither of you were the type of person to just pick a fight with people out of the blue, so the reason why you were constantly at each other's throats was a head scratcher for Steve.

He did try his best to have you two hang out and get to know each other, but it just resulted in an awkward, angry mess every time.

The reason for your shared hate was stupid and childish.

It was mostly jealousy over Steve's friendship. When Bucky came back and saw how close you two were, he felt somewhat replaced, and he didn't like the way you walked around like you were Steve Rogers' best friend. You, on the other hand, didn't like the way Bucky looked at you and the way he dismissed your and Steve's friendship as if it wasn't worth anything.

However, neither of you would admit to being jealous of the other.

"Bucky I'm begging you, behave." Steve asked, hands placed on his best friend's shoulders as he looked into the man's eyes.

"Why am I the one getting the warning!? She's as much to blame Steve." Bucky argued, pulling away from his friend's grip to restock the fridge with beer.

Steve placed his hands on his hips and sighed.

"Fine, whatever. Just... don't add fuel to the fire."

The Avengers were having a get-together at the compound, and Steve knew how much you wanted to meet Thor, so he had invited you over to hang out with them. The man didn't even think about the tense atmosphere it might ensue until he saw Bucky's face twist in disgust when he heard his best friend tell the others he had invited someone else.

When the time came and you came into the compound dressed in semi-fancy attire, you could feel a pair of eyes burning into the back of your skull. You knew it was Bucky, and chose to ignore it out of respect for Steve.

You introduced yourself to everyone, and you were visibly shy, standing before some of the strongest people in the universe.

"No need to be shy, miss Y/N. We are all like you! Well, I am a god, but the others are like you." Thor said, as he tried to make you feel more comfortable, and you smiled shyly.

You took a seat next to Steve, and not long after Bucky came into the room. He looked around for a seat, and luck certainly wasn't on your side, as the only vacant space was next to you.

He audibly sighed and took the seat.

"You can always stand." You said, under your breath, so only he would hear it.

Bucky ignored you, Steve's request to "behave" playing on his head over and over again, but you knew he heard you from the way his body tensed.

"So Y/N, how did you meet Steve?" Wanda asked, trying to get you to open up more.

"We met in one of those group meetings to help people who've lost someone to the snap, he helped me big time." You explained, smiling at Steve.

"So it's been what? Five years since you met? You must be like best friends now." Bruce said with a smile, finding your friendship cute.

Upon hearing those words, Bucky scoffed.

"Best friend? She wishes."

"I've been around more than you have."

You didn't want to reply to him, you didn't want to stoop to his level, but the reply came out of you automatically.

"I was physically unavailable 'cause I was snapped." Bucky argued, turning his body to face you.

Steve buried his face in his hands and sighed, as if saying "here we go", as the rest of the Avengers just looked confused.

"Bucky and Y/N don't get along... at all." Steve explained, brreaking the awkward silence and tension.

"Why?" Bruce dared to ask, his curiosity not getting the hint to leave the subject alone.

"If you have a conversation with her you'll understand why."

"I'd say the same but you're the most antisocial person I've ever met. You couldn't hold a conversation to save your life." You retorted instantly.

Pure hatred, disgust and anger were displayed on your faces as you engaged in what seemed like the most intense staring contest.

"Guys, please calm down, this is the first time we've all been together since everyone came back, let's all just take it down a notch and have a good time, okay?" Steve said, looking between the two of you, practically begging with his eyes.

"Whatever, I'm gonna get some air." Bucky said as he downed his beer and left the room.

Steve felt bad, but he also felt that leaving the room would probably be best for Bucky, as you two couldn't be in the same space together at that time without bickering, and you didn't know the compound well to go around and blow off some steam.

Some of the tension immediately died down, and soon after the group went back to the regular conversation, sharing stories, remembering old times, and bonding again over their experiences.

Since you were drinking, it wasn't long before you needed to use the bathroom.

"Steve?" You asked, tapping the man's shoulder.

He turned to look at you, focusing on what you had to say.

"Where's the bathroom?" You asked in a hushed voice.

"You go through there," Steve started, pointing at a hallway behind you "make a right, and it's the third door on your left."

You thanked the man and excused yourself from the room, although everyone else was too engaged in the conversation to notice.

After going to the bathroom, your mind was too distracted thinking about how lucky you were to be sitting and laughing with the Avengers to realize that you had gone the wrong way, and when you came back down to earth you registered that you had no fucking idea where you were and how to get back to the common area.

"Shit..." You said, looking around and wandering about as you attempted to find yourself.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

You recognized the voice that echoed behind you instantly. How could you not, it triggered you every single time.

You turned around to find Bucky, standing there in his usual "I'm better than everyone" with arms crossed and a raised eyebrow.

"I just love walking around and staring at walls and doors that all look the same." You said with an insincere smile, causing Bucky to roll his eyes.

You resumed your hunt for the area where everyone was gathered, but the soldier caught up to you and stood in your way.

"You're lost, aren't you?" He had this smile of amusement on his face.

The man was just waiting for you to admit it, so he could make fun of you for it.

"Bucky get the fuck out of my way, you're so annoying I don't know what could've possessed Steve to be your friend."

You shoved him as you said that, attempting to get past the Soldier. But apparently your comment set him off, as he grabbed your arm and pressed you against the wall. The soldier's face was centimetres away from yours, his jaw was clenched and eyes displaying a plethora of emotions you couldn't even begin to describe.

"You're out of your fucking mind if you think for a second that Steve would somehow prefer being with you than with me. I'm his brother, you were just a replacement while I wasn't back."

You scoffed and tried to shake him away, but to no avail.

"Is that why your panties are always in a twist when I'm around? You're jealous?" You teased, knowing fully well you were stepping into dangerous territory.

Bucky's grip went from his regular hand holding your arm to his bionic hand gripping your jaw, pinning it against the wall.

"Listen here princess, there's nothing to be jealous about. If you think I'd ever feel something other than disgust about someone as useless as you, then you're dead wrong. You mean nothing to me." His face was even closer to yours as he spat those words, hate and anger dripping from every single one.

"Oh and I'm so hurt by your words, will I ever get over it?" You asked sarcastically, bottom lip pouting and fake sadness displayed in your face.

"Shut the fuck up, I'm so fucking tired of hearing you bitch all the time." Bucky's voice was just above a growl, and it intimidated you beyond belief, but you'd never show it.

"Shut me up then."

Bucky opened the door next to you and shoved you inside, then slamming the door closed.

His bionic hand wrapped around your neck and brought you closer, your body crashing against his.

"I'm gonna shut you up alright, I'm gonna fuck you dumb so you stop running that little bitchy mouth of yours." Bucky told you, switching the tension in the room immediately.

"You're doing a whole lot of talking and not a lot of fucking."

"You're such a fucking brat" The soldier growled, pushing you against the wall and violently smashing his lips against yours.

The kiss was rough. No, it was animalistic. Your heads moving from side to side as you fought with your tongues for dominance, teeth clashing and hands all over each other, with lip and neck bites here and there.

Your hands tugged on his hair, and your thigh sneaked in between his legs, rubbing against his growing boner.

Bucky, on the other hand, squeezed all of your curves - your waist, your hips, your thighs and your ass. Any piece of flesh he could get his hands on, he'd squeeze and slap.

Unbeknownst to each other, you had also turned that moment into a competition, and you were desperately trying to make each other moan, as if the blatant display of pleasure from the other party was a trophy, as if it was a confirmation of submission.

In traditional Bucky fashion, he grew impatient, and decided to play dirty. As he mantained one hand on your ass, the other sneaked in between your bodies and undid your pants' button and zipper. Before you could protest, his hand found its way inside of your panties, and two of his fingers pushed inside of you.

"Shit- fuck!" You cursed as you pulled away from the kiss and gripped his shoulders, not being able to contain the ecstasy his touch made you feel anymore.

"So wet for me, doll." Bucky teased, whispering in your ear "Are you sure you hate me? Maybe you just really wanted to fuck me all this time."

He bit your earlobe and you groaned, out of pleasure and frustration. You wanted to complain and shoot back a snarky remark, but fuck the way his fingers filled you up and stretched you out was so delicious that you just couldn't.

"Fuck... you." You managed to say between deep breaths, as your head hit the wall.

Bucky slapped your ass harshly, and attacked your neck with small bites as a punishment (that you definitely wanted more of).

Your back started arching as your climax approached. You weren't sure if it was because it was Bucky or if it was because you were fucking in the middle of a party, but your climax approached extremely fast. And Bucky could tell.

He could very well tell you were about to cum from the way your eyes shut, your back arched and the way your hips desperately started grinding on his fingers begging for more.

So he picked up the pace, right before pulling his fingers out, and licking them clean in front of you.

"You fucking asshole." You said, out of breath, looking at him through your lashes.

"Sticks and stones princess."

You began getting on your knees, when Bucky gripped your neck and got you back up.

"Oh how cute, you thought I'd give you the chance to do the same to me? How stupid do you think I am?" He cooed mockingly, then approaching his face to yours "I own you. I control you and I will use you as I please. Got it?"

Although his tone was aggressive and intimidating, and his eyes expressed a mix of lust and seriousness, you'd never let him win at this mind game.

"Fat fucking chance, asshole."

The man picked you up, swung you over his shoulder and carried you to the bed, slapping your ass harshly before letting you fall on the mattress. He pulled down your pants, as well as your underwear and discarded of them.

Bucky then hovered over you and looked at you threateningly, the thing he seemed to be best at.

"You're such a fucking brat... I'm gonna love to destroy you."

You didn't realize he had pulled his cock out by the time he finished the sentence, and just as you were going to say something, he bottomed inside you.

The fucker had timed it perfectly to shut you up with his cock, and you knew it. You knew it because as you looked at him through half lidded eyes you could see his smile, a smile that said "I win" as his tongue poked against the inside of his cheek.

"What's that princess? Wanted to say something? Go ahead. Say it."

He knew you couldn't. Bucky was perfectly aware that you couldn't speak because he promised to fuck you dumb and he was achieving it.

The way he held you down with one hand on your hips and one around your neck, his hips incessantly snapping against yours at a pace you had no idea was even possible.

All could manage to leave your lips were moans and incoherent swear words that you yourself couldn't put together.

"That's it, doll, you look so good like this, taking my cock." Bucky's voice then darkened "I'm going to fuck the brat out of you no matter how many times it takes."

Bucky was loving it. Seeing you be so submissive in front of him, moaning and whimpering as you took him all in... It took all his strenght not to cum quickly, but he wanted to see you cum first. He wanted to see how good you looked as you came, knowing he (the person you hated most) was the reason you were climaxing.

As soon as your hands gripped the sheets and your back arched once more, Bucky knew you were close.

"That's it doll, cum for me. Cum on my cock princess, I want to see how good you look." He said, breathless.

It wasn't long before you obeyed his command.

"Fuck, Bucky!" You yelled as your climax hit, your legs trembled and your eyes saw stars.

Your mind went blank, and you could swear you had passed out for a second.

The soldier finally let go, buried himself deep inside of you and came, as he groaned and gripped your hips tigther.

When he pulled out, he fell beside you on the bed, trying to regain his breath like you.

No words were exchanged, you simply stood up and put your clothes back on and the man followed suit.

You made your way to the door and opened it, before stopping and stealing one last look at Bucky.

"This was the first and last time."

The man chuckled, paused and stood up, walking up to you until his chest was against your back and his hands on your hips.

"Sure thing princess, lie to yourself all you want, but you can't lie to me, you'll be back. I saw how desperate and wwet you were for my cock."

You felt the heat in your body rise, and just pushed him away as you tried to find your way back to the common area, trying to forget what had just happened.

You fixed your hair and makeup as best as possible with the help of your phone's screen, and once you started hearing their voices in the distance you found your way back.

The vibe of the room slightly shifted when you entered, but you just assumed that it was because they weren't used to you.

However, the belief changed when you sat down beside Steve and he leaned in to whisper to you.

"I take it you two... made peace?" He asked, a little big of hope and disgust intertlocked in his words.

You looked at him with wide eyes and fake confusion on your face.

"What do you mean!?" You whispered back and Steve rolled his eyes.

"Y/N, we all heard you scream 'Fuck, Bucky'."

[TAGS]

@pattiemac1 ; @buckysfirstbitch ; @low0tter

#bucky #marvel #bucky smut #bucky fanfic #bucky reader insert #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #marvel fanfiction #winter soldier #bucky barnes smut #bucky reader smut #bucky x reader smut #bucky reader insert smut #bucky barnes reader smut #marvel smut #avengers smut #bucky x you #bucky barns x reader #bucky enemies to lovers

[qqueenofhades]

Good Omens Season 2: Some Thoughts (and also Screaming)

First, /screams

Second, obligatory disclaimer that this meta contains MAJOR SPOILERS for all six episodes. If you somehow have managed to remain virginally unspoiled, look away now, scroll past, or add "good omens s2" and "good omens spoilers" to your block list, as those are the tags I have been using for all posts and reblogs.

Third, /screams more

Okay okay okay. Deep breaths.

Anyway, so, uh, how about all that, huh? First, the good thing about the tone of the season overall was that it felt considerably darker and more adult, in a good way. We didn't have the precocious kiddies, the kitsch and literally-comphet Anathema and Newt, the so-clever narration, etc. All that was gone, which makes sense when you consider that a) the end of last season saw them reboot into an entirely new universe, and b) the fact that God has gone silent is, in fact, a major plot point for the season. We don't have Her slyly telling us the story, or indeed anything, and everyone is left to make their own judgments and take their own actions. Which, obviously, gets them into a lot of trouble, especially when Metatron (the Voice of God, aka someone acting in the belief that they're speaking for God and therefore doing terrible harm) swoops in with the ultimate buzzkill at the end of episode 6. But we'll get to that.

The downside was that the main, present-day plot (hiding Gabriel in the bookshop and trying to get Nina and Maggie to fall in love) was fairly thin, felt stretched out and at times weirdly paced, and otherwise existed mostly to get us to That Ending and the setup for season 3. But the ending was so damn good (if obviously, very painful) that I can't be TOO mad, not least because we spent six episodes with them just making absolutely no pretense about the whole thing being as incredibly homosexual as possible. I'll be honest: I did not think they were going to actually, explicitly go there. Neil Gaiman has been so consistent about "your interpretations are valid and you're welcome to read it however you want, but the only canon is what's on screen," which I think is frankly a good thing (not least since the Neil GAYman Cinematic Universe is consistently very, very good to us queers), that I just... didn't quite think they'd pull the trigger. Sir Terry is dead and can't have active input, this is based on a book published 30 years ago, maybe they didn't want to make it LIKE THAT... etc. I certainly hoped, but I didn't really think they would.

Uh. Well.

As I said in my various semi-coherent liveblog posts, I honestly don't think there was a single straight person in the entire season, among both major and background characters. Aziraphale/Crowley and Maggie/Nina are the obvious paralleling couples, but Beelzebub (using "they" pronouns and addressed as "Lord" despite presenting as femme/femme-adjacent) is clearly nonbinary and therefore also queer, and the countless gay/queer side characters were just /chefs kiss. From Job's son making a sassy pass at Aziraphale, to the random Scottish goon with Grindr on his phone (which he then gives to Aziraphale, because what is subtlety), to the interracial couple with the trans spouse at the Pride and Prejudice ball, there was just a lot of casual, unremarked, non-story-critical queer representation visible at every turn. It's like the NGCU saw the bigots wailing about Sandman season 1 being extremely gay and went CHALLENGE ACCEPTED, LET'S MAKE GOOD OMENS 2 EVEN MORE GAY.

God bless.

Obviously, Jon Hamm as Amnesia!Gabriel stole the show (he was SO fucking funny) and it was also incredibly fun to watch Miranda Richardson repurposed as a scheming demon. Nina Sosanya also reappeared as Nina the coffee shop owner, which leads us into the Maggie-and-Nina subplot. They're obviously, wildly, incredibly clearly an analogue for Aziraphale and Crowley themselves, but they're also each, crucially, a mix of both. On the surface, Maggie is Aziraphale: the plump, blonde, earnest, sweet-natured one owning a slightly dated book music shop and somewhat clueless about emotional nuances, while Nina is (also on the surface) Crowley, the hard-edged dark loner who doesn't want to open herself up to people or be spotted caring. But emotionally, Maggie is Crowley: the one openly pining, clearly besotted, only wanting to hang around their crush and do whatever they can to make themselves useful, while Nina is Aziraphale. Interested but reticent, attracted but conflicted, trapped in an abusive relationship with a demanding offscreen "lover" (Lindsay/Heaven) who tries to constantly control and shame them without ever offering much, if anything in return. By the end, they bring themselves around to what Maggie/Crowley are offering, but by then, well. We've got a lot more problems on our hands.

As I also said in my earlier posts, this entire thing has always been a metaphor for religion, queerness, and what religion -- especially abusive, fundamentalist, organized religion -- does to queer people, but they really cranked the FUCK out of that metaphor this season. Aziraphale is guilt-tripped, controlled, and shamed for his attraction to Crowley at every turn. He is torn between his imagined duty to Heaven, in all its ignorant, uncaring, bureaucratic, gratuitously cruel system that he still insists on seeing the best in because he can't bear the alternative, and the chaotic and sometimes grey but genuinely more good morality that Crowley offers him. (Can I just say, we were explicitly shown that the two of them together doing "just a little miracle" are more powerful than Heaven AND Hell combined.) And at the end, he's told that the only way he can be with Crowley -- what Metatron explicitly blackmails him with -- is if they both go back to heaven, submit themselves to the cruel system again and give up everything that has made them who they are: their home in London, their human friends, their reliance on each other, their independence, their own ways of doing things. You can be queer in this (religious) framework, but only the limited, watered-down, controlled, controllable, constantly-under-supervision kind of queer, which relies on both you and your lover "converting" back to the true faith. And if you don't cooperate, they will literally kidnap you, lie to you, manipulate you, take you from your soulmate, and force you right back into doing the one thing (destroying the world) that you never, ever wanted to do in the first place, because in their minds, that is still better than this. It's for your own good.

Ouch.

And the thing is: that's why the ending a) hits so hard and b) is so fucking painful, because of course Aziraphale agrees. He has no conception of being able to defy Heaven on his own; he has always, always needed Crowley for that. In the flashbacks, when Aziraphale is faced with an order from Heaven that he desperately does not want to carry out (such as letting all Job's children get killed), he still relies completely on Crowley to "outsmart the rules" and find a better way. Crowley is A Crafty Demon; that's what he does, and so Aziraphale rationalizes it to himself that therefore that must be fine. Even in season 1, when he really didn't want the Apocalypse to happen but initially thought it was his duty as a good Heaven footsoldier, he relied on Crowley to talk him out of it and allow him to do what he really wants instead. That's their whole dynamic in a nutshell, as exemplified in that scene in episode 2, where Crowley tempts Aziraphale with the "pleasures of the flesh" while sprawled on his back in Ravish Me mode like the giant walking gay disaster that he is. (Sorry, buddy. That beard. Can't do it.) Everything that Aziraphale's existence is, that makes him who he is, that he loves and cherishes the most (in this case, food and wine) comes from Crowley. Everything else is just background noise.

Throughout the season, what we see is Aziraphale increasingly coming around to the fantasy of being with Crowley. He's coy and flirty; he talks about "our car" and expects Crowley will let him (which he does); he wants to have a Jane Austen ball and for them to dance together (oh my heart); he even thinks, at the crucial moment, that the best way for them to be together is to go back to heaven just like they were in the beginning, once more perfect angels, as if those entire six thousand years of struggle and grief and pining and separation and falling didn't happen. And Crowley -- poor, poor, brave, devoted, heartbroken Crowley -- has just heard for the first time in said six thousand years that actually telling the person you love how you feel is an option. Maggie and Nina tell them point-blank that their whole stupid plan failed because people aren't chess pieces who can be moved and automatically achieve the desired result. And of course this gobsmacks the dearest and dumbest Ineffable Husbands, because they can't conceive of anything else. People are chess pieces in the Great War of Heaven and Hell; Aziraphale and Crowley themselves are chess pieces who have been desperately trying to get out of being moved by external forces, but that doesn't change the fact that that's what they are. They don't have volition or agency aside from that which they can sneak for themselves in brief and stolen moments. That's it.

Until, well. It's not it. They discover that this whole would-be war is actually an elaborate ruse to cover up another angel-demon romance, that of Gabriel and Beelzebub. (I'll be honest, I'm 99% sure they did this storyline because they saw the fans crackshipping them, but I appreciate a fictional narrative that values and incorporates its fans' input, rather than trying to constantly "trick" or "outsmart" them or "do what they don't expect.") And Gabriel and Beelzebub get to be together, but only by leaving their world forever. They have to desert their homes, their structures, even their own identities, and never return. And Crowley and Aziraphale are so rooted in their "precious, perfect, fragile" life in their little corner of Soho, with their bookshop and their Bentley and their dining at the Ritz (which they didn't get to do in the end because METATRON /shakes fist), that that just doesn't work. Neither of them can conceive of doing that. So Aziraphale thinks "go back to heaven and try to make the terrible system do some good and take what we can in terms of being together" and Crowley just... pours out his heart. He's ready to fucking propose. He barely stops himself from saying something to the effect of "I want to spend eternity with you." He begs, he pleads with Aziraphale to go away not in the literal sense, but the emotional/metaphysical: to finally break this toxic dependence on Heaven and tell them once and for all where to stick it. And because he is desperate to make Aziraphale understand, he finally throws all caution to the winds and recklessly, desperately, adoringly kisses him, the one thing he's wanted to do for ages and...

Gets. Shot. Down.

Ugghhhhh. I'm suffering all over again. Aziraphale wants him, hungers for it, for them, and yet he's been so abused and so conditioned by Heaven (he's still blithely repeating to Crowley's face that "Hell are the bad guys!") that he just cannot accept that kind of desperate, blind, limitless, lawless affection. He even forgives Crowley for this "transgression," just to really twist the knife, and Crowley just can't take it, can't face up to how terribly this has all gone up in flames, after he went to heaven trying to find the answer for Gabriel's situation. Gabriel, who he fucking hates. Gabriel, who tried to kill the angelic being he loves (and for which Crowley has transparently never forgiven him). And yet at one pouty puppy-eyed look from Aziraphale and a warning that whoever is harboring Gabriel might be in danger, Crowley leaps headlong into the Bentley again and rushes to the rescue while "Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy" is blaring. He stoutly protects Gabriel; he does a miracle to disguise him; he lets him have hot chocolate and stay in the bookshop; he guards him from the literal demonic horde outside. All because of Aziraphale. That's it. And then, it still doesn't work. Not only that, Gabriel's absence and decision to forego Armageddon gives Heaven the one tool they finally need to take Aziraphale away from him.

I repeat: Ugghhhhhhhh.

(In a good way. Ngl, I love this angst. This is the kind of angst my brain Thrives on, the Thematic Parallel Romantic Character Arc kind. Nom nom nom. But also: AGONY.)

I also need to talk about Aziraphale driving the Bentley, aside from the obvious metaphor of him being in Crowley's home while Crowley is in his. Last season, we had the "you go too fast for me, Crowley" scene with them sitting in said Bentley, which was Aziraphale saying he's not ready for a relationship. In this season, as noted above, we see Aziraphale increasingly embracing the potential fantasy of being with Crowley. But here's the catch: when he's in the Bentley this time, driving it, setting the pace, acclimating to the idea, he's driving his own idea of what the Bentley/his relationship with Crowley is. It's not the real thing. He plays classical music; he supplies himself sweets; he turns it yellow; he drives too slow. Crowley calls him in another old-married-couple snitfit to complain that Aziraphale's messed it up, but what Aziraphale has actually messed up (or will, by the end of the season) is far more consequential than just a car. He's changed the entire shape of their relationship to the one he thinks can make it work, and it just doesn't. It has to be them -- "we could have been... Us" -- or it's not even close to the truth. It's not worth their time.

I repeat: Ouch.

Speaking of the writers validating fan theories, I know we all picked up and screamed about on Crowley's idea of Peak Romance Guaranteed To Fall In Love being sheltering from rain and gazing into each other's eyes, which confirms that that poor bastard was indeed ass-over-teakettle gone as soon as he met Aziraphale (again) in Eden. I also need to talk about the 1941 redux, because wow. This time, the danger comes from Hell, which we see being its usual self: gleefully, pointlessly cruel, pettily backbiting, dirty, sniping, tedious, endless, determined to mindlessly destroy because They're The Bad Guys and they like it. So they blackmail, spy on, miracle-block, illicitly photograph, and try to prove that Aziraphale and Crowley are secretly a couple, right after Aziraphale himself has just had the Light From Heaven realization that he's in love (which we all also picked up on in s1). They're forcibly outing them (to speak of more Religious Queer Trauma) in order to break them up/get them into trouble with their authorities/families. Aziraphale and Crowley manage to escape it mostly by dumb luck, but Crowley having an altogether freakout, hands shaking, barely able to actually point the gun at Aziraphale even in the knowledge that it's supposed to be fake, is just... wow. He can't even fathom the idea of ever trying to destroy him in earnest, especially when he knows on some level that Aziraphale also finally just realized his own feelings. So I just need to --

/screams

Anyway, Aziraphale's entire arc this season is doing what he thinks is the right thing and then inadvertently causing harm and damage as a result. In the Edinburgh flashbacks (live slug reaction of me: SEAN BIGGERSTAFF???!!) he tries to stop Elspeth from stealing bodies and gets Morag killed and Crowley drinking the laudanum to save him (though that part with David Tennant just riffing left and right, using his natural Scottish accent, and being Tiny Crowley/Huge Crowley was hilarious). He invites his neighbors to a Pride and Prejudice ball and makes them all the target for demonic attack. And of course the Job episode: Aziraphale, horrified at Heaven's callous cruelty, desperate not to get Job's children killed, willing to go along with Crowley's tricks to save them somehow, tempted by Crowley to do the fucknasty with their angel bits eat some food and decide that he likes it. As mentioned, the whole thing about God being silent this season is a major thematic choice. The only time we see/hear God is Her communing with Job from afar. Aziraphale enviously imagines the answers he must be getting (he's not, he's baffled and perplexed), while Crowley longs beyond words to even have the opportunity to ask the question: why? Why do this? Why is this your plan?

And of course, this absence culminates in the Metatron, the Voice of God, the person arrogantly claiming that they're speaking for God and know exactly what Heaven wants, being able to seize Aziraphale by the short hairs and absolutely fuck him over. Gabriel is gone/decommissioned/eloping with Beelzebub, so Heaven needs a Supreme Leader (God apparently is no longer a factor in the equation). And what this Supreme Leader needs to do is finally unleash the Apocalypse that Gabriel decided to pass on (the Second Coming). Aziraphale needs to be punished, taken away from Crowley's influence/love, and put back under Heaven's explicit control, so Metatron spots a great opportunity to do all three at once. It's not an accident that the exact tool he uses to get Aziraphale to agree is "now you can actually be with Crowley!" Aziraphale and Crowley have been trying so hard to hide out from their respective Head Offices, but now all at once, there's this seemingly miraculous opportunity for them not to have to do that anymore! They can be together! They can be sanctioned by Heaven! They can give up all this hiding and sneaking around and lying! Isn't that better?

... As long as, of course, they give up absolutely everything that makes them who they are. No big deal. Minor catch. Probably nothing.

Metatron doesn't let Aziraphale have time to escape, or think it over, or reflect, or anything. He pressures Aziraphale to come with him immediately, or be once more subject to Heaven's implicit wrath/destruction/judgment. Believe me, Aziraphale already KNOWS he's made a huge mistake, as soon as he hears what Metatron really wants: bringing him back to unleash the Apocalypse that Aziraphale and Crowley have given up literally everything to prevent. He doesn't need time to reflect. By the time my man is in that elevator, he's well aware of what a catastrophic misjudgment he's made, and yet --

Aziraphale needs this. He has, as noted, literally always relied on Crowley outsmarting Heaven's cruel orders in order to prevent himself from having to do them. He's relied on Crowley rescuing him ("rescuing me makes him so happy," WELL BUB, IT'S BECAUSE YOU ALWAYS NEED IT). He admits to Crowley's face that "I need you!" He hates Heaven's sadistic meanness, but he has absolutely no framework, in and of himself, to defy it. When the rubber hits the road, he will crumple and try to go along with it, and now he's been put in a position where he's going to have to stand up, defy Heaven, and make the break once and for all BY HIMSELF. He doesn't have Crowley around to do it for him, he has no support, he is going to arrive in Heaven and be shuttled straight off to the Apocalypse 2.0 War Room. The only way he gets out of this is if he actively stands up, if he chooses himself and Crowley and their life, and he has to.

The thing is:

Aziraphale has lived his entire eternal existence Looking Up. Up is the direction of Goodness and Heaven. Up is where Angels go. Up is where Aziraphale comes from and where Demons and Hell are not. But now he's going Up, in a position to take over the whole shebang, and it's the last thing he wants.

So he's going to have to come back Down.

He's going to have to Fall. He's going to have to get back Below at all costs. He's going to have to finally, once and for all, understand what led Crowley to make the choice to leave Heaven and never come back. It's only then that they can possibly be together on any kind of conscious, equal, deliberate footing, claim their own agency, reject Heaven AND Hell, and try to really earn that South Downs cottage and that happy-ever-after, and it's gonna hurt so good.

Now if you will excuse me, /screams

#good omens #good omens meta #good omens s2 #good omens spoilers #ineffable husbands #look this probably could have been twice as long #but i had to stop somewhere #I JUST HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS

[personasintro]

Mutual Help | #29

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; in order for you to pretend to be his girlfriend, he helps you with your sexual desires ⏤ he calls it mutual help

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jungkook x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fake dating au, fluff, angst, smut, slow burn

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language, mature content

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6.4k+

⇠ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯. | 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ⇢ 

"Come on, Y/N," Jungkook chuckles, nose scrunched at the distress on your face as soon as you step out of the car and meet his very amused expression. "They're just my parents, nothing to be stressed about."

Rolling your eyes, his words bring no comfort to you whatsoever and it's noticeable on your face. "Yeah, exactly. They haven't seen me for-- fuck, I can't even remember the last time I've seen them." you gasp.

What if they don't want you here? You're coming with their son to visit them, you're practically a stranger to them. No matter how much welcomed they made you feel when you first visited. But it was for three hours, not for the weekend. It doesn't matter how many times Jungkook assured you on your way to Busan, that his parents know you're coming and they're excited to see you again, you feel like you're about to meet your parents-in-law (which is ridiculous). This is your best friend's parents whom you met already. You just worry you'll be a burden to them, even though you know they're lovely people.

"Two years ago," Jungkook responds, "The first time you came with me to Busan and visited them."

You're so annoyed how careless he's taking this, which of course he does, these are his parents he can't wait to see and unfortunately don't get to see that often. You know he usually calls his mom almost every day and they even video chat together throughout the week. Still, you hate how you're the only person feeling uneasy.

"Fuck," you breathe out, "It's been that long?" you whine, ready to smack your face into the palms of your hands but before you can do that, Jungkook stops you and grabs your shoulders.

"For starters, stop swearing," he advises, causing you to gulp as you obediently nod. Shit, you hope you won't swear in front of them. Sometimes you can't control it, maybe that's why Jungkook is warning you in front of their house. "And stop, my parents like you. Jungwon too."

"Jungwon?"

Your eyes widen at the mention of Jungkook's older brother. You got the chance to meet him and hang out with him, with Jungkook of course, a couple of times when he was visiting Seoul or you went to Busan with Jungkook. It's safe to say his older brother has his own charms, just like it runs in the family, which explains the little crush you had on him when you were eighteen. You were at that age when not many guys looked attractive enough for you but Jungwon, that was a whole nother story. Surprisingly, Jungkook resembles his father a lot. He's a spitting image of him with a tiny mixture of features that he got from his mother. However, Jungwon resembles Mrs. Jeon.

"Yeah, he's coming too." Jungkook tells you, shrugging and your jaw drops ready to scold him that he missed this tiny fact and hadn't told you. Something tells you he purposely left that fact out, already sensing your uncertainty when it came closer to the weekend.

Before a swear word can leave your mouth (because you're just like that and that's exactly why Jungkook alerted you to not swear), the front door of Jeon's house is pushed open before a cheerful voice carries itself onto the street.

"Jungkookie!"

There is no mistake the voice belongs to Jungkook's mother, the same sweet and melodic voice you got to hear personally two years ago, or whenever Jungkook calls with her and you just happen to be there.

Jungkook turns to you, giving you a perfect view of his little scrunched nose from the nickname his mother calls him, growing embarrassed but you see the warmth spreading on his lips and in his eyes at the sight of his mother. He doesn't hesitate, calling out to her before they both meet in a loving hug.

"Were you waiting by the door?" Jungkook teases her, obviously knowing how excited she's been to finally see her son after a couple of months of not seeing him personally. Video and voice calls only do so little.

"No, I just walked past the window a few times until I saw your car parking in front of the house," she tells him, causing the two of them to laugh and to be fair, it makes you smile in amusement because there's obviously so much excitement evident on her face.

"Y/N, sweetheart! Don't just stand there, come here so I can give you a hug too!" she calls out to you, hands already waving you over as you smile and make your way to the both of them.

You barely get to greet her properly before you're being crushed in a hug, her arms tightly wrapped around your frame while she pats your back a couple of times. Or more like smacks which makes you choke, earning an amused chuckle from Jungkook beside you who simply just pats his mother's shoulder.

"Don't choke her, mom. I kinda need her." he says jokingly, causing you to snort and if his mom wasn't here, you would give him a proper smack.

Listening to her son, she lets you go but still lets her hands graze over your forearm as she stares at you with wide and happy eyes. She looks good, almost too good for a woman of her age. By that you don't mean that she's old, but she looks way younger than a woman who has two adult sons. There are a few wrinkles adoring her face, mainly beside her eyes and mouth mostly caused by her smiling rather than her being in her late forties. But she looks just the same since you last saw her, even better.

"It's so good to see you, Mrs. Jeon." you grin, giving her a slight bow which she just waves off as if there's no reason for you to do that.

She's always been more friendly, rather than formal and strict. Maybe that's why Jungkook is such a lovely human being, raised by two people who gave him and his brother nothing but love and support. Just her sweet greeting and personality is enough to ease your nerves, and your past doubts about coming here are wiped away.

"It's good to see you too, sweetheart! I wish you both would visit more often," she says, giving a teasing grin to her son.

She's aware that her son doesn't exactly live close enough to visit every day, and he has a job and his own life to take care of now. As much as he's busy and not able to visit how he would love to, he's trying to keep in touch with his parents and family as much as he can. Being friends with Jungkook made you realize and notice that he's a family guy and knowing his family you know the reason behind that is the constant love he's receiving from them. It's understandable and even though Jungkook can be quiet to himself and much reserved, he's a caring friend who loves his family and friends.

"Come inside! Your father will come home later, he's still working!" she says, ushering the two of you to get your stuff from the truck as she's already opening the front door.

Their house, the one where Jungkook grew up, is the same just like you remember when you last visited. Sure, there are a couple of changes with the decorations such as different plants or pictures hanging on the wall, but other than that, it still carries that sweet vanilla and cinnamon scent and looks just the same. When you look at Jungkook who puts down his and your travel bags, you notice the fond smile he has as he looks around. Maybe this is what he needed, to get out of Seoul and come to different thoughts. It's surely better than getting drunk with his friends, now that you think of it.

You're so overwhelmed with everything — even though there's not that much going on — except you're about to spend the weekend at Jungkook's childhood house, you're oblivious to another presence in the house until you make your way into the living room.

"Look who decided to show up!"

Your eyes widen, the look of shock quickly wiped off as soon as Jungwon stands up from the couch and greets you both with a wide grin. He's outstretching his arms, already walking towards Jungkook who seems to mimic his grin before they hug into another warm hug.

Jungwon looks slightly different than you remember him, although he remains to look just the same at the same time. It's hard to describe, but the few points you manage to make before his face is hidden in Jungkook's shoulder, he looks slightly bigger and bulky than you remember him. His hair is short, shorter than Jungkook's right now and now that they're standing beside each other, you notice that Jungkook is slightly taller than Jungwon.

"Look at his hair, oh my!" Mrs. Jeon says, walking to her two sons as she swipes her fingers through Jungkook's thick and dark hair like any mother would. "Don't you need a haircut, darling?"

Jungkook looks at her, looking offended as he gasps at his mother's proposal meanwhile Jungwon cackles before his attention is turned to you. He smiles widely, already enveloping you in a hug just like his mother did, although his one is much more gentler.

"How have you been?" he asks politely, grinning at you. You're reminded of your tiny and silly crush that you used to have on him, which you totally understand now that you're looking at him. He's still handsome, both of them are. They've got some great genes, that's for sure.

"Great, it's nice to change the scenery and I'm so grateful that I can be here." you tell him, hearing Mrs. Jeon tease Jungkook about his hair some more which causes him to whine like a little kid.

"Of course, we're glad to have you here." he smiles at you, before your conversation is quickly cut off by Jungkook turning to you with a bunny grin.

"Besides, Y/N says I look good with longer hair. Don't I?"

You almost grin at his hopeful eyes that practically beg you to agree with him, although you see the teasing glint in his eyes. "He does." you nod, Mrs. Jeon smirking from the corner of your eyes before she grabs Jungkook's arm and pulls up the sleeve of his shirt.

"And you got more tattoos?" she gasps, staring at her son's inked skin while Jungwon whistles in appreciation and eyes them too.

"Yeah, just a little bit. There are not that many." he answers, sounding like he's calming down his mother who seems to be shocked by the sudden ink that's covering her son's right arm. Surely, she has seen the few ones he got the first time but since then, he added a couple more to his collection.

"Oh, my sweet boy. You grew up so fast!" she whines, clutching to his right arm like a koala which makes you smile and gush at her cuteness meanwhile Jungkook laughs with his nose scrunched again.

"Here we go again." Jungwon jokes beside you, walking with you while Mrs. Jeon is too busy tugging Jungkook to sit down on the couch trying to catch up with him.

It's nice to see Jungkook being back home, his childhood home, catching up with his mother who looks nothing but proud of her son and his accomplishments as he shows her some pictures he's taken. Like every mother, she gushes at each picture he shows her while he comments on each picture and what occasion it had been taken.

You don't fail to notice that in between their childhood pictures hanging all around the living room, there are a few pictures Jungkook had taken, professional ones that again scream nothing but a proud mom. To some stranger, they would just think those are the pictures to go with the interior. To you, as someone who knows Jungkook and his type of work, you know it's his.

And even though you're here as a guest, not even once they make you excluded and you find yourself chatting with Mrs. Jeon and Jungwon just like Jungkook does. They're kind enough to be curious about you and your own life, making you feel like a part of the family and as if Jungkook could read your mind, when your eyes meet there's a soft and understanding smile spreading on both of your lips.

Jungkook catching up with his mother and brother is a very touching and nice sight to see, especially when Jungkook looks much more happy and okay than the last time you've seen him. Funnily enough, it was the morning after he got drunk and woke up, flashbacks coming back to your mind instantly.

"You okay?" you ask, voice worried at the sight of tired Jungkook whose face is completely puffy and slightly pale from the amount of alcohol he drank. 

Somehow, he managed not to throw up during the time you both were sleeping. Still, you kept the bucket beside his bed after you woke up just in case. 

Jungkook's eyes are scrunched, barely even registering you before he takes your appearance, seeing you all dressed up with the makeup bag in your hand. Fuck, he forgot you're moving back home today. He can't even think properly, his head is about to burst and his stomach hurts. Noticing the pills on the nightstand, he gulps them down with the water that you prepared for him before he's capable of giving you any attention. 

"Fuck, I'm dying." he groans, plopping back into his soft sheets as he hears your amused chuckle. You must be enjoying this right now, he thinks. You kind of are, it's a rare sight seeing him so hungover and well, you're glad he's not crying and is relatively fine. 

"Don't be dramatic," you roll your eyes, "I wasn't sure if you'd be eating after you wake up, but there isn't much in the fridge. I recommend ordering a chicken soup that could help with the stomachache and hangover overall. I'd do that for you, but I had to move back in and the repairman is already waiting for me." 

Shit, he can barely focus on your words. The only thing he caught was something about a chicken soup and you having to go. 

"Fuck, sorry. Let me dress up, I'll go with you." he raps out but barely has any strength to lift himself up as he stays laying in his bed. 

Snorting, you sit beside him as he cracks one eye open before he pries open the other one. "And why would you do that?" 

"I don't know? To help, I guess." 

There's no point in him coming with you. All you've to do is talk to the repairman, so he can explain what really went wrong and you'll probably have to sign some papers. You haven't brought that much clothes and stuff with you, and you've your own car parked in the parking lot. You're completely fine with going by yourself. 

"There's no need. You should rest," you tell him, "Do you remember yesterday? Or today is more accurate." you chuckle, seeing him sigh as he licks his dry lips. 

"I would rather not," he groans, "I can't remember everything but enough to be embarrassed." he admits, causing you to laugh but you shrug in response. 

"I don't think you've to be embarrassed. Everyone gets drunk from time to time and you weren't that bad, although I thought I would slap you. God, I wanted to so badly. You were so annoying, but funny at the same time." you try to easen up his embarrassment and assure him that it's not the end of the world. 

However, Jungkook thinks otherwise. 

"I'm sorry." he mumbles into his pillow, closing his eyes as you look at him with pity. 

"You don't have to apologize, Kook. I'm just glad you're fine. You are, right?" 

"I guess," he shrugs but that's not enough of an answer for you. "I think the alcohol just intensified my emotions and I just lost control over myself. I'm sorry you had to come pick me up, I know I told you I got it." 

"It's okay," you assure him, "I know you'd do the same if it was me." 

He stays quiet, silently agreeing with you but at the same time he looks like he's completely out of it and barely staying awake. 

"Okay, I gotta go. You should sleep it off and don't worry about me. It's not the first time and certainly not the last time that I'm saving your ass." you joke hearing him letting out a sarcastic laugh. 

"Y/N?" His muffled voice is heard as you're picking up your travel bag off the floor. You look at him, seeing him lifting himself on his elbows as he looks at you. 

His hair is completely disheveled, sticking to every possible direction and if it weren't for his poor puffy eyes and for the pity you feel towards him right now, you'd most likely cackle at the sight and even snap a picture for the future. 

"Thank you," he says, making sure you hear him as you give him a smile. "Are you still coming with me to Busan next weekend?"

"Yeah, text me the details. Gotta go, bye Kook." you tell him, hearing a faint bye from him before you're rushing from his apartment. 

You're already running late. 

You hadn't seen him for almost a week, since the two of you had hectic working schedules but you texted each other almost every day. When it was nearing the weekend, he texted you details saying he'll come pick you up in the morning and here you are right now.

"Jungkookie, I even bought you the banana milk you love." Mrs. Jeon's voice cuts off your thoughts from last weekend and Jungkook's wild night out, causing everyone to chuckle as Jungkook's cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"Mom," he whines, "I don't drink it anymore."

"You do, he still loves it." you interfere, ignoring the glare Jungkook gives you as Mrs. Jeon giggles and looks at her son knowingly.

"I always knew why I liked you." Jungwon says, laughing as you just shrug with a content smirk on your face, especially when Jungkook glaring at you in betrayal.

"Anyways, go and settle in. I'm cooking a proper lunch, Jungwon, you're helping me in the kitchen." Mrs. Jeon says, causing the older man to groan but you know he's just teasing his mother who glares at him in a warning before they both chuckle at each other.

It's nice seeing Jungwon here too. Not because of the stupid crush you used to have, which you don't anymore but you can still appreciate that he's still handsome and ageing suits him. As far as you know, he owns a coffee shop and stayed loyal to Busan since he's living here, staying close to his parents. Oh, and he's actually married. You forgot about that. Of course, he is. Who wouldn't snatch this handsome piece of man?

"Y/N, sweetheart, Jungkook's bedroom is ready for you. There are already fresh sheets and I brought you a diffuser there in case you'll have trouble sleeping, which I hope you won't be having. But feel free to use it." Mrs. Jeon tells you as Jungkook goes to grab your and his travel bags, ready to put your stuff in a place so it's not lingering on the floor in their corridor.

Smiling at her sweetness, you thank her while Jungkook stares with confusion written on his frowned features. "Is ready for you? What about me?" he quotes her, asking his mother who stares at him as if it's not obvious.

"You? You're going to sleep on the couch, of course." His mother shrugs, causing Jungkook's jaw to drop as he stares in disbelief at her.

"On the couch?" he clarifies, an almost horrified expression on his face that makes you chuckle in amusement as Jungwon does the same and winks at you when your eyes meet.

"Yes, on the couch," she clarifies dumbfounded, "You're going to be a gentleman and leave your bedroom to our guest. I hope you don't want her to sleep on the couch." she frowns at that thought.

You're trying to hide a smile because she looks cute and dangerous at the same time while Jungkook shakes his head.

"Of course not," he justifies quickly and innocently, "But my bed is big enough, it fits both of us."

"Yah!" You're surprised by the sudden loud and scolding voice that comes from none other than Mrs. Jeon herself. "She's your friend! Have some decency, ah, this kid."

She pinches Jungkook's ear as he whines and tries to use his height to get away from her, which he does successfully as Mrs. Jeon shakes her head disapprovingly at him before she walks away to the kitchen without another word. Not before she calls out to Jungwon who seems to be smirking and enjoying the little scene that just unfolded, which causes Jungkook showing him his middle finger which Jungwon mimics automatically.

Brothers.

As you make your ways to the stairs, you feel Jungkook leaning towards you as he tells you deeply and quietly, right into your ears. "If she only knew I've fucked you."

You gasp, ready to scold him but he's one step ahead of you as he takes two stairs at a time, but not before he gives you a cheeky grin. Shaking your head in disbelief, you can't help but chuckle and blush at the same time. What is he doing to you? You seriously can't with him.

Following him up the stairs and to his bedroom, it hasn't changed a bit. There are still posters of different rock bands on the bluish wall, and you remember when you first saw them. This room has such a different personality than his current bedroom back in Seoul. It's understandable, he grew up into a man and instead of posters, there are beautiful pictures he had admired ever since he got into photography. His whole apartment is designed into a modern place that makes you admire his choice of furniture and colors. His childhood bedroom is smaller than the one he has right now, it only fits his bed and small desk in the corner of his room, plus a chest of drawers where he used to keep all his clothes. There's no way it fitted all there. The amount of clothes, black clothes he has is just not enough for two chest of drawers.

The room is clean, smells like mint and wood, completely clear from Jungkook's scent which is caused by him simply not living here anymore.

Jungkook puts down your travel bags onto the floor, looking around with curious eyes before he lets out a gentle sigh that escapes his mouth.

"Please, tell me you haven't fucked anyone in that bed." you speak, pointing towards a made up bed that's definitely smaller than your or Jungkook's bed.

What the hell did he mean his bed is big enough for the two of you? Knowing him, he just doesn't want to sleep on the couch and somehow thought the argument of saying his bed is big enough would be okay with his mother. Remembering her glare she sent him is enough to make you chuckle underneath your breath.

"No, I haven't," Jungkook answers, cockily chuckling as he looks at you. "But I got a mindblowing blowjob on it."

Scrunching your nose in disgust, Jungkook laughs at your expression clearly enjoying the way you feign a gag. There's no lie that Jungkook had been famous among girls (and maybe some boys too) even in his teenage years. Even back in the day when he used to have slightly chubby cheeks and a few pimples on his face, which you know because Jimin told you that and you've seen some photos of him from that period.

"Thanks for coming with me." he says suddenly, causing your brows to shoot up before you give him a smirk.

"Nice and smooth way from blowjob mention to thanking me for coming." you laugh, seeing him grinning as he rolls his eyes at your joke.

"I'm serious," he chuckles, "I really am happy you came with me."

Your heart warms at that, seeing the look he has in his eyes that seem genuine and soft. "Of course, I'm glad to be here. Your mom is great, I've missed her." you smile.

"Did you miss Jungwon too?" he wiggles his brows, wiping the soft look on your face in a second as you send him a glare.

It wouldn't be Jungkook if he wasn't teasing you for the stupid crush you had on his older brother. You've never told him about it, but Jungkook is attentive enough to notice the way you acted around his brother. You weren't that scolding and typical Y/N Jungkook experienced and knows. Instead, you were giggling over anything he said and he even caught you blushing a few times whenever Jungwon was just being nice to you.

"Shut up," you scold him through clenched teeth, "I don't have a crush on him." you point out, because that's obviously what he was hinting at and judging by the smirk, he's enjoying it way too much.

Jungkook walks up to you, your features relaxing as a curiosity replaces the glare you were so kindly giving him. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, like he used to at that time he was pounding you to his mattress (or anywhere it was available) and you feel your breath hitching at the softness of his hand.

"That's a good thing you don't," he says deeply, eyes dancing across your face as he licks his bottom lip. "Because he's married and has a kid." he deadpans, ending it with pinching your cheek which happens all quickly. Yeah, you forgot about that kid part too.

You're left stunned, standing there for a moment but you do make sure you rush towards him as he walks out of his bedroom laughing, you slap his arm which he barely reacts to, laughing at your weak strength.

What a brat.

It was around five in the evening, just the right time for the dinner, when Mr. Jeon came from work. He excused himself, saying he had to stay overtime since he's the teacher in a college and had to grade essays before he could come home. Like he said, they never bring work home and he stayed loyal to that.

Even though you've met Jungkook's father before, the resemblance between him and his son is always quite interesting and in a certain way shocking. You could easily tell Jungkook is his son just by looking at him. Just like you remember him, he's welcoming and sweet like his wife, making sure he greets you properly and makes you feel welcomed in their house.

He catches up with Jungkook over dinner as he doesn't forget to praise his wife's cooking, which is incredible and that's why you're stuffing your mouth full. Now you understand Jungkook's constant praise of his mother's cooking. She deserves the title 'best cook' like Jungkook called her.

You're picking up some kimchi and garlic with your chopsticks when Mr. Jeon reaches for the soju and sips on it. "Jungkook-ssi, I'm glad you brought Y/N here. But how's Kiko? Where is she?"

You almost drop the chopsticks as soon as you hear the question, the name of Jungkook's ex lingering in the air but none of them know how suffocating the air has become. Jungkook's parents don't know that Jungkook broke up with her, judging by Mr. Jeon's question and looking at Jungwon, he seems equally interested in why his 'girlfriend' isn't here. They're probably wondering why you're here when Jungkook has a girlfriend, but they're too kind to voice that way. Mr. Jeon's question and curiosity is nowhere near impolite or rude in any way.

Looking at Jungkook, you see him stop swallowing for a few seconds as a prominent frown makes an appearance on his face before he allows himself to swallow the bite. He doesn't look at you, avoiding everyone's curious eyes and your pitiful gaze that you're giving him as you're sitting right next to him.

"We're not together right now." he answers, bracing himself to look at his parents.

Mr. Jeon's eyebrows shoot up in surprise while his wife gasps and puts a hand over her mouth.

"Oh no, what happened dear?" she murmurs, mimicking your pitiful gaze as she looks sad over the news.

Seeing this, you realize that Kiko is not only loved by her friends and everyone around her, but Jungkook's parents love her too. You always knew how important it is for Jungkook that his parents like and accept his girlfriend. His family means a lot to him.

Jungkook's parents not only loved her, but they adored her and were extremely happy whenever the two of them visited. Which was way more often than now. Jungkook's almost embarrassed at that fact, Kiko was the one who pushed him to visit Busan since she couldn't stop talking about Jungkook's family.

"We broke up," Jungkook settles on saying, but you see him gulp while he fights that lump that is stuck in his throat. "But we're possibly getting back together." he adds, wanting to sound hopeful but ends up sounding even more defeated.

"Oh, my baby," Mrs. Jeon gasps, "I hope you can work it out. She's such a lovely young lady and I know how much you love her. You are perfect for each other." she says, almost pouting while her husband nods along her words.

Those words affect you more than you'd like to. Especially since they've this image of her and don't know the whole truth. You're sure they wouldn't be her fans if they knew the truth and how much she hurt their son. It's not your story to tell and you decide to stay quiet, simply and quietly eating the food while the rest of the family seems still shaken up by the news. It's up to Jungkook whether he decides to tell them what happened or not.

There are a couple of reasons why he wouldn't want to tell them the truth. First, there might be some kind of embarrassment of admitting that he was cheated on. Secondly, there is still a chance they'll work it out and maybe he knows their parents would change the way they see her. Even though you're sure they're not capable of hating anyone, and will support their relationship nevertheless if it means their son is happy. It's very similar to the way you feel, even though you feel a bittersweet taste in your mind at Mrs. Jeon's words.

"We'll see," Jungkook gives them a tight smile, reaching for the beer as he simply sips on it. "I hope everything will work out just fine." he adds, but you're not sure whether he did it to get them off his back or really means it.

Either way, Mrs. Jeon nods as she gives her son a hopeful look. "I'm sure it'll, Jungkookie."

The rest of the dinner is much less cheerful than it was, no doubt that topic Kiko has affected everyone and not even casual conversation between Mr. Jeon and Jungwon haven't helped. They do bring up his son and wife into the conversation, saying they couldn't visit because they stayed home. Something about his son having a fever and they didn't want to risk it just in case it's something serious.

The evening is spent nicely, sitting in the living room while chatting with everyone and even though Jungkook seems fine, you do notice the sudden quietness and the lack of happiness he had when he came back home. Reaching for his hand, when everyone is too busy commenting on the current news that is playing on the television, you squeeze it and give him a soft smile of encouragement when he looks at you.

He returns it, mouthing 'I'm fine' as if he could read your mind. But then again, maybe he can't read your mind but he already knows you well enough to guess what goes on your mind.

It's around ten at night when everyone decides it's time to get ready for bed, and by that you mean taking turns in the bathroom because there's only one. Jungwon goes back to home, making sure he says goodbye to everyone. You don't miss the reassuring hug he gives Jungkook, murmuring something into his ear which Jungkook just nods to while he tries to muster a smile. The kind people Jeon's are, you're the first one who gets to take a shower, no matter how many times you've assured them that it's fine and you can wait. They insisted, so you try not to take too much there as you quickly take a shower and put your pajamas on. Saying goodnight feels awfully similar to the way you used to do so to your parents back home, bringing a nostalgia to your heart as you take a note to visit your family soon.

And it's around midnight when your body is ready to take a sleep, the peaceful quietness in the house is like a lullaby. But that's until the door of Jungkook's old bedroom is quietly and slowly being pushed open. Widening your eyes, you recognize the figure almost immediately but you don't even have to – because who else would be sneaking into the bedroom at midnight?

"Jungkook?" you mumble tiredly, plopping yourself onto the elbow.

"Yup, it's me," he whispers, answering your question as he walks up to the bed casually, getting in. "Scoot over." He almost scolds you for not already doing that, as he finds you laying right in the middle.

You give him more space, frown adoring your face which he fails to see because of the darkness. The little bit of lightning comes from the moon through the blinds, but it's nothing. All you can see are shadows.

"What are you doing?" you ask, confusion laced in your voice as he hums comfortably as he's trying to make himself comfortable. He even tugs onto the blanket you're using, exposing the side of your leg as you tsk at him.

"What does it look like? I'm sleeping here." he answers nonchalantly, still trying to find the right position as the whole mattress wiggles and even the bed frame slightly creaks underneath both of your weights.

"Your mom is going to kill you if she finds out." you inform him but all he does is scoff.

"I'm not going to sleep on that uncomfortable couch when I've got my own bed here," he deadpans, causing you to frown again as you shrug. "Besides, I'll wake up earlier and go back before she can notice."

"You're taking my blanket." you scold him, trying to tug it back but he holds onto it tightly as you hear him scoff.

"This is my bedroom." he points out, causing you to let out a chuckle before you quickly tug the blanket back. Since he wasn't prepared for that, you've done it successfully but not until he pulls it back. Fuck his strength and muscles.

"Oh my god, what are you, ten?"

"No," he answers, "But I love comfort and even my own mother won't take that from me. Besides, she did it just because we're friends and she thinks it'd be inappropriate for us to sleep in the same bed."

"It is inappropriate." you point out. Not necessarily that it makes you feel uncomfortable, because it doesn't. But in general, you know where his mother is coming from and you're not blaming her for wanting her son to sleep elsewhere.

"Hmm, maybe," Jungkook hums, "But she doesn't know we slept in the same bed too many times and did way worse things in it."

Your eyes bulge out at his deep voice and words, causing you to hide your face underneath the blanket for a second before you catch a breath. "Shut up," you scold him, "Just shut up. Let's sleep."

You hear him trying to hold his laughter at your frustration and he's sure that if he turned on the nightstand lamp, your cheeks would be red. It's funny how easily frustrated you can get, especially about something that you've done shamelessly. More than once.

"I'm good with that." Jungkook hums, smacking his lips a few times as he plops himself on the side, facing you.

You laying on your back, you mentally groan at your best friend before you turn to him with your back, wanting to cover more of yourself with the blanket. But your amazing best friend is holding it for a dear life. God, he could've at least got his own blanket.

"I'm not fully covered," you inform him, filling the silence once again. But Jungkook just plainly ignores you and you're met with silence that makes you sigh in frustration. "Jungkook, you know I can't sleep with just a tiny piece of blanket."

You love to wrap your legs around the blanket, sometimes use it as your pillow too. Not the whole blanket though, just a small piece enough to plop underneath your head, so you can press your cheek against it.

"Then scoot closer," he says lightly, too innocently. Suspiciously innocently. "I don't bite." he adds and you can hear the amusement in his voice as he tries to say it deeply, teasing you.

You groan, wanting to throw a tantrum because he's being a teasing shit. Although, there's a small side of you wanting to laugh at that.

"But no funny business." you warn him, scooting closer just enough for the blanket to cover your body fully.

You can feel the warmth radiating from Jungkook's body, too comfortable warmth.

"I'm not even going to touch you," he mumbles, too tired to pay full attention to you. "Now shut up and sleep."

You roll your eyes, stubbornly tugging onto the blanket some more but Jungkook's strong arms are already holding it. You're ready to scold him but something about his soft and slow breathing stops you. There's no point in bickering in the middle of the night.

So you close your eyes, now not only the quietness but also Jungkook's soft puffs of breaths that leave his mouth lullabies you to sleep.

#networkbangtan #ksmutclub #ficswithluv #btswritingcafe #bts smut #jungkook x reader #bts angst #bts fluff #bts au #jungkook fanfic #personasintro

[jadeylovesmarvelxo]

Hi, I started reading your stories and I love the, could I please request a modern!slightly older!Eddie x neighbour!reader? He can tell she always excited when texting on her phone, one day as he comes home, she comes out all dressed up for a date but later he finds out reader was ghosted and comforts her? Maybe smut? Maybe reader gets bruises/hickeys easily?

Fluff, jealous Eddie. Mdni. 18+blog.

Request by anon 💞

🫶🥰

Eddie always noticed you. You were his next door neighbour, always friendly to him and he enjoyed talking to you. As well as being sweet, you were also funny and had a dry sarcastic wit that he was instantly taken with.

On a sunny day in June, he was returning from his shift as the local mechanic in the auto repair shop in town. As per usual you were sitting outside and basking in the sunshine, however every couple of minutes you would look at your phone and smile dreamily.

Come to think of it, Eddie had noticed that you were always texting and smiling secretly to yourself the last few days. He was curious at what was causing you to be so smiley and giddy.

He stops to chat for a bit and still feels that tug of wonder when you continue to text this unknown person with the biggest grin on your face. It was stupid but it made Eddie pouty, he was used to making you smile like that.

It didn't take very long for him to find out the roof of your giddiness. After work the next day, he stopped by the store and got a six pack of beer and figured he would ask you to join him for a drink.

Only when he got home you were locking up and he almost swallowed his tongue as he saw that you were dressed to the nines, wearing a dress that highlighted every inch of your body.

You smile at Eddie and grow flustered at the stunned look on his face, "You look amazing princess" he manages to say and your expression brightens in delight.

"Thanks, I have a date". Suddenly the images of you texting, the giddiness and almost shy way you would stare at your phone all made sense, the pieces clicked into place as he realised you must have texting the lucky dude or girl.

"His name is Andrew, I met him at work and we've been talking for a few weeks" Eddie listens to this and feels the swell of jealousy stir in his veins. Andrew was one lucky dude.

"Have fun, any funny business happens then you call me, okay?" He knows he's being protective but he likes you and doesn't want anything sinister happening to you.

You nod and kiss his cheek then hurry over to your car, Eddie watches you go, his cheeks burn with the imprint of your lips on his cheek.

...

Sullen Eddie settles down for a quiet night but is surprised when an hour later he hears the screech of your tires. He peers out the window and watches you get out, slam the door and head into your house.

Fuck, the guy must have been a dick. Making a split second decision, he decides to go and check on you. Anger burns in his veins at the thought of Andrew getting you upset.

He gently knocks on your door and you answer it, there's a trace of tears on your cheeks and Eddie fumes. "What did the fucker do?" he growls, you wipe your eyes and gesture for Eddie to come in.

"He didn't even show Eddie, I waited for like twenty minutes and texted him but he completely ghosted me" Not only was this guy an idiot but he was a stupid one at that.

Your tears tug at Eddie's heart and he pulls you into a hug. You snuggle close to him and lay your head on his chest.

"He's an asshole princess. If I ever run into him I'll kick his ass for making you cry" your sobs quieten and you let out an unmistakable giggle.

"If you let me take you on a date then believe me you would have the time of your life sweetheart" Eddie stiffens as he realises what he said, he can't take it back and honestly he doesn't want to take it back.

You smile impishly and the look on your face takes Eddie's breath away. "Then maybe you should take me on that date Munson, if you're so sure or yourself"

Like magnets you move even closer to each other and Eddie kisses you, feels heat rush through his body as you begin to kiss him back.

He kisses you passionately, moves to your neck and leaves love bites on your skin, then he stops and you make a little whimper of annoyance, glare at him. He trails a finger over the little bites that are blooming on your skin.

"Sorry princess but wooing first before the rest of the good stuff" he promises and you brighten at this.

"Alright Munson, colour me intrigued" Eddie makes a wow then to do his best to woo and make you happy.

Maybe he could sneak a few kisses before then though... 🤭

❤️🫶

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x female reader #older eddie munson #eddie munson

[carlyraejepsans]

I’m wording this ask so terribly sorry.

So you know sans like the back of your hand and can pinpoint inaccurate portrayals of him but is it like that for the other members of the main cast too? Are there any characters you don’t really get in that way?

the funny thing is, as much as people think of me as a sans understander, the other members of the cast being more self-contained and confined to the narrative makes them a lot easier to puzzle out and put into context. undyne, alphys, asgore, toriel and flowey specifically. their roles are so crucial and defined by undertale's story that they almost work like the gears of a well oiled machine. not only are they characters in and of themselves, but with their backgrounds being available to the player and not left to speculation, every aspect of their personality become integral to What Happens In The Story as well.

when you take sans, on the other hand, his character is still so shrouded in lore and mystery that i do NOT doubt i'm also getting a fair bit of him wrong. he's an unknowable motherfucker. i can study his voice, what we know of him, and draw patterns in his behavior all i want, but at the end of the day there's still a good chunk of context to his character that is necessarily left to speculation. of course, we do have a LOT of lore for his character, and what that lore says seems... pretty direct, at least in terms of character goals and personality (he lost some people/somewhere important to him, he tried so hard to go home, he failed. he knows about the anomaly and it basically caused an existential crisis, however his first instinct was still to empathize with it. he takes everything life throws at him in stride because he doesn't believe in a happy ending anymore. he'll hold onto anything that proves him wrong)

you know who doesn't give you anything at all though?

FUCKING. PAPYRUS.

i do NOT get that guy. honest to god. sure, i can analyze his voice all the same, his personality and actions within the story, but papyrus is just as much of a lore mystery as his brother. with papyrus though? we get NOTHING. nada! he has the most lines out of any character and they tell you nothing about him. worse than that, what little info we get about sans' life "before" has almost no repercussions on papyrus whatsoever. homesickness who? scientific background who? knowledge of the anomaly who? sure, he's surprisingly strong and really passionate about puzzle construction. you can read into those aspects, but it's not anything that ties into any of sans' deal. which makes no sense because they're brothers, they got here together! why isn't sans' obvious baggage over his past something that connects them? at this point the only thing that makes sense to me is him being an amnesiac. which ig could tie into the whole "don't forget" motif. idfk man.

but like. that being said i can still more or less track the way he behaves around the other characters, the way he relates to them, his conflicts within undertale's main story etc. that's normal story analysis and pattern recognition. he's just... a bit trickier to puzzle out than the rest of the cast. goddamn him.

#answered asks #undertale #papyrus #sans

[morallyinept]

Heyday Hero! - A Marcus Moreno One Shot

Summary: Retired from his role as leader of the Heroics, Marcus finds that his life is missing something he never really slowed down to notice before, and soon the prospect of growing older and grey alone suddenly doesn't seem like such a super thought.

Pairing: Mature!Marcus Moreno x Mature/CurvyF!Reader (No name of reader. It’s you, bub. However Reader is of a similar age to Marcus, who I have made 52 in this story, and Reader is more on the curvier side in body type. Otherwise a blank slate.)

Word Count: 12.5k. I'm not sorry. Settle in, it's a long one.

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me.”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/Triggers: Some angst/very slight mentions of body confidence/both Marcus & Reader have REAL bodies, and very real middle age spread/coming to terms with ageing & feeling obsolete.

Explicit: Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/oral M & F receiving/fingering - Marcus has superpower hands⚡️/lots of kissing/schmaltzy romance/Marcus doesn't fuck, he makes love.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: After seeing how distinguished and incredibly handsome Pedro looked at the Emmy's recently (and remarkably like an older version of gorgeous Marcus Moreno) this idea came to me. And I had to write it down... It's long for a one shot, but I didn't want to cut too much out as I wanted to really get inside of Marcus's head. 🧠

MAIN MASTERLIST | MARCUS MORENO MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

In the dimly lit restaurant, Marcus fiddles anxiously with the menu as he waits for your arrival.

Sat in the swanky establishment, chosen meticulously for it’s luxurious, yet modest selection of incredibly tasty fare, the ambiance around him is a blend of soft lighting and muted colours that exude an air of quaint sophistication.

The walls are adorned with contemporary art pieces, which he can sometimes get lost inside between courses, creating an elegant backdrop to the gentle hum of conversations weaving around him like a ribbon in the background.

To his left, a couple engage in animated laughter, their cheery faces illuminated by the warm glow of soft candlelight. Across the room, a group of friends celebrate a special occasion, clinking glasses in animated jubilation.

The soft jazz music playing in the background adds a touch of romance, and the scraping of cutlery against fine china creates a comforting sense of familiarity in a place Marcus has favoured from time to time, bringing his daughter as his usual date.

The waitstaff, dressed in crisp uniforms, move gracefully between tables, ensuring that each patron experiences the epitome of culinary indulgence with a first class service.

Grateful that he chose to don his spectacles, he opens the menu and skims the appetizers and main courses, inwardly cursing his exceptional time keeping skills at arriving thirty minutes earlier than he needs to be.

He’s acutely aware of being on his own; standing out as a single amongst a sea of tables where numbers around them are even, and it crawls onto his shoulders to sit there like a heavy, unwanted companion settling in.

Despite the refined atmosphere, Marcus feels a tinge of nervousness swell in his belly. As he catches glimpses of couples sharing intimate moments and friends engaged in lively cahoots, Marcus can't help but feel like an outsider peering into a world that has become somewhat unfamiliar during his retirement.

As he sits in contemplation, considering the Filet Mignon with a Cabernet Demi-Glace alongside a glass of Malbec, or maybe the Châteauneuf-du-Pape, that would go down nicely, the restaurant serves as a swamping microcosm of the world he’s retreated into - a world filled with ordinary moments and the promise of new connections, despite the cocoon of abject terror woven tightly around them.

He wonders briefly for a moment what you will choose to eat as he skims down the list. Then he wonders if you'll actually have the courage to show; his own hesitations and fears trying to toy with him with their insidious little voices hissing in his ear.

His once steady hands now convey a subtle tremor, a physical manifestation of the nerves that have gripped him tightly ever since the idea of this date had taken root and grown limbs of its own.

A journey that still confused him, unable to believe it all started with a simple swipe over his face and a digital message shared between you...

His daughter, Missy, had perched on the armrest of the couch only a mere fortnight ago, a mischievous glint in her deep chocolate eyes that matched his own set of peepers.

"Alright, Dad, let's make you the perfect dating profile. You've got to be enticing, mysterious, yet approachable," Missy had declared with a buoyant smirk.

Marcus nodded, still getting accustomed to the concept of online dating and his acceptance to it after months of Missy berating him about putting himself out there more.

He finally caved when he realised she was right. She usually was about these things, although hardly an example to live by. Several failed relationships later, including an engagement that never led to Marcus actually walking her down the aisle proudly on his arm, and she'd thrown in the towel and embraced single life.

She'd grown in age for a thirty-something rambunctious young woman, but evidently not in maturity.

"Right, right. Enticing and approachable. Got it.” Marcus nodded. “How do I do that?"

“You’re a lost cause, jeez,” she snorted, as her fingers danced across the keyboard on the phone screen. “Luckily, you have me to help you out.”

“What are you writing in there?” Marcus asked curiously, trying to take a peek.

"I’m making you sound like a catch. Because you are.”

“I don’t know about that.” He mumbled bashfully. “I’m old.”

“Being in your fifties is not old. Trust me. You’re what, 56?”

“52.” Marcus frowned.

“Exactly. Young. Now, for the headline. How about 'retired hero seeking sidekick for life's next adventure'?"

Marcus nodded. “Mm, I sound like a sales pamphlet.” He chuckled.

With a teasing grin, Missy continued typing. "Let's highlight your strengths. 'A man of action, but also enjoys long walks on the beach and candlelit dinners.'"

Marcus scratched under his greying beard. "Look at that, I've been upgraded from sales pamphlet to walking cliché."

Missy laughed, "fine, we'll skip the beach walks, then. How about we mention your cooking skills? 'Can whip up a mean lasagna, tower of pancakes and save the day - a triple threat.'"

Marcus nodded in approval. "That's not bad. Cooking is a superpower in its own right. And one that I excel at, if I do say so myself."

"You always say so."

"Quit complaining. You eat here for free." He quipped.

As they navigated through the intricacies of the dating profile, Marcus's naivety about online dating emerged. "Do people really swipe left or right on this thing?”

“Yep. You swipe right if you like the look of them, or left if you don’t.”

“How fickle.” He wrinkled his nose at such a thought.

“Eh, it's what all the cool kids do these days.” Missy shrugged.

“Maybe that’s too cool for me. What about one where I can meet someone like me?”

“Dating specifically for retired Heroics?”

“No. Dating for… something other than a one night stand.” He cleared his throat.

“You mean you don’t want to slut around?” Missy teased. "These are your hoe years, Dad!"

“Hey! Potty mouth.” He frowned again. “And no. I-I want to meet someone who’s serious.”

Missy rolled her eyes. “Dad, this isn’t Tinder I'm setting you up on, don’t worry.” She reassured. “This is a serious dating site for old, uh, mature people who want to find something real. It just has a similar algorithm to Tinder in matching you up.”

“Well, good.” He nodded. “What’s Tinder?”

“Slut central.” Missy smirked.

“Oh.” Marcus chuckled again. “And what's with all the emojis? Ooh, is there a superhero emoji?"

Missy tittered, guiding him through the nuances. "Yes, there's a superhero emoji, we can add that, or a heart to jazz it up a bit."

“I like the purple heart. Can you put that one?”

“Purple? Why not the green one?”

“I don’t like green, purple is my favourite colour. Why would I use the green one?” Marcus questioned, wrinkling his nose.

"I don't know, green is cool. Different."

"I'm not cool. Just put the purple one."

“Purple it is.” Missy said, smiling down at him and how curiously receptive he was to it all. She had assumed he would have put up a bit of a fight and insisted he was perfectly fine on his own. But they both knew that wasn’t entirely true.

As she finalised the profile, Missy held up the phone to snap a picture of him.

“Oh no, let me just-”

“Dad, you look fine.” She groaned as he ran his hand over his head tidying his already neat hair.

“Well, let me take my glasses off.”

“No way. They’re a part of you. Now, say cheese, you uncool old man.” She snapped a few pics as he smiled awkwardly, and chose the best one to upload.

"And there we have it - the profile of a retired superhero ready to conquer the world of online dating. You're a niche in the market."

Marcus simply scoffed.

"Now, brace yourself for the flood of admirers, Dad. Your inbox is gonna be lit."

Marcus looked at the screen, a mix of nervousness and amusement on his face.

"Flood of admirers, huh? I never thought finding a date would be this... complicated."

As Missy finalised and submitted the online dating profile, a moment of hesitation gripped him. He looked at the screen, the upbeat words that described him echoed in his mind, and a pang of guilt tugged at his ventricles making him sigh heavily.

The prospect of moving forward felt like a betrayal, a step into an unknown territory where memories of his late wife still lingered, clinging on. He fiddled with the platinum band around his finger absentmindedly.

But Missy sensed her father's inner turmoil, her eyes reflecting a deep understanding as if she could read every silent thought that churned through him.

She gently placed a hand on his broad shoulder.

"Dad, it's okay. Mom will always be a part of us, no matter what. This doesn't mean you're leaving her behind."

Marcus nodded, his gratitude evident in his misty eyes. "I know. It's just... it feels strange, you know? To be potentially opening up to someone new. I feel so out of the loop."

“But that’s the fun in dating.” Missy squeezed his shoulder reassuringly and he placed his hand on top of hers. "You meet all kinds of weirdos before you find one that's the right kind of weird."

"You're a weirdo." He smirked.

"Takes one to know one," she mused. "Besides, mom would want you to be happy. And I want that too. You deserve it. There’s someone out there that's just as uncool as you are, I guarantee it."

"Thanks," he chuckled.

"I mean it. Whoever they are, they're going to fall madly in love with you. You really are a hero, Dad."

Marcus smiled up at her with rosy cheeks and a warming smile. “Love you, kiddo.”

“I’m not eleven anymore. I’m a grown woman.” She rolled her eyes at the pet name that had stuck, although secretly she loved it.

“You’ll always be my kiddo regardless of how old you get. That'a just the deal.” He confirmed with a singular nod.

With a soft smile, Marcus returned his focus to the dating profile. The words on the screen transforming slowly from potential betrayal to a blooming eagerness through some determined resilience and the capacity to allow himself to embrace a new beginning in his long absent love life with some appeasement.

Weeks had passed since Marcus and Missy created the dating profile.

Admittedly Marcus hadn’t spent a lot of time on the app, finding it tricky to navigate and the constant swiping made his thumbs ache after scrolling through reams of attractive faces that it began to overwhelm.

But he dipped in now and again to check any matches, and didn’t really expect much.

Marcus was the kind of man who harboured that dreamy infatuation of falling in love naturally in an environment reminiscent of his favourite rom coms.

Like bumping into his soulmate in a coffee shop over a foamy latte, or locking eyes through the stacks in an old dusty bookstore, or between the exotic blooms of the local botanical gardens where he liked to sit and have lunch sometimes.

But of course, life isn’t a rom com, and Marcus was convinced his had always been a gritty action adventure with no time for the romantic story line to be weaved into the dangerous plot.

One evening, as Marcus checked his phone, he discovered a notification from the dating app. His heart skipped a beat as he opened the message, revealing a match with you.

A mixture of excitement and nervousness washed over him. He read through your profile, discovering shared interests and a warmth that resonated through your words about seeking a life partner with whom you could share your zest for life with.

Your photo captivated him, namely your smile, and Marcus found he spent several minutes just trying to envision what you were like in person with those gorgeous eyes of yours staring back at him.

The room seemed to brighten as he absorbed the realisation that someone out there was potentially interested in getting to know him beyond the superhero persona.

"Hey, I got a match!" He called out to Missy, who was folding laundry in the next room.

Despite how domesticated her father was, he still loathed ironing and wasn’t really that skilled at it, so it was left for Missy when she visited, which was an almost daily occurrence. Moving out some years ago into her own place across town, she still spent more of her time at her childhood home hanging with her father when she wasn’t saving the world.

Loneliness, it seemed, was hereditary.

She rushed in, her eyes lighting up with excitement. "Really? Let me see!"

As they huddled around the phone, Marcus navigated through your profile.

“Oh, she’s gorgeous, Dad.”

“Right? Far too gorgeous for me.” His voice dipped.

Missy frowned up at him. “Don’t say that, she likes you, look. And look, she loves flowers, you love your garden! Ooh, and she’s a foodie! Perfect match!"

"You think so?" He asked.

"You're officially in the dating game, Dad!" She grinned excitedly.

Marcus couldn't help but smile, a blend of gratitude and anticipation in his eyes.

“Send her a message back.”

“What do I say?”

Missy rolled her eyes. “Just talk to her, dummy.”

He nodded. "I never thought I'd be doing this at my age. But here goes nothing."

Missy playfully nudged him. “You say it like you’re on your last legs.”

“I’m so nervous. Do you think she could really find me interesting?”

Missy's face softened. "Absolutely. You’ve got so much to offer. Remember, just be yourself. And if all else fails, maybe tell her about the pancake towers… That seemed to work for you before."

The father-daughter duo laughed and then she left him to it. As Marcus prepared to message you, he felt a sense of hope blooming within him, seeding with delicate tendrils of what-if scenarios through the soil of his being.

The dating app, once an intimidating frontier, now represented a chance for connection in the palm of his hand, and the possibility of a second chapter in his life.

In the soft glow of the phone screen, Marcus typed his first message to you; a simple yet sincere greeting, with thoughtful follow up questions to get to know you.

As he pressed send, the room seemed to hold its breath with him; floundering in the uncharted territory and all the terrifying pitfalls of online dating opening up in seemingly unconquerable chasms before him.

He could feel his fingers buzz and crackle in giddy excitement, and he shook the pulsing from them as he waited anxiously.

Marcus smiled as wide as his mouth would stretch when moments later your reply came, followed with a purple heart emoji of your own at the end.

The pair of you spent the reminder of that night messaging back and forth until the early hours of the morning, both of you seeming reluctant to halt the texting for the inconvinience of sleep.

You questioned him about his previous career as leader of the Heroics, something that he made no effort in hiding from you, but he was more surprised when you brushed over it and asked him more personal questions about him and his life now.

It warmed him to know that you were keen on getting to know the man underneath the padded out suit and katanas.

As Marcus delved into the conversations that flowed eagerly across the screen, he eagerly shared those glimpses of his life beyond the Heroics. In his messages to you, he found himself excitedly revealing the most cherished aspects of his retired life - his culinary prowess and his love for gardening namely.

Through his words, never abbreviated to modern day text slang, he painted vivid pictures of his kitchen as a canvas where he crafted tasty and experimental delights, contributing to his now less-than-trim waistline.

The tales of him donning an apron and concocting flavours with pots and pans were woven into the giddy narrative - like creating his legendary lasagna and towering pancake stacks - and held a touch of pride and a hint of self-deprecating humour.

Perhaps you'll be the lucky one to experience my famous lasagna one day. I warn you though, it comes with a side of terrible superhero puns and far too much garlic bread.💜

Your response made his cheeks ache from grinning so much:

Well, lucky for you I love far too much garlic bread. And terrible puns.💜

He spoke of mornings spent tending to the plants in his back yard, nurturing them as if they were his wards. The garden, once a therapeutic escape from the demands of heroism, now became a space where he cultivated not just flowers and vegetables, but a sense of ongoing tranquillity.

As he shared these aspects of his life, Marcus was ecstatic that you saw beyond the retired hero and glimpsed the man who found joy in the beautiful ordinary.

You both spoke morning, noon and night until only a few days into your chatting, Marcus offered you his phone number and he called you, engaging in a video call conversation that lasted late into the night and curated a dinner date arranged for just a few evenings later.

And now, sitting in the restaurant waiting patiently for you, his phone buzzes in his pocket at the table and Missy’s name flashes up.

Stay away from anything garlicky 2nite, no matter how much u want it. Good luck! Love u x

He smiles at his daughter’s sage advice after responding with a thumbs up emoji, and he puts his phone back in his pocket and glances out the window.

Outside the restaurant, the early night casts its enchantment over the cityscape of downtown Austin, turning the bustling streets into a reflective mosaic of city lights. The glow of the street lamps create warm halos diffused by the previous cascading rain, warm in the Texas summer.

The restaurant, with its polished veneer and the subtle drama of its patrons all around seem to suddenly cave in on Marcus, and the nerves begin to convince him that you might feel out of place here.

He’s starting to, as he glances down at himself; his once-strong hands now showing signs of a subtle tremble and wear. He smooths down his soft cashmere sweater nervously.

Agonising on what to wear, Missy came to the rescue after his attempts at some mismatched disaster left her looking at him as though he'd completely lost his mind.

And perhaps he had for even entertaining the idea that someone could find him desirable and attractive now at the gates of a later stage in life.

After a brief fashion show of potential date outfits, they settled on a classic and sophisticated choice of a black cashmere sweater, paired with a white pressed shirt and a sleek black tie underneath, teamed with black pants and smart dress shoes that seemed to strike the right balance between the refined and approachable.

Much smarter than his grey denim that was scuffed at the knees.

"Very James Bond, Dad," Missy had remarked, a playful grin on her face.

"James Bond is incredibly smooth with the ladies. I'm more like Jack Lemon." Marcus snorted. "Got that nervous, twitchy energy down to a T... How do I look?"

With a final nod of approval, they exchanged their trademark father-daughter grin; a silent acknowledgment of the bond that went beyond snappy wardrobe choices.

Missy, ever the supportive sidekick, had not only helped pick an outfit, but infused the process with laughter and adoration, quelling his aforementioned nervous, twitchy energy. The ensemble was nothing too fussy, but equally comfortable and smart.

But now he wonders if the sweater accentuates the stomach he’s allowed to grow out of him through not working out on the daily anymore, and he inadvertently sucks it in.

As Marcus browses the menu, his mind wanders aimlessly to the days when the government relied on him and his team to protect the city. Now that gratitude seems to have faded, replaced by a forgotten indifference.

The retirement party was a mere formality, a token of appreciation for a job well done over the years, and soon he was swallowed up in the anonymity of regular civilian life.

But in the quiet solitude of his home, Marcus often found himself grappling with the stark void that retirement had suddenly left behind. The absence of the daily camaraderie of a team, and a mission, left him with a sense of purposelessness that was hard to ignore.

Days stretched before him like an uncertain horizon and weighed heavily on his shoulders. The routines that once defined his life had dissolved, leaving behind a disorienting stillness and quietness that seemed perpetually louder as the days wore on where he was left floundering. And immensely bored.

His daughter watched with concern as her father navigated this unfamiliar terrain cautiously - and somewhat alone.

The strong, confident superhero who had once faced down villains and alien entities alike, and saved the day countless times without so much as a thanks from the general public most of the time, but bore the scars and wounds that weren't just physical, now faced the formidable challenge of figuring out what came next.

In the midst of his internal battles, loneliness became an unexpected companion that walked beside Marcus; its presence more pronounced as the passage of solitude had unfolded.

In the darkest corners of his mind, Marcus grappled with the harsh reality of ageing. The once-vibrant hero who was in super shape, whose every step echoed with the assurance of a Titan-esque strength, now found himself facing the inevitability of a body that carried the pudgy weight of his advancing years and one too many lasagnes.

The grey in his beard and the subtle signs of time etched around his tired eyes, served as visual markers of a journey that had traversed the highest peaks of heroism and now meandered through the sludgey valleys of introspection.

A sense of nostalgia lingered for the days when his strength seemed boundless, and the world bowed in acknowledgment of his achievements and saviour duty.

Yet, beneath the surface, there was also a quiet, yet slow acceptance; a recognition that each new wrinkle and grey strand bore witness to a life well-lived. Overall, he was happy, accomplished; he had what he needed to be content.

But there was still a hole where a hole ought not to be. And it was starting to gape.

The memories of his late wife visited him in unguarded moments. Especially at night when the world was still and peaceful, yet his yearning was abominably loud.

Marcus missed the warmth of her presence, her body wrapped around his, the shared laughter, and the quiet intimacy that had defined their mere few years together.

He would fall asleep glancing at the tarnished gleam of his wedding band that he still wore around his finger, up until his impending date.

A metallic fragment still clinging on with her memory despite its haze, and popping it safely away inside the drawer came with a sense of unyielding sadness as it did with something excitedly eager to pursue a new chapter.

The transition from active duty to retirement weighed heavily on Marcus. The once effable hero, accustomed to the exhilaration of fighting crime and saving lives, found himself facing the stark reality of now being cast aside, overshadowed by the emergence of a new, younger fleet of heroes; his own daughter taking up the position that he once held proudly as leader of the Heroics.

Retirement, in its initial stages, felt like a forced departure from a life that had defined him. The government's decision to make way for the next generation of heroes left Marcus grappling with a sense of displacement.

The outfit, which had been a symbol of strength and purpose, now hung in the closet faded and moth-eaten; a silent reminder of a bygone era, no longer fitting him where he’d allowed himself to fill out a little.

The katanas were sheathed and stored away at the back of the furthest shelf out of reach, and out of sight, and no longer needed to be called into his grip by his own will.

And despite him still feeling that magnetised, crackly buzz in his fingers, it became less noticeable as time wore on.

His team, once a tight knit band of clashing personalities in lurid coloured suits alike, were now strangers in his phone book whom he barely heard from.

There was an inherent loneliness attached to retirement, a solitude that stemmed not just from the absence of battles, but from the realisation that the world had moved on and left him forever encased inside his heyday.

Marcus recognized that the cycle of heroism demanded the emergence of new champions; each generation contributing to the ebb and flow of the greater narrative. He knew and understood he would never be able to keep going forever, nor did he want to.

The challenge, however, lay in reconciling his sense of self-worth with a society that often failed to appreciate the depth of experience that came with age.

It was as if he had become invisible overnight.

Marcus yearned for a companion, a lover who could fill the void left by the passing of his wife. The longing for romance, for someone to share the mundane and extraordinary moments alike, for the feel of someone's bare skin writhing and cupping against his own filled his waking thoughts.

The world, once a carnival of action, now seemed incomplete without the shared tenderness of someone to enjoy it with. The quiet dinners, the walks hand-in-hand, and the simple pleasure of having a partner to confide in rooted a growing hunger within him.

The desire for companionship wasn’t just a fleeting wish; it was a profound ache that echoed through the vacant chambers of his heart, a reminder that heroism, while noble, did not shield him from the vulnerabilities of basic human need.

For your date with Marcus tonight, you'd carefully selected a dress that effortlessly blended elegance with a touch of modern flair.

The dress was a knee-length, A-line silhouette in a shade of deep midnight blue, shimmering with some well placed sequins.

The rich hue complimented your complexion, enhancing the natural tones of your skin, along with a subtle dusting of make-up to accentuate your best features.

The fabric, a luxurious blend of silk and satin, cascaded down in gentle folds, creating a silhouette that was both graceful and sophisticated and hid a multitude of sins that you felt knocking your confidence about a little.

The moment you step into the restaurant your eyes are eagerly searching for him, and you spot him at a table by the window, his eyes equally searching for you.

And it's as if time itself has stopped, and there is only him and you.

Your dress is incredible, hugging your curves and emphasising them in all the right places. He can’t help but let his eyes roam over the fullness of your behind as you turn to give your coat to the host when you walk in.

Marcus can feel his mouth salivate; a small hint of your swelling cleavage is exposed as you walk towards him, rendering his pants feeling a little tighter.

But what captivates him the most is your smile; it lights up your whole face when you dazzle him with the beam of it.

“Holy ssh…” He trails off to himself as he loses his breath.

Of course, he already thinks you're attractive; he's seen you already through your picture and your video calls that have been on his mind constantly. He’d be bashful to admit that he’s looked at your dating profile picture probably far more than he should.

(He’ll never reveal to you that he’s also used it as inspiration to chase his own pleasure as he wrapped his hand around his thick cock to impure thoughts of you whilst he looked at your smiling face. Well, he won’t tell you that just yet, anyway.)

But seeing you finally in the flesh is something else entirely.

As you approach the table, the air pulses with a blend of eager excitement, and that familiar nervous, twitchy energy.

Marcus rises to his jellied feet, a courteous smile on his tanned, weathered face; his mind racing with the age-old question of whether to extend a hand for a shake, lean in for a kiss on the cheek, or open his arms for a hug. He fears he might not let you go at the latter.

All options make him giddy; the thought of finally touching you, even for a polite greeting, makes his legs buckle.

Your eyes meet, and a moment of charming awkwardness ensues. Unsure of the social cues, Marcus hesitates for a split second, caught between the realms of old-school gentlemanly grandeur and the nuances of modern dating etiquette.

In a playful attempt to navigate the greeting, he extends a hand for a shake just as you move in for a friendly hug. The result is a momentary dance of uncertainty - a handshake that morphs into an unexpected half-hug, odd dance. Laughter bubbles up between you both, diffusing the tension of your awkward limbs, as you share an amused, bashful glance.

"Well, that was smooth," Marcus quips, a twinkle in his eye.

"Some of my best moves," you agree, chuckling in agreement.

“You look absolutely beautiful,” Marcus compliments. He pulls your chair out for you and you smile as you sit whilst he tucks you in, then takes his own seat opposite you.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” you say, feeling warm all over. “Very handsome.”

“Thanks,” he says, smoothing his hands down over his broad chest. “I had some help.” He admits, his eyes crinkling in the corners behind his specs as he chuckles. “My daughter saved the day.”

“Well, she has great taste. You look amazing. You smell really good too.” You say as your nose still twitches with the heady oaky notes.

"Thanks." He smiles and finds he can't stop.

He drifts off for a moment, lost in your eyes as they observe him fondly. It takes a moment for his composure to return and his brain to remember words coherently.

“Oh, I almost forgot, these are for you,” Marcus says, pointing to the vase of extravagant flowers resting beside the table on the windowsill.

The florals are incredible, a cluster of bulbous-headed peonies and fluffy garden roses, topped with curled calla lilies; their trumpet-shaped blooms standing out amongst their companions, adding a contemporary flair to the bouquet.

A soft hue of pinks and corals greet you, and the scent wafting from them makes your head swim with their delightfully wafting fragrance.

“These are stunning, Marcus. Wow, they must have cost a fortune... you shouldn't have.” But you're glad he did as you reach forward to smell them and run your fingers over their velvety petals in awe.

“Actually, they’re from my garden.”

“You grow these?” You baulk.

“Yeah. I know you said you love the lilies; they’re some of my favourites too.”

“That’s so thoughtful... I really do love them. Thank you.” You’re stunned at the fact this incredibly adept man knows how to cultivate something so beautiful into existence from a tiny seed. “Flowers just make me so happy, you know?”

“I get that. They make me happy too.” He agrees. “Would you like some wine, are you a wine drinker?” Marcus enquires.

Despite your long conversations laughing like teenagers breaking parental curfew well into the night, there are still things you're both yet to uncover about each other.

You nod. “I'd love some.”

The waiter takes your orders and you choose the pan-seared sea bass, drawn to the delicate and flaky texture of the fish, served on a bed of lemon risotto with roasted cherry tomatoes and asparagus.

Something light that won’t aggravate your stomach with your own nerves so much throughout the evening.

But his soft, inviting smile revealing a dimple as he gazes at you whilst you talk, puts you at ease. He really is incredibly handsome in the flesh, to the point it leaves you unable to speak for a few moments in between the engrossing conversations.

But the silences are never awkward between you both.

The dark-rimmed spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose adds a touch of intellectual charm to his appearance, framing deep cocoa eyes that hold the wisdom of years spent in both heroism and now the quieter, reflective moments of life.

His greying beard and moustache add a rugged yet refined quality to the sun-kissed countenance of his complexion. The salt-and-pepper tones speak of a life rich with experience, the threads of grey weaving through the tapestry of a man who has weathered both storms and serenity.

He made no attempt of keeping his heroic qualities a secret from you - his face was known for saving the world time and time over - and despite it, it wasn’t something that put you off when you learned he was a former Heroic, and that people would sometimes recognise him like a celebrity when he were out doing mundane things like grocery shopping.

If anything, it flattered you that someone of his calibre would find you attractive in any kind of way. Compared to Marcus, your life in contrast was humdrum at best with a simple, yet modest job and a simple, yet modest home.

He could have a limber woman with a body sculpted to perfection in tight spandex, but instead it impressed you at how humble, and seemingly reserved and shy he was.

And how keenly interested he was in you and everything you had to say.

“Oh, this is delicious.” You sigh after the waiter brings your food a while later.

Conversation has flowed easily between you both and he makes you laugh a lot; something that he selfishly enjoys when he sees you throw you head back and titter, making you look more beautiful than ever, and filling his head with wayward thoughts of kissing down your neck.

That tight feeling in his pants hasn’t gone away yet and he revels in the throbbing ache hanging heavy despite the discomfort, because it’s been so long since someone made his body react like this.

“You wanna try some of mine too? The meat's really good.” Marcus offers, and holds his fork out to you when you nod.

You notice he bites his bottom, plush lip as he watches you take it in your mouth.

“Mmm, that is good. So tender. This was such a good choice of restaurant.” You say.

“Thank you. I love food and kinda pride myself in finding the best places to eat.” He says with a slight flush creeping over his nose. “That probably comes off as rather arrogant-”

“Not at all. I love it that you love food so much. I do too, it’s probably why I’m more on the heavy side these days.” You chuckle as you reach for your wine glass.

Marcus shakes his head. “I think you look amazing.” He smiles and you notice the rosy blush settle in his cheeks again.

“I never knew this place was here. It’s funny, you can spend your whole life in one place and not realise what’s right under your nose, right?” You say, and Marcus can’t help but agree in more ways than one.

The meal is delicious, the wine flows between you both. Finishing the bottle, he offers you dessert with a tempting smile and arched brow, that ignites something over your skin and leaves you tingly and squeezing your thighs together.

Your mutual sweet teeth lead you both to agree on the tiramisu to share between you. Layers of coffee-soaked ladyfingers and mascarpone cream, dusted with cocoa powder, promises a delightful conclusion to the meal, to which you both indulge in as you speak more.

As you discuss your favourite movies and share anecdotes, the conversation takes on a flirtatious undertone as he leaves the last creamy bite on the plate just for you.

Wholly engaged in your words, Marcus leans in slightly over the table on his crossed arms; a hint of intimacy in his gesture, and a reassuring sincerity in his eyes that convince you that he’s enjoyed this evening and your company so much.

And when you look back at him, leaning in a little closer on your elbows across the table too, watching and shuddering as his fingertips soon brush against yours, you confirm the same to him in your own eyes that glitter and beguile him to his knees in subjugation of you.

"You know, they say the best movies are the ones that leave you wanting more... I can't help but feel the same about our date. I've had a really wonderful time with you tonight," he concludes, his dark-rimmed spectacles adding a touch of earnestness to his gaze.

He watches you smile and the world outside implodes.

"I was thinking... w-would you be interested in doing this again? Maybe something a bit less formal - like maybe a walk through the city or maybe a picnic or something?"

You chuckle, your eyes sparkling with a teasing glint. “I’d absolutely love that, Marcus.”

“Yeah?” He beams, all teeth and pink grinning lips.

“I’d love to spend more time with you, definitely. I’ve really enjoyed tonight too. Almost don’t want it to end.” You say as your fingers glide over his knuckles.

“Well, it doesn’t have to… I-I mean, the night is still young, perhaps we could go for that walk? Or get another drink elsewhere? I know a good cocktail lounge in town, if you're feeling fruity?” Marcus suggests.

He’s careful not to sully the line between polite etiquette and implied impropriety. But you both chuckle at his choice of words.

“Sounds good.” You agree, all twinkly at him, and he can feel his heart soar.

He fetches your coat and holds it open for you as you slip it on. He carries the vase of flowers out towards the parking lot, suggesting he puts them in the car so he can hold your hand freely as you walk together somewhere, anywhere.

But you both don’t make it on that walk, or to the cocktail lounge, as instead you turn to him and go to kiss him, taking him by surprise that he almost drops the vase of flowers as your lips barely graze his cheek.

“I’m sorry, I just had to,” you say, a little flustered and giggly.

“Wait,” he says, and you watch him plonk the vase on the ground safely, and his arms pull you towards him. “Okay, let’s try that again.”

Smiling, Marcus leans in as you tiptoe up and your lips finally meet; soft, inviting and delicate.

A smooch that lasts and morphs slowly into something more passionate, more desired. And confirms everything you hoped and imagined about him from the moment you laid eyes on him this evening: Marcus Moreno knows how to damn well kiss.

You trace the line of his bottom lip with yours, nipping it gently and it elicits a moan from deep within him that warms your bone marrow.

His hands traverse the length of your back pulling you in closer to him as he gently slips his tongue into your wanting mouth.

Your fingers trace the soft silk of his beard; his moustache gently tickling your top lip deliciously. It’s a tender, unhurried exploration, one that sparks fireworks inside your veins.

His thick fingers, calloused by the harsh realities of his journey, find their way into your hand, stroking gently, and you can feel something crackle between them.

You eventually part and draw in much needed breaths from where he’s inhaled all of you deep into his chest cavity.

“Wow, t-that was-” He begins with a bewildered stutter.

“It was,” you agree, smiling into his face as he nuzzles his nose against yours.

“You taste so good,” he groans, placing his hands on your waist gently, respectfully, as you stroke up his thick arms.

You're so close, pressed into him and you can feel the swell of him against you making you smirk.

“It’s the tiramisu,” you chuckle.

“No, it's all you.” He whispers softly shaking his head. “Would you… would you like to come back to mine for some coffee?”

“Coffee you say?” You smile with raised eyebrows. “You know that's code, right?” You tease.

He laughs. “I’m not being presumptuous, I just… I kinda don’t want the night to end. And I’d really like to kiss you some more.”

“I know what you mean. And I’d love some. Both coffee and kissing.”

Marcus opens the passenger side door for you as you seat yourself in, and he smiles warmly with glittery peepers that render you speechless.

Leaning in, he kisses you again, bent in through the door and unable to abnegate himself away from you.

With the flowers secured in your lap, he sets off and you admire the clean interior of his Camry and watch him drive as he turns to smile at you through the shadows.

He takes your hand in his and brings it to his mouth to kiss over it gently as he drives.

Pulling into the driveway at Marcus’s home a short ride later, you unclick your seatbelt as he turns off the engine.

“I can drive you home at any point. Just say the word and we’ll go. I’m not expecting anything more from-”

“Marcus. Take me inside and make me some coffee.” You reassure him by squeezing his thigh gently.

Marcus’s home is large and spacious, but homely in all the right ways with subtle Hispanic influences woven through the decor, and incredibly neat and tidy than what you would expect from a bachelor living alone.

“Is this your garden?” You query as you glance out the french doors keenly whilst he makes coffee in the kitchen.

The vase of flowers is perched on the counter top, and your eyes recognise the blooms swaying in clusters the gentle breeze around the garden where he cut them from, despite the darkness of the evening.

“Yeah,” he says proudly, as he brings over the mugs.

“It looks beautiful. Can we sit out there?”

“Sure.” He opens the door for you and you step out onto the patio.

Lit by the soft glow of ambient solar lights, the garden unfolds like a hidden oasis. The centrepiece is a small, pristine pool, its turquoise waters reflecting the moonlight as if inviting a tempting midnight swim.

Your body clenches deliciously at the thought of seeing him undress to join you naked in the water - two water nymphs wet and writhing against each other.

Surrounding the pool, an array of vibrant flowers and lush greenery embraces the space. Potted plants adorn the periphery in terracotta homes, showcasing an array of herbs that hint at the culinary adventures Marcus enjoys embarking on in his kitchen.

The scent of lavender and rosemary lingers in the air, adding a fragrant dimension to the balmy Texan night that awaits you both.

As you settle by the pool at the small metal table and chairs under a large, sun-faded parasol, coffee cups in hand, Marcus shares more stories of his connection to the garden - his mother shaping his green fingered talent.

Inspiring him with a sanctuary of her own that blended the influence of his Latino heritage within the serenity of nature growing up as a boy. He also lets slip a little more about his life as a Heroic, and the fact his mother was his mentor and trainer.

“Was?” You query gently.

He nods with a dipped smile. “She passed just before I fully retired. Unexpected, but peaceful at least.” He summises quietly.

“I’m so sorry. She sounds like an incredibly formidable woman.”

“She was. She would’ve liked you.” He says with a pricking smile.

You smile under your eyelashes as you drink more of your velvety coffee.

The night unfolds under the bokeh stars, the inky expanse above causing you both to question and ponder jointly on some of life’s bigger questions and philosophies. Sharing a profound connection that transcends cultures and backgrounds to agree on more common threads that weave around you both, tethering you together further still.

Marcus, his dark-rimmed spectacles reflecting the glow of the night in the lenses, looks at you with a warmth that's far from the ordinary, what feels like hours later.

"You know, it's getting late. I could drive you home if you'd like?" He queries tentatively.

“Trying to get rid of me already, hmm?” You tease.

“God no.” He shakes his head vehemently. “Far from it.”

“I mean, I don’t wanna impose or anything.” You’re quick to add, realising that you’re probably keeping him up.

“No, no imposition at all.” Marcus assures. He reaches for your hand, slotting his fingers in yours.

“Good, because I believe I was promised more kisses, Mr Moreno.” You smile.

At that, he instantly pulls you closer to him by your seat; it scrapes across the patio and he engulfs your face in his giant hands.

“I never do this.” He says, panting after breaking the intense kiss. A kiss that he can feel igniting his whole body.

“You never kiss on a first date?” You gasp as you feel a flurry in your core.

“I mean, you’re my first date since… my wife.” He clarifies.

“I’d love for you to tell me about her some time.”

He nods. “I’d like that.”

"And it's okay. I don't usually do this either." You reassure. "But I really like it..."

"Me too," he smiles leaning in to kiss you some more.

As you sit by the pool, occasionally pressing your lips to one another for periods of time that wash away in a dreamy, pastel haze, the unspoken desire to extend the evening lingers in the air.

Marcus hesitates, a wibble of vulnerability in his voice as he clears his throat.

"Would you... consider staying? I’m really enjoying your company. I-I have a guest room, and you're more than welcome to use it." He tries not to physically wince as he lays it out bare. “I mean, I’m just enjoying your-”

“Would you like me to stay?” You question with your smile widening.

Marcus nods. “Yeah. I mean, if you want to. We don’t have to do anything, nothing’s expected. Just kissing you like this is really nice.”

“Yeah, it really does. You’re a really good kisser, Marcus.” You suck his bottom lip gently and he moans.

“Well, I really like to kiss. Feels good to have someone to kiss again.”

“I don’t want to stop kissing you all night.” You agree as he brushes his lips against yours, his moustache tickling.

“Stay? Let me hold you?” Marcus questions, although it sounds like he’s pleading with you through those strangled gasps as he tastes your tongue again.

You nod, wanting nothing more than to be wrapped up in his strong arms all night and to wake up in them. "Okay."

It feels right, natural between you. Two strangers who feel like they know one another inside out already - it’s easy with him.

And your attraction to him knows no bounds as you’re greedy for his presence and touch alike, and allow him to take your hand and lead you back inside.

Marcus listens.

Listens to every small gasp that ebbs out of you as his fingers stroke over your skin, tracing over the areas that make you shudder and hitch your breath in anticipation.

He learns that you hiss a little when he kisses your neck, when he sucks your earlobe into his mouth and nibbles gently on it with his teeth.

He learns that you’re ticklish on your hips and you giggle into his mouth uncontrollably, snorting ungraciously a little, when he does it again, making him laugh in turn.

He respectfully traverses the route of your body, mapping it out with his fingers stroking the length of your arms, his lips pressed at the juncture of your throat.

He listens to recall and remember and to please you. God, he just wants to please you and leave you satisfied.

But he also wants to leave you wanting, craving more of him. Begging even… He takes his time kissing you, tasting you and touching you. Letting you unfurl in his hands like a tiny bud, blooming into something spectacular and colourful as he waters you.

The both of you are soon in his bedroom, unable to resist being parted from one another.

His fingers feel like tingly electricity zapping through your skin layers, and he explains that he can’t seem to control it around you as your lips peck at him under his jaw rendering him a quivering mess in your own hands.

It's a curious sensation, a subtle vibration with a pinch of static as the pads of his fingers graze your cheeks gently; it makes your blood fizz through your veins as you feel it pulse into your epidermis and pores.

“What other powers do you have?” You query, lost in the richness of his eyes, as he winds strands of your hair around his digits.

“Just this." He runs his pads over your lips and you feel that soft, gently muted vibration sink into the meat of them that makes you groan as it tingles into the depth of your jaw. "I’m pretty good with a katana too.”

"Are you boasting, Marcus?" You tease.

"I'll be happy to show you my sword wielding skills anytime."

You both laugh as he realises what he just insinuated.

“So you can’t fly?” You query, stroking under his chin. Your fingers trace a small, uniquely heart-shaped patch where no hair seems to grow on the left side. You watch as he closes his eyes and pushes his jaw into your hand further.

“No, I can. But with the help of a flight device.”

“A flight device?”

“Maybe I’ll show you. Take you up. In the sky.” Marcus muses.

“You’re going to take me to new heights, hmm?” You smirk.

“Well, I’ll certainly try,” he says, rubbing his nose against yours.

He grazes gentle, languid kisses down your neck, settling on the curve where your shoulder hilts.

He runs his aquiline nose there delicately, inhaling the faint remnants of your perfume with vanilla and coconut notes that makes him salivate.

"I'm scared of heights," you murmur dreamily.

"Well, I'll be sure to hold onto you extra tight." Marcus takes a hold of you, pulling you fully into his arms.

"Like this?" You whisper.

"Just like this." He says as he wraps them around your back.

"You won't let me go?"

He shakes his head. "Never."

You find yourself straddling his lap; your bodies simply moving of their own rhythmic volition as they slot into place effortlessly and without instruction or hesitation; his large hands sweep up your back as you kiss him deeply.

Your fingers roam in the softness of the greying silk of his bearded scruff. You explore the broadness of his shoulders, the tightness of his biceps over the soft cashmere, journeying over the wide expanse of him as he pulls you closer in his protective embrace.

"I don't want this to end," he murmurs into your shoulder.

"Me either," you sigh with a smile. “This might sound incredibly forward, but... I want you, Marcus,” you whisper into his mouth.

You can feel him pressed against you, hard and swollen in his pants and it’s difficult to ignore his desire when it so brazenly taunts your own.

“You’re sitting in my lap on my bed, I think we're past being forward,” he chuckles.

“True,” you giggle.

“Are you sure that’s what you want? There’s no pressure at all. I didn’t invite you here with an agenda.”

You nod with a keen smile. “I know. But I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life than I am right now. Do you want me, too?”

“I’ve never wanted someone so much.” He says with glistening eyes. “It’s been so long though. I-I don’t even know if I’ll be any good.” He gulps heavily and it wrenches your heart a little.

You press your fingers to his kiss-bruised lips and he can’t help but mouth against them. “Marcus, you're perfect.”

“Kiss me again,” he whines as he presses himself even closer to you.

Attaching yourself to his lips once more, he sighs contentedly into your mouth, tongue swirling gently around yours and sucking on your lips.

He holds his arms up as you lift up the hem of his sweater. Your fingers slide over the silk knot of his tie, undoing it. He loves that when you loosen it, you use it to yank him forward to kiss you deeper still, guiding him closer to your body to be tangled up with you.

You undo the buttons slowly on his shirt to reveal tanned skin and the broadest shoulders you’ve ever seen on a man.

A couple of scars dapple over them and his sternum, like white lightning streaks against the gold shimmer of his skin, and he shudders as you trail your fingertips over them delicately.

“I wanna know all about these.” You say beholding him. “You must have some incredible battle stories from your time in the Heroics.”

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know.” He promises.

“I wanna know everything about you.” You breathe as you feel him nibble at your collarbone.

“The feeling is incredibly mutual,” he replies softly as he brushes your hair from your face. “Can I take this off?” Marcus asks, running his fingers along the silken hem of your dress that’s ridden up your thighs.

“Yes,” you smile at his politeness despite the carnal heat running through the both of you.

He pulls it up over your head and audibly groans at your choice of matching underwear, lacy and delicate.

His eyes trail hungrily over your body and you don’t feel the need to cover up the lumps, bumps and stretch marks; the way he looks at you burns in your core.

“You're just…” words fail him as you smile softly. “Wow.”

“It’s been a long time since a man saw me like this.” You admit, a little shy. "My body isn't what it used to be."

“You’re stunning. I’m lucky that it’s me who gets to enjoy you. Besides, I'm not exactly in my best shape." He grimaces looking down at the small swell of his tum puffing over his slacks.

"I think you're sexy." You say.

"Yeah?" He queries with raised eyebrows.

"Mm, really sexy." You confirm, stroking over the soft fat of him.

"Is this okay? We’re not going too fast? I wouldn’t want you to feel like I'm only after one thing.” He checks.

“I don’t think that at all.”

“Good, because I really like you. I want to see you again.” He says earnestly.

“Me too.” You agree nodding.

“Is it too early to presume this might be the start of something really special?” Marcus asks with a crooked grin. "I dunno, I just feel it."

You shake your head. “I feel it too.” You agree.

He kisses you again and you taste the truth of his words.

“I wanna feel you too. You can touch me, Marcus.” You whisper to him. “I want you to touch me everywhere with those magic hands...”

He grins, and his hands, albeit shaky, massage over your mounds, trailing around to your back where he hesitates at the clasp.

“Take it off,” you murmur as he unhooks your bra and licks his lips as your nipples are revealed to him.

Leaning forward, he trails kisses across your collarbone until his lips find your nipple and he sucks gently whilst you rake through his subtlety greying hair.

A pink wet tongue teases over your skin as he licks, causing your back to arch, pushing your breasts further into his mouth.

“Mmm,” you whine as the pull of your nipple between his lips is felt buzzing on your clit in response.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he trembles, but his voice seems deeper somehow, with more of a heavy graze inside his cheeks. “I wanna make love to you all night. Discover all the ways to please you."

He kisses down your sternum just under your breasts. "I wanna make you come all over me…” He says between rasped breaths. “God, I want you screaming my name.”

“I want you inside me, Marcus." You gasp.

He groans at that. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Me either. But it feels so good.” You say, smiling at him.

You help him remove his pants until he’s in his boxers and lying back as you climb over him, leaning down to kiss him as his hands pull you closer to him.

The hairs on your body stand tall as his hands create that wonderful tingle to curl your spine out and your nipples to tighten.

The bulge in his boxers is unignorably prominent and you can’t abnegate yourself away from reaching down in between your bodies to feel him, squeezing over him gently as he grunts into your mouth.

“You feel amazing,” you whisper as he blushes. “I wanna taste you, will you let me?”

“Uh-uh,” he shakes his head, “that’s not how we do things in my house. Ladies come first.” Marcus smirks.

He rolls with you and you giggle as he kisses down your body to the thin hemline of your panties. He runs his hands up and down your hips and stomach, and you feel those tingly crackles from his fingertips ignite your skin once more.

He kisses and lavishes gentle nuzzles against your tummy, and you hum out feeling the soft tickle of his facial hair across it.

You lift your hips as he gently pulls down your panties, watching keenly as he kisses down your legs. He takes your ankle and rests your foot on his shoulder as he lays between your thighs.

And then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, Marcus transforms from hero to villain as he licks a long, lingering stripe up your pussy.

“Oh my God, yes…” You whine.

He looks up at you with molten brown eyes as he flicks his tongue back and forth over your clit and you sonic boom inside at the sight and feel of it.

He massages and strokes your inner thigh as he tastes you, running his tongue in and around your soaked lips and murmuring in keen delight.

The softness of his beard feels like liquid silk against your skin as his nose grazes and nudges your clit whilst he teases your hole, pushing his tongue inside you.

You reach down and pull off his glasses, giggling as the lenses are smeared with your slick already.

“You taste delicious.” Marcus husks before going back in for more, hungry for your as he laps and licks.

"Mmm, Marcus..." You whine, arching your back as you keen for more of his tongue. He presses it against your clit, sucks gently on the nub and licks and sucks through your drenched folds.

He makes you come with just his mouth, sucking expertly on your clit before he slips his fingers in, coming up to suckle on your nipple again as he pumps them in and out of you.

He’s astonished how wet you are for him; his fingers squelching and the sounds are lewd as he whelves.

“God, you’re so perfect,” Marcus says as he leans in to kiss you again: his beard his damp from your secretions. “So wet and tight. Does that feel good?”

“So good.” You groan.

“More?”

“More.”

He speeds up, fingers deep to the hilt of his knuckles. “Harder?”

“Yes!” You cry as you feel it overtake you, a mesh veil cast over your sight as the room fills with gold glitter.

“Marcus! Your fingers! Oh my God!” You gasp as you can feel those crackles again, only inside you now; deep in the pit of your core right on your spot, and your thighs shake uncontrollably.

He circles your clit with his thumb and the sensation completely overwhelms as you feel it there too, buzzing all the way deep into that fleshy hub.

Your eyes catch him smirking at you as he applies the perfect amount of tingly pressure. And that look in his eye tells you he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

You’re coming quicker than you can fathom, dizzy from the pulsing shocks and giggling uncontrollably at the delicious buzzing it creates.

“Jesus!” You yelp at him as he grins devilishly. “How do you even do that?!” You gasp as he pulls his fingers out and you watch, wholly spellbound, as he sucks them clean.

“Benefits of having a superpower, I guess. I used to think it was weird... having magnetised hands.” He remarks casually, as if he didn’t just rock your world with those digits of his.

“I don’t know how I’ll compete,” you say, pushing him onto his back as he kisses you.

“You’re perfect as you are, trust me,” he breathes, watching as you slide down his body.

You kiss over the soft swell of his tummy, lavishing it with wet kisses over and over as he gathers your hair inside his hands to watch you. You look up at him as your fingers slip into the fold of his waistband.

He nods, too dumbstruck to comment verbally as he watches you slip down between his legs and pull off his boxers.

He’s big - bigger than you anticipated, and so thick. You’re unsure how he kept it hidden in his pants all night. He’s perfectly uncut with a flush pink head that’s positively dripping for you.

You make out with his cock gently, barely mouthing over him with the gooey strings of his precum sticking to your lips like gloss, and making him hiss and gasp.

He’s well groomed and the subtle greys in the thatch of neatly trimmed hairs there at the base of him are just as soft as his beard.

You tongue his head, flicking back and forth over that drooling slit and taste the salt of him before teasing his frenulum that makes his hips buck involuntarily.

"Y-yeah," he chokes on a ragged whisper.

You take him in your mouth fully, and he groans long and deep, head lolling back as he feels your hot, wet mouth encase him and suck slowly down his length.

You can take him about three-quarters of the way before you feel him prod at the back of your throat, and although you're tempted to see if you can swallow him fully and press your nose against his soft belly, tonight’s not the night for ungraceful choking.

Although, your body flares at the thought of how uncouth and dirty he could be with you; imagining his usual politeness being traded for filthy demands as his huge hands press on the back of your head, forcing you to take him all the way down your throat.

You whimper around his cock at the thought, feeling your cunt contract and drip.

“You’re so good at that,” Marcus keens as he glances down at you.

Your eyes flick up at him as you smirk around your mouthful of him and it’s not long before he’s pulling you back up and kissing you with an intense hunger that steals the breath from your lungs.

He rolls you onto your back, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist as he grinds against your centre.

You whine as the length of him slides back and forth against your slit, soaking and greasing him up in your slick. The ridge of his head knocking against your clit builds you up again as you bite your lip staring up into his chocolaty eyes.

"Feels so good," you whisper, clutching onto him.

“Yeah? I don’t wanna hurt you, so I'll go slow, okay?” Marcus whispers as you reach for his thick cock and swipe him through your pussy lips.

You both shudder as you do it.

“You won’t.” You reassure him as you stroke him and he groans. “I want you inside me.”

He lines up, his swollen head dipping slowly into your fleshy folds as he lingers there, pushing gently and barely against your hole.

You’re so wet he could easily slide all the way in with one flex of his hips, but it feels too damn good already, and he’s apprehensive to finish so quickly before he’s even started.

“The things I wanna do to you...” Marcus murmurs bashfully.

“Sounds intriguing,” you smirk as he pushes in a little more. "Tell me, I-oh!"

You gasp as you feel yourself opening around him, stretching as his thick head pushes in further.

“We’ve got all t-the time in the... ahhh, world,” he breathes. “All the time to find... hmmm, new ways to pull you apart on my cock. My fingers, my tongue…” He grunts as he slides in.

“Mmm, fuck," you let slip in his ear and he groans.

“Fuck indeed,” he grizzles as he pulls back a little and slides in again, and hearing him finally curse makes your body shudder.

"You're so perfectly tight around me," he puffs.

“You feel so big,” you say, nodding in encouragement. “I want you to fill me up, Marcus.”

“Yeah?” He breathes as he slides in further. “Stop me if it's too much.”

“It’s not too much. It's perfect... you're perfect. Ohhh. More.” You pant. “Please, I wanna feel all of you. I need you.”

“You need me? You need my cock, hmm?” He teases with a grin.

“Mmm, I want it so badly.”

"I want you so badly."

You look down between you as he breaches fully, hips flushed tight against you as he bottoms out and you both groan, eyes pulled back to one another.

You grapple for him, desperate for him to kiss you again as he works his hips. Soft breathy pants fill your ears as he finds satisfaction and a steady rhythm within your wet warmth.

He’s gentle, but powerful; winding slowly, and buried so deep inside you. It feels like it’s too much, but not enough and you claw at his back desperately each time he withdraws and thrusts back in.

“Mmm, you’re so deep…” You murmur into his lips.

“It’s not too much?”

“No, you feel incredible.”

“You take me so well, hermosa.” Marcus praises.

“Oh, I forgot you speak Spanish…” You smirk, all glistening teeth at him.

“¿Quieres que te hable sucio en Español?” (Do you want me to talk dirty in Spanish to you?)

You chuckle, utterly beside yourself. “I have no idea what you just said, but yes. God, yes!”

He smirks into your lips as he kisses you again, his hips doing all the work with each, deep languid stroke.

“I love feeling every inch of you.” You pant as he speeds up a little.

“All of me... Every. Inch. Of. Me.” He thrusts on every syllable, deliberately making you gasp.

“You feel so good, Marcus. I’m gonna come soon.” You sigh, feeling it build behind your core muscles, cinching and tightening in that delicious wind before you snap back on yourself.

“I can feel you squeezing me. I bet you’ll look so beautiful when you come all over my cock. Come for me. Let me see you.”

He feels your fingers bruising in his skin, tastes your pants fizzing on his tongue like sherbet.

Sitting upright, he pulls your hips right up off the bed as he slips back inside you, fucking deep into you on his knees.

He hits all the right spots at this angle and your whimpers soon become loud hollers and yelps as he pushes against your spot relentlessly and tosses you into oblivion once more.

"Come for me," he pants.

You claw at the sheets; your eyes rolled so far back that you swear you can see the inside of your skull and all the swampy lilac clouds floating around in there. Your body sheens with sweat already, as does his; mercury drizzle, shimmering in the pale light of his bedroom lamps.

You’re almost there; a flutter in your chest as your heart flies away to be gifted to him with metallic ribbon curls wrapped around it. A building warmth, igniting from within, growing more wild like fire consuming and burning everything up in its path, scorches your skin.

An electric charge of anticipation, spurred on by the crackled pulses from his fingers around your hips, pulls your orgasm right out of you like ridding you of a hostile possession.

You screech as it leaves your bones.

“That’s it, hermosa. Come for me!” Marcus pleads with a hiss as you shake and gasp as he turns you inside out.

Pulling you upright against his chest, he’s stunned at you. “You look so beautiful.” He says, almost choking as your bonelessness.

“M-Marcus!” You wail, his cock buried deeper.

“Yeah, keep coming for me,” he encourages as he watches you wind and bounce on top of him.

You groan, throwing your head back and losing count of the number of times he’s made you come already.

You slow and grind on him as iridescent bubbles flow and burst around you; your thighs never-ending in their shaking, and he watches in rapture as you take his breath away.

“From behind?” You suggest breathlessly after a few moments of coming down from that tremendous high he throws you up to so easily.

“Anything you want, beautiful.”

He slides down your body, kissing the length of your back and all over your butt cheeks before spreading you open and tasting your pussy again with his tongue.

His lips never leave your skin, even when you turn around and bend forward with your ass up in his face.

He reaches down between your legs to stroke your clit. You feel him kissing the side of your head, nuzzling into you as he pushes himself back into you slowly. And the feel of him at this angle, this depth, makes you mewl as he hits deeper than before.

He stops for a moment when he sees you backing up and gyrating on the end of his cock, reaching round to grab the meat of his thigh and moaning incoherently at how good it feels.

“You look amazing doing that,” he drawls before holding onto your hips and drawing deep into you with slow, measured thrusts shunting through your body. “That feel good, like this?”

“Yeah… so good.”

“Mmm, I-I can barely stand it,” he pants. "I'm close."

“Come for me, Marcus.” You whisper to him as he fucks you faster.

“Mmm, oh God.” He whines as his hips start to snap harder, his grip around your hips squeezes tighter.

He's marvelling and gasping as he watches you shake again, shake for him. That he still has the power to make someone feel this damn good after all this time.

That he could fathom such a thought of making love to a woman again when he had convinced himself for so long he would endure his remaining years alone, his left fist as his only release.

But then you showed up, careening into his life through a device he held in the palm of his hand; laughing at his humour, smiling that incredible smile at him. Wanting to know more about him and just... wanting him.

And here he is, deep inside of you now and not able to get enough of how you squeeze around his cock bringing him to the brink of his own annihilation. You kill him and resurrect him, to do it all over again.

“I’m gonna come!” Marcus pants, cheeks and chest flushed a glorious pink amongst the natural bronze.

“So am I. Don't stop!” You wail.

“Where? I’m so close! Tell me where you want it...” He can feel it building and rushing towards the end of his cock.

“Inside me, come inside me.” You pant.

“You sure?”

“Fill me up until it’s all dripping out of me.”

“Fuck!” He yells. "Oh fuck!"

Marcus growls out that sweet blasphemy that makes your toes curl and your cunt clench as he comes, filling you up as you so coveted, as he spurts out inside you - warm, thick and plentiful.

A brief moment of his weight against your back crushes you into the bed as he flops down over you, panting and groaning in your ear.

Smiling, you turn and kiss the side of his face buried in the crook of your sweaty neck.

“That was incredible, you're incredible.” He whimpers, voice all muffled in your skin and hair a few minutes later.

He rolls with you, pulling you into his arms against his clammy chest as you both catch your breath.

“I can’t take all the credit, you were pretty incredible yourself there, Mr Moreno.” You grin.

“Yeah. Looks like I’ve still got it after all.” He puffs with a bewildered chuckle.

“No doubt about that.” You giggle and laugh with him, as Marcus wraps the comforter around you both.

The soft hum of the morning unfolds around you.

Eyelids opening and lashes fluttering against his chest, you're accompanied by the distant sounds of nature awakening outside.

Marcus, still in the relaxed embrace of slumber, seems to embody the tranquillity of the dawn as you gaze up at him longingly.

His rhythmic breathing through soft snuffles, his heartbeat in your ear, resonates with the peaceful serenity that surrounds you in his downy sheets that smell faintly of his lingering cologne and your heady sex.

As you lay in Marcus's arms, you spend a few minutes contemplating the next exciting steps between you, when the prominent ache registers between your legs, which makes you smile as you recall the moment he first sheathed himself inside you.

It makes you clench around nothing and you moan softly in want, squeezing your thighs together at the vivid memory.

You’re compelled to kiss him, planting tender smooches across his chest and up to his neck, when he stirs and his lips find yours and latch on again.

Your hand slides down his sternum, over the warm, smooth swell of his stomach, and you find him stiff and weeping for your touch.

He grunts into your mouth as you pump him, fingers wrapped around his length as he hardens fully. His own digits course those pinpricking tingles down your spine again as you shudder and arch.

He bites his lip, eyes closing in satisfaction as you work his cock and feel it throb with need in your hand.

Soon Marcus slips in behind you, clutching you close to his chest; his fingers entwining in tight knots with your own. He fills you again, your moans surrounding him as he kisses and nips on the back of your neck, and it feels like a dream you don't ever want to wake from.

You’re full of him, sticky and drenched from the night of intense love making that never seemed like it would relent. His stamina surprised you both, but was incredibly welcome, alongside the equally surprising refractory period that will leave you aching for days.

You lost count of the number of times he was inside you. Unable to get enough of each other, wanting more, more, more and giving more, more, more.

“You’re so beautiful in the morning,” Marcus cants into your ear as he fills you to the brim, fucking softly into you from behind. “What did I do to deserve you?”

He wraps his arms tighter around you as you squeeze around his cock.

“Trust me, I'm the lucky one,” you whine as his fingers slip down and stroke over your clit bringing about another orgasm that prickles and tingles under his expert ministrations.

You soon sit in his lap, rocking back and forth on his solid cock buried deep inside you as Marcus nuzzles into your face. You work your hips riding him, his shoulders banging gently into the headboard.

His hair is a sleepy, wild mess with streaks of grey running through short curls you never knew he had under that tamed back style he had for your date, and he’s never looked more beautiful as they fall into face.

The way he looks at you makes you come again, with something so warm and so sincere swimming inside his lust blown eyes at you.

"So beautiful, hermosa," he murmurs with a smile at you.

He leans back on his hand, his other squeezing around your butt as you ride you both to a mutual intense finale of whimpers and names called out in desire and want.

After you still, feeling him seep out of you whilst he remains plugged inside until he softens, fawning and kissing over your face, you smile gently as you plant kisses along his silky jaw.

“Good morning,” Marcus smiles as you feel his lashes against your cheeks.

“Morning handsome.” You sigh dreamily.

“How did you sleep?” He enquires.

“Terribly. I had an incredibly attractive man between my legs for most of the night keeping me up.”

“That sounds awful.” He smirks as you kiss him again, and Marcus determines he never wants to stop kissing you or hearing your breathy giggles.

“Sleep is for the weak. It was amazing.” You say and he’s inclined to agree, on both counts.

“You hungry? You wanna stay for some breakfast?”

“I’d love to.” You smile.

“What are you doing later this afternoon?”

“Hmm, not much planned, will probably be thinking about you.”

“Is that so?” He enquires with a smirk.

“Mmhm. I have a feeling you'll be hard to forget.”

“Want some company whilst you think about that, maybe some lunch, too?”

“Sounds perfect. Perhaps we can drag ourselves away from each other long enough to go for that walk.”

“Doubtful,” he concedes and you giggle nodding in agreement. “But we’ll give it a shot.”

“You’re incredible.” You whisper to him and his eyes soften as you regard up at him.

It's been a long time since a woman looked at him like you are now.

“No, it's all you, hermosa, trust me.” He smiles into your mouth.

"I like that, that thing you say."

"Hermosa?"

"Yeah." You smile.

“Good." He kisses your temple. "Stay here, relax. I’ll make you some breakfast in bed. Then I’ll drive you home, okay?”

He winks as you watch him pull on his boxers and reach for a pair of grey sweatpants hanging out of the hamper.

“You spoil me, Mr Moreno.” You say, watching him pull them up his thick, muscular thighs.

“Mmm, I intend to. How do you feel about pancakes?”

“Ugh, my hero.” You swoon.

“Dad?” Missy calls as he hears the front door open around twenty minutes or so after he’s arrived back from dropping you home.

Admittedly it was hard parting from you; kissing you with soft whimpers in the car outside your place, and basking in that post first date glow.

Marcus is hesitant to wash the scent of you off of his skin, convinced that if he does he’ll wake from this wonderful dream to find you’re not real.

A text from you, complete with an emoji purple heart, convinces him to stop being silly and that you are real, and last night and this morning was wanted and reciprocated in equal yearning.

He can't stop thinking about it, about you. His cock aches again as the images of you both wrapped up in one another flash behind his glasses.

Your message confirms the time for him to pick you up later and he smiles reading that you can’t wait to see him again. And to kiss him.

And to feel him inside you again...

“Hey,” he calls out from the kitchen, feeling heated as he tucks his phone away in his pocket.

"How was the date? Don't leave out any details!" Missy warns as she makes her way down the hall.

She comes in, putting down her bag and immediately spots the coffee cups and plates as he gathers them to wash up; clear evidence that he’s had some company this morning.

Then she spies his dishevelled appearance, clad still in the creased t-shirt and sweatpants he drove you home in, and hair that hasn’t been combed as he quickly rakes his fingers through it almost desperately.

She grins up at him as he tries not to blush, but fails. “I might omit some details.” Marcus says sheepishly.

“Must have been a hell of a date.” Missy mirths, perching on the breakfast bar stool.

“Well, she’s a hell of a woman.” He says, smiling behind his spectacles. "It was really... wonderful. She looked stunning, and we had a really great time together."

"Yeah, I bet you did." She remarks with a widening grin.

"Stop it." He groans, flushed.

“You’re glowing.”

“Shut up.” Marcus mumbles and fails to stifle a wayward grin.

Beaming, Missy watches him as he fills the sink with soapy water.

“What?” He asks after he can still feel her eyes on him.

“Are you seeing her again?”

“Yeah, later this afternoon for lunch.” He smiles.

“Good.” She chirps.

She comes up beside him, picking up a dish cloth and dries the dishes as he places them in the rack.

They both complete the task in silence, both trying to stifle their grins at one another.

Once done, she turns to him.

“I’m really happy for you, Dad.” Missy says, as she wraps her arms around him. He rests his chin on top of her head and smiles.

“Thanks, kiddo.”

“Go and shower. You smell like a slut.” Missy remarks.

"Potty mouth," he points at her with a mock-frown.

"At least I know where mine's been..." She grins.

Shaking his head in defeat, Marcus chuckles, blushing beet red, as he pads out of the kitchen and up the stairs, feeling more invincible than he’s ever felt before.

💜

Thank you so much for reading my Marcus Moreno story (if you made it to the end, hopefully you did!) and I really hope you enjoyed it. I'd love to hear your thoughts about my version of him. Thanks so much! 🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST | MARCUS MORENO MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x f!reader #marcus moreno smut #marcus moreno fluff #marcus moreno x you #we can be heores fic #jett's writing #sometimes heroes are more than just super #mature marcus moreno