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sundog

prompt: Simon comes across a girl when she's recently been evicted and takes her back to his place, despite her reservations (nsfw, 8.5k) [based on this old post] [on ao3 here]

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The circumstances of your life change so abruptly that you lose sight of it for a moment. 

Then, you’re out on the streets with the clothes on your back and a suitcase packed so full that a sweater sleeve sticks out where the zippers meet. The locks to your apartment have already been changed. You know because you tried them anyway, desperately hoping that the eviction notice taped to your door might have been misplaced.

Evidently not. The keys don’t work. You contemplate chucking them on the walk out, but instead you keep them close like a talisman of protection, though it’s failed to live up to its purpose so far. 

You’ve got it under control for a day. If by ‘under control’, you mean experiencing a full body panic attack in the locker room of the twenty-four hour gym down the street from your old apartment. The staff gives you uncomfortable looks when you come in on the verge of tears with your suitcase rolling behind you, but they let you in because your membership is up to date. If you can count on anything in life, it’s consumerism. 

That doesn’t last long though, mainly because a locker and a wood bench won’t cut it in the long term. You sleep in the back of the local library until a stern-faced, if pitying, librarian threatens to call the cops on you. Pity isn’t sympathy, evidently. 

Gym management threatens to cut the lock on the locker you’ve been using as temporary storage space. Matter of fact, they say, you can’t be using the locker room as your quasi apartment between the hours of nine P.M. and seven A.M. just because everything else in the city is closed. Go home, they say. 

What home, you don’t say, before packing up your things and heading out on your way. 

If there’s one thing you can count on, it’s capitalism. 

You didn’t think this kind of thing could happen to someone like you. Someone like you being an ordinary person. Homelessness always felt like a far away concept. But the world is cruel and life is brutal. What you didn’t realize before was that, at any moment in time, you’ve been closer to poverty than wealth, and here you are now, sitting in the park with your suitcase between your legs, the sun rapidly setting behind you, your phone at ten percent battery, and nowhere to go because your family is, frankly, nonexistent, and your friends, for lack of a better word, have almost entirely washed their hands of you.

Sorry, they’d say, the frown emoji expressing something like pity at a distance. We don’t have a couch to spare. 

I can sleep on the floor, you’d texted back. They’d gotten cagey after that. People like to be wanted only to a certain extent.

You can feel the panic rise up in you, too big to contain. It comes out in the form of blubbering tears and snot running from your nose. Big, hiccuping sobs. It’s not pretty. Passersby avert their eyes for the most part, save for the ones that eye you with something bordering on perverse delight and that’s what finally makes you get up and speed walk away, lest they feel compelled to approach you. 

But even in the tailwinds of summer, it gets cold outside at night. Worst of all, as the evening grows dark, the streets empty out until you can’t help but feel like a beacon with your little rolling suitcase. It clatters against the sidewalk as you try to hoof it down the street, looking for any shop still open to loiter in. Most close after nine though. You’ve googled homeless shelters, but the sheer anxiety keeps you floundering around up and down the streets instead.

It feels beyond helpless. You’re in a state like you’ve never been before, crying under a streetlamp because you needed a moment just to get your bearings. 

What you know now is that this world is a house of false bottoms. You thought the circumstances of your life could never change. You were never well to do, but you were doing well. The sight of the unhoused sitting with their backs to the brick and mortar stores on your walk home or congregated in a park in the middle of the city with their tents and shopping carts used to fill you with immeasurable pity, maybe even a quiet moment’s reflection; now, you see them as kin. 

Easy, isn’t it? To slip between states. To go from solid to liquid to gaseous. Easier than you ever could have expected. 

When it starts to rain, you almost close your eyes in relief. Anyone could’ve predicted this. 

You almost don’t respond to him at first, keeping your eyes trained on the sidewalk to avoid any bumps. Also, it never pays to look up at a man barking at you, especially not when he’s barking something like, Girl or Bird, turn around. 

Then he says it again, closer this time, and you’re forced to look up, if only to see who’s approaching you. Your suspicion melts away to distrust at the sight of the man stalking towards you. Distrust with a touch of trepidation—maybe outright alarm. Surely no man his size wearing a balaclava tucked into a hoodie straining around his arms would have innocent designs on you. 

He’s one of the bigger men you’ve ever come across. You look across the street to see if there’s a bar missing its bouncer, but all the shop fronts are dark like the ones on your side. 

You don’t bolt at the sight of him, but it’s a near thing. He appears from nowhere, and yet there’s nowhere for him to hide. Not with the size and breadth of him damn near taking up the whole sidewalk. His demeanour and stride evoke such a sense of authority that at first you mistake him for a plainclothes man, and wouldn’t that be just the icing on the shit cake of a week you’ve been experiencing. But something about him says otherwise. 

“Plan on catchin’ your death out here?” he asks, and you shiver. Not from the cold, but from the sound of his voice. 

You’re not used to talking to strangers. A month ago, you would’ve ignored the man lambasting you for being out in the rain; maybe crossed the street and hailed a cab instead. You don’t have those kinds of options anymore. The only thing left in your repertoire is to shout back. 

“I’ve got mace!” you yell out, your voice a hoarse rattle carved out from hours spent crying. 

“That’ll do ya fuck all out here,” he says, a touch condescendingly. “You lost or somethin’?”

“I’m not lost,” you sniff, rubbing the snot away from your nose with the end of your sleeve.

“Then get home instead of roamin’ the streets. You’re askin’ to get snatched up, bird.”

The threat of that has been lingering in your head these past few days, even stretching back to the very first moment that you noticed the sign on your door, but now it has its intended effect. You shake. 

“I can’t,” you whisper.

“Bloody hell,” he sighs. “Why the fuck not? Need someone to call you a cab?”

“I got evicted. I don’t have a home,” you say, and sniffle when your nose leaks again. Saying it outloud brings tears to your eyes again, a pressure building behind your orbital sockets and down to the tip of your nose. 

You must look like the saddest thing in the world standing there in the rain under the dim light of the streetlamp, the pole looped with graffiti and old gum. When the man berating you for being out in it takes a step forward, coming into the light, you can finally make out the bored depths of his eyes. A deep brown. Entirely unimpressed with the picture in front of him, maybe even a bit peeved. 

Your socks are wet and your shoes squelch when you take a step back. You pull the sheer sweater tighter around your frame, but it does nothing to protect you from the damp, frigid air. 

“You been out here long?” he asks, taking another step closer. Not tentatively either. His gaze sweeps over you proprietarily, taking stock; his arrogance comes as an afterthought. He’s not rubbing it in your face that he can do whatever he likes—he just does. 

You wheel your suitcase around in front of you to put something between the two of you. “…Just today. The gym kicked me out.”

You sound petulant, words chewed between your lips and teeth; begrudgingly admitting to the various pitfalls of your existence. All the bad luck. It’s shameful to admit to losing complete control of your life. 

“Haven’t ya got any family, girl? Friends? What’re they letting a girl like you stay out on the streets for?”

You could be sick on the pavement. “…That’s none of your business.”

His eyes go flat at that, unimpressed. “You always this nasty to people tryin’ to help?”

And you’re not. That’s the part that grates the most. You’re all soft underbelly; no bark, no bite. It’s inconceivable that this could’ve happened to you—inconceivable because your head is filled with false promises and mythologies. The myth of exceptionalism. This happens to other people. Not good girls that go to college and get their degrees and find a stable job. 

They’ve pulled the rug out from under you so fast that you haven’t even toppled over yet. That’s how quick it all happened. 

“What help are you?” The bite comes out of nowhere, fueled by bitter humiliation and resentment for the predicament you’ve found yourself in. “Are you gonna put me up in a hotel?”

“Think I’m made of money, bird?” he asks rhetorically. 

“You’ve probably got more than I have.” 

Now you’re weepy again at the thought. Down to your last hundred dollars and you’re in between jobs at the moment. It might’ve been easier to haul yourself out of poverty if applying for jobs didn’t require a mailing address. That’ll be your first priority once you find a place to live. But conversely, how are you meant to find housing with no proof of income? Landlords laugh in your face before slamming the door shut. The conversations are circular, but they always come to a grinding halt; that’s the only thing you’ve learned to expect. 

The worst part of this whole conversation is that it doesn’t follow any of the scripts you’ve previously memorized. When have you ever had to deal with a man interrogating you about your place of residence? It makes no sense. 

It’s inconceivable to imagine that this is happening to you, but it is. Life comes at you hard, with a razor’s edge. Sharp enough to cut, to lacerate. 

“You need a place to stay,” he states bluntly. 

“It’s fine. I’ll—I’ll find something.” 

“You could come home with me.” He says it so bluntly that for a moment all you can do is blink. Surely you misheard him. Surely a man of his size and breadth, dark mask obscuring his face, wouldn’t be daft enough to ask a woman he found on the street to come home with him.

The offer, as well-intentioned as you hope it is, puts you on edge. “No, that’s…that’s alright. I don’t want to…put you out. I was going to look up nearby shelters.”

“Shelters’ll all be full this time of night,” he says. “Never been on the streets?”

You clenched your teeth, nerves starting to get the better of you. 

“I can go to a church,” you say, voice terse now, frayed with nerves. 

He snorts. “Haven’t been to one in a long time, but pretty sure those close too, pet. It’s late.”

You sway on your feet, the suitcase at your side the only thing keeping your knees from buckling. Dead ends everywhere you turn. You’ve always thought of yourself as resourceful; that if push came to shove, you’d figure your way out of any sticky situation. That smacks of arrogance now. All your suppositions are dissolving right in front of you, your own self-image along with it. 

A heavy foot stepping into a puddle brings you back to focus. The masked man is closer now, within arm’s reach. Your heart jumps into your throat. He towers over you, monolith man; big as a sequoia, or other deadland creatures that vanish out of sight when you catch a shadow out of the corner of your eye and whirl around to look it dead on. 

“I can’t go home with a stranger.”

You know you’re not supposed to put your faith in strange men. Bad things happen to girls that go around trusting any man that offers up their help. 

The fist in your chest loosens infinitesimally when the man reaches up to pull the mask off his head. He’s every inch the brute you imagined in your head—blunt chin and crooked nose, a nasty scar running up his lip. There are scars all over his face, in fact—bisecting his left eyebrow and down his cheek. The blond hair on his head is slightly grown out, like he’s used to keeping it neat and tight but it’s been awhile since his head has seen a razor. His beard grows in a bit patchy, the burnish gold of a five o’clock shadow.

You frown. “Is that supposed to make me trust you?”

“Well, now we’re not strangers, are we?”

“That doesn’t—that doesn’t change anything! I still don’t know you.”

He shrugs. Takes a step back. “Suit yourself then. No skin off my ass.”

Your stomach roils, anxiety coming back with a vengeance. You hadn’t noticed it recede since the man started talking to you, but you notice its return. When he makes a move to turn back around, you lurch forward, your hand extending out and fisting in the side of his shirt. He pauses, then looks down at you. 

“…Where else am I supposed to go?” you whisper.

He tilts his head. “Could sleep on a bench in the park.”

You glare at him through tear-soaked eyes. “That’s not funny.”

“Wasn’t meant to be. You’re shit out of other options at this time of night.”

“So, what? Now it’s-it’s my fault or something?”  

His eyes don’t exactly soften, but they lose their hard edge. 

“I’m not gonna ask twice,” he says. Not cautioning you, just stating a fact. “You coming or not?”

Disaster seems like a given at this point. At least you could pick your poison. 

Words are beyond you though, so you just bite your lip and nod, eyes downcast now. 

What else is there for you to do but follow him after that? You trail along after him like a sad, wet cat left out in the rain. 

He finds her wandering the streets with her pretty little suitcase rolling over every bump and crack in the sidewalk and there’s no fighting the urge to drag her home. 

She doesn’t look like a runaway. Just a poor thing down on her luck. Her cheeks practically glisten with her tears when she looks up at him with her big, pathetic eyes, and it makes his cock plump up against his thigh. 

That’s not what this is about though. Simon presses his hand against his dick to rub out some of the ache while she flutters around the bedroom and reminds himself of that again. He didn’t take her home to maul her like a dog. He dragged her back to his flat because she looked wounded and scared out of her wits. 

He can be good every now and then. 

“Sit down, will ya?” he grunts, tugging her down onto the couch when she flits across the room to grab more of her shit out of her suitcase, glancing down at him apprehensively on her way by. She yelps when he sends her sprawling onto the couch. 

His flat isn’t much. A one-bedroom above a laundromat; eggshell walls and torn up baseboards because he hasn’t gotten around to fixing the place up. It’s better than sleeping on the streets though, he knows that much. 

Simon’s no stranger to that; if being in the military taught him anything, it was how to survive regardless of circumstances. In the weeks after his medical discharge—his knees beyond busted, basically bone on bone, and even these days, though he works more to have something to do than to earn a living, they still scream at him when he puts too much weight on them—he wandered aimlessly for a bit, crashing on Gaz’s couch for a bit and sleeping on benches for a spell after that before finding his footing again. 

Simon ignores the way that she yaps at him though, used to tuning people out. He flicks on the television and flips to a show that looks vaguely entertaining before getting up and ambling over to the kitchen. 

“D-do you want me to help?” she asks from the kitchen, tripping over her words in her haste to get them out. 

She reeks of the need to please. Desperate; cloying, sickly sweet like flowering dracaena. It clings to her like a perfume, silk-wrapped and packaged just for him. It could give a man like him indecent thoughts. His thoughts already tend towards the impure. 

He must eye her like a ravenous animal because she flinches suddenly under his gaze, eyes flicking away nervously before meeting his again. Good girl, Simon wants to say. Eyes on me. 

“Sit down,” he barks instead, and relishes in the way she sits back down with her hands tucked under her thighs. 

She’s really a pretty little thing. A shame that he found her out wandering in the rain, out where any man with worse intentions could have stumbled across her. The thought alone could drive him to violence. Again he stares at the back of her head and the slope of her shoulders, evaluating. His bloodlust dulls to a simmer. It pounds in his ears like a dull drum, but at least now he can hear again. 

Anyone else could have found her first, but they didn’t. He did. That tempers the homicidal impulse thrumming in his blood. She’s in his flat now, freshly showered and skin still damp. When she looks over her shoulder, it’s him she sees. 

Poor bird with her clipped wings. She’s not in danger of flying off anytime soon. The thought placates him. Tucked away in his cage, he doesn’t have to rend anyone limb from limb.

It’s been years since he traded in his fatigues for a hi vis jumpsuit, but some days he misses it so acutely that his hands shake and his vision fades in and out. This is one of those days. He toys with the idea of reaching out to Price in the morning to learn more about her, but then discards the idea. Better if it comes straight from her.

Besides, he doesn’t like asking for favours anyway.

“Name’s Simon, by the way,” he grunts, nostrils flaring when he sees her flinch at the sound of his voice. “Riley.”

“Oh,” is all she says. He waits a beat.

“Gonna give me your name, bird?”

She does, voice squeaky like it’s said under duress. That pisses him off more. 

He's not much of a cook, but he can whip up something quick, so he tosses one of his frozen meals into the microwave and sits her in front of the TV while she shivers and shakes on the couch.

They eat in silence, the TV on in the background. It’s the only noise besides the soft sound of her chewing. Simon can tell she’s gone hungry in recent days by the voracious way she eats, unable to keep herself from shovelling the food into her mouth. She seems almost embarrassed by it after swallowing her last bite, looking over at him from the corner of her eye like a guilty dog. He ignores it, keeping his eyes on the TV instead.

He can tell she wants to say something. A shit childhood and two decades in the military have left him with the ability to sniff out tension, and it comes off her in waves. After putting her plate on the coffee table, she sits back against the couch and squeezes her fists over her lap. Gnaws her lip and casts furtive glances in his direction. When the tears build up on her waterline, his cock twitches. 

“What?” he barks after the umpteenth sniffle, twisting to face her. 

“I—um—I just wanted to say thank you,” she whispers, her head still tilted downward, trying to make herself small enough to go unnoticed. 

Simon stares down at her, unblinking. He half wishes she’d cry a little more, just a few tears to soothe the beast in his chest. It’s better for her that her eyes remain dry. He doesn’t think he could hold himself back if one slipped down her cheek right now. He’d have to grab her by the nape of her neck and twist her over the side of the couch, shove down both their drawers and feed his cock into the warm, wet slot between her legs. Pummel her little cunt until his spend leaks out in thick, viscous globs, until her thighs shake so violently that only his hands on her shoulders and his shaft shoved deep in her pussy keeps her upright. 

He can almost smell it from between her legs, throbbing with gratefulness. He stares down unabashedly at the spot between her legs. Let her say something about it. 

“Don’t mention it,” he says instead, tilting his head when her tongue peeks out to wet her lips. “‘Was nothing.”

“No, it was really nice of you,” she insists, speaking more forcefully after gathering up some of her courage. “What if I…—you took a stranger into your house.”

That gets the blood pumping. “Gonna gut me while I sleep, pet?”

It’s half deranged that his cock chubs up in his jeans at the thought of his little bird with a knife in her hands, hands dripping with wet, dark blood. He shifts, readjusting himself so the metal teeth of his zipper don’t bite into his dick. 

She frowns. Endearing. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Not really good at looking after yourself, are you?”

“I am—it’s just…” tears build up on her waterline again, “it was one thing after another. I couldn’t get it all together.”

Pity isn’t an emotion he’s accustomed to feeling. Simon’s not even sure if that’s what he’s feeling now. It’s more like the bastard child of pity. 

He lets her off to bed with a warning not to fuck with anything in his room. She skitters off quickly after that. Her cute little ass follows her into the room until she shuts the door behind her, hiding it from view. He huffs. Being good never gets him anywhere.

He lets her run away though because he can’t tarnish everything he touches. Some things deserve to stay polished. 

Instead, he brushes his teeth and washes the last of the dishes before turning in as well, getting a clean sheet out of the linen closet to drape over himself. The couch isn’t nearly long enough for him to stretch out on, not like the king sized bed in his room; there’s already a spring poking him right in the middle of his back.

Sleep won’t come easy tonight. 

Simon wakes up on the couch with a kink in his neck. He lays there for several minutes gritting his teeth until the worst of it passes. When he sits up, his back cracks and pops, joints loosening only reluctantly. His age is getting away from him again; the wear and tear on his body finally starting to catch up. There’s only so much abuse he can put himself through. 

The morning races on outside his front door and he has work to get to, but his body orients towards the closed door of his bedroom almost without his say. It creaks as it swings open. 

In the slowly dimming haze of sleep, he must have subconsciously thought he dreamt the night before because seeing the girl from yesterday curled up in his bed halts him in his tracks. Her suitcase is open on the floor beside the bed. She must have changed into her pyjamas after slinking away last night because he doesn’t recognize the little cotton shorts hugging the swell of her ass and the shirt riding up over her belly button. 

Despite the perfunctory morning jerk he gave himself just ten minutes prior, his cock twitches in his work pants, gaze locked on the underside of her ass, the flesh peeking out from beneath her sleep shorts. 

The hunger ebbs out of a deep, cavernous hole in him. A heavy, oppressive heat; lust so gnarled and twisted that he hardly recognizes it. He can see it play out in his mind—crawling over the bird’s prone form and turning her over onto her belly, his knees on either side of her legs, cloaking her. Tugging down the zipper of his pants and wrenching those slutty shorts down to mid-thigh before burying his shaft in her hole. Little bird that followed him home, sleeping in his bed. She should thank him for his help with a wet hole. 

Simon takes a step into the room and then stops. He won’t—can’t—

His teeth grind together from how hard he clenches his jaw. 

He stands in the doorway and watches her sleep in his bed for longer than he should. Only when he feels something ugly well up in his chest does he finally bark out her name, snorting softly when she jumps and nearly falls right off the side of the bed. 

“Get up,” Simon grunts. “And make yourself something to eat. I’ve gotta head out.”

He walks away before the befuddled look on her face makes him crack a smile. 

She tiptoes out a few minutes later, still in her PJs. Her wary glances tick him off. For the effort it’s taken him to keep his hands to himself, he deserves more than her shifty looks, scoring him like he split her little peach open in her sleep.  

Breakfast is an uncomfortable affair. It’s partly his fault, but he doesn’t apologize for it. They eat in tense silence until it’s time for him to head to work. 

“Don't think about leaving—any of my shit gets nicked and it's your ass.”

He leaves her with that warning, slamming the door behind him.

Your heart goes quiet at the dawning of your new life. 

Adjusting to your new reality takes a bit of effort. The first few days with Simon feel tenuous at best. You worry constantly about doing something wrong and finding yourself back out on the streets. You’re thankful to the point of pandering, apologizing for any sudden move or sound that you make. You can tell it annoys him. 

The real work is recontextualizing your perception of yourself. The world feels strange now that you’re outside of it; alien somehow. You used to think of yourself as somehow inextricably woven into the fabric of society. The thought of losing everything never even occurred to you. It never even presented itself as a possibility. You worried about homelessness the way people worry about quicksand—in some nebulous way touching on the real without being absorbed by it. 

And now you are cut from another cloth altogether; abruptly, without any warning. You used to feel like one with the rest of the world, a kind of kinship based less on parentage or ancestry and more on inner nature. Weren’t you the same as any of them? But now the drapery has been pulled down and you know—you are not the same. 

Your future used to shimmer under the surface like a bioluminescent fish, but now it’s just a ghost.

He tells you to stay put when he goes to work so you do, spending the days puttering around the apartment, watching TV, and cleaning. There’s not much else to do. It’s almost a relief, to be honest. You’ve spent so much time without a place to call home that the second someone offered you one, the outside world became anathema in your head. You couldn’t step foot out of the front door even if you wanted to. 

Tears well up at the smallest thing. You blubber over not being able to work the coffee machine in the kitchen. When the sound goes out on the TV, you cry so hard that it leaves you woozy. You’re lachrymose, downtrodden. Soul a startling verdigris; your waterlines might as well be white with encrustations of salt. 

He must notice the dark cloud following you from room to room, but he doesn’t bring it up. You’d find it tactful, but you know him a bit better than that. 

Then Simon brings home a cat after his shift one day and you don’t know what to say to that.

Thank you doesn’t seem to suffice. I love it doesn’t cut it close. The truth of the matter is that words only ever approximate the feeling; they can get close enough to give you a glimmer of what’s stashed inside, but you can’t pry them all the way open. So you take the off-white cat from him when he practically tosses the poor thing into your arms, and stare up at him wide-eyed, eyes already watering for reasons once again unbeknownst to you. 

“Thank you for taking him home,” you say, already on the verge of tears.

He stares down at you, unblinking. You’re learning to read into his silences though. 

“Don’t expect me to take care of it,” he says instead of accepting your thanks. “If you can’t handle it, it’s going back outside.” 

You hold the cat tight to your chest, staring up at him with horror until the little beast nearly scratches your eye out in an effort to squirm out of your arms. 

At first, you’re not sure what to make of it. It can’t be a peace offering because, apart from the rare occasions where you manage to get on his nerves (not wholly impossible, but you’re learning how to stay on his good side for the most part), you and Simon get along pretty well. You coexist, at least. He cooks, you clean. 

It’s likely a distraction, you finally realize, something to keep you from moping around the apartment all the time, listless and directionless. Despite the fact that you’re no longer in any immediate danger now that you have a roof over your head, misery still clings to you like a second skin. The relative safety of Simon’s flat has actually only given you a chance to really properly mourn the loss of your former life. 

Training the cat to wear a harness without tipping over (the little drama king) and taking him on his first walk outside (just a little turn around the block, though you half jump out of your skin whenever you cross paths with another person) gives you enough of a sense of purpose to propel you through the next week. 

You can tell that Simon thinks the cat is more trouble than it’s worth, especially when it decides to fixate on the one person in the flat that doesn’t pay it a lick of attention, but still it makes your heart melt to see it curled up by his side when you watch TV together at the end of the night. 

“Is this normal for you?” you ask, hands folded in your lap.

His gaze doesn’t move from the television screen. “Is what normal?”

“Taking in strays.”

He snorts, then takes a second to answer. “No.”

You wonder if he intends to sound as caustic as he comes across. The truth is self-evident though. Words only mask the real, and the real in this case is that Simon Riley is a man that feeds and takes home strays. He can grumble about it all he wants. It’s a bit demeaning to think of yourself that way, but once again, the truth is what it is. 

You study him from the corner of your eye until bedtime rolls around again. He’s become the most interesting thing in the world to you, through every fault of his own.

If he didn’t want you to fixate on him, he wouldn’t have left you home alone with nothing else to do. 

“Bird!” Simon roars from the other room. “The cat’s pissed on the floor again.”

You spring out of bed before Simon has a chance to toss it out onto the balcony. 

It feels temporary up until the first time you use Simon’s address on a job application. It stands out stark on your phone screen, black on glowing white. You’ve always preferred it to dark mode, though that preference has fluctuated in recent weeks as you’ve spent more and more time on your phone. 

This is the first time staring at the screen without blinking for a prolonged period of time that hasn’t left you with a throbbing migraine. 

He tells you to stop bothering him with stupid shit when you ask him if it’s alright to use his address. That answers that. Guilt lingers on the periphery of your mind the first time that you do, but then the application is submitted. An innocuous grey box that redefines your whole world in a way that [Thanks for applying!] doesn’t seem to encapsulate. 

Your old friends come next. They come back one by one, guilty, furtive looks aplenty. You Facetime the one who wouldn’t let you sleep on her couch while sitting on Simon’s bed. When she asks you about your living situation, all you tell her is that you found a roommate. It doesn’t feel right to give her more information than that. What has she done to deserve your honesty? 

You manage pleasantries and a half decent conversation, but truth again lingers at the back of your mind. The unspoken reality that this person—someone you trusted—could’ve been there for you in your time of need but chose to look the other way instead. Like taking you in would’ve been some big, terrible thing. 

The body forgets everything except what hurts it. The body remembers nothing except what helps it survive. 

Gratefulness lodges into your heart like an arrow shot from a castle’s ramparts intent on your demise. You could pull it out from the other side and succumb to blood loss, or you could push forward, lay siege to the man hidden inside its walls. 

And you do. You want to show him every grateful inch of you. Even when it only results in more upset. Simon comes home to the smoke alarm blaring and a small fire in the microwave before he bans you from the kitchen altogether. You only cry for an hour in the bedroom with the door shut before he drags you out to takeout on the table in the living room. It’s an improvement. 

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle into your veggie burger, on the verge of tears again when you glance into the kitchen to see most of the mess still there. 

“It’s fine.”

“I just want to—I wanted to make it up to you…for taking me in.”

“You don’t owe me shit,” he says brusquely, dismissing you. His tone tells you to drop it, but that seems as likely as you growing wings and flying away. 

“Yes, I do. You let me stay here when I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“If you want to make it up to me, take care of the cat and stop leaving your shit all over the bathroom. Found your knickers on the floor after you showered yesterday.”

Your face goes hot at that. You have nothing else to say. 

Your attraction is a banal consequence of living under the same roof as him. There are only so many times he can come up behind you while you’re making your morning cup of coffee and swipe your mug before taking a sip from over your shoulder, barricading you against the counter. Acutely aware of the size of him with the way he’s pressed up against you. 

You lose your train of thought whenever Simon wanders into a room. He lumbers in like a beast, steel-toed boots covered in mud and dust, ignoring the way you scold him for walking around the apartment in his shoes. Just cocks an eyebrow and stares down at you knowingly, like he can see right through you, knows that you’re only squawking and flitting around to hide the way your thighs rub together. 

“It’s my fuckin’ flat,” he says instead of pointing out that your pussy’s wet because she knows there’s a man in the house that could take care of her proper. You know it too. 

“I live here too, you know,” you huff. “I can’t wash the floors every time you come home.”

“Thought I was doing you a favour letting you live here.”

His words would fill you with righteous indignation, but they don’t because his actions don’t line up. You study him like a moth under glass, enthralled by the parts of him that used to frighten you. 

It’s more than that though. He’s wedged himself into the hurt place in your heart, holding it up like Atlas. 

You really do think that there’s something so special about him that you’ll never be able to articulate. Simon is everything you didn’t know you desperately wanted. The longer you live with him, the harder it is to deny how much you need him. 

You will show your gratitude though. Every tender, aching morsel of it. 

The little peach she grinds on his thigh is wet and ripe. Simon doesn’t tell her that he doesn’t need her gratitude; if he wanted it, he would’ve taken it already. But he doesn’t shove her out of his lap either. It’s not his problem if she thinks it’s necessary or not.

Maybe it’s not solely for his benefit, he concedes when she winds both arms around his neck and pushes her supple tits into his chest, climbing over his lap until her pussy is pressed right up against the cock fattening up in his jeans. She whimpers like she’s in pain. 

Must not come a lot; he knows she at least hasn’t in recent days. Simon’s always been a light sleeper—he’s sure he would’ve heard any desperate attempts to get herself off in his bed, the springs creaking under her weight, her hushed, bitten off moans leaking out from under the doorframe. The thought riles him up more than he thought it would. 

Still, Simon doesn’t lift a hand to help the poor bird in his lap as she grinds down on his length. His arms stay stretched across the back of the couch, hips canted just enough to give her a perch and nothing more. 

She gasps every word into his ear, voice all pitched and breathy. “Ah, ah, ah—thank you, thank you, I…—can I please have it? Please, please let me, Simon, pleasepleaseplease—”

It feels like everything they’ve been through so far has been leading to this. He’d smelt it coming like blood in the water. 

All week, his bird has been sitting on her hands and trying not to give herself away. Cloaked in a nervous, frenetic energy. Anticipatory. She’d doe-eyed him the night before and begged him to sleep in the bed with her instead of wrecking his back on the couch, but he’d ignored her in favour of watching Argentina decimate Croatia in the semi-finals. It must have not sat right with her though because she’d been broody from the moment he left for work until he got home, steering him into the kitchen and practically hand feeding him before coaxing him into the living room to watch a movie while she cuddled up beside him.

That hadn’t lasted long. 

“What’s gotten into you, pet?” Simon asks, hardly dissuading her when she presses petal soft lips to his jaw and nuzzles, breathing heavily. His heart swells. Desperate little slut. 

“Took care of me,” she mumbles, almost slurring her words. “Always taking care of me, Simon.”

There’s no denying how hard it makes him to think about being her protector. The littlest things make her smile. Even the bloody cat had her trailing after him for a week straight after the fact, eternally underfoot. Always trying to curry favour. Eager to please. 

Her worship leaves him unbalanced. Unstable even. A train careening off its track, the massive weight of catastrophe right behind it. The sense that life will never be the same after this. His surface level indifference is underscored by steeled self-control. He keeps his arms on the couch because he knows the second he puts them on her, it’s over. There’ll be no holding him back anymore, no possibility of him ever letting her go back out into the real world. Lock jawed, teeth sunk into her tender underbelly. 

“Told you, you don’t owe me nothing,” Simon murmurs, curling his hands under her ass. 

“Then—then…—I don’t know, pretend it’s just for me.” It’s a joke because they both know it’s not just for her. When her eyes sparkle with amusement, his cock throbs.

He lets her ruck the shirt over his head and struggle with his belt until she manages to unbuckle it like he has no say in the matter. She’s far less considerate with her own clothes, shucking them off and nearly ripping her knickers in the process, which almost prompts him to take her by the wrists and slow her down. He likes the lace and frills. 

It’s a fight to fit his cock into her hole, as slick as she is. Coin slot tight; he almost breaks and tells her to take it easy when she reaches behind her to line his shaft up with her entrance and sits down, just barely stretching around the mushroomed head of his dick before wincing, tears springing into her eyes. 

Simon does break when she tries to sink down another inch, thighs shaking violently. “Right, get off—you ain’t ready for this.”

“I am!” she insists, face screwed up in a scowl and a bead of sweat dripping down her temple. “Just—I can do it, Simon—”

“No, you can’t. You’re rushing and hurting yourself—”

“Wait, okay, wait, I can…just give me a minute, okay?” she begs, and he doesn’t tell her that he’d give her all the time in the world. Stay on this couch until the flesh fell off his bones. He’s waited so long; what’s a little longer? 

Besides, the sight of her stretching herself out with her fingers is reward enough. She whines into his shoulder and shudders when she has to force another finger in before she’s ready. Too eager. It could give a man a complex. His blood is already scorching him from the inside out, too hot for his veins.  

He considers helping her out, but watching her writhe and struggle in his lap is far more enjoyable. 

He stopped paying attention awhile back, too focused on cupping her tits and running his tongue around the budded areola, sucking her pert nipple into his mouth, but she couldn’t have gotten to more than three fingers before running out of patience and lining him up again. This time, she sinks a bit deeper on the first stroke, still choking on her breath but forcing herself to take a bit more. 

“You’re alright—you’re alright,” Simon murmurs, stroking a hand up and down her back while she impales herself on his length. She’s still too tight to take him comfortably, sweats and shakes over him. He pinches her nipple to distract her from the pain and smiles when she yelps. 

She melts all over him, slick drenching his shaft and lap, her tongue lapping at the sweaty skin of his neck. Honeysuckle fragrant; the sweetest thing he’s ever known. Silken, tight. Fits like a glove around him. 

He could lose himself in her. Piston into her until the thought of where he begins and where he ends dissolves into the tight warmth between her legs.

His bird is a greedy girl. She uses him like a toy to get herself off, bouncing in his lap and mewling into his ear everytime his cockhead nudges against her cervix. Too big to fit all the way in. 

“You do this a lot, pet? Fuck every man that lends you a hand?” he pants, taunting her.

“No!” she snarls in his ear, feisty and sharp-toothed. Her nails dig into his back, scoring white lines into his skin. The shiver that wracks him is so violent that his arms tighten around her waist reflexively, making her gasp. 

It doesn’t matter whether she does this often or not; the only thing that matters is that he’s the only man that gets to fuck her from here on out. Still, winding her up is half the fun. 

“Perfect girl,” Simon chuckles, breathless. “Made for me. Got m’self a pet right off the street.”

And he did, didn’t he? Went wandering out into the night and came home with a bird fluttering her wet little wings. 

His conscience is clean. He could’ve tied her down, kept her right where he wanted her (in his bed, his flat, the yawning cavity of his chest—) but his self-control remains unparalleled. Tough as nails. Strong as steel. And now look at what he has as a reward for his patience—a fever-hot cunt around his cock and delicate fingernails scratching the base of his skull. 

A pretty bird that’s made his chest a cage. 

The world goes vertical, horizontal. Fluid; sliding away from him. Something crashes in the background, so far off in the distance that he can hardly make out the sound. 

He opens his eyes to find the ceiling staring back down at him, and then her face, hovering over him on the carpeted floor, her hands kneading the muscle of his chest. Her brows are drawn tight now, pinched. She stares down at him, past him, gaze like a transparent veil. 

“Gi’me…gi’me…” she pants, barely able to pull herself off his cock. 

He has to dig his fingers into her ass and pull her off, ignoring the way she whines and begs him to fill her back up. Ignores it because he knows what’s best for her; knows how to take care of what he owns. 

When he bucks up into her, she chokes, fingers nearly yanking his chest hair out. 

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s pretty,” he breathes. Snaps his hips up into hers again, relishing in the way she squeezes tight around him, almost to the point of pain. 

His pleasure always comes jagged though. Whether the ache of his joints or nails tearing up the skin of his back and chest. Vicious and messy—how he likes it. She gives him everything he could want and more. The hand dug into his chest right above his heart could pierce right through the flesh and tear it out.

He pulls her all the way off his cock just for the pleasure of hearing her beg him again, then pulls her up his chest and eats her out until the beast in his belly calms down. 

He yields to her whining only after a good few minutes. Soft bastard. Drags her back down until her soaked hole mouths at the head of his cock and he thrusts back up inside. Home. It’s his now, whether she likes it or not. Simon guesses he’s lucky that she wants it too; if he had to convince her, he would, but her desperation is just another gift for him to savour. 

“Squeeze me good, bird. Say thank you—” thank you for taking me home, thank you for keeping me– almost spills off his tongue, but he reigns it in. She knows what to be thankful for. 

“Nngh, Simon,” she sings, fucking herself on his cock. The sweetest sound he’s ever heard. 

Simon’s never felt bigger than under his sweet bird. Thighs spread so wide around him that he knows she’ll ache in the morning. Brutish hands groping her thighs and waist and tits, rough against the softness of her skin. Stuffed full of a big cock, not even to the root; she bites right through her bottom lip when Simon pets at the thin skin stretched around his cock, her gaze wounded, overwhelmed. 

Nearly blacks out at the thought of cramming a finger up there too. Only faint concern for her well-being tamps down the urge. 

“Come on, fuck—that good, pet?”

“R-right there, oh god, ohgodohgod—”

He lets her ride him until she comes, until he comes, until his spend is blistering hot in her cunt, drooling down the length of his cock, frothy white with her cream and his come. 

It’s a sight to look at. Gets him right in the chest. Nothing like times of yore; this is something with meaning, with feeling. When he lifts her off, his seed trickles out of her soft hole in white globs and makes his chest ache. It doesn’t matter whether it takes root or not. All that he needs is already here. 

Beautiful and rare as a sundog; haloed by light. All this time, he dared not think this could be it. 

He thinks he’ll love her with the same ferocity Icarus had on his descent.

She shivers when he traces his fingers up her spine. “N’more. M’tired.”

“Wasn’t gonna, pet.”

The bedroom then. She twitches in his arms when Simon carries her to bed and pats his chest approvingly when he slides in beside her. 

He could’ve told her that it’d end up this way. He smiles indulgently when she shifts and splays over his chest, her nose nudging his nipple. Already fast asleep. 

In the morning, you sit across from him, half a grapefruit in a bowl in front of you and a mug of coffee, black. 

“I think I want to go back to school,” you say, apropos of nothing. The spoon clinks against the inside of the bowl. 

“Yeah?” he says, only half-listening. 

“I can always get a part time job on the days when I don’t have class. I never liked my old job anyway.”

“Do whatever you want,” Simon grunts. “Not my problem.”

Under the table, your cat’s tail curls around your ankle while he waits for you to sneak him the scraps. 

You smile.

hound dog

prompt: You pick up Ghost from a bar for a one night stand. Too bad Ghost isn't interested in a casual hook up. (nsfw, 6.7k) [based on this old post] [on ao3 here]

-

Rare is the day when a stupid girl doesn’t do stupid things.

This is just one of many such occurrences. Stepping into the dimly lit dive bar—the one miles from your place, reeking of tobacco and leather and motor oil, the noxious perfume of week old sweat and weed stinking up the joint, pardon the pun—with too much eyeliner and mascara on, and a skirt too short for you—and would you just stop fiddling with it? But you can’t because that would mean admitting that it barely fits over your ass, that putting on a skirt so short was a choice, an invite, a teasing little taunt to the men in the bar saying, what are you waiting for? I’m asking for it, aren’t I—

What’s that saying again?

Ah, yes. Choices made in anger cannot be undone.

It’s why you’re planted at the bat some six weeks after being dumped, two weeks after being ghosted for the third time in a row, a smile on your face despite your crumbling self-esteem. Pride hanging in tatters. Grimacing when you find the bartop sticky with congealed liquor, the residue sticking to your skin when you quickly lift your elbows off. But there’s a time for self-pity and a time for getting it the fuck togther. This just happens to be one of the latter times.

“What’m I gettin’ you?” the bartender in front of you asks, barely impressed with your get-up. Not even attempting to conceal his distaste when he eyes you up and down, lingering on the way your tits are practically spilling out of your top. 

“Do you have any cocktails?” you ask. Wrong question. The eye roll isn’t even suppressed for your benefit when he makes it clear to you, in no uncertain terms, that it’s whatever he can pour straight from a bottle or the fancy bar for cityfolk down the road. He says it like that, the word practically sneered out. Cityfolk. 

Nerves shaken, you sip at your red wine after he leaves you to your own devices, your glass poured straight from the box. It could function passably as lighter fluid if the circumstances called for it. Still, you swallow it with a positive attitude, emboldened by the knowledge that you’re here for one thing and one thing only:

to get fucked within an inch of your life by one of the greasy-haired, cut-wearing, cigarette-smoking men lining the bar. 

Even the thought sends a thrill down your spine. 

It’s an age old question, isn’t it? What’s a girl to do (when her love life’s falling apart / when her credit score just bottomed out because her ex-boyfriend ran up her credit cards behind her back / when her job’s steadily becoming unbearable but quitting would mean scrambling to find a job that’ll pay anywhere near to what this one’s paying her) to get a drink around here? 

Evidently, the answer isn’t to use a dating app; you can say that confidently after waiting around in fancier bars than this for several no-show dates. 

You’re feeling appropriately over the whole thing. Ready to call it quits. Uninstall all of the apps on your phone and hire a matchmaker or ask a friend to set you up with a coworker of theirs. But that’ll be later, down the line when you aren’t dealing with the issue at hand.

The issue being that—

you’re really fucking horny. 

Embarrassingly so. Enough that you were willing to travel miles away from home to avoid accidentally hooking up with anyone you might run into later on while out getting groceries or on a morning run. 

It’s just better to play things close to your chest. Keep your romantic life and your sexual exploits far apart (not that you’d know much about keeping things separate; you’ve never had much of a sex life to keep hidden) lest you get mired in a stickier situation than you’re comfortable being in. 

Despite the rough start, the bar you chose seems promising. There’s a man at the other side of the bar that keeps drawing your eye. It’s the hulking size of him at first, then the grime clinging to the folds of his skin, worn in from years of hard labor. He looks like a man fresh off a fourteen-hour shift or a fortnight spent on an oil rig in the middle of the Baltic sea, freshly washed ashore, kelp and barnacles still fused to his skin, not yet pried off. 

Rough is the only word you’d use to describe him. A face covered in nicks and old scars, his upper lip slightly puckered and scarred from cleft lip surgery. When he turns his head to say something to the bartender, you catch a glimpse of a cauliflower ear, the cartilage of his tragus and antihelix swollen and deformed. 

He’s exactly what you’ve been looking for. If you’d given it more thought, you think you could’ve conjured up an image of the man across the bar all by yourself. It’s like someone plucked him straight out of your head. Big and brawny, broad shoulders that you can imagine dangling your ankles off, and well-muscled arms that you can imagine digging your nails into. It would take both of your hands and extra to wrap around his bicep. The thought makes you shiver.

You try to catch his attention subtly. Looking over at him from under your lashes, quick, smoldering glances meant to draw his attention to you, so that he approaches you first. You keep waiting for the moment when he’ll notice your stare and hold your gaze, a question being asked and answered between your eyes before reeling him in with a coy little smile. 

But when a half hour goes by without a single glance your way, your hope begins to wane. 

He doesn’t look up no matter how many times you glance over at him. It’s frustrating; you know he feels the weight of your stare. His disregard is purposeful, deliberate; like he knows your attention is fixed on him but he can’t be bothered to so much as return your stare. You wonder if that means he’s got a lady at home, a little bird cooped up in his house that he’s more eager to get back to after he’s had a drink to take off the edge than flirt with some trussed up floozy at the bar.

That makes you squirm, self-consciousness rearing its ugly head again. Maybe you made a mistake coming here. 

It’s not as though you’re being completely ignored, it’s just that the caliber of men that have approached you so far haven’t really inspired much, carnally speaking. You’ve sent the few braver ones away, a half-hearted thanks but no thanks when they offer to buy you a drink. Most leave without a word, though a few mutter obscenities under their breath before shoving their hands in their pockets and stalking away. Bitch. Dumb cunt. 

Calling it a night feels like a natural next step. With the attitude you keep getting from the bartender and the way the only man you’re remotely attracted to refuses to so much as glance your way, it doesn’t feel right to stay out any longer. Embarrassment heats you like a low grade fever, warm in your belly. Wine sloshes around in your stomach when you slip off the stool, hunger now another pressing concern. 

You’ll ask him on your way back from the bathroom. If he turns you down after that, you’ll slink off into the night with your tail tucked between your legs. There’ll always be next weekend to try again. You promise yourself that because the alternative is acknowledging how defeated this entire experience has left you, no less disappointing than going on the same boring first date with a guy from Tinder. 

In the bathroom, you dab your face with water and stare at your reflection in the dirty mirror. It looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in years; finger smudges and white strains streaked across the glass. You wonder how many strangers have fucked in this bathroom over the years. The thought makes you grimace even more when you notice that the floor is slightly sticky, the ground sounding tacky beneath your shoes. 

When you come out, the man from across the bar is waiting by the door, so close that you flinch, eyes widening. The narrow hallway means that he’s barely three feet from you when you stand in the doorframe. 

“We leavin’ or what?” he growls, voice as deep as you thought it might be, gruff and husky. 

He’s just as imposing in front of you as he was from across the bar. Maybe more so. You’re forced to crane your neck to look up at him this close, lips parting on an inaudible exhale. There’s something about a brutish man that’s always taken your breath away; everything from the blunt chin to the pronounced brow. His face is flecked with pale, keloidal skin; rubbery nodules from old injuries. 

Dumbstruck, you can only nod, following behind him when he turns away from you, headed towards the parking lot out back where his truck is parked. 

You’re really doing this. You’re really doing this. That’s the only thought in your head when he unlocks his truck and pops the door open for you, waiting until you’re buckled in before slamming the door shut. 

He’s quiet on the car ride back to his place, unconcerned with getting to know you or defusing the tension in the truck. You can’t say you blame him. There’s a reason you chose a bar so far from home as a hunting ground. If you wanted to get to know someone, you would’ve met someone at a coffee shop. 

When you ask his name, he grunts it out like it’s an inconvenience. Simon. He doesn’t give you more than that, even when you awkwardly ask him what he does for work. Blatantly ignores your questions. The rebuff smarts for some reason, makes you frown and duck your chin to your chest, shoulders hunched.

His demeanor is so off-putting that halfway through the drive, you wonder if you misunderstood him somehow, if he means to drive you home instead of taking you back to his place (but that can’t be right, otherwise wouldn’t he have asked for your address?). It’s just hard to reconcile his churlish attitude towards you with his ostensible invitation to fuck. 

Maybe he doesn’t intend to fuck you at all. Maybe you managed to pick up the one serial killer in a twenty mile radius and stupidly followed him back to his truck without telling anyone who you planned to go home with. Your blood curdles at the thought, hackles raised when you imagine him sizing you up from across the bar, all prettied up and doe-eyed, easy prey. 

Your breathing picks up. “I, um…actually, c-could you…could you just drop me off at my place?”

Simon rolls his eyes so hard that it’s almost audible. “Not gonna kill ya, bird.” 

That doesn’t go a long way towards reassuring you, but you don’t dig your heels in and demand he take you home either. 

“Do you live nearby?” you ask, suddenly chatty. Why, oh why.

Simon looks over at you, one hand on the wheel and the other on the gear shift. He drives a manual, you notice. A few too many seconds go by in silence. You wish somebody would just staple your mouth shut already. 

“Yeah,” he says finally, turning back to watch the road, taking a left turn up ahead without using his signal. So it’s that kind of drive.

You keep your mouth shut for the rest of it lest he decide you’re too much of a hassle and turn back. You’re poised right on the edge of something new and exciting, and the thought of that slipping through your fingers makes you feel a bit crazy. So many men before have shown you that same snap dislike. Like you’re tolerable over text or as a dimensionless photo, but not as a flesh and blood person, the real mechanics of you all wrong. It’s an intolerable thought—that people can only like you when you smile and keep your mouth shut.

Still, you’ll do it now, for a price. 

Part of you expects him to pull you into his lap when he pulls into his driveway and puts the truck in park. It’s what you’ve seen in movies. The rest of the night plays out in your head in piecemeal flashes; ravenous passion, hands tearing clothes off each other’s bodies, a shoe left on the porch in your hurry to get inside. Hungry, devouring; slick mouths parting for barely long enough to breathe.

Then Simon cuts the engine and gets out of the truck without so much as a glance your way, like you aren’t even there.

He still comes around to open the door for you. You frown at him through the window, affronted. Baffled at his continued nonchalance. Like even keeping your mouth shut isn’t enough to keep a man’s interest. Where you expected passion and fervor, you’re met with cool indifference. 

Simon pops the door open. “Get out.”

The house itself is nothing special. A two-story cookie-cutter house built in the seventies; weathered, beige-coloured vinyl siding and a neatly trimmed lawn, with a few patches of overgrown grass and weeds. There’s a trailer parked in front of the closed garage, a few planks of wood strapped down in the bed. When you follow him up the walkway, you notice how quiet the neighborhood is, and for some reason that makes you even more jittery. 

You stop in the doorway, frustration breaking your timidity like snapping an ampoule. “Do you even want to—” fuck me, goes unsaid. Too humiliating to even ask. But you ask anyway, the question itself implicit even in so few words. 

Dark eyes stare down at you, impenetrable. You’re struck by the sense of something primordial slithering under his skin. His expression is hard, his face carved from granite; when his expression shifts, it’s like watching tectonic plates create mountains, plates pushed upward by mantle plumes.

He fits a big paw under your chin, fingers pressing into the fat of your cheeks hard enough to make your lips purse. Your heart skips a beat when he angles your head from side to side, looking you over like a pet he’s considering bringing home. You almost go cross-eyed when he bends down, his forehead nearly brushing yours, so close that you can smell the scent of cigarettes clinging to his clothes, see the grease smudged on his face and the folds around his eyes. 

A grin flickers across his lips, gone as it came. “Yeah. I do.”

And doesn’t that tie your stomach in a knot? Your nerves in a pretty bow? 

Inside, his house is just as unremarkable. You’d know in a single glance that a single man lived here; a functional, no-frills living space. Nothing more than a worn couch, a TV, and a few pieces of obvious hand-me-down furniture. It’s hard to glean anything from the minimal decoration around his place, but he doesn’t give you much of a chance to look around. That’s not the point of why you’re in his house. 

“Eat anything yet, bird?” Simon asks from the kitchen, opening the fridge without purpose. It looks like more of a reflex than anything, the first thing he does the second he gets home for the night and the last thing he does before going to bed. From the size of him, it makes sense; his body is muscle on muscle, covered by a healthy layer of fat, just a surface layer over the bulk beneath. 

You shake your head. “No.”

“Have a bite, then.”

“I’m not, uh, hungry though,” you deflect rather than saying the obvious, which is, I came to your house to have sex, not make sandwiches at the kitchen counter together. 

He shuts the fridge door, pinning you with his stare. “Your call. Could’ve used the energy though.”

You swallow. 

The first thing you do after he herds you into the bedroom is try to pull him into a kiss, cupping his cheeks and standing up on your tiptoes. Before your eyelids flutter shut, you catch a glimpse of a cocked brow. Then you press your lips to a slack mouth that doesn’t move no matter how much passion you infuse in your kiss and feel embarrassment flare up in your guts. 

Bastard. You should’ve expected that he wouldn’t kiss you back. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, breaking the facsimile of a kiss and dropping back down onto your heels. 

You flinch when he grabs you by the back of the neck and reels you back in, forcing you back onto your tiptoes, “Don’t be,” grunted against your mouth before fusing your lips together. A pathetic keen climbs up your throat, eyelids slipping shut. 

His greed leaks from him like tar, his kiss so messy and violent that you’re almost too jarred to do anything apart from hang on. Teeth clack against yours, a horrid sensation, the lust in your belly abating long enough for the real world to slink back in and you get flashes of it: hands winding around a thick neck, a scratchy cheek against your lip when he twists his head to angle your noses better, a tongue shoving into your mouth unceremoniously, no finesse at all. Straight to the main point. 

A shudder wracks you from head to toe when you try to break the kiss only to find the hand on your neck firm, holding you in place. The subtle reminder that he can do whatever he wants with you, that you willingly went home with a man big and strong enough to pin you down and fuck you however rough he wants. 

“Simon,” you whine, squirming against him, gasping a breath and his name again when he wrestles you back into the kiss. “No—Simon—”

“Stay fuckin’ still,” he snarls against your lips, and you freeze, knees going weak when his fingers dig into your jaw to hold you in place.

The endorphin rush nearly makes your vision white out. A sudden winter storm, the blood rushing to your cheeks and the tip of your nose, your breath coming out quick and choppy. Lungs barely filling up with each inhale. 

“Get this off,” Simon growls, tugging on your skirt when you don’t move fast enough. He doesn’t wait for you to catch up, content to wrench your skirt off himself instead, your panties along with it. 

It takes your breath away, how fast you go from clothed to partially nude. Trying to match his fervor is a losing game, so you just try to keep up. Your hands tug at his belt, desperately trying to undo it, and he chuckles when he notices; big hands paw at your ass while you shakily pop the buckle out of the first loop. 

He takes over after that, popping the button on his jeans one-handed. 

“Wanna handle the rest?” he prompts, an eyebrow jutting up, expectant. Lazy with his arrogance; oozing rugged masculinity. It’d infuriate you if it didn’t get you so hot. 

Your fingers are numb by the time you pull his jeans down, kneeling at his feet and gazing up at him with wide eyed devotion as he kicks off his boots and shakes the pants off his legs, nothing under his jeans. His pale white thighs are dusted in fine blond hairs, mottled with burns and scars and old, faded cigarette marks, like someone used his legs as an ashtray. The thought makes your throat close up.  

He shucks off his shirt while you stare at the shaft heavy with blood hanging between his legs, drooping with its own weight. Flushed red at the head and streaked with dark veins, leaking a steady drip of precum. The hair at the base of his dick is of a darker shade, gold like straw. 

Your stomach swoops at the sight, dropping to the pits of you. You swallow. Maybe you’ve bit off a little more than you can chew. A lot more.

As if sensing your unease, a wide hand is suddenly firm on the back of your head, urging you closer. “Gonna give it a kiss?”

It’s not a question. You know that and you know that you’re way out of your league; that if you panic now you’ll flounder. So instead of fighting it, you lean forward and press a shy kiss to the weeping head of his dick. 

You lick your lips instinctively when you draw back, lapping up the precum smeared across them. The taste makes you wrinkle your nose. It’s salty; bitter. Not altogether pleasant. 

Simon wraps a hand around his dick and holds it to your lips. “Open your mouth, bird. Get me nice ‘n wet.”

A shudder rolls through you, but there’s little else you can do except part your lips and squeeze your eyes shut. It’s a struggle to fit more than just the head in your mouth, his dick too wide to take more than that. Your eyes water at the stretch, the musky taste of his cum overwhelming. 

Any experience you’ve had before this pales in comparison. It’s like the first time all over again. His cock is heavy on your tongue, instantly making your eyes water. The grip he still has on the base of his cock tells you that he doesn’t expect you to swallow the whole length (an impossible task; you go cold with dread at even the thought), but Simon doesn’t hesitate to grip your head firmer when he feels you falter, forcing you to take as much as you can.

When you gag, he shushes you. “Keep at it—you’re fine.”

You wonder if he thinks by saying it, it makes it true. You’re very much not fine, struggling to breathe through your nose and suck him off without scraping his cock with your teeth.

Your exhale when he pulls you off his cock by your hair is full of both relief and trepidation. Your lips feel swollen and tender when you touch them with your fingers. 

“Can we please have sex now?” you ask, dazed enough to be bold. 

Simon cracks a smile at that, endeared somehow. “Gotta get up for that, bird.”

You have to brace your hands against his chest when you get to your feet, the blood that rushes to your head making you wobbly. Even on your feet, he’s so much taller than you, a behemoth. Men like him have always been your type, but Simon is really in a league of his own. 

Glancing up at him from under your lashes, you bite your lip. You’ve seen that in movies before, starlettes bringing men to their knees with just a look. Coquette; demure. It’s harder to replicate than you thought, but you’ve never rehearsed this before. This is a one-time, live performance. The culmination of everything you’ve ever read or watched or studied. 

You keep up the ruse of being sexy by crawling onto his bed on your hands and knees, dropping down onto your elbows once situated in the middle of the mattress. The debauchery of wiggling your ass back at the man who took you home from the bar would overwhelm you if you weren’t playing a part right now. Role playing. This isn’t who you usually are, but if it’s only for one night, you can force out the self-scrutiny and timidity. 

Silence hangs in the air like a bubble, waiting to be burst. You fight the urge to look over your shoulder at him. 

Then Simon exhales, breaking the silence. Goosebumps ripple down your arms. 

The mattress dips under his weight when he settles behind you, hands immediately sinking into the flesh of your ass and pulling your cheeks apart. No preamble. You open your mouth to say something, but thick, coarse fingers are already dipping between your thighs and playing with your hole, sinking a finger in up to the first knuckle. 

You breathe out shakily, shoulders tensing. The sheets reek of him, musky and ripe; you concentrate on that instead of the fingers penetrating you, getting you ready for his dick. Your walls squeeze tight around his fingers when he forces another one in. 

When he finally feeds his cock into you, the stretch is nearly unbearable. The sharp stab of pain that accompanies it almost makes you flinch away, but Simon drags you back by your hips.

“You’re not going anywhere, bird,” he rumbles. “Relax. It’s going in.”

What can you say to something like that? 

His whole frame presses you into the mattress, the breath forced from your lungs. Bigger now that he’s got you on your belly. Suddenly making two hundred pounds seem less abstract, more real. He bullies as much of his cock into you as he can, paying no mind to the way you squeal and kick your legs. 

“Real tight cunt,” Simon grunts, humming with his pleasure when his hips punch forward and your pussy squelches around his length. So lewd.

His knees on either side of you keep you trapped in place, nowhere to go. Nowhere to run. All you can do is lie under him and let him rut between your thighs, gasping for breath with every thrust. The sweat is slick down your back, half yours and half his. 

“Ya let other men fuck this cunt, bird?” he asks. It sounds hypothetical, like it’s said half to rile himself up, and though it prickles at your nerves, you don’t complain too much because he fucks you rougher after the words slip out of his mouth. 

When you don’t answer him though, concentrating more on filling your lungs and not biting your tongue off, he grabs your face and twists your head until you’re looking over your shoulder at him, neck aching with the strain. 

“Answer me,” he demands, sounding almost pissed off. 

“N-no—”

“Good,” he grunts. Satisfied.

His words should piss you off. How dare he ask you about fucking other men as if he were your husband or boyfriend. You have half a mind to cuss him out, but then he pumps his hips forward and your face goes numb from pleasure. Electric impulses zip up and down your skin, sizzling your nerves. 

Besides, maybe it’s hot that he’s acting like you belong to him. Like you’re his; his girl that he picked up from the bar after a long shift, eager to go home and lay her out on the bed so he could fuck his pretty girl into a tongue-tied stupor. It certainly does it for you, a thin filigree of pleasure winding its way down your spine. 

It’s an intoxicating fantasy—being wanted by a man in a real, visceral way. It’s one you’ve never gotten close to before, never even grazed with the tips of your fingers, no matter how far you stretched out your arms. You don’t know what men see when they look at you, but it can’t be anything worth keeping. 

He fucks you like he wants to pry you open and leave a piece of him inside. A big hand fits around your neck and tightens; a collar, a manacle. 

Hard to feel anything but grateful though. It’s everything you wanted but never thought you’d get out of this experience. You expected to feel like a body on a butcher’s block, hacked limb from limb. Marble ribbing on the inside. Brought to a high only to be left out in the cold after. 

You never expected apotheosis. You never expected the filth murmured into your ear, the lurid, coarse diatribe in surround sound, all perfect fuckin’ pussy, can’t wait to shove my tongue inside, gonna make you suck my cock while I eat that perfect cunt out—

All—

Perfect fuckin’ girl; you don’t give this to anyone else, do ya? Knew you were gaggin’ for it back in the bar, but wanted to wait ‘n see; turned the rest of ‘em down, didn’t ya? Not a fuckin’ slut. Jus’ for me—only hungry for my cock—

It’s too rough, too much. Overpowering. Musk and body heat and raw strength, his forearms planted on the mattress on either side of your head. The scent of him suffocating, smothering. Heady. In your pores, on the back of your tongue, in your belly. He’s everywhere.

If only you could put it into words. The fire in your belly growing so wild, so out of control, that it threatens to incinerate you. Thinking dangerous thoughts—that you could be his, that he wants you so bad he can’t stand the idea of anyone having you before him, that he’ll kill anyone that touched you before, rip them apart with his bare hands, cut out their hearts and slice it ‘em up real thin so he could feed you the strips with his hands—

“Fuck—” Simon pants in your ear, pulling his cock out of your cunt. You whine, clenching down on nothing, suddenly empty, until he turns you roughly over onto your back and grabs one of your flailing ankles, hooking it over a burly shoulder. “Cunt this good oughta be locked down. Should just chain your leg to the bed so I can wake up to this pussy every day. Would’ya like that, bird?”

Like it? You think wildly—

Keep me, keep me, keep me, pleasepleaseplease.

The leg not hooked over Simon’s shoulder gets pulled around his hip, spreading your legs wider to accommodate the width of him between them. The scour of his voice threatens to erode you, smash you to pieces. There won’t be anything left after he’s done with you. 

He’s just so big. Built like an ox, broad and solid. When he braces his forearms on either side of you, his biceps bulge, skin pulling taut over the muscle. The dark hair of his pits is stark against pale flesh. 

Blood roars in your ears and over you, he moves like a wave, filling you up again and again. You’re swimming in uncharted waters now; gazing out into an unfamiliar and dangerous sea. A swell this big might take you right under. 

Too bad for you, the hazy adumbration of danger in his words is pitted against the maw in your soul, the deep, cavernous hole that yawns wider with each passing year. 

For years now, you’ve had the same dream: overlooking a sea of evergreen peaks illuminated by a silky moonlight hue, winding a long, narrow road darkened on both sides by tightly clustered trees, your arms wrapped around your chest. Cold layered like a skin, sinking deep into your bones, cold wet like a damp hate; trees clustered around your wandering soul, spurned into wandering like a little undead ghost with teeth clattering in Morse code, saying: so many wrongs done, it is almost incomprehensible.

Is it too much to ask to be wanted? 

You need it like air. 

The issue is that—

more than horny, you’re really, really fucking lonely. 

For years now, you’ve had the same dream: a dream of being a lighthouse keeper, skin saltwater slick, seafoam on the backs of your knuckles, slathering over frozen fingers clutching at the gallery railing. Beckoning something to you.

What it is, you do not know.

“Look at tha’,” Simon says wonderingly, grabbing your face and yanking it towards him, forcing you to meet his eyes again. “Just needed to get turned out on a fat cock, didn’t ya?”

“Yeah,” you gasp. “So good, Simon, ohmygod—”

“Only this needy for me, right?” The glint in his eye is terrifying.

“Only you, only you—”

“That’s right,” he growls, bearing all of his weight down on you, forehead to forehead. His sweat-slick chest slides against yours, cock buried so deep that you can taste him at the back of your throat. Dark eyes stare down at you with an intensity that steals the breath from you, glossy like he’s rapidly losing the ability to be consciously present, but ever attentive to the pleasure rippling across your face. 

When his cock grinds into the soft plug of your womb, his eyes narrow when yours bulge, and he batters that spot until you seize up and spasm around him. His buzz cut gives you nothing to hold onto, so you dig your nails into the bulky planes of his back instead. 

“Fuck—hold on, Christ, fuck; here it comes,” he spits, the veins in his neck protruding when he grits his teeth. 

Your blood goes red hot when he rams deep into you, each thrust deliberate. Hips losing their rhythm. You don’t notice the first spurt of cum, too preoccupied with the smell and weight of him blanketing you, infiltrating every crevice of your body, but the second is hot. Scorching. You ignore the screaming alarm at the back of your head, barely coherent enough to parse out its meaning. All you can focus on is the warmth spreading inside you and your own walls pulsing around his cock, milking his release out of him. 

Time blurs. You lose some of it. 

You don’t come back until Simon rolls over onto his back, taking you with him. His cock is still buried inside of you, his cum running out in rivulets, pooling at the base of his dick lodged at your entrance. You’re going to be messy when he finally pulls out. 

Despite the ache already setting in, you feel reborn. Renewed. The old, dead skin flayed off. You can’t imagine how you’ll feel when you’ve got your energy back, when even tracing your eyes across the other side of his room doesn’t take tremendous effort. The traces of him littered around the room make you curious. A half empty glass. Steel-toed boots sticking out of a half-opened closet. A damp towel crumpled into a ball on the floor. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. There’s no use trying to fill the gaps in. Whoever Simon is won’t matter in the light of day. You repeat this to yourself until it sticks. 

When you try to get up, planting both hands on his chest, he pulls you back down, forcing your head onto the pillow of his chest. “Simon, the sheets are wet—”

“I’ll deal with it later,” Simon says, eyes already shut, on the verge of falling asleep. “Now shut up. You’re ruining the fucking afterglow.” 

You wake up the next morning covered in bruises and bite marks and dried cum between your thighs and on your belly, so sore that even twitching your finger hurts.

It takes awhile for everything to come back to you. When it finally does, consciousness snaps back into you, discomfort giving way to quiet self-satisfaction. You managed to do it. Your first one-night stand. A real milestone. The tacky sheets beneath you are proof enough of your accomplishment. 

The sadness slithers in when you realize that it’s over. One and done. In a half hour or so, the man plastered against your back and breathing heavily on the crown of your head will wake up, groggy and bleary eyed, and side-eye you until you put back on your clothes from the night before and slink out, tail tucked between your legs. A few hours delayed from when you were planning to throw in the towel at the bar, but still. In the end, it always comes around. 

A gruff voice at your side tells you to quiet, bird—s'too early for your bitchin’ before manhandling you onto your stomach and shoving his raw cock into your cunt and it’s only now that it dawns on you that you were too horny last night to remember to ask him to use protection. 

The thought is wiped from your head when he bucks his hips forward, impaling you on his swollen length. You lose track of time after that. 

Breakfast is an informal affair. Cereal from a box and a bit too much milk, and a cup of instant coffee. You wince when you sit down across from Simon at the kitchen table, your inner thighs still tender and pussy sore from the battering it just took. If it strokes his ego to see how gingerly you sit down, he doesn’t show it. 

It’s weird sitting across the table from him after last night. Hard to just leave it unaddressed, the truth simmering in the air. The red marks across his back make you wince, cheeks heating. Thin crescent marks and scored nails. It’s hard to reconcile yourself with the girl from last night. 

He eats in silence for the most part though, ravenous after the night before. Doesn’t comment on the state of his shoulders or the way you shift on your chair. Not even bothering to make eye contact with you. Your appetite takes a bit of a hit watching him shovel food into his mouth, hardly even pausing long enough to breathe, but you’ve seen plenty of hungry men eat before. 

Still though, silence has always had a way of getting under your skin. You’re not comfortable around it, prone to chattering. So you can’t help the way your mouth opens and the words come out involuntarily. 

“Do you do this a lot?”

“I don’t shit where I eat,” Simon grunts dismissively.

The expression makes you grimace. “So do you usually pick up girls elsewhere or—”

The look he gives you could melt the flesh off your bones. You realize your misstep, interrogating the man you just fucked about his other hookups. Best not to ask questions. It’s not like you’ll see him again after this. 

These last few moments are bittersweet. There won’t be many opportunities like this in the future, mainly because you don’t think you’re cut out for one-night stands. Last night proved that. As good as it was—and for as many times as you came, another time in the wee hours of the morning when Simon rolled over on top of you and shoved your legs apart to eat you out (a midnight snack)—in the light of day, you feel world weary. Like something monumental happened and passed you by. 

You almost want to thank him for making it special, but the anxiety around finally pissing him off is more than you can bear. You want to leave on a good note. It’s better this way. You’ll never have confirmation about whether he’d eventually grow tired of you like everyone else. Never know if he’d one day manage to lose interest in the real you, not the made up sex kitten from the bar. 

It’s better this way.

You tell yourself that when you push your chair out and stand up, hands fisting in the oversized shirt Simon made you wear before leaving the bedroom. “I should get going.”

He stops eating, staring up at you. His eyes are inscrutable, and the longer he stares, the less you understand his look. 

You shift from foot to foot. “Thanks for… I had a good time.”

Simon doesn’t say anything, but when he drops his spoon into the bowl, the metal clang makes you flinch. 

His silence leaves you off balance, like you’ve overstepped somehow. All motion stills under his scrutiny. 

“Got somewhere ya need to be?” he asks, a vague, almost menacing undercurrent in his voice. It’s said like a warning. There shouldn’t be anywhere else you need to be. 

“I…—don’t you want me to leave?”

He looks distinctly unimpressed. “You gonna walk home like that?” His words make you tug at his shirt, pulling it down to cover your thighs.

Your whole life has been made up of misunderstandings. Missed opportunities. Men who you thought loved you vanishing into thin air. You’re a poem often lost in translation. A long game of hide and seek; people run towards you then feign right, leaving you in the dust. 

Whatever this is, you don’t recognize it. 

You swallow on a dry throat. “…No?”

Simon searches your expression for something before he nods, satisfied. “Then sit the fuck back down. Finish your damn breakfast.”

You sit back down (wincing when you do) because the alternative is admitting that you don’t know what’s next. That you’re out of step again, but this time without that sinking feeling in your belly. A wild fluttering instead. That thought again that maybe you’ve bit off more than you can chew. 

What’s that saying again?

Ah, yes. Choices made in anger cannot be undone.

Between the Titles

Pairing: Min Yoongi x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, smut (mature/18+)

warnings: egregious caffeine consumption, yoongi smokes cigarettes, reader is about the same height as yoongi (its me hello im almost the same height as him), gay taehyung, volunteer jungkook, silver fox yoongi (he just has some gray hair bc hot) smut warnings: making out, grinding, fingering, oral (f. receiving), semi-public sexual acts, bathroom sex, protected sex, praise kink

Length: ~9.5k

Note: no thoughts, just big brain yoongi in a sweater smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee. btw almost all the books in this are real but i haven't read them so if you have lmk if they're worth the read lmao. thank u to my dearest @gyuswhore and @idyllic-ghost for beta-ing this

Summary: Five days a week in the library means you're very familiar with the senior research librarian. It also means he has no qualms about making his own book recommendations either.

m.list + support my work

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked.

The sweet aroma of old books and strong coffee infiltrates your nose as the heavy doors into the library swing open, offering reprieve from the storm raging on outside. It’s far too early for anyone to be here beyond staff and a few other morning birds. You glide right to the circulation desk as if fatigue doesn’t pulse through your veins, barely quelled by the second cup of coffee you sip from.

As always, the same familiar head of dark hair with sparse silver streaks waits at the circulation desk. He’s the only person working this early despite being the senior research librarian but you never hear any complaints louder than muttered annoyance under his breath when he thinks no one is around to hear. Bent over his laptop, Yoongi doesn’t even bother to look up as he slides a heavy stack of books to the edge of the counter. 

Eleven total, ten heavy volumes on ancient fertility cults across the globe, and one book you know he’s mixed in for his own amusement. 

It’s become something of a game between you two. At first you thought he was mixing your materials with someone else’s, but every time you brought the additional copy back to his desk, Yoongi insisted he had no idea what you were talking about and questioned your reading choices. Each time the titles got more ridiculous: Castration: The Advantages and the Disadvantages, How to Enjoy Your Weeds, Amish Vampires in Space, the list goes on and on. But after he slipped Why Fish Don’t Exist into your stack a few weeks ago, you decided to start responding. 

You left the stack at his desk like usual, ears perked for his reaction to Fishes I Have Known. An amused snort rang out just as you opened the doors to leave for the afternoon. The sound was so unlike the stoic man you’d become accustomed to over months working on your thesis; not that you heard him talk much to begin with.

Since then you’ve made a point to match every book he leaves for you. Yesterday, Yoongi chose I Could Pee on This: and Other Poems by Cats. At the end of the day, you spent thirty minutes searching shelf after shelf for an appropriate response, every book failing to meet your expectations. It wasn’t fair he knew the expansive collection like the back of his hand but nevertheless you found something up to par.

Yoongi rolled his eyes when you passed your books over the counter, a copy of Staying Dry: A Practical Guide to Bladder Control, like a shining star on top. A brief pink of his tongue flashed across his lips, a feeble attempt to muffle an amused smile. It was the most obvious reaction since the first time you responded.

Smiling like the cat who ate the canary, you left on clouds last night.

But this morning you have notes to write.

Snagging the collection, you make your way deeper into the building. Your unassigned-assigned desk tucked away on the fifth floor, far enough away from any noise so you can fully immerse in work without the threat of distraction. An uninterrupted view of the courtyard below is an added bonus.

The wooden table top is covered in a neat collection of pens and sticky notes in minutes; your laptop and the foot tall collection of references you devour over the next eight hours taking up the other half.

A few titles you request over and over sit on top, too valuable to be checked out for long term use so you settle for keeping them in constant rotation since no one else bothers to read the dusty yellowing tombs. For now, you focus on the new pieces you hope hold the information you need.

Earth rites: fertility practices in pre-industrial Britain, Archaeology and Fertility Cults in the Ancient Mediterranean, Metamorphosis of Baubo: myths of woman's sexual energy— 

I’m in Love with Mothman…

Well there it is.

You thumb across the glossy cartoon cover, failing to bite back a smile. Yoongi has a penchant for tossing in the most outlandish romance books he can find. Maybe because he knows you spend just as much if not more time than he does between the stacks. The suggestion box at the desk was full of cards stained with your penmanship asking for longer hours; several of which you’ve seen Yoongi rip in half as he pointedly met your gaze.

Tossing it aside, you pull forward one of the more musty books and start reading.

When you finally manage to resurface from laborious tales on several cults of Aphrodite, the rain is long gone. Even the darkest corners of the old building seem to glow gold in the evening sunset filtering through the glass doors. They're the only thing standing between you and freedom in the form curling up on your couch with a glass of wine and a new episode of your favorite reality dating show. But first, Yoongi needs his books back. 

His desk chair is abandoned and the return cart is gone as well which means he could be anywhere in the building. Disappointment leaches into your spine at the fact you won’t be able to witness his reaction to the twelfth book in your pile; the one you spent an extra fifteen minutes looking for in the corner of the third floor. 

A thick piece of library paper lists the materials you’ll need for the next day lays atop the neon green cover of Pest Management Solutions: How to Manage Your Moth Problem. They decorate the corner of the desk until Yoongi returns to find them. Hopefully he appreciates your humor.

Yoongi isn’t at his desk the next morning when you come in either. Instead, a doe eyed man with a lip piercing occupies the chair, clearly playing some game on his laptop. 

Approaching the counter, you begin to ask, “Where’s Yoon–”

“Staff meeting,” he interjects like he’s already answered the question a million times despite the library opening only five minutes ago. The white of his teeth threaten to blind you. “But I can help you!”

His name tag isn’t the same engraved golden metal Yoongi’s is, it’s a plastic sleeve with a paper insert with barely legible handwriting you decipher as  “Jungkook” and below “Volunteer.” You’ve seen him before from a distance. Usually trudging through the shelves with the book return cart in tow, occasionally taking a quick read inside before putting them in their rightful place. 

“I need to pick up some books. I gave Yoongi the list yesterday.”

“Sure.” Jungkook jumps up, approaching the shelf lined with piles for other patrons. “What’s your last name?”

He combs through the list after you answer, finding your stack easily enough. 

“Alright so Yoongi left a note that the encyclopedias you wanted are on the usual desk you have upstairs. But other than that I’ve got: Historical Studies of Changing Fertility, Sacred Mushroom and The Cross, Archaeology and Fertility Cults in The Ancient Mediterranean…” Jungkook lists off the titles, checking to make sure they're all in order. “And, um, this one isn’t on the list.”

It must be Yoongi’s choice for the day.

“What is it?”

Jungkook looks like he’s trying to hide his own amusement as he slides it over for you to read.

If I Were a Bird, You'd be The First Person I'd Shit On.

“Huh,” you blush. “Wonder how that got in there.”

“He must have left it by mistake. I can put it ba–”

“No, I’ll take it.” You toss it on top of the other, less embarrassing books in your stack and gather it into your arms before Jungkook can get in another word. “Thanks for your help!”

Scurrying towards the hallway housing the elevators, you attempt to juggle the pile of books, your stuffed bag, and coffee without taking a spill. It’s one thing to have your silent battle with Yoongi, but having someone else witness it makes you feel downright silly. And for the first one witnessed by others to be such an absurd and downright passive aggressive selection sends embarrassment through your veins.

As promised, three encyclopedias sit neatly on your desk; the volumes so thick they protrude from the table top like a small mountain. No wonder he left them there instead of making you carry them up in individual trips. But Yoongi’s goodwill clearly ended there. A sticky note on top of the stack pens his discontent at your selection.

I had to spend 3 hours in the basement to find these. If you need them again, don’t.

Even though he hadn’t signed it, you know it’s from him. The tight script fits his personality; thin lines of annoyance bleeding through the ink, not just his words. A waft of musty old paper and dust breezes through your nose as you open the first copy. They must have been housed in a forgotten storage area. At least his bird book makes more sense now. 

You don’t dig into the heap until after the sun is halfway through the sky but when you do it only proves to unravel your wits. Reading on, the wrinkle in your eyebrows deepens further. Page after page of conflicting knowledge passes by, each sentence more confusing than the last; minutes negating months of research. The thick pages hardly provide a soft landing for your head as you allow it to thump forward in exasperation.

The scrap of chair legs alerts to a new presence watching your meltdown in real time.

“Something wrong?” Yoongi asks.

With a heavy sigh, you respond.“I want to die.”

“Get in line.”

Shifting in your seat, you peer in his direction. A different day but the same wardrobe: dark button up, glasses, same unapproachable facade. But what Yoongi is doing sitting next to you is new.

Yoongi makes himself comfortable, picking at his nails as he waits patiently for an explanation. 

“Everything in my thesis is either wrong or the world authority on fertility in Europe is full of it.”

“Bummer.”

“Your sincerity is overwhelming.” You snap.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. Boredom seeps across his face but he doesn’t move to leave, just sinks deeper into the chair. “You’ve read almost half the collection since you started coming here, why are some old dusty books such a big deal?”

“Because all of those books cite these books which means those books are wrong and all my work is in the toilet.”

“Those books are from the seventies, the information is probably out of date.”

Slamming the copy serving as a pillow shut, you take a second glance at the title: Encyclopedia of Women and World Religion, Volume 7.

“Yoongi,” you sing.

Yoongi’s gaze flashes to yours, a trickle of confusion flashing across his eyes.“What?”

You stack up the books and push them across the desk with some effort. Just to savor the satisfaction of besting Yoongi, you indulge a long sip of now cold coffee before speaking again. No one else is around to witness your victory but that won’t dampen the high.

“Looks like you’ll be back in the basement because you brought me the wrong editions.”

He opens his mouth to argue, snatching one of the books to investigate but you beat him to the punch.

“I asked for the twenty-fifth edition, not the seventh.” You smirk. “I think you're losing your touch.”

He watches you over the rim of the cover. A fleeting glance in your direction but it makes your heart squeeze with need.

“Well, I guess you’re right,” Yoongi sighs, standing. “Do you still need them for anything or can I go ahead and take them?”

With your approval, he heaves the heavy tombs on to his cart. The strain of his forearms, bare from rolled up sleeves, catches your attention. Veins raised under creamy skin, lean muscles leading down to hands you’ve noticed since the first day you started visiting the library.

If you keep staring, you’re likely to start drooling. So you dive back into one of the useful books littering your desk and pretend to read until he’s disappearing down the hall.

On your way out, leaving much earlier than a typical day due to Yoongi’s mistake, you drop the remaining books off at the circulation desk. Along with a copy of Avian Hunting Techniques. He’s absent again but it doesn't matter.

You continue out the doors and down the sidewalk only to spot him leaning against the brick exterior further down the street. Even from a distance you can make out the natural scowl he’s constantly sporting. Except this time his lips pout around a cigarette. 

Of course he smokes.

The quasi-mysterious librarian who flirts with you through book titles, smokes cigarettes and looks hot doing it. 

“You know those things will kill you, right?” 

“That’s what the box says but they aren’t holding up their end of the deal,” Yoongi responds, flicking the ash before looking at his watch. “Wow, out before six. I’ll alert the press.”

“Well, if someone gave me the right books then maybe I’d stay longer. But I’m not about to wait around while you get the ones I need.”

Yoongi takes another drag of his cigarette before responding, “Are you trying to say I forced you to take a break?”

The realization dawns on you. Yoongi is the senior research librarian. He’s never given you the wrong books, even when you request the rare copies needed to be loaned from a different part of the country. The few times you’ve offered understanding if he couldn’t get them were met with a challenge in his gaze and smug satisfaction when handing them over a week later.

“You brought me the wrong copies on purpose!”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He’s lying. You know it. Yoongi definitely knows you know by the way he smirks. But he’s already crushing the filter under his shoe and moving back towards the library by the time your brain catches up to your mouth.  “Have a good night, Y/N.”

With a scoff of indignation, you stalk towards your car.

The next morning, you march straight through the class doors to where Yoongi sits, fueled by snowballed annoyance from the previous day. Waking up on the wrong side of the bed is an understatement. If there are any gods, Yoongi should pick one and pray.

Your free afternoon of yesterday was spent dealing with the chaos your apartment has become over the past few weeks. Unfolded laundry, stacks of random papers, out of place books, and errant dust bunnies all became new victims to energy usually reserved for a full day of research. Taehyung practically shit himself when he woke up before dinner and found you scrubbing the bathroom sink.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, hand to his chest like a flustered old woman.

Bleach curled in your nostrils. “I live here.” 

“Not between the hours of eight and seven.”

But after the mess was dealt with, aggravation set in. How dare Yoongi purposefully meddle in your work. Well meaning or not you were an adult and could decide when enough was enough. The purposeful mishap hadn’t set you back far, one afternoon but a drop in the bucket in comparison to the months you’ve already spent chasing new leads. But the principle of the matter is that it’s none of his business what you do and when you do it.

Yoongi slides a slimmer stack over when you stop in front of him.

“Encyclopedias are on your desk,” he announces through a sip of coffee. He continues to type away, feigning disinterest as you sort through your stack with measured annoyance.

“Are they the right copies this time?”

“Double checked them myself.”

You open your mouth to verbalize your doubts but Yoongi’s pick of the day catches your eye.

Surviving Your Stupid Stupid Decision to Go to Grad School.

Scoffing, you flip the book around and shoot daggers into his face with your eyes. “Do you think you’re funny?”

The corner of his mouth twitches then becomes a full blown smile. Leaning over the desk, he drops his voice, “I think I’m hilarious.”

Remembering you are, in fact, in a library, you manage to muffle a frustrated groan. You dump the supplementary reading back on the counter for Yoongi to deal with and head upstairs. 

Unlike the usual days where you put off finding a response to Yoongi’s extra copy until the waning hours of the afternoon, you drop your bags and head straight for the shelves. The fifth floor houses a collection of textbooks and other reference material. It’s why it's always deserted unless some poor fool stumbles on it by accident; the perfect place to work uninterrupted for hours.

You head down stairs, circling the fourth and then third floor like a shark in a feeding frenzy. A few covers spark interest but nothing captures what bubbles in your veins: annoyance, anger, confusion. A brief flutter of interest as to why Yoongi decided to mess with you but those feelings are more dangerous than the acidic ones.

Row after proves unfruitful in your quest for passive aggressive revenge. None have the same bite as his book, or seem to curb the homicidal thoughts raging in your head.

Until a little white book peeps back at you from the end of the aisle.

Yoongi jumps when you slam Bitter Is the New Black: Confessions of a Condescending, Egomaniacal, Self-Centered Smartass in front of him. A feat in and of itself to sneak up on him given the loan desk has a perfect view of the entire first floor but whatever he’d been clicking away at on the computer was distraction enough.

“What's this?”

“Thought you might like some new reading.” You flash your teeth.

His chin jerks towards the glossy cover. “I already gave this two stars on Goodreads.”

Of course he has.

Face prickling in embarrassment, you turn back the way you came without a word.

Hours later, when half the day has ticked by and the ache for more caffeine burns your eyes, Yoongi stops by your desk. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t try and gain the attention you pointedly withhold. He sets a paper coffee cup on the corner of the tabletop and leaves.

You snatch up the cup after he rounds the corner out of sight. The lack of sugar leaves much to be desired but free coffee is free coffee, especially to a PhD student with limited means. 

It isn’t much of an apology but guilt blooms down your spine anyway. He meant well. You aren’t known for giving yourself breaks; unable to quit while you’re ahead. A voluntary day off is less likely than winning the lottery. You’re a busy body and the constant work keeps you from dissolving into chaos.

You don’t see Yoongi again until every book at your desk is exhausted, begging for a break from your manhandling. Double and triple checking notes and citations are the poor excuse you implement to delay the inevitable. At some point you’ll have to go downstairs to face the music. 

He’s waiting like always, scanning the mountain of returns littering the counter from a long day. Each step closer withers something in your stomach. 

The copies in your hand shift onto the wooden surface, joining the stack for him to work through. Yoongi flashes a polite grimace when you catch his eye before immediately diving back into his work. Hopefully he understands why you chose Thank You for Smoking. And why you covered the second half of the title with a sticky note.

Jungkook’s smiling face greets you bright and early. His name tag has been upgraded from flimsy paper to a plastic one and a printed label with his name. 

Handing over your library card, he quickly scans it and grabs the books meant for today’s dissection. 

“Yoongi wanted me to tell you that if you want more coffee while you’re working, you can go to the staff lounge on the second floor.”

“Oh.”

Jungkook continues sifting through your requests, making sure each is correct.  “Between you and me, the coffee down the street is better. But don’t tell him I said that.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a coffee snob and thinks his shit—sorry—stuff is the best.”

“Okay,” you say, grabbing your pile. “Thanks.”

You set up your station like always, sorting through each book and devising a mental to do list. The desk resembles a feast but instead of food it’s encyclopedias, printed articles, and dusty manuscripts Yoongi wrangled from who knows where. On the outer board of your work station rests the feature of the day: How to Beg for Cigarettes.

A few hours pass between the pages. Your previous research is confirmed by the significantly less dusty encyclopedias this time, corroborating the basis of your thesis. A new work you haven’t seen is cited in the back, piquing your interest for more evidence. 

Instead of bothering one of the staff, you use the library website and find it in their catalog. It’s somewhere on the second floor where Yoongi offers free coffee. Two birds, one stone; a new book and a new cup of coffee.

The layout resembles all the other floors. A collection of study tables in the center crowded by bookshelves on all sides. One person, an undergrad by the look of pure dread on their features, occupies a table but that's it. Glancing at the note with the call number, you start towards the stacks on the left.

You find the correct area, eyes scanning up and down the different shelves to no avail. Hundreds of books, different sizes in an array of colors, flash by but none are the one you need. You’re about to call it quits when you spot it on the top shelf, just out of reach.

Call it a moment of stupidity, a brief blight of recklessness, but the book sits only a few inches beyond your fingers. You look around to make sure no one is around to witness the brilliantly flawed idea crest in your brain. With the coast clear, you hoist yourself up the shelf.

A deadpan voice nearly makes you fall.

“Looking for something?” 

Yoongi stands a few feet away, head cocked to the side. Of course he’d find you in such a ridiculous position. Even through the blur of your peripheral vision, the harsh lines of his usual uniform clashes against the back drop of books. Dark jeans fitted over his thighs, dark button down rolled up his arms, and a pair of glasses that make him look hot. But you’re in no position to dwell when the risk of falling on your ass is so high.

“Nope, just getting in some exercise” you grunt, moving your foot to the shallow hold of the next shelf.

Yoongi moseys up behind you before continuing. “And climbing a decades old bookshelf is how you stretch your legs?”

“You smoke cigarettes, I climb old furniture. We all have our vices.”

Your foot slips from its perch, making you squeak before catching your balance. 

“Alright spider-monkey, that's enough.” His hands slide across your hip, fingers curved around the softest part of your waist as he helps you down. 

Distracted by the weight of him still on your hip, the heat of his chest a scorching across your back, you don’t even think to disparage him for the cheap Twilight reference. The few inches Yoongi has on you allows him to reach overhead to snag the copy you need with ease. But as you watch his hands close around the spine everything beyond fades to black; like the universe pinholes where you two stand.

“This one?” You feel the vibration of his words up and down your spine, warm breath tracing across the shell of your ear.

Body on autopilot, you turn to face Yoongi. His mouth moves, eyes scanning the book cover but every word deafens in a muddy haze. He doesn’t seem to realize his hand is still on your waist, or how he crowds you into the shelves; chest to chest, stomachs barely an inch apart.

“Huh?” you ask, tearing your eyes away from his mouth.

“I said, if you asked for this book earlier I could have gotten it for you.”

“Oh.”

“You okay?” he asks, stepping further into you. “You look a little flushed.”

The bastard smiles. A God’s honest smile like his thigh isn’t between your own, or he isn’t waiting for a reply while his fingers dig in beneath your ribs.

Just when you open your mouth to say something, Yoongi silences you with a firm squeeze of his hand. His head lowers until his breath ghosts along your chin. 

Then you’re kissing; lips sliding together easily like he anticipated it. The world shatters all around from just a few passes of his mouth across your own, the weight of his body flattening you against the bookshelf. 

The first hint of his tongue against the seam of your lips makes you gasp and Yoongi takes the opportunity to taste you. You melt under his attention. Head tipping back, shoulders bowing to take more, your senses flood with the remnants of coffee and something else; something so quintessential Yoongi your head spins. It lights a new flame in your veins, one burning with pure want.

A handful of his shirt pulls him closer. Yoongi follows easily but gets more than asked for when one of your hands tangles in the back of his hair, tugging until he’s tilting his chin the way you want. It’s a bad habit other dates have subtly complained about but a noise bubbles in his throat at the dig of your nails; responding with his own palm squeezing roughly across your ass until your hips meet his. 

The crash of the book near your feet is like a bucket of ice water.

“Oh my god,” you gasp. Jumping back proves futile as the shelf digs further into your spine. “I–”

Puffy lips and lowered eyes stare back at you, clear evidence that you haven’t hallucinated what just happened. Yoongi dips down to kiss you again but you slither out of his grip.

Forgetting the book on the tiled floor, you mumble an apology and flee back upstairs, beelining to the vacant restroom.

To your own mortification, your features mirror Yoongi’s; lips swollen, eyes glazed. Your sweater twisted around your torso clearly betraying your rendezvous in the stacks. Beads of sweat cling to your forehead and neck.

A few splashes of cold water help clear the fog in your brain but as it dissipates embarrassment sets in. Making out with a handsome man is one thing. Making out with the librarian assisting in the most important work of your life is an entirely different ordeal; one that can only spell trouble.

Pacing back and forth, the cool paper towel on the back of your neck helps calm your racing heart enough to leave the safety of the ladies room.

Try as you might to drown under piles of books, it’s useless. You pretend to read the same passages over and over but none of the words register. The kiss replays over and over and over again. You kissed Yoongi. Yoongi kissed you back. He tried to kiss you again when you pulled away.

The end of the day inevitably comes which means you have to face him whether you want to or not. But you won’t allow a single lapse of judgment to affect your work; a moment of weakness propelled by months of abstinence that just so happened to coincide with a surly librarian’s entrance into your life. You just needed to get it out of your system. If it hadn’t been Yoongi it would have been someone else. 

At least that’s what you tell yourself.

A glance at your watch informs you that today is the second day you’ll leave the library early. Rather than give into the stubborn instinct to stay, you decide putting as much distance between yourself and Yoongi is far better for your mental health. With squared shoulders and a raised chin, you head downstairs. 

Yoongi’s waiting behind the counter. He isn’t typing on his computer or scanning books. He watches every step you take, arms crossed in front as he leans forward like he’s eager for a confrontation. 

“Yoongi,” you say.

“Y/N.”

You use every fiber of will to maintain eye contact as you pass your stack over the counter. “I’ll need these same ones tomorrow.”

“Okay.” He nods. “And the kiss?”

“What kiss?” you croak.

Yoongi’s eyes blaze like you’re a new puzzle to be solved, like he wants to take you apart and find exactly what makes you tick. You feel naked. “The one where you—”

“Must have been someone else. Sorry. Have a good night!” You rush for the door before he can say another word.

Another morning is another day in the library, but this time your roommate begs to tag along. 

“Look, I’m not getting anything done on my thesis so maybe you’ll rub off on me,” Taehyung says.

Rolling your eyes, you step through the door he holds open. “I think you’ve had plenty of people rub off on you.”

Gasping with fake indignation, he catches up easily. “Are you calling me a slut?” 

“Yes.”

“Good, I wanted to make sure we were on the same page. Is that him?”

Yoongi and Jungkook are talking behind the counter. Jungkook’s hands wave wildly as he recounts whatever information to his boss while Yoongi listens with fake interest. Or that's what someone else might think. The subtle signs he cares are hidden in the details; the miniscule lift of shoulders, a cock of his head, and when Jungkook pouts in a way too ridiculous for a man his size, Yoongi hides a smile in the shake of his head.

“Yes.”

“And I’m the slut?” Taehyung scowls as you pinch his shoulder. “What? He’s a nerd’s walking wet dream.” 

“And he can hear you, so shut up.”

“Morning!” Jungkook calls on his way past with a cart full of books. 

He grins like he knows exactly what happened on the second floor yesterday but that can’t be true. Yoongi doesn’t seem like the type to kiss and tell. Only the type to kiss and tease you relentlessly for it when no one else is around to hear.

Taehyung’s attention immediately locks on him. You love your roommate, always have and, unfortunately, always will; but he is a slut and Jungkook is definitely his type. However, he’s on your turf and knows better than to fuck where you have to eat for the next few months. 

“Y/N, Y/N’s friend,” Yoongi says when you approach his desk. 

“Taehyung.” 

“Right,” Yoongi drawls, blinking lazily before sliding your books over and turning around to sort something on the opposite counter.

Taehyung, ever the gentleman, grabs the pile for you and follows upstairs. 

“Well he seems like a cup of sunshine,” Taehyung whispers. 

“Just because he isn’t fawning over you doesn’t mean he’s an asshole.”

“I’m very fawn-able, ask anyone,” your roommate argues as you approach the fifth floor. “Wait, what's this… How to Defeat Your Own Clone and Other Tips for Surviving the Biotech Revolution. This is the type of shit he’s giving you? You’re easier than I am.”

“Give me that.” You snatch the paperback out of his grip. “Stop being nosy.”

Taehyung lets you work in peace after that, disappearing to gather more of his own materials. Even in undergrad he’d never been one to sit still for long. But he still managed to get a spot doing an engineering thesis despite the constant changes in his attention.

After several hours of mind numbing typing you need a break, and another cup of coffee on someone else’s dime sounds perfect.

“I’m getting coffee.”

“Bring me some,” Taehyung says without looking up from his screen.

The staff lounge is nothing fancy. A couple small tables with plastic chairs tucked around, a cork board covered with fliers, and a white board stuck to the fridge scrawled upon with black dry erase marker. The coffee pot sits full in the machine, still hot to the touch. 

You pour two cups. Taehyung’s gets loaded with creamer cups until it’s closer to white than black while yours is sweetened to sickening perfection. When you try to take a sip, the liquid immediately burns your tongue. Too hot coffee is better than cold coffee but an ice cube would help make it more palatable.

Moving back to the fridge, you go to open the freeze but stop when the white board catches your attention again.

Most notes are chores or friendly reminders about time cards but almost half the board is dedicated to a back and forth.

‘Unofficial Employee of the Month: Jungkook’ 

A note in Yoongi’s tight script: ‘You don’t work here.’

‘That’s why it's unofficial!’ in what must be Jungkook’s messy handwriting.

‘You’re my official employee of the month. - Namjoon’

At the bottom is a crude drawing of stick figures, two tall smiling ones holding hands under a rainbow labeled ‘JK’ and ‘Joon’ and a comically shorter one with evil eyebrows surrounded by storm clouds and ‘yoongi :(’ overhead.

“Snooping for secrets?”

“Jesus Christ,” you jump, turning to face Yoongi. “Has anyone ever told you it’s rude to sneak up on people?”

“You’re in the staff lounge, there’s gonna be staff here.” Yoongi crosses to the coffee pot on the counter and pours himself a cup. He doesn’t add cream or sugar or anything else to lessen the bitterness. Cliche. “So, was bringing your boyfriend here your subtle way of letting me down?”

“You think Taehyung is my boyfriend?” You whirl around in shock. Yoongi raises a brow, prompting you to continue. “Jungkook is more his type than I am.”

Yoongi releases a pleased hum, eyes shining. “So no boyfriend then?”

“Nope.”

You’re shaking but don’t look away from his hungry gaze. Yoongi takes a step closer, and another and one more until you're pinned to the countertop and his mouth is on yours. 

This time, you're more aware of everything. The smell of his cologne, the tickle of his bangs along your forehead, all the tiny details that were muffled before. Yoongi’s lips are firm against your own, a little chapped but it only makes you hotter with each pass.

His mouth is everywhere; your chin, your jaw, peppering down your throat until he pushes aside the hem of your shirt and sets to work on the jut of your collarbone like he’ll never get a chance again. 

“Yoongi,” you hum on the first rake of teeth. 

He takes it as an invitation to dig in harder, sucking the skin until your spine threatens to break and you say his name again. Desperate for some kind of anchor, you knot your fingers back in his hair and pull. 

A throaty noise responds and the need to hear more rears its head. Yoongi who always watches with measured fascination undone by some light petting. The power is addictive. 

Legs spread, he presses in flat. The heat of his cock, rigid beneath the fabric of his jeans, teases across the seam of your own. You're technically still in public but the consequences concern you less than the knowledge that you’ll go mad if you don’t feel him. His arms circle your back, pulling you firmer against him, right to the edge of the linoleum counter.

Wedging a hand between your bodies, you manage to get his zipper undone while your tongue traces along his jaw. Yoongi angles his hips to help, curling into your palm when you cup him over the fabric of his boxers. Every press has him swelling harder. 

His hands reach under your shirt. Skin on skin, the rough calluses of his fingers trace your ribs, thumbs following the cup of your bra in a tease. It’s a simple touch but your own hands falter when he brushes a nipple. You melt into each other.

“Hey, Yoongi, do you know where—HOLY SHIT!”

Jungkook stops at the door, eyes wide, mouth wider. 

“Get out!” Yoongi barks. He’s trying his best to keep your body covered from the younger man’s view but even if Jungkook isn’t getting a full frontal he isn’t dumb enough not to realize what’s going on.

Yoongi shudders a few breaths. Head hung low, he tucks himself back into his pants without moving away. You’re already slipping down from your perch when he looks back up.

“I’m just gonna…go,” you mumble, scurrying out the door.

Jungkook waits outside, eyes still bugging out of his head but at least has the decency to pretend he didn’t catch you in the act.

Tugging your shirt down, you avoid his gaze. How far would you have let Yoongi go if Jungkook hadn’t interrupted? 

“Coffee?” Taehyung asks as you approach the table.

You know what you look like without a mirror. The same as yesterday with glassy eyes and bruised lips, clothes wrinkled. Thankfully, Taehyung is more interested in his modeling software than where you’ve been. 

“They were out.” 

With a sigh like he is personally victimized by the lack of caffeine, Taehyung collapses on the table and plays dead. But he perks up at the sound of footsteps approaching behind you.

“You left this in the break room,” Yoongi says, dropping a cup of coffee by your side before disappearing. 

You turn to follow his retreating for until he’s hidden back between the shelves. The back of his hair is still messy despite his attempt to fix it, same with the wrinkles in his shirt from your hands.

“I thought they were out?” Taehyung eyes you suspiciously when you look back at him.

Cradling the still hot cup in your hands, you avoid his gaze. “Shut up.”

“So you do have to sleep with someone to get a cup of coffee.” 

“I’m not sleeping with him,” you spit in a harsh whisper.

“Why not?”

“Because…”

Because what exactly? There isn’t a good reason other than the fact Jungkook was the king of cockblocks. You would have let Yoongi do just about anything he wanted and he seemed to be in agreement. But you’d rather die than admit that out loud.

“You are so smart and so incredibly stupid.” Taehyung rolls his eyes, rising to pack his things. “I need to pee.”

You point him in the direction of the bathrooms and get back to work.

When Taehyung returns minutes later he starts shoving his things in his bag. “I’m leaving.”

“Why?”

“This is like the epicenter of hot smart men and I refuse to suffer any longer.”

“You got Jungkook’s number,” you deadpan.

Taehyung can’t hide his own shit eating grin. “Yoongi gave it to me.”

“If you’re leaving, so am I.”

“Why?” your roommate whines. 

“Because I got you a hot date and that means you owe me dinner.”

“Technically it was Yoongi but I’ll concede.” Taehyung heaves his bag up. “Come now my dearest, we can still get happy hour if we hurry.” 

You reach in your own bag and toss him your keys. “Go wait in the car. I’ve gotta go grab another book real quick.”

“Whatever,” Taehyung says, mumbling something like ‘nerds’ under his breath as he heads downstairs.

You find Yoongi while on your way to his desk, already toting around the cart piled high with returns from the day. Several of the covers are Taehyung’s picks and somehow the knowledge they’ve spoken almost knocks you off kilter. Taehyung is a good wingman and that’s what worries you most.

“Hi,” he says, kneeling to put a book on a low shelf.

It shouldn’t have the effect it does but something about the way Yoongi looks up at you, on his knees, head tipped back, has your mind running wild with the image of him in the same position with both of you wearing far less clothing. Maybe if you weren’t interrupted in the staff lounge you’d have seen it in real life.

“Hi. Mind if I add these to the pile?” 

“Go ahead.”

The Stocking was Hung sits on top. You don’t wait around to see his reaction.

The temperature had steadily been increasing over the past weeks but this morning is the worst of all. That inescapable warmth fully seeded overnight and promised the comforting days of sweaters and pants are long gone.

Heat makes you lazy and fitful. In the early hours, long before you actually need to be awake, you stare up at the ceiling of your room. Not even a frigid shower helped the stickiness of your skin or laying still in your bed in nothing but one of Taehyung’s shirts and ratty shorts. It followed you everywhere until you left for the same brick building you spend more time at than at home.

Without thought, you throw on the first seasonally appropriate outfit in your closet; a thin dress that covers enough for the public but promises to keep you cool.

Yoongi seems to be taking the change in weather as well as you are. His usual attire is absent, nothing but a white shirt clinging to his torso. The pale skin of his forearms briefly catches your attention but you focus anywhere else to stop from rounding the desk and finishing what started upstairs.

You steel yourself and approach the desk, determined to act normal.

Familiar dark eyes flash up to greet you but Yoongi’s mouth doesn’t form any words. He just stares at you. You can feel the weight of his gaze on your shoulders, your neck, and then he pointedly keeps them trained on your eyes. Like he's willing to pretend yesterday didn’t happen. 

He doesn’t speak when he passes over the same pile of books as yesterday but you can feel him burn a hole in your back. Even after you climb up the stairs and out of sight, the prickling sensation you’re being watched follows.

You don’t get anything done. The words on the page might as well be another language as your mind races.

Yoongi didn’t give you an extra book today.

An endless list of potential explanations race through your mind. Maybe you’d been too forward with your choice. Maybe he’s gotten it out of his system, a quick tryst in the employee lounge enough to satiate his curiosity. Maybe because it’s the second time you’ve brushed him off. Even if it wasn’t your fault Jungkook stumbled in before anything worthwhile could happen. 

But he isn’t speaking to you and he isn’t giving you the random book you’ve come to look forward to every morning. 

Channeling the restless energy of overthinking, you take a lap around the floor. You pause to flip through random books as you zigzag through the stacks. Anything to take your mind off the unshakable tension sticking in the air like syrup.

Your laptop is in sleep mode by the time you reluctantly come back. Everything is as you left except a book you’ve never seen before sits on top of the open one you’d been reading.

There’s a Boy in the Girls’ Bathroom. 

A sticky note sticks up from the inside of the cover. A bolt of excitement shoots down your spine. When you flip it open a familiar handwriting stares back: ‘on the seventh floor’.

You hadn’t been gone too long but the fear of making him wait has you rushing up the stairs. Each step brings you closer to where he waits until you’re opening the bathroom door.

“Yoongi?” 

A hand wraps around your upper arm, yanking you in. Another hand silences a surprised shout before you realize it’s Yoongi and not a murderer pinning you to the interior of the door you just came through.

“Jesus, you scared me.” 

“Sorry,” he breathes. “It’s just not a good look for me to be up here.”

“Oh, really?” You smile. “And why is that?”

“This is my job.”

“Didn’t seem to stop you before.”

“Who says it’s stopping me now?”

He thumbs the strap of your dress, hooking under the thin material and dragging it down your arm. The heat and weight of Yoongi against you, touching you so simply, makes you vibrate. Yoongi moves into your neck, panting with a grind against your thigh. “I swear I don’t usually do this.”

You want to argue that you have two accounts that he does do this often, at least with you. But for someone who says they don’t, Yoongi is surprisingly natural. The tease prickling the end of your tongue fizzles out under his teeth across the curve of your shoulder, goosebumps blossoming along your back. 

A whimper unbecoming of an adult woman breaks the lullaby of summer air conditioner singing through the vents. You’re sweating under the cling of your dress, skin hot to the touch thanks to Yoongi’s attention; long fingers curved around your waist, thumbs skimming just under your breast.

“Could have fooled me.”

“This is a very nice dress.” His mouth bites down your neck, taking advantage of the new strips of skin the neckline unveils.

“That’s all it takes?” you pant from the wet of his tongue. “A pretty dress?”

“If you think,” he whispers into your ear. “I’m doing this because of your dress then you really haven’t been paying attention.”

The dark locks of his hair are too alluring to resist, tempting one of your own hands to scratch against the tip of his spine when Yoongi rolls against you again. A firm tug brings him to your mouth, lips molding to one another in a searing kiss. You can taste the coffee from the lounge and the faintest hint of cigarette smoke, like he thought to hide it before asking you to follow him.

“How long? How long have you wanted this?”

Yoongi hooks one of your thighs higher, savoring the heat of your core against the crotch of his pants with a slow thrust. “Since you came in and busted my balls over not having that archived manuscript when the website said we did.”

You remember that day. Patience thin from Taehyung’s loud overnight guest, you stormed into the library looking to take it out on a photocopy of the manuscript only for the only copy to be AWOL. Yoongi became the surrogate for your rage, his eyes burning into your skull as questioned how he could let it happen.

The next day was when he started adding books to your stack.

“That was months ago.”

“I’m a patient guy.”

You want him naked; ache to catalog what he’s hidden underneath bulky sweaters and loose button ups over the past few months. But that idea has to wait for somewhere less risky. You settle for dipping your hand under his shirt, tracing your fingers over the elastic of his boxers peeking from the waistband of his pants.

Attempting to hide the effect he has, you loop your fingers in his belt loops and pull him even closer so your face is hidden in the crook of his neck. “There’s a Boy in the Girls’ Bathroom? A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

“Like The Stocking was Hung is any better?” Yoongi sighs as your mouth ghosts over the rising vein webbing the side of his throat.

“Hey!” you object, rising to face him. “I thought you’d appreciate it after that mothman book.”

“I appreciate you complimenting my dick plenty.”

Yoongi doesn’t let you go, hands palming at the swell of your ass the entire way from the door to the counter. He’s got one hand curved along your jaw, thumb hooked around your chin and his teeth bruising your lower lip. The edge of granite digs in your spine but not for long as he lifts you and settles on his knees to dive under your skirt. 

He kisses up your calf, tongue snaking across the knob of your knee then the plush of your thigh. Just when you feel a puff of breath against the damp crotch of your panties, Yoongi falls to repeat the same path against your other leg. 

You don’t suffer for long. Pooling the excess fabric around your waist, Yoongi blinks up from between your thighs. The pink of his tongue follows the edge of your panties, wetting the fabric more until it clings obscenely. 

He pushes his glasses up to rest on the top of his head, keeping the mess of gray and black hair out of his eyes before diving back down.

His tongue lathers over your covered slit with a groan. “Taste better than I imagined.”

“You thought about this?”

“Couldn’t stop thinking about it. On my desk, yours, against that fucking bookshelf.” Yoongi punctures each word with more wet kisses against your core. “In my car, my bed. Everywhere.”

A cool breath has your thighs squeezing around his head thanks to the erotic combination of his spit and your own fluids drenching your panties. “Is this all you think about?”

“I had to come up here and jerk off yesterday because I couldn’t stop thinking about your hands.”

Your panties are pulled to the side before you can indulge in the new visual blooming on the edge of consciousness. “Yoongi.”

Eyes closed, his mouth circles your clit, tongue gently stroking you to life. Every pass against the sensitive bundle of nerves has your thighs squeezing around his head. 

The first prod of fingers makes Yoongi’s hold on the crook of your knee tighten. He stretches you back open, eyes following the way you suck him inside; coating his spindly digits with more arousal each time.

“A-ah,” you shake. “Please.”

Yoongi chances a glance up at your face, the needy sheen in your eyes, the way your mouth gapes, and decides to take mercy. 

He latches back onto your clit. Yoongi groans as you tug his hair, knocking his glasses to the ground. The pace he works your remains lethargic, savoring the kick of your hips until you grind against his mouth. 

Throaty groans vibrate against your cunt, tightening the muscles along the inside of your thighs. Neither of you are doing a good job muffling yourselves but if it’s between getting caught and having him stop then you’ll deal with the consequences when they come.

“Oh, Yoongi.” Your chest pulls tight; spurred on by the sounds of Yoongi bullying your insides, his mouth smacking against your folds. “I’m— oh, oh, oh!”

The rough crook of his fingers sends you flying. Only the pressure of his shoulders keep you from slipping off the counter as you explode against his mouth. Euphoria rushes your veins, licks of pleasure overwhelming. Every muscle quivers as Yoongi works you through until you use his hair to pull him away.

He’s quick on his feet. You’re still recovering as Yoongi pushes your bra down and draws one of your nipples into his mouth, licking and sucking until you pull his hair again. Eyes cinched tight, face wet, you force his pants open then his underwear until Yoongi is almost as exposed as you are; pretty in your palm, sticky and hot to the touch.

But it’s not enough to feel him in your hand, you need to feel him inside. To fill you up where you sit hollow and aching without his fingers to provide a sliver of relief. “Fuck me.”

Yoongi doesn’t tease, has no quip about how needy you are. He keeps his mouth on your chest and uses his hands to grab something out of his pocket. It happens so fast you don’t even realize the condom is on until he nudges between your legs.

Your nails dig into his back, breathing through the initial stretch is the only way you stay quiet. Yoongi hides himself back in your neck, strained noises clawing out of his throat.

Yoongi isn’t gentle. Not caution or waiting. Months of push and pull destroy any desire for him to treat you as something fragile. He rushes into desperately, forcing your palm flat against the mirror behind you for some semblance of stability.

“God,” he grunts. “You’re incredible.”

You whimper a quiet acknowledgement, too fucked out to blush under his praise; pulling Yoongi closer until he’s scooping his hands underneath your ass, thrusting into you over and over. His mouth finds yours. Greedy. Hungry. 

It’s Yoongi who struggles to stay quiet. Even through the kiss he moans loud enough you feel it in your throat. You listen to them all, twisting the hand knotted in his hair to hear the whine you’ve quickly become obsessed with.

“Should have done this sooner,” your back arches and Yoongi’s mouth slips back down. 

“I tried. But you kept ignoring me.”

“I wasn’t—fuck—ignoring you.” Yoongi is everywhere. His taste on your mouth, cologne burned in your nose. The feel of him all over your body. “Shit.”

He fucks you harder to prove a point, hand slipping down to rub your clit. Your second orgasm glows on the edges. If Yoongi keeps playing with you, stretching you in half on his cock and biting a mark into your breast, you know you’ll come.

You focus on breathing. Letting it come to you instead of chasing it, overthinking it to the point it evades you. It’s easier than usual. Yoongi doesn't leave room for anything else beyond feeling good. 

“Oh my god,” you whisper as the cord tightens. 

Everything turns white hot, pleasure tearing through your muscles and ripping them to shreds. You convulse in Yoongi’s hold, only pinned down by his hips fucking you brutally. Nerves shot, Yoongi babbles praise in your ear but it's indecipherable from the headrush.

Yoongi follows you over the edge a few strokes later, twitching inside you until he stills. His hips give a few arrhythmic bucks as he fills the condom with his load. 

There's something nastier about clothed sex. The way sweat makes your clothes cling tighter, the rush of needing each other so badly you can’t be bothered to do more than pull things to the side. 

You feel dirty but in a good way. Yoongi kisses across the apples of your cheeks, your chin, your forehead, even your brows, but never returns to your lips. Each leaves you more frustrated than the last, muscles twitching beneath and head turning at the last second to try and meet his mouth. 

Tricking you with a brief connection, he laughs when you chase his lips as he dodgers back. But a pout and whine bring him back into your orbit.

He cleans you up with paper towels, wiping away the mess between your thighs with something akin to disappointment. But he doesn’t complain as he fixes your clothes and then his own. Muscles like jelly, you fall into his side when he helps you down from the counter. 

With a kiss to your temple, “Let's get out of here.”

“Morning, Yoongi.” You smile as you walk up to his desk.

A set of dark eyes rise to greet you, taking the cup of coffee you so graciously offer before smiling as well. “Good morning.”

Jungkook gawks like he’s never seen you two speak before. Round eyes bounce between you and Yoongi as if it’s a tennis match instead of a normal conversation. Probably because Yoongi was less than subtle when he pulled you out of the building yesterday, telling him to call Namjoon if anything came up.

Or maybe because you’re wearing one of Yoongi’s shirts.

You discovered much about the mysterious librarian overnight. He’d taken you back to his apartment; a perfect extension of himself decorated with dark furniture and more books than anyone could possibly read. Yoongi owned a collection of vinyl records that rivaled his book collection, he was a great cook, and he was studying to take the entrance exam for law school. 

After you were wined and dined, Yoongi dedicated hours between your legs. On his couch, against the massive bookcase in his living room, between the sheets of his bed. 

He also had a kink for eating you out while you explained your thesis in precise detail.

You’d only been allowed to leave when Yoongi was getting ready for work, not that you'd put up much argument. 

You make a scene of sorting through the stack he slides over. It’s not that you don’t trust Yoongi. But now that you’ve had a taste, you’re addicted to his presence. But he unfortunately can’t follow you upstairs so you savor the time now. 

“One of my books is missing,” you say.

“Oh, right.”

Yoongi passes over an unfamiliar copy.

Maybe He Just Likes You

And the blue sticky note attached, with his handwriting. ‘Dinner when you're done?’

Taglist: @tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @sliceofwoozi @dokyeomkyeom @yoonguurt

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

is it that sweet? (joel miller x f!reader) 18+

masterlist | a/n i've had no motivation to write lately but this randomly popped into my head the other day and suddenly my brain was like okay let's roll!! let's do this!! let's jump in!! so idk what that says about the current state of my subconscious. anyway this is filth! pls read the warnings! love u. summary: you probably shouldn't let some random middle aged man on the beach take nude photos of you, right? right? rating: 18+ explicit warnings: pervy!joel, age gap, voyeurism, coercion, objectification, sneaky picture taking, nude photos, paying for sexual favors, dirty talk, praise kink, pussy pronouns up the fuckin wazoo, oral (f receiving), nipple sucking, unprotected p in v sex, standing sex, creampie word count: 8.4k ao3 dividers by @saradika-graphics 🤍

He's been watching you for about an hour. You'd sussed him out almost immediately after settling onto your beach towel and digging into your bag for your sunscreen, mildly aware of the shape of him in your peripheral vision. He's old, definitely in his late fifties, but certainly not the most unattractive man who could be eyeing you. You're used to it by now anyway, almost feed into the way men seem to gawk at you sometimes now that you've finally thrown caution to the wind and stopped giving a fuck about your beach body. You used to be self conscious about your curves, your tummy, your thighs - you decided this summer that it had to stop.

And you're glad you did. Because now he's staring at you, this unnamed, completely anonymous middle aged man only a few feet away. And it feels fucking good.

Should it feel good? Probably not. Should you tell him to buzz off and leave you alone? Take a picture, it'll last longer, something like that? Probably. But will you? No.

You like feeling his eyes on you.

Older men like you, you've noticed. They stare. They stare more than men your own age - boys, really. Twenty somethings who try to play it cool and more often than not come across as disinterested in their interest. They're cowardly, obnoxious. And you suppose some older ones are too, especially the ones with wives - they want you to be impressed by them, ooh and awe over their high paying jobs and big mansions, their fancy cars that they think make up for their tiny dicks.

But every now and then you'll come across one like this. You can read him like a book, peering at him from over your sunglasses every so often as he lounges behind a vibrant blue umbrella. His eyes caress your bare shoulders and chest, your exposed stomach, your soft thighs. They linger on the places they shouldn't and it makes you tingle. He's appreciating what he sees, basking in it, taking his time.

You could be content just lying here and letting him look. He is handsome after all, greying curls and soft scruff flecked with white, golden skin that almost glows underneath the sun. His legs stretch out over his own towel, long and lean and strong. He's got a soft looking belly, hanging out a little bit over his trunks, and now your eyes linger for a little longer than they should.

But you won't say anything. If he wants to talk to you, he has every opportunity to. You're not going anywhere for at least another hour, not until the sun starts setting and it's time to head back to your friend's vacation home. You've only been in California for a short period of time, but it's like it's somehow molded you into a different person - a more confident, sexier version of yourself that's been dying to get out for years. A version of you who lets this old man stare and get his fill as you smirk and turn over on your towel, arching your ass up into the air.

Oh, he likes that. You can tell because of the way his jaw clenches, neck tightening as his eyes fall to the globes of your cheeks. With a barely there smirk, you arch a little more, stretching and flexing and letting him take in the way your bikini bottoms barely contain them. Your breasts hang low onto your towel, practically overflowing from their own containment, and you have to admit - you're getting a little wet posing for him like this.

He licks his lips, eyes flickering downward again to something closer to him, something in his hand. You crane your neck a little bit to peer around the blue umbrella, and your breath hitches.

He's taking pictures of you.

It's obvious now, should have been obvious this whole time, really. Only one of his hands has really been visible, the other settled low against his side behind the umbrella. Now you can see that he's got his phone angled toward you, the camera peeking slyly out from behind the blue nylon as he repeatedly taps his screen with his thumb. To test him a little further, make sure you're really seeing what you think you're seeing, you push down into the sand with your hands and rise up a little bit on the towel, almost into a lazy downward facing dog. Your tits jiggle below you, threatening to escape, and out of the corner of your eye you watch as the man adjusts the camera to get a better angle. His thumb and forefinger glide across the screen, undeniably - and unashamedly - zooming in.

You're definitely wet now. You know you shouldn't be. You know this has probably gone too far and you should get up and leave, potentially tell someone about the creep on the beach taking photos of women in bikinis.

Instead, you make eye contact with him, settling back down onto your towel with your ass still perched a little in the air. He seems to freeze, eyebrows going up in the realization that he's been caught. In response, you blink slowly at him, pout a little bit as if to say, Really? You arch your back a little more and shimmy your hips, tilting your head as you continue to gaze over at him, eyes going a little hooded.

Come fuck me, you're almost saying, even though you know there's no way in hell you're gonna let him. It's just funny to watch him squirm, phone gripped tight in his hand as his adam's apple bobs in his throat. You arch a little more and then grind your hips into your towel, flattening yourself against it, holding his gaze. You rest your head and smile at him teasingly.

He's getting up and shuffling toward you in no time at all.

"Hi, darlin'," are the first words out of his mouth when he reaches you, and you certainly did not expect a Southern accent to fall from those plush lips. He's gorgeous really, now that you can see him up close - wide shoulders and big arms that strain against his white shirt, strong chest covered in little freckles, chocolate brown eyes that shimmer in the sunlight.

"Hi," you say with a smile, blinking up at him.

"I'm sure you saw what I was doin'," he seems a little embarrassed, voice apologetic as he scratches the back of his neck, "I know I shoulda asked, but you seemed so relaxed, I didn't wanna disturb you."

Bullshit, you only came over because I smiled at you. Any other reaction and you'd have run for the hills.

"I'm Joel," he reaches his hand down for you to take. For some reason, you shake it without hesitation. "I'm actually a photographer, believe it or not."

Huh. You raise an eyebrow at the words, doubt immediately swimming in your mind as you assess him.

"If you're a photographer, where's your camera?"

He chuckles, "Back at my hotel. I just came out here to relax, wasn't plannin' on takin' any photos. But then I saw you, and, well..." he smiles at you sheepishly, "You're just so pretty, darlin'. Never seen somebody like you before."

The words are not special. They're nothing you haven't already heard, nothing he hasn't probably already used on countless other women. And yet... you smile back at him, cheeks warming a little at the way the compliment sounds coming out of his mouth in particular, all Southern and sweet. "Thank you."

His eyes suddenly leave yours to flicker back toward your body again, scanning the length of you. As if on instinct, almost to show off, you tighten the muscles in your ass cheeks and then release, letting them jiggle a little bit under your swimsuit. He swallows tightly.

"Would you be interested in posin' for me, sweetheart? There's a little spot down the beach, outta sight. Still public though, of course. I wouldn't ask you to go anywhere unsafe," his eyes linger on your ass for a few more seconds before he's meeting your gaze again, soft and sincere, "I'd love to get some pictures of you in that bikini, and some with it off too, if you're comfortable with that."

Oh, he's fucking brave. You can feel disgust brewing in the pit of your stomach, a scowl beginning to dawn on your face. This is where you should draw the line. This is where you should get up and leave, tell him to go to hell, tell him he's a pervert and-

"I'll pay whatever you think is fair," he continues, "How's three hundred as a starting point?"

On second thought...

"Beautiful, baby," he's telling you softly, "You're so pretty like that."

You hum in contentment, laying in the sand with a little smile tugging at your lips as Joel maneuvers around you with his phone, snapping pic after pic as you peer up at him through rays of sun. You're a little ways down the beach now, in a sparser area behind some rocks. He was right about it still being public - if something happened, you know you could raise your voice the tiniest bit and be heard immediately by people on the other side. Somehow though, despite his forwardness and slightly perverted habits, you trust that he isn't going to force anything on you.

You've already got three hundred dollars in your purse. He'd given it to you before you'd even gotten up from your initial spot on the beach, placed it in your hand with a grin as your eyes widened. You suppose you could've taken the money and run, but part of you wanted to play it out, test the limits, see what else he'd pay you for.

Which leads you here, laying sensually in the sand with the strings of your bikini dangling a little looser off your shoulders and hips, a little careless, a little more teasing. The poses so far have been pretty basic, and you've tried your best to emulate what you think a supermodel on the cover of Sports Illustrated would do. Based on Joel's responses - excited nods and gentle praises - you think you're doing a good job.

"Turn over now," he tells you with a playful grin, "Put that cute little ass in the air again for me."

It should be demeaning, the way he's talking to you. There's a lot about this situation that should be wrong, and yet you can't help but feel pride swell in your chest at his directions, his compliments. You do what he says, flipping over to dig your hands into the sand and arch your back, turning your head to eye the camera directly with a sultry little smile on your face.

"Perfect," he's murmuring, thumb tapping the screen like his life depends on it, "That's so perfect, honey." You listen to the fake little shutter sounds the phone makes, still wondering if he's even really a photographer. Would it even matter? Wouldn't you have still let him do this anyway?

With this new angle you can feel the loose strands of your bikini top starting to slip, unraveling at the back and trickling gently against your sides. You watch with what should be a worrying lack of urgency as it cascades down onto the sand below, leaving you topless.

He whistles low under his breath, "Well, would you look at that. The girls are out."

"That's an extra fifty," you say with a coy eyebrow raise, "Or else I cover them back up."

"Extra fifty, no problem" Joel echoes, "Can you shake your ass for me again, darlin'?"

You nod, tilting your head and peering back at him as you tighten and release your muscles with a giggle, basking in the way he stares at it, like it's a five course meal he's about to devour. You do it a few more times, arching your back a little more and spreading your thighs slightly to allow for more recoil, more jiggle. He makes an odd sound in the back of his throat and you grin.

"How much to take these off too?" he lowers the phone and peers at you with pleading eyes, brown and soft, "Huh? How much extra to show me this lil' peach, honey?"

You grimace, looking down at the sand and trying to calculate an appropriate cost in your brain. You bite your lip, "You know that's not the only thing that'll show."

"I know," he murmurs, eyes trailing downward again to eye your ass, still perched high and plump, "Your peach and your pussy then, how much?"

Fuck.

"I won't touch you," he promises softly, "You can just tug it down and show her to me, lemme see her up close, yeah?"

Her?

Her.

"Christ," you mumble under your breath. He's filthier than you thought, and not in a bad way - in a fucking hot way. "Another fifty," you decide, voice firm, "And... and I wanna see you put the money in my purse first. And no touching my... her."

"I can do that, sweetheart," he's already digging into his wallet and yanking out the money, opening your bag slightly to place it inside. It could be counterfeit for all you know; this whole thing really might be a completely worthless venture, and yet -

He watches as you reach backward to untie the strings of your bikini bottoms, doing it in one fell swoop and then spreading your thighs again, knees digging into the sand. You arch and press your face against your towel, feeling goosebumps rise all over your skin at the knowledge that he's staring at where you're now completely bare.

You hear him groan, a rough little sound that goes straight to your core, and a few little shutter sounds go off, "Now, that's a pretty little pussy you got there, baby."

Heat rises throughout your body, up through your chest and to your cheeks. You turn a little to look at him shyly, lashes fluttering when you see where his gaze has settled.

"Yeah?"

"Oh, honey, she's so pretty," he breathes, "She's all wet. Leakin' for me, you see that?"

You can't see it of course, but you can feel it; feel the way you're dripping, knowing that he can see it, has a 1:1 view of the way you throb and drool for him. This random old man who about twenty minutes ago you'd never spoken to in your life.

"And your little clit is sayin' hi to me too, babygirl, can see her pokin' out." Fuck. You squirm a little in place as his camera continues to go off, legs spreading a little more unconsciously as you tilt your head downwards and close your eyes. Your clit twitches under his stare.

"Swollen little thing," he breathes, barely loud enough to hear, "Perfect pussy."

Jesus Christ.

"Roll over for me again, sweetheart," you hear him say quietly, "Show me all those pretty parts."

You don't know why, but you whine a little at his words. It's subconscious, a burning desire you can't describe as you slowly flip over and lazily lay back on your towel to show him your entire naked body. He stands over you with his brow furrowed in a gentle kind of way, eyes appraising you up and down like you're some kind of goddess. And fuck, he's kind of making you feel like one.

"Legs open a little bit, baby, that's it." You obey, spreading your legs and looking up at him with lidded eyes, lips parting a little. You bring your arms up to rest behind your head and he takes note of the way your tits bounce for him, shivering back and forth beneath his gaze. "You're perfect," he murmurs, "You're absolutely perfect."

"Stop," you say, unable to stop a grin from spreading across your face, "M'not perfect."

"But you are, darlin'," he shakes his head, eyes full of wonder as he kneels down to get some closer pictures. You watch as he brings his phone down directly in front of your pussy, snaps a few close-ups of your puffy lips and swollen clit. "I'd love to kiss her, honey, if you'd let me."

"N-no," you say quickly, though your voice cracks, "No touching."

"I'll pay you extra," his eyes return to yours, locking your gazes, "You name it, baby. I'll pay anything to taste how sweet you are down here."

You look at him calculatingly, tilting your head. Anything?

"Two hundred," you practically whisper, "In the bag."

You're half expecting him to tell you that he's run out of money, that he couldn't possibly give you any more than the four hundred he's already blown on this. But he surprises you, reaching back into his pocket to grab his wallet and tug out the bills. It's like he has an endless supply, and you're beginning to wonder if maybe this is a hobby of his, something he prepares for, carries money around to be ready to spend on women like you. Maybe he's rich rich, has unlimited money to throw away, and this is just his weird perverted thing he does on the side of something else.

Maybe you should have asked for more.

But he's already kneeling back down into the sand and you're already opening your legs wider for him, allowing him to settle between them and lean his head forward to place his lips gently against your pussy. You watch with heavy lids as he kisses you so softly there, his mouth tender and inviting and deliciously scratchy from his scruff. Without really thinking about it, you reach down and run a hand through his curls, smiling a little fondly as he kisses you again, and again, and again.

"That feels nice," you breathe, watching as he continues to press incredibly slow and gentle kisses to your cunt in an almost respectful way, a reverent way.

"Good," he murmurs, lips vibrating against your core, "Want it to feel nice for you, baby."

You let out a soft moan the second his tongue breaches your folds, wet and warm. You watch as he closes his eyes and seems to get lost in it, tasting your pussy like it - or she, as he'd said - is some rare delicacy he's never indulged in before. He trails the tip of his tongue through the mess you've made, maneuvering your puffy lips and flicking it against your clit. Your hips buck and another moan slips out, quiet and pitiful.

"That's it," he murmurs against you with a little half smile, "So sweet for me, honey." He dives back in immediately and slowly plunges his tongue inside your entrance, fucking into you a few times before carefully pulling back and opening his eyes to peer up at you again. God, those brown eyes are fucking sinful. He gives you one more smile and then reaches down to grab his phone.

"Gonna get some more pics of this messy girl, okay?" he breathes, and you're a little startled when his left hand is suddenly coming down to touch you there, two fingers carefully scissoring you open. You don't say anything, too horny to protest, too intrigued to see what he's going to do. "Gotta open her up a little," he tells you softly, answering your unspoken question, "Wanna take a little peek at what she's hidin' inside her, baby."

A little whimper falls from your throat again as his fingers scissor you wider, holding you open and baring your hole to his camera. You can feel your walls twitching and pulsing, contracting and leaking; you can only imagine what it looks like. Your eyes roll a little when his middle finger taps your clit, another gush of arousal flooding past your opening.

"Look at this lil' hole, huh?" he's murmuring, but your eyes are closing and your head is falling back onto the towel as he plays with you, "Oh, she's alllll messy for me down here, baby. And it's no wonder your clit came out to see me, she loves gettin' played with, don't she?"

Christ, he knows how to talk. His words send another helpless little sound past your lips, thighs trembling as he slowly caresses your clit with his finger, pressing down on it with just the right amount of pressure.

"Aw, you're all sticky here again, baby," he whispers and you whine, feeling your juices dribble down toward your ass, "Shh, I'll take care of it," and then he's leaning back in to lap at your folds, a little faster this time, more desperate, "Tastes so good, pretty girl. So sweet."

He suckles your clit into his mouth and you let out a breathless moan, brow furrowing as he suctions the swollen nub and lets one of his fingers fall to slip inside your entrance. You're so close you can feel it, coiled inside and ready to snap at any moment, his thick index plugging you deliciously as his tongue swirls. You tighten around it, thighs squeezing a little around his head, and then-

He's pulling away, removing his mouth and finger. Your eyes flutter open and you watch as he stands up with a little groan, older age apparent in the way he clutches at his back and exhales once he's upright. You want to tell him to get back down here, finish what he started, but part of you feels like it'd almost be letting him win, somehow. This perverted creep on a public beach that's somehow managed to lure you away and get you naked, take photos of your body and eat your pussy. He doesn't deserve to have you beg for him - even if you want to.

"Can you stand up for me now, honey?" he tilts his head, squinting against the sun and smiling like he didn't just ruin your orgasm.

On shaky legs, you manage to pull yourself up from the sand and stand before him in all your naked glory, legs crossing a little as you squeeze your thighs together. He smirks but doesn't say anything about it, instead angling his phone toward you again and snapping some full length photos. You immediately do your best to go back into Sports Illustrated mode, posing a little and trying to ignore the ache between your legs, the relentless throb of where his mouth just was.

"Squeeze your tits together for me," he tells you, voice a bit deeper, rougher, full of arousal, "Cup 'em a little, show me those cute lil' nipples."

You do as he says, biting your lip and showing the camera exactly what he wants to see. Your nipples are peaked and hard, begging to be teased and tugged, but you refuse to do it yourself - you're not giving him the satisfaction, not after what he just pulled. He takes a few up-close pictures, camera so close to them that you shiver with sensitivity, the smallest bit of air from his movements causing them to tighten even more.

"Those are so beautiful, baby," he murmurs softly, gaze trailing upwards to meet yours, "Can I give 'em a kiss too?" God, his eyes are so fucking soft and sincere, like fucking boba pearls. You wonder if anyone's ever been able to say no to him.

You swallow, keeping eye contact, "For another fifty, sure."

He chuckles at that, "You drive a hard bargain, darlin'."

"I know what I'm worth."

He smiles, nodding slowly, "That, you do." He pulls out his wallet and slips another bill into your bag, then shuffles toward you again. You try to keep your breathing calm when one of his hands comes up to cradle your bare back, pulls you in a little bit as he lowers his mouth to your right nipple. With hazy eyes, you watch as he presses the softest little kiss to it, then does the same to the left.

Part of you wants to pull back and say that's it, that's all you get, just to see what he does, give him a taste of his own medicine. But then he's wrapping his lips around the pebbled bud and suckling, your eyes going glassy, jaw dropping a little as your hands come up to hold his shoulders. Your pussy throbs at the sensation, thighs rubbing together again as he suctions just the right amount and swirls his tongue all over the hard peak. It's impossible not to let a quiet moan fall past your lips, something he returns with a little mmhmm around your nipple, a wordless I know.

It feels so good that you feel your guard going down even more than it already has, feel your head falling forward to rest against his. His greying hair is so soft, so warm from the sun. You blink slowly and inhale, cheek smooshing into his temple as he sucks and sucks and sucks, then turns his attention to the other one. Little whimpers are tumbling past your lips, your hands squeezing and caressing his shoulders as you feel yourself starting to drip down your inner thighs.

It's so fucking intimate, much more intimate than you anticipated. And when he finally pulls away and comes back up to peer into your eyes again, leaving your nipples puffy and a little sore, you betray yourself by leaning forward to kiss him softly, tugging his bottom lip into your mouth and returning the favor with a little suckle. You feel him smile against you, the hand on your back tightening as he brings his other one up to tangle in your hair. His lips are plush and wet - a little chapped from what he's just done to your nipples - and he tastes like pussy.

It's fucking heavenly.

"I wanna show you somethin', babygirl," he murmurs against you after a moment, and you nod a little too quickly, a little pathetically. You're starting to realize that you're losing the battle here, if there ever even was one.

He pulls back a little, eyes still soft. You watch as he reaches down to his swim trunks and unties them, heart suddenly in your throat as he slips his hand inside and comes out with an absolutely beautiful dick. It's long and thick, rounded and full at the tip with an extremely suckable looking mushroom head, as well as a prominent vein trailing up his shaft that makes your mouth water. You both stare at it for a few seconds without speaking, your lips parting but no words coming to mind.

"You wanna take some pictures with my cock, honey?" he asks you quietly, and you think he's probably looking at your face now, watching your expression, but you're still just staring at his dick.

"W-what?"

"Just a few, like...well..." he shuffles forward a bit and very gently presses the warmth of his cock against your bare stomach, letting the tip sit just above your belly button, "Like this."

Your brain is blank.

"That okay?"

His cock is so heavy.

"Darlin'?"

And warm.

He pushes some of your hair behind your ear, cradles your face in his big hand, "I know, honey," he murmurs, "You just gotta say okay."

Okay?

"O-okay," you finally whisper.

"Yeah?"

Yeah. You think it but don't say it, can't say it. You feel beyond overwhelmed, eyes still glued to where his throbbing tip is smooshed into your belly. You can't stop looking at it, ogling it, awed by its impressiveness and girth, the way it leaks a little onto your skin. You've never seen a dick this pretty before. You almost forget that you're standing there without any clothes on, barely aware of the shutter sound as he snaps multiple pictures on his phone.

"Good girl," he murmurs softly, "That's a good girl, just look at it."

Every few seconds he repositions a little, pulling you in closer to capture the way his cock stands at attention between your bodies. Precum gurgles from the tip and makes a sticky mess in his happy trail, dribbling down onto your skin. Without thinking about it at all, completely unaware of even doing it, your arms are suddenly around his waist, holding him close with your gaze still locked onto his cock.

"Yeah, that's for you, baby," he tells you softly, grinding his hips a little bit against yours and essentially fucking his cock against your stomach, "You did that to me."

It's only when he suddenly takes a small step back, holds the base and angles it downward to gently prod the sticky head against your pussy lips, that you finally come to your senses.

"Wait," you gasp out, yanking yourself back from him and shaking your head, "W-wait a second."

"M'sorry," he says quickly, brow furrowing as he puts his hands up. His cock hangs from his trunks almost comically, bobbing up and down as he takes a step back, "Shoulda asked first."

"Y-yeah, you should've," your voice cracks, heat flooding your face, "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me just then, that was too far." Why the fuck are you apologizing to him?

"S'not too far," his words are gentle, alluring, "We're just havin' fun, aren't we honey? You were havin' fun, got lost in it. It's okay."

You take a breath, staring at him as you try to get your bearings. Were you having fun? Is this fun? What the fuck are you even doing right now? Your thoughts are cloudy, hazed with arousal and attraction to this complete stranger in front of you. Are you really gonna let this continue? Is it really worth it? Your gaze falls back to his cock and the question is almost answered for you.

"What am I doing?" you ask aloud, a breathless little laugh escaping your lips.

"You're just havin' fun with a new friend, s'all it is."

You raise an eyebrow at him, trying to ignore the way your hands tremble, "Is that what you are? My friend?"

"I'll be anything you want me to be, darlin'," his mouth turns up at the corners, eyes sparkling, "I sure would like to be your friend."

He peers at you for a moment, waiting for you to speak. Your mouth opens a few times but no words come out, your thoughts scrambled as you try to make heads or tails of this situation. You're suddenly painfully aware of the fact that you're still completely naked, and you quickly peek your head over the rock formation to make sure there's nobody nearby - there isn't.

Why are you checking?

"C'mere," Joel finally says, and you turn back to look at him with your lip between your teeth. He's standing there with his arms open a bit, cock still heavy between his legs. By all accounts, a fucking perv. And yet...

And yet.

Fuck it.

You're back in his embrace in no time, hooking your head over his shoulder and allowing his cock to press warmly into your skin again. You close your eyes and sigh as he brings one of his hands downward to squeeze your ass.

You know what he's going to ask before he even says it.

"Can I put it inside you, darlin'?" he murmurs softly, pleadingly, "Just to get a pic of your pussy all full?"

You don't say anything.

"Won't take more than a minute," he urges, "I promise, baby. Just wanna see it stretched around my cock. Don't you wanna see that, pretty girl? I'll pay extra, whatever you want."

More silence.

"I know you wanna see it," he's relentless, his other hand coming down to squeeze your other cheek and pull you impossibly closer, "You wanna feel that, don't you, baby? Big cock fillin' you up before you go?" His middle finger slides between your cheeks and settles at your pussy, slowly teasing your entrance, "Don't gotta do anything at all, just gotta stand here, we'll do it standin' honey."

"Standing?" you ask softly, pulling back to look at him with intrigue, and your response suddenly has him grinning from ear to ear as he slowly inserts his finger. You shiver, eyes fluttering closed as he fills you with it.

"Standin'," he repeats, "Just like this, baby, don't gotta do anything 'cept open your legs a little for me. You can do that, can't you?" The hand on your ass comes up to hold your chin; he pinches it gently between his finger and thumb and gives you another soft look as he starts to fuck you in earnest, "I know you can, 'cause you're a good girl, yeah?"

"Y-yeah," you breathe, arms tightening around his body.

"Yeah," he adds a second finger, smile faltering into a sympathetic pout when you let out another soft moan, "And you want that cock, don't you? I can see it all over your face, honey. Don't gotta pretend."

"I do," you whisper with a nod, swallowing thickly and trembling in his arms, "I want it, I do."

"So..." he's waiting for you to say the words, to tell him to go ahead and put it in, do what he wants, let him take control. His fingers are relentless inside of you now, plunging in and out at a speed you know he's purposely using to distract you, cloud your decision making.

Which is why his eyebrows go up in surprise when you're suddenly reaching down to grab tightly to his wrist, yanking his fingers out of your pussy in one swift pull.

"Three hundred," you state, "Take it or leave it."

To your surprise, his face alights with a gigantic smile, a deep laugh tumbling past his lips as he nods and digs his hand into his pocket, seeking his wallet one more time, "Yes, m'aam," he grins, "I'll take it."

You've never had sex standing up before. Not like this, face to face and completely upright with your feet planted on the ground. It's a little awkward at first, Joel having to crouch a little to align his hips with yours, one hand gripping your waist while the other grips his phone. God, this fucking phone. You're pretty sure you'll never wanna see a phone case with this ugly shade of cerulean blue again, let alone hear those obnoxious shutter sounds.

Your annoyance is quickly overpowered by the sensation of the warm head of Joel's cock pressing gently to your pussy. You look down to watch, lip between your teeth again as Joel snaps image after image of the way his tip crowds your outer lips, pushes them apart. You have to admit, it's certainly a sight to behold.

"Yeah, look at her open for me, baby," he's murmuring, thumbing the base as he slowly rubs his cockhead back and forth through your folds, "Bloomin' like a little flower."

The top of your head rests against his shoulder, face angled down to watch what he's doing. A tiny whimper falls from your lips when he very slowly eases the head of his cock inside of you, the stretch barely noticeable with how wet you are. He releases your hip to reach down and open your pussy lips with his thumb and forefinger, exposing where you're joined.

"Tell her to smile for the camera, babygirl," he whispers, and while part of you wants to roll your eyes, another part can't help but feel a gush of arousal at his words, soaking his cock even more, "Good, that's good."

He feeds his cock to you slowly, making sure to take as many pictures as he can. Little whines and squeaks erupt from your throat and your hands claw at his back, fingers tangling in the white crocheted material as he fills you up. It's only when he's fully sheathed inside of you that he suddenly tugs his trunks down a little more to expose his balls, heavy and round and full. You stare at them with a longing in your eyes you can't describe, lower lip trembling as you watch them bounce and settle against where you're joined.

"There you go," he murmurs, snapping one last picture before tossing his phone into the sand and bringing his hands up to cradle your back, pulling you close, "All done, baby, that's it."

Your toes curl in the sand as you embrace the feeling of being so full of him, his tip pulsing delicately inside the deepest parts of you. A distant thought in your brain wonders why he just threw his phone on the ground, but it doesn't seem to matter when you feel like this, so full and wet and warm, lost in a hazy glow. You bury your face in his shoulder, letting out quiet little whimpers as he pulls you in tighter. He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, seemingly reveling in the moment too as you stand there listening to the ocean waves, impaled on a stranger's cock.

"How's that feel, honey?" he asks you softly, thumbs tracing shapes along your bare back, "Hm? Feel good?" You don't answer, just nuzzle your face against his skin and let out another soft whine, hands clamoring underneath his shirt to grip his back. He chuckles, "Yeah, I know, baby."

You both stand there for what feels like forever, until you finally have enough sense to pull away from his shoulder and get a look at his face. He's watching you fondly, brow furrowed, eyes still incredibly soft and inviting. He really is gorgeous. Pervy, but gorgeous.

"You dropped your phone," you mumble, words faint and slightly slurred.

"Don't need it anymore," he murmurs, "Got my pictures."

"Then why are you still inside me?" you ask softly, eyelashes fluttering, "If you're done?"

He shrugs, smiling, "'Cause it feels good, don't it?"

You stare at him for a few seconds but end up nodding regardless, turning your face a little to peer over at the ocean, "It does," you admit, "Feels really good."

"Mmhmm," he kisses the top of your head again, then your temple, stroking his fingers through your hair. The way he touches you is reverent, delicate, like you're something fragile he needs to keep safe. It's not what you'd expected, that's for sure. But something you're not as sure about is what happens now, where you both go from here.

It doesn't take long for him to decide.

You feel his thumb on your clit, drawing your attention away from the ocean and back to his presence. You peer at him through bleary eyes, a dazed little smile curving your lips as he carefully rotates the swollen nub. His belly caresses yours, warm and soft, and you smile even wider.

"Feel good?" he asks you again - tender, kind.

"Yeah," you whisper.

The hand on your back comes up to cradle your hair, pulling you in close again and allowing you to rest your head against his smooth chest. You moan as his thumb picks up speed, the sound muffled by his tan skin.

"You want me to make you come, honey?" he murmurs, fingers brushing carefully through your hair, "You wanna come all over that big cock inside you?"

"Yeah," you repeat, a little broken this time, "W-wanna come."

"You've been so fuckin' good for me, you know that?" he breathes, barely a whisper, brow furrowed as he continues to rub your clit, "Posin' all pretty, showin' me that soft little pussy, lettin' me taste her," he gives a low whistle, shaking his head, "And now she's all full, huh? She full?"

You nod, eyes rolling a little, "Y-yeah." Apparently yeah is currently one of the only words in your vocabulary.

"She all messy for me?"

Again, you nod, expression blissful as you let out a moan, "Yes, Joel," you whimper, and you're pretty sure it's the first time you've said his name this whole time. It's like you've been trying to be disconnected from it, from him, and now suddenly he's everywhere; inside you, in front of you, above you - there's no escaping him. And you don't want to escape - what you want is him. Badly. Desperately.

He seems to realize this at the exact same time you do, the moment he hears his name fall from your lips. Which is why you're not surprised in the slightest by his next words.

"What if I wanted a pic of my cum leakin' outta this little pussy?" he whispers, mouth suddenly directly next to your ear, sending insane amounts of pleasurable tingles throughout your whole body, "Huh? How much would that cost? Tell me."

"You can't," you mumble, lightheaded, but you're lying to yourself, completely lost in the pleasure he's giving you, the movement of his thumb and the girth of his cock.

"Only take a few seconds, honey, m'already close," as he speaks, you feel his hips slowly begin to buck, cock pulling from you for only a moment before easing back in, making you shudder, "You don't gotta do nothin', 'cept show me how she drools when she's full. You can do that, can't you baby?"

"Joel," you whine again, eyes shut tight as you dig your toes into the sand, holding tight to his back as he slowly starts to fuck up into you. He's so big, so thick, plugging you full and then leaving you again, slow and warm. You can only imagine how it would feel to have him burst inside of you, to fill you to the brim.

"I wanna see her drool, honey," he murmurs, voice desperate again, full of arousal, "Wanna see her push it out."

"Fuck," you moan, high and whiney as you suddenly grip both sides of his face in your hands to peer directly into his eyes, "A thousand," you whimper, your hands clawing at his scruff as his hips pick up speed, as his hands fall to your waist and hold tightly as he starts to pound up into you, "A thousand and you can come in my pussy."

He presses his forehead against yours, lets out a guttural sound and then hisses, "Deal."

And for some reason, you believe him.

Getting pounded while standing upright is a fucking trip. His nails dig into the pebbled flesh of your hips, knees bending and unbending as his cock fucks up into you relentlessly without stopping or slowing. Your hands are still holding his face, eyes locked with his as your mouth pops open in a silent scream, thumbs digging into the apples of his cheeks. Holy fucking shit.

"I know, I know, I know," he's groaning, voice wild and unhinged, groans vibrating in his chest, "Fuckin' take it, s'what you were made for, honey. Knew it the second I saw you, knew you were gonna go wild on that dick."

"Please," you moan out, tears pricking in your eyes, the sensations almost too much to bear, "Please, please." You don't even know what you're begging for, thoughts muddled as you release his face and wind your arms around his neck, "Keep fucking me, keep fucking me, don't stop, please."

"I got you, honey, I got you," you feel his thumb return to your clit as he speaks, the sounds of your skin slapping together almost rivalling the sound of the ocean waves, "You gonna come, pretty girl? Huh? You gonna cream on my cock?"

"Yes," you practically squeal, and before you can really process what you're doing you're suddenly jumping up from the sand to wrap your legs around Joel's waist, ankles tangling together behind his back. He has no issue shifting positions, his arm cradling you and holding you in the air while his thumb continues to ravage your clit. You feel it building in your stomach, tightening more and more with the insistent pressure of his thumb and the continuous thrusts of his dick hitting your cervix over and over.

"Ohh, I feel her, baby," he groans in your ear, "Sloppy little cunt wants to make another mess, doesn't she?" And that's all it takes for your orgasm to hit you, your legs squeezing tighter and tighter and tighter around Joel's body as you moan and whine and cry, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and shaking in his arms. It's like having the wind knocked out of you, arguably one of the best orgasms you've ever had in your life, your eyes rolling back into your head as you sob into his neck.

"Joel," you whimper, pussy pulsing repeatedly around his dick through the aftershocks, "Joel, come inside her, please."

"Oh, fuck."

You feel it then, the twitch of his cock and the warm ropes of his release pumping into you. You sigh almost dreamily, burying your face in his shoulder and listening as he groans, feeling the way his fingertips dig into the soft plush of your ass. It's steady - there's so much more than you thought there'd be, and the sensation is enough to make you whimper again, murmuring his name one more time as he empties himself.

You stay like that for a moment, the ocean loud in your ears, all other sounds seemingly drowned out by the hiss of sea against rock and sand. Eventually, he carries you a few steps to your towel, your ears ringing and his body trembling a little as he carefully lowers you down. You let go of him a bit reluctantly, a pout on your lips as he lays you out and then slowly pulls himself from you with a wet squelch.

"Good girl," he's murmuring - you realize he's been saying it the whole time - "Good girl, that's it, open your legs."

There's no hesitance at all anymore, not after that. You open your legs wide with abandon and sit up on your hands, watching with heavy lids as he grabs his phone from where he'd discarded it, bringing it down to your leaking pussy.

"Look at that," he breathes, awestruck, and your eyes trail downward to see what he sees. You feel heat return to your cheeks when you see the way his creamy white release is slowly beginning to dribble out of you and onto the towel.

"Wow, that's a lot," you whisper with a faint little giggle, eyes coming back up to look at his face as he watches it drip. You're not sure he hears you, intensely focused on where you're swollen and leaking, but you don't mind. You push back lazily on your hands and smile fondly at him as he takes his precious photos. In the afterglow, you find that the shutter sounds aren't that annoying, not really.

"Open her up for me, baby," he tells you softly, "Spread her wide and push it out."

You sit up a little, feeling drowsy and dreamy as you reach down and pull yourself open with your hands. You apply a little pressure, closing your eyes in a daze and hearing the wet little sounds as you push his cum out of you and onto the towel. You hear him groan, hear the shutter sounds again, and you can't help but grin.

"Are they good?" you ask him, genuinely wondering, "Is she pretty?" As you speak you pull yourself a little wider, allow him to take one more picture as close inside as possible before he pulls it away.

He looks up from his handiwork with that familiar soft smile on his face again, brown eyes shimmering in the sun that's already beginning to set, "You're perfect," he tells you, "And don't argue with me, I just gave you almost two thousand dollars."

You snort, releasing yourself and falling backwards onto the towel to stare up at the sky. Your limbs feel heavy, eyelids drooping as you watch Joel in your periphery slipping his soft cock back into his trunks, as well as his phone.

"It's real money, right?" you ask, a little unsure.

"I promise it's real money," he says with a chuckle, walking over to stand over you, "D'you wanna come back to my hotel with me and get cleaned up? Maybe have some more fun?"

You bite your lip, "Would you pay me?"

"I'd pay you."

Admittedly, as reality begins to wash over you, the idea doesn't sound anywhere near as appealing as it might have an hour ago. With a little effort, you sit up again and reach for your bikini, half buried in the sand near your feet.

"Nah, I think I'm good."

Joel reaches his arm down and you take it, letting him help you to your feet. As you put your bikini back on, you watch with a little smile as he digs the rest of your money out of his wallet, slipping it into your purse like it's just second nature at this point - which, it basically is. He stands there then, a little awkwardly, like he's not sure what to say.

"Well, uh, thank you, darlin'," he finally says, taking a step back and nodding toward you with a kind expression, "Not many girls would have, um... not many would've done this. I'd offer you my number, but I get the feeling that's not what this is."

You wince, shaking your head, "Yeah, this, uh- this isn't gonna go anywhere, sorry. But it was fun."

He nods, "It was. And, I mean, those pictures aren't just gonna collect dust, I can tell you that much."

You laugh, walking forward a little to pick up your bag. You stop in front of him and, after hesitating for only a moment, lean forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. Just a peck - a goodbye.

"Have a good rest of your summer," you tell him as you pull away, heat rising in your cheeks again as he looks at you with those beautiful eyes, "And uh- maybe try to be a little more covert with that camera."

This time it's his turn to blush, his cheeks tinging a dark shade of pink as he laughs and tosses you a wave, turning to begin walking away from you. He only makes it a few steps, and then-

"Hey, Joel?"

He turns on the spot, a hopeful look in his expression that makes you wonder, if only for a moment, that maybe you're making the wrong choice.

"You're not really a photographer, are you?"

His blush deepens, a look of embarrassment crossing his features, "No, I'm not. But after today, I just might try my hand at it."

Mascs? Mascs.

— my wait is you

♡ closeted!abby anderson x fem!reader

synopsis: after deciding to stop seeing abby completely due to her inability to commit, she drops everything to make it up to you

a/n: from a req… im so sorry this sucks so bad & i did not proofread

warnings: closeted abby duh, owen gets his own tw, internalized homophobia i guess (?), mentions of crying, improper communication, secret relationships, kissing, sorta established relationship, whiney and needy abby, pussydrunk abs lol, dry humping (THE CROWD GOES WILD), face sitting, abby is a messy eater and a MUNCH, make up sex, mentions of strap usage, cursing, a little bit of angst in the beginning if you squint and turn your head away a little bit, fluff, cliffhanger idk if i’ll make a pt2, and pet names

wc: 3.8k

The bustle from all the people in the dining hall made it impossible to think and in some ways that was comforting, yet everyone's presence was a bit too overwhelming at the moment. 

You dropped a half finished sandwich into the trash, having no appetite after what you endured today. As you walk back towards your assigned room, the memories of Abby’s betrayal come flooding back. 

 It didn’t take long for you to realize that she wanted to live a double life, one in which she was with Owen and another where she was with you.But you were not going to give her the pleasure of having both, not when it’s fucking with your head as badly as it is.

Today you had been assigned patrol with Abby, who you just so happened to be avoiding like the plague as of late. It was easier to avoid her, as you knew if she were to look at you with her kind eyes, you would give in to her every request. 

Fate seemed to be against you, as you had the daunting task of facing her for almost an entire day. You brushed off every attempt she made to speak with you, your gun held tightly in your hands as the two of you left the base. 

The gentle “hey” that fell from her lips was only met with silence, your eyes focused on the path ahead. She knew you were pissed— knew she fucked up badly enough to ruin everything the two of you had built together. But she just didn’t know how to apologize to you for being unable to be openly out with you. 

Tension between the two of you became so thick during your journey that you could’ve cut it with a knife, but you refused to budge. 

Even when she tried to soothe you a bit by offering to stop by the old desolate book store the two of you had found, she was met with silence before you simply shook your head and looked away from her. 

It was eating away at every inch of her being, her hands twitching at her sides as she yearns to get her hands on you. She misses being close enough to breathe in your sweet scent, misses the way your soft hands felt against her skin— she missed everything. 

To you, she was simply being a pain and rubbing it in your face that she had chosen to be with Owen rather than you. So during the entire trip, you remained silent and didn’t allow Abby any comfort for once. She eventually went quiet, her jaw clenched tightly and her eyes narrowing at your form as the two of you got back to base. 

And even now as you walked towards the door to your room, you felt anger bubbling within your tummy due to the fall out between the two of you. Just as your hand touched the cool metal of the knob, you felt two warm hands rest on your waist. 

Your brows furrowed out of confusion, although you knew who was touching you just by the weight of their hands. 

Spinning to face her, you push Abby’s hands away and let a deep frown settle onto your lips. You offer her no words, simply taking her in as she stands before you. 

She looks tired, frustration etched into her features as she gazes down at you.

“What the fuck was all that today?” she questions, her anger showing despite the quietness of her voice. She’s keeping it down as per usual, never wanting anyone to even notice the two of you interacting beyond work duties.

“You haven’t let me speak to you for weeks. I miss you, okay? I get that you’re upset with me but don’t give me the silent treatment, just tell me I fucked up and let’s move on” she pleads, her words so rushed from nerves that you barely comprehend what she has said. 

Her words only make you want to scream at her, to make a huge scene just to show her how much she has hurt you. But you push it down, keeping your voice just as low as hers is.

“I’m not going to ‘move on’ from you dating some asshole that you don’t even like. I’m tired of you using me to satisfy your own needs so find some other girl who is willing to be your dirty little secret” you mutter bitterly, glancing down to notice the way her hands were flexing as she opened them only to clench them into fists once more. 

“I don’t want to see you anymore, Abby. And don’t even think about knocking on my door when he can’t give you what you want.” you seethe, turning your back on her and entering your room without giving her time to completely process your words before you slam the door in her face. 

Abby is left wide eyed, her plush lips parted as she is left alone with your harsh words. She goes to knock on your door out of instinct but pauses, her brows furrowing as irritation and desperation make an ugly mix within her. She lowers her hand, now moving with a determined stride towards Owen’s room. 

♡

With little to console you after the altercation, you had made the prompt decision to bury your face into your pillow and let your thoughts fade away as you fell into a dreamless sleep. It was comfortable, being so detached from everything around you even if it was only for a little while. 

However, any solace you had found was ripped from your hands as a heavy knock sounds on the door. A low groan sounds throughout your small room as you blindly move your hand onto the side table to try and find the lamp. 

Once the light switches on, another loud knock can be heard, the door shaking from the force. The second knock makes you rush towards the door, unsure of what to expect but believing it to be urgent. 

That is until you swing open the door, the dimly lit hallway showing you a very broken down Abby. Her braid has become messy and loose, her eyes red rimmed and glassy. She looks like a kicked puppy, so lost and scared. 

“I broke up with him, okay? It’s done, I swear” she blurts out breathlessly, not even giving you the chance to speak. The information takes a while to set in, the cogs in your mind slowly turning as you realize what she had said. 

It was over. She was yours and only yours now. 

It’s hard to speak as you try to process everything, leaving Abby with an aching silence. Tears begin to roll down her rosy cheeks, a pitiful whine emitting from her. 

“I know you’re probably still mad but please let me stay. You don’t even have to talk to me if you don’t want to, that’s fine. I just— I can’t be alone right now” she whispers weakly, taking a step closer to you so that she is standing inside your room. 

She sounds absolutely pathetic and you can’t help but relish in this moment, her pain making up for all you had gone through these last few weeks. You let her come inside, simply shutting your door as a sign that she can stay for the night. 

But you’re toying with her, knowing exactly where all these pent up emotions are coming from. You don’t let her get too close, as you want to see just what she wants from you. 

“Thank you, thank you” she breathes, relieved to at least be welcome in your room once more. Her shaky hand pushes back her hair to soothe herself, the ache in her body worsening as she realizes you’re wearing the smallest pair of pajama shorts she has ever seen. 

It’s enough to leave her feeling dizzy, her eyes flickering back up to meet your own. “You look absolutely perfect” she mumbles, no tears to be found as she feels countless weeks worth of energy beginning to boil over. 

Her words make you feel all warm inside, as you know she is all yours now. You need her just as much as she needs you but you are unwilling to confess that just yet. 

So you give her a soft hum of acknowledgment at her words, simply turning away and mindlessly rearranging your bed, purposely bending over so your shorts ride up just enough for her to see your panties. 

Abby is falling apart in your hands, her eyes lingering on your ass far too long. She had spent these last few weeks picturing you just like this, her fingers buried in her cunt as she got off to the thought of you. 

But now here you were in all your glory, and she wasn’t about to let this opportunity pass. With a few quick steps, she is behind you, your back pressing against her chest as she pins you down against the bed with ease. 

“What the fuck” you huff, your brows furrowing as you try to squirm out of her grasp but to no avail. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so fucking sorry, can’t you see that?” she whispers, her arms being wrapped around you so tight, scared that you would leave her at any moment. 

Seconds after she speaks, her hips begin rocking against you, desperately humping your ass like a woman who had been deprived of something holy for so long. The warmth of her body combined with her little pleas makes you let out a soft moan, breathy and barely there but just enough to let Abby know that you are enjoying this. 

“Jesus, Abs. M’ not going anywhere, calm down” you mutter, your words broken up by how harshly she is rubbing up against you, her movements displaying just how needy she is. Her hold on you doesn’t budge, simply focusing on your scent and how warm you feel against her. 

She shakes her head feverishly, her breath warm against the back of your neck. “Need to touch you, missed you so much” she breathes frantically, as if she were in some sort of frenzy that could only be soothed by touching you. 

The way she rubs up against you has your core aching, desperate for relief that only Abby could give you. “Missed you too, fuck” you huff, trying to be the one in power but failing miserably. Even in her desperate state, Abby finds a way to keep you dumb for her, your mind only filled with thoughts of her giving you the relief you have been craving for so long. 

Your confession blows up Abby’s ego a massive amount, her nerves dissipating since she knew the misery she felt without you was shared between the two of you. 

“Yeah, baby? You have a funny way of showing it. You’ve been such a little brat, avoiding me and not letting me touch you at all” she grunts, the rocking of her hips faltering as her mind is flooded with a need to be closely connected with you. 

“M’ sorry” you huff, still a little frustrated by her previous actions which meant you were unable to be empathetic towards her. Abby pays you no mind as she stops grinding against you completely, helping you get back into an upright position by pulling you by your arms. 

“Can you get on the bed for me, sweet girl?” she asks hopefully, unsure if you would even agree to what she wanted to do. Much to her surprise, you nod your head slightly and crawl onto your bed so you can make yourself comfortable. 

Your chest heaves with anticipation, watching Abby’s every move to try and figure out what she wanted to do. After taking off her boots and setting them off to the side, she gets on the bed, her large frame being rather intimidating as she spreads your legs open so that she can settle between them. 

She’s laying on her tummy, nuzzling her cheek against your inner thigh affectionately as she keeps her gaze focused on you. “Can I taste you, angel? Been thinking about your cunt so much, need to see her again” she mutters, sounding borderline delirious just from the idea of being able to lap at you like a woman starved. 

“Mmph, just a little” you say after a moment of thinking, wanting to remind her that being able to touch you like this was a privilege that only you could give her. A pleased grin appears on her lips as you give her permission, nodding her head eagerly. 

“Thank you, thank you” she breathes out, pressing a few open mouthed kisses to your inner thighs that leave you aching for more. “Gonna make you feel so good, need to make you come” she hums as she backs up, hooking her fingers under your little shorts along with your panties in one swift movement. 

You feel so exposed to her, finding the feeling only adds to your arousal. Abby takes a moment to consider her options before she decides on exactly how she wants to do this. 

She uses her thumb to rub soothing circles on your hips, her expression warm and comforting. “Need you to sit on my face, doll. I wanna feel all of you, want to taste all of you. Is that okay?” she questions in a pleading manner, as if she would burst into tears if you were to deny her. 

The request makes your heartbeat a little faster, knowing that Abby can barely contain herself whenever she is eating you out. But after weeks of going without her attention, you’re just as needy as she is. 

“It’s okay with me, just wanna feel good” you whine, unable to mask your excitement now that she was soothing you completely. She takes notice of how eager you are and decides to make it her personal mission to make you come until she’s decided you’ve had enough. 

“Sweet thing, so eager” she coos, giving your hip a gentle pat as a sign for you to start switching positions. You are quick to follow her command, moving out of the way so she can lay down flat on her back. She waits for you to move, glancing at you only to find that you’ve yanked off your t-shirt, the sight of you alone pulling a porn worthy moan from her. 

“That’s a good girl” she praises, so pleased that you were completely bare while she remained clothed, as it only reinforced the control she felt she had over you. Shakily, you begin to move up the bed so that you can get into the proper placement. 

With your hands holding onto the wall in front of you for stability, you manage to straddle Abby’s head so that she can stare directly up at your heat. “So fucking pretty” she practically pants as she sees you in all your glory, her strong hands grasping your hips with a bruising grip. 

It’s not as if you minded, as whenever she decided to show off her strength you found yourself completely enamored. “You sure this is okay, Abs? Don’t wanna hurt you…” you trail off slightly, not wanting her to be unable to breathe or anything like that. 

“Baby, if I die with you sitting on my face, I will die doing what I love” she quips in a playful manner, wanting to help you relax. Her words make you smile in the slightest bit, the tension that coursed through your body now melting away. 

“Shut up” you mutter playfully, her teasing remark making your tummy flutter. “As you wish” she states quickly, not giving any explanation before she pulls your hips down onto her face. 

It’s a bit of a shock to feel her gentle licks against your pussy, a low gasp being pulled from you as warmth spreads throughout your lower half. She’s being messy on purpose, now licking long stripes up and down your cunt, pausing for a moment to messily kisses your clit before moving her tongue lower. 

The sensation is enough to make you tremble, your hands weakly grasping at the wall as you try to stay upright. “Jus’ like that” you moan out, your folds so slick that Abby can’t stop herself from moaning due to the complete mess you’re making on her. 

Your statement entices her to work harder, now tonguing as your slit to test the waters. The position is almost too perfect, her nose bumping against your clit while she obscenely slurps up all your arousal. 

With the pleasure being doubled, you find yourself unable to keep your eyes open any longer, now squeezing them shut as you let ecstasy course through your being. Broken up moans leave your lips as you practically hump her face, needing her nose to rub up against your clit just a little more. 

There are no complaints from Abby, as it let her know that you were feeling good. She dips her tongue into your entrance, fucking her tongue so deep into you that you swear it’s almost better than when she fucks you open on her thick fingers. 

“Jesus Christ, s’ too much” you say after a string of pitiful mewls, your hips stuttering against her as the pleasure begins to reach its peak. She couldn’t care less, as she needed her fix of you or she might actually lose her mind. 

Your scent consumes her whole being, you taste heavy on her tongue. It’s enough to make her ravenous, now using her firm grip on your hips to guide your movements so that you don’t have to do it by yourself. Her tongue continues to stretch you open, fucking you at a rhythmic pace that keeps pace with the way she is rocking your hips against her. 

In a complete daze, you grope your tits, trying to pretend it’s her hands instead just to maximize the goodness of the feeling. And it truly works, as all the pleasure combines to make something completely blinding and overpowering. 

It’s everything you’ve been craving since you began avoiding her and now it’s all yours. 

“Abs, gonna come, you gotta slow down” you whine, your lungs burning from the amount of effort it takes to breathe in properly. Your pleas don’t discourage her at all, as all she chooses to focus on is that you are about to get off just from her tongue. 

So she keeps her firm pace, burying her face into your cunt as if it were a sanctuary that only belonged to her. It’s all too much, the way you can feel her spit coating your folds and you can only imagine how soaked the lower half of her face must be. 

You can only whine as she refuses to yield and so you find yourself rubbing teasing circles against your hardened buds, trying to match her timing. And within a moment or two, you let out an incomprehensible string of words, moaning so loud that you knew others on the base will be talking about the two of you tomorrow.

You couldn’t care less, too focused on the way the band that had tightened in your tummy had finally snapped and left you feeling euphoric. Your cunt clenches around Abby’s tongue as you come, a low whine leaving her as she feels your gummy walls tighten up even further. 

You ride it out, practically bouncing against her since it was hard to move properly even with her help. But it all becomes overwhelming so quickly that you raise your hips the best you can, Abby’s hold on you fading away since she knew you needed time to recover. 

After carefully changing your position, you lay down beside her, your breathing still being labored and you can’t help but smile at how much Abby is panting alongside you. The stickiness between your thighs doesn’t bother you much, much more focused on the girl who was lying beside you. 

You turn onto your side, facing her enough so that you can give her a sweet kiss. You can still taste yourself on hee tongue, shivers coursing through your form as she eagerly kisses you back. It’s lazy and messy, both of you being so tired out. So you let her tongue glide against yours, moaning against her lips before she gently bites your lower lip. 

She pulls away after she gets a small whine from you, a grin spreading onto her features. She is completely different from how she came into your room earlier, her eyes dazed and her whole being practically radiating warmth. You were glad to see the change, as after all that the two of you had been through, you both deserved some relief. 

“You’re a mess” you state playfully, noticing that her nose and mouth were completely coated with your slick. “Good” she quips, swiping her thumb against her chin to gather up some of your leftover juices and pushing the digit into her mouth to suck it clean. 

The sight leaves you feeling flustered yet strangely proud that she finds the taste of you to be so pleasing. You press your naked body against her, needing some comfort after everything that went down today. 

She is quick to wrap you up in her arms, not even caring if you make a mess on her clothes. “You did so good, baby. You’re all mine” she hums soothingly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head as you hide your face against her chest. 

You don’t reply, simply wanting to let her words sink in and make you feel safe once more. Abby would never force you to speak, especially when she can tell you’re so sensitive and tired. It’s as if the two of you are having your first time together once more, but this time had much more being for both of you. 

A comfortable silence falls between the two of you as she mindlessly traces shapes along your back to keep you at ease. But she just can’t help herself, not when she has been aching to make you come multiple times. 

“You still got my strap, angel? I think you can take a little more, hm?” she questions, her voice low and soft. The suggestion has your eyes going wide, always amazed by her stamina. You were more than eager to comply, raising your head so you can nod quickly. 

“Gonna fuck you nice and stupid so you can sleep well” she states calmly, as if it were the most natural statement ever. With the way it rolls off her tongue with ease, you can almost convince yourself that it is normal. 

A lazy grin crosses your features as you take in the idea of her burying her thick strap into your cunt. “S’ still in the closet— if you wanna…” you whisper timidly, suddenly feeling shy under her persistent gaze. 

“Of course I want to, sweet girl. Tonight is all about you, I swear” she states smoothly, giving you a quick kiss as she begins to get up to search for exactly what she needs. 

Although you’re in for a long night, you couldn’t be more excited to be sharing it with her. 

141 who don’t know they are fucking with a reformed maneater

Price: Tries to pull the “just wait” card. Just wait until the next mission to make things official. Just wait until he gets back before you break things. Just wait until the holidays are over to meet his family. Just wait until he’s ready to retire before settling down. You liked him enough to hold out, but enough was enough. Which is when he tries to stop you from leaving with your duffle bag of clothes, insisting your jumping the gun in wanting to move in with him after almost a year together you turn and face him. Your tone sharp. “I'm not asking for too much I'm just asking the wrong person.”

Kyle: he’s a pretty boy and he fucking knows it. But damn when he wants to try and be a fuck boy too? You need to take him down a peg. He may have looks but he’s still the shortest of the 141. You eye him up and down before grabbing your bag. “You’re cute, but you’re not tall enough to be acting like this.”

Soap: Loves to play games. Which is why he thinks it’s hilarious when you’re meeting his friends for the first time to take the absolute piss and make a joke out of it. He’s crude and crass. Nothing like the man who begged on his knees just for the chance to lick your pussy. “Dinnae get upset. Just havin’ a wee bit of fun.” You sigh mumbling loud enough for him to hear “the one time I don’t go for looks and this fuckin’ happens.”

Ghost: Simon who bails on your date last minute, choosing to get shitfaced with the boys rather than take a pretty little bird like you out. He’s surprised to find you had texted him back with an ‘okay’ and not losing your shit or trying to guilt trip him. What he is surprised about is you turning him down when he tries to come over. He knew you’d be miffed about him not taking you out so when he tried to arrange something, you turn him down again. He tells you not to be mad. Shit came up. Your response? “I’m not mad. I’m just no longer interested.”

ok ok how about mute?ghost who you aren't sure if he's actually mute or if he just chooses not to say anything. you hear a different answer from everyone you ask. (18+)

ever since mexico, wouldn't say a fucking word.

nah, mate, he's been zipped shut since he enlisted.

heard it was a mad accident.

what you mean? heard him telling off privates not even a year ago!

well, since you're a certified yapper, and ghost can't (won't) tell you to shut up, you make him your living diary. whenever you see him around, you sit next to him, stop by his office, hop up onto his desk and talk to him. you tell him about your day, about the recruits that bother you the most, about the meals in the mess hall being worse on saturdays than on mondays (fuck, you'd think the weekend would put some pep in their step, no?).

but gosh, when ghost finally had you seated in his lap with your pants around one ankle, you really weren't expecting to hear him.

pussy-drunk, tongue out, hands gripping your ass as he listens to the wet smack of your thighs against his, and that's all it takes for him to let out the filthiest groan you've ever heard, enough to make you spiral, see red-hot stars, to shake and cry until you're cumming and babbling and even more incoherent.

when they talk about ghost, you still keep your mouth shut. you're still not sure if he talks, fuck if i know, is what you say.

but if you suck his cock just right, you're certain he's singing.

even in his sleep, toji doesn't seem to fully relax.

he's lying on his side with an arm under his head. the other is haphazardly thrown over your waist, making sure you don't wander too far away from him.

there's that little crease between his eyebrows that you chastise him about, telling him he'll get wrinkles when he's older, but when has he ever cared about that? he's spent so long trying to survive each day that asking him about his plans a month in advance would warrant a shrug and a lazy 'i dunno'.

you run a thumb over his cheek, peach fuzz soft against your touch. toji stirs. his steady breathing hitches and he huffs himself away, blinking away the sleep in his eyes.

"what?" he grumbles.

"you're such a light sleeper," you observe, though toji just replies with a disgruntled noise.

he doesn't particularly like it when he's woken up, so he opts for burying his face in your chest to block out the dim light in the room. your hand combs through his hair.

"go back to sleep, toji."

you don't have to tell him twice. he falls asleep again, tension ebbing out of his body.

you kiss his hairline and close your eyes.

ミ[technical difficulties]

🍓 pairing: recom miles quaritch x human fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, daddy kink, size kink, alien genitalia, human x na'vi, oral sex, vaginal sex, q gets a v messy blowjob and repays u by blowing ur back out, brief voyeurism, quaritch's pov turned out so filthy?

🍓 wordcount: 19k

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

Recently, you’ve had to come to terms with a number of things.

Number one, the food rationing system on Pandora means that you have to go without some of your favourite foods for months, years, or even for the rest of your rotation planet-side. Fresh fruit, chocolate, pizza, any food that gives you joy, is practically impossible to get here. And even if there is a delivery, it’s always the assholes in upper management and leadership roles that get all the good stuff anyway.

Number two, military men are absolute pigs. If you thought the ones on Earth were bad, you weren’t prepared for the ones on Pandora. They’re cocky, arrogant, rude, and seem to have come to Pandora for the big paycheck and the chance to cause absolute havoc among the native Na’vi populations. You avoid them as much as possible, but Bridgehead is absolutely crawling with a military presence, and your job makes it difficult to avoid them anyway.

And number three… well. Number three is a little more embarrassing.

“—and if you wanna survive out there, you gotta be alert. First things first, we’re headed out to this area in the… shit.” Colonel Quaritch pauses in the middle of his sentence, then turns to you with a scowl.

You’ve only been half listening, a little too distracted by the Colonel’s enormous frame and big biceps and the way his cute little ears flick back as he debriefs his Recom team.

“Hey kid, how do I—” He gestures irritably at the slide presentation behind him.

That’s your cue to jolt forward and help him change slides. It’s really so easy to do; just a simple click of a button.

“Ah.” Quaritch mutters when you change the slide for him, before clapping you on the shoulder in thanks before getting right back to his debrief.

The clap to your shoulder is almost strong enough to nearly send you stumbling, his wide palm and long fingers almost spanning the whole width of your back. Blood rushes to your cheeks, and your face burns as you hurriedly step back into the corner you’ve been standing in this whole time.

And that’s the third thing you’ve had to come to terms with – the unnerving tingles that start up between your legs every time Colonel Quaritch’s enormous blue ass needs help with technological problems that are so damn easy to solve.

You clear your throat a little self-consciously, praying that you don’t look as flustered as you feel. You’ve already noticed the way the rest of the Recoms are sending each other little smirking glances and elbowing each other in the sides.

It’s humiliating. Not the crush itself – that, you feel, is fairly understandable. He’s nearly ten-feet of smooth blue skin and intimidating muscle, with a condescending sharp fanged smile and sharp, cold eyes. You’re only human, and he’s hot as hell. You can hardly be blamed for developing a crush, the man is built like a god.

No, the part that’s humiliating is the way you react over his little technical difficulties. The way he squints at the data pads that look so small in his huge hands, the way he pokes uncertainly at screens that don’t even have touch-screen capacity, the way his tongue clicks in frustration when he can’t get something working for him. It all just gets you going in a way that’s actually a little bit unnerving.

You sit through the rest of the debriefing, but you’re distracted. There’s no real reason for you to be there, so you don’t bother listening. Literally nothing about this debriefing has anything to do with you; it’s all aimed at the Recoms for their upcoming scouting missions into the lowland forest region.

The only reason you’re here is because Quaritch had instructed you to sit in the corner, and your knees had promptly gone weak and you had sunk down into the rickety chair at the edge of the room. The reaction stems partially from Quaritch’s sexy authoritative voice and partially from the fact that you’re exhausted.

You’re pretty much glorified tech support, but that’s alright. If anything, you’re eager for it – it’s a stimulating change from the monotony of your usual duties. You’re watching him closely, pulse leaping every time you see that cute little furrow to his brow, or the way his mouth turns down as he grapples with the clicker that’s much too small for his hands.

His tail lashes in agitation, his mouth pressing together as he glares at the presentation behind him, attempting to bend the Powerpoint to his will as he continues talking.

“—so we’re gonna be actin’ like we got eyes in the back of our heads, ‘cause if we get caught unawares by these bastards then we’re gonna end up with arrows comin’ out of our skulls—shit.” Cutting himself off yet again, Quaritch turns to you with a scowl.

You’re up before he can even verbalise the need for assistance (not that he’d ever ask for help, more like he’d just grunt at you until you got up to sort out the problem). The buttons are obviously much too small for his big-ass fingers. You take the clicker, and press the button yourself.

The slide changes, displaying a collage of dangerous Pandoran wildlife; thanators, viperwolves, banshees, titanotheres. It looks good, very professional – because you were the one that had made it, revising Quaritch’s ugly, half-assed attempt at just pasting a whole load of grainy jpegs on a word document.

Quaritch grunts in satisfaction, nodding as his tail curls. “Now, I know we’ve gone through this a hundred times, but we’re gonna go through it a hundred times more till I’m confident you knuckleheads ain’t gonna get yourselves kill the second we get out there.”

There’s a chorus of groans at that, but none of them seem brave enough to complain outright. Quaritch fields the groans easily by electing to simply ignore them, turning to give them an in-depth run-down on the threats out there in the Pandoran wildnerness.

You hover near his side, uncertain if you’ve been dismissed just yet. You figure it’s best to just wait. Knowing the old man, he’ll need help again with something else in a minute or too anyway.

“C’mon, sir, we know this.” One of the men complains. You think it might be Fike. “We’ve gone over this a ton of times.”

“Yeah, well, if the information had all stuck then we wouldn’t have ended with Walker nearly gutted on our last outing, would we?” Quaritch barks, his tone so sharp and acerbic that it shoots down your spine with an electric jolt.

The other Recoms roll their eyes, apparently used to his authoritative tone, but it nearly knocks you flat. You have to breathe through your nose and fight to keep your expression neutral, trying to pretend like you haven’t just soaked your panties at the sound of it. God, this dry spell you’ve been going through is going to be the end of you.

Huffing out an irritated breath, Quaritch turns to you and makes an irritated sort of gesture with his hand. “Just go to the next slide, kid. I’ll cut this short.”

You sigh, and click to the final slide. You cross your arms over your chest as you shift on your feet, jutting your hip out to try and distribute your weight. You’re seriously hoping that he picks up the pace and finishes soon so that you can get back to your own work. Or maybe a nap – you can’t remember the last time you’ve slept for more than three hours at a time.

Quaritch gets back to his debriefing, and you tune out. It’s not like what he’s saying has any importance to you at all. You’ve been a good little employee at the RDA for going on two years now, working hard in the tech sector of the colony at Bridgehead, and not once have you actually left the compound. So all these stupid safety precautions for the Recoms going out into the forest are boring to you.

You tap your fingers absent-mindedly against your arms as you wait, trying not to get antsy. You know your work is probably piling up back on your desk, but you can’t leave until you’ve been dismissed. As you wait, you allow your eyes to trail back to Quaritch so you can watch him idly.

The attraction to him has bloomed so oddly. In the beginning, you hadn’t been any more interested in him than in any of the Recoms, and even that was just natural curiosity about the enormous new blue soldiers. Part of your rules for living on Pandora was to avoid military men after all, and the nine-feet-tall Recom soldiers definitely fall into that category.

And listen, here’s the thing. You don’t even like him. He’s rough, rude, abrasive, and entirely dismissive of you even when you’re actually helping him. Besides, like you’ve said, the military men on Pandora are pigs. You avoid them whenever possible, for the preservation of your mental health.

And yet – that first day he had come into the tech hub with a handful of new RDA-issued tech and a frustrated, bewildered frown on his face, you had felt the weirdest tightening in your stomach. It had only gotten worse from there, when he came in for help with the most basic of things. It seems like technology has progressed a lot in the fourteen years he’s been dead, and he’s obviously irritated by being outpaced by it all.

“Alright, get outta here.”

Quaritch’s voice jolts you out of your daydreaming, and you glance around to see that the Recoms are all beginning to stand, preparing to move out. You have to suffer a moment of claustrophobia as you’re quite abruptly hit with the fact that all of a sudden you are by far the smallest person in the room.

You shift, uneasy as you crane your neck back to watch them all file out. They positively tower over you, your head reaching under their navels, and you step back a little nervously. You’re sure they wouldn’t step on you, but you don’t want to take that chance.

As the others leave the room, Quaritch turns back to the little monitor on the desk and starts swearing quietly at it.

“Damn thing,” He mutters, prodding roughly at it. “How do I turn this off?”

You step up alongside him, frowning. “Hey, don’t be so rough. You’ll break it.”

“I’m not being rough.” Quaritch snaps back, though he pulls his hand away.

You switch off the display, then begin powering down the digital projector. It’s quick work, and easy to do despite Quaritch’s impatient confusion, and you slot the clicker back into place on the desk.

“This shit’s a waste of time,” He grumbles as he watches you fiddle with the equipment. “Don’t see why I can’t just tell them what I need to tell them without all these crap visuals behind me.”

It’s not the first little diatribe he’s gone on about the uselessness of technology, so you just roll your eyes and let him rant.

“You need to make the buttons on those things bigger.” He continues, stepping after you as you gather your things.

“I don’t actually manufacture the equipment, I only keep it working.” You point out, keeping your tone even.

“Well, figure it out.”

And there’s the downside of having a crush on Colonel Quaritch. He’s an absolute asshole.

The attraction you feel towards him is entirely physical, and it’s hard not to think about sex when you look at him. He ticks every primitive mating box: incredibly tall, handsome, the strongest of any pack he’s in. Everywhere he goes, he brings an air of authority with him. Making people cower is almost part of his charm.

But god, he can be such a dick sometimes.

“Is that all, sir?” You ask, your voice a little sardonic.

Quaritch grunts, but you can feel his wide yellow eyes watching you. It’s unnervingly akin to being under the sharp stare of a predator, and you try to ignore the way your hair is standing on end.

“That’ll be it, kid.” He drawls, though he’s still watching you.

You wait for a beat, but no thank you comes. You wonder why you bothered waiting in the first place, considering you’ve never received anything of the sort.

With an eyeroll, you gather up your stuff and head out.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

Your head is pounding as you work, the fluorescent light of your blue screen making your eyes throb. The screen blinks, an underscore slashing across impatiently, erasing the authorisation and the past day-shifts requests. Thousands of malfunctions are listed in a matter of seconds, logged at the top right-hand corner in a series of white 8-bit texts. The centre terminal lists a series of errors of accompanied by steady beeping.

The abrupt diagnosis comes with a high-pitched ring, signalling its potential danger/damage at a level six on the twelve-notch risk scale. You swear.

“Todd, have you been keeping on top of the atmosphere composition readouts in the Recom sector?” You ask, glancing briefly over your shoulder.

Your co-worker glances up, bleary-eyed behind his wire-rimmed glasses. His chin has a bit of dried sauce on it from the overly-processed dried noodles he’d been eating earlier, and you feel your nose wrinkle a little at the sight of it.

“Uh..” He says, and the pause is long enough for you to purse your lips and raise your eyebrows. “Yeah.”

“Well, it’s saying the nitrogen levels are too low.”

Todd blinks owlishly at you, and you feel your temper flare. Swearing lowly, you push yourself out of your swivel chair, feeling your spine crack ominously as you straighten up, lower back aching.

“Right, I’ll fix it myself.” You say grimly.

“You don’t have to.” Todd says unconvincingly. “I can do it.”

He doesn’t even twitch, making no effort to stand, so his offer falls flat.

Lazy shit.

You grimace at him, and don’t even bother replying as you stalk out of the tiny shared office that you do most of your work in. Having to shoulder your own workload can be challenging enough, but the weight of Todd’s added work can be stifling sometimes.

The brightness of the fluorescent lighting in the corridors hurts your head, and you squint as you scurry your way through the halls. Your headache is throbbing, your neck is aching, and you’re so goddamn tired.

The last thing you need is the added responsibility of having to fix Todd’s negligence before it turns into an actual problem, but you already know that Todd’s mistakes look like your mistakes too, given that you share the same shitty little office terminal.

The sector the Recom soldiers live in is no larger than any of the other sectors, though everything is almost comically over-sized. You fit an exo-pack carefully over your face as you enter the sector, making your way towards the maintenance terminal. It’s hidden behind a large grate, and you struggle with the heavy metal for a moment before you finally manage to get it removed, letting it drop to the lino floor with a heavy clang.

Your tiredness is making you lethargic and a little clumsy, and your eyes are dry and a little itchy as you turn your attention to the monitor on the terminal. The computer to the immediate left shows readings that atmosphere stability is down by 10%. You grit your teeth; Todd, you lazy bastard.

You grumble and swear to yourself as you jab at the screen and keyboard roughly. God, all you want to do is take a fucking nap.

You’re so tired that you don’t even look up when you hear footsteps heading your way in the corridor, though some part of your brain distantly recognises that they’re much too heavy to be human.

“Well hey, if it isn’t tech support!” A voice crows, way too enthusiastic for you to deal with right now.

You close your eyes, briefly praying for patience, before slowing swivelling your head around. Then you have to tilt your head back, because you somehow keep forgetting how tall these motherfuckers are.

It’s Wainfleet, accompanied by the quiet one that always wears those stupid shades (Mansk, maybe? You can’t remember). Wainfleet is grinning, as though running into you is just the most entertaining thing that’s happened to him all day.

“Yeah?” You ask, a little more aggressively than you had intended.

Lyle’s grin just widens, as though your aggravation is amusing. “Oh, someone’s grumpy. What’s wrong, kitty cat?”

Your teeth grind together hard enough to hurt, and you turn your attention back to the terminal. With one nail-bitten finger, you press the system's recovery code. It takes a couple of seconds to bring the generator’s core back up to its acceptable 99.9% after manually inputting the proper chemical levels - switching two filters to output .2 more of one oxide mineral and .8 less of methane.

Your sight of the terminal is blotted out by the shadow of Wainfleet’s looming body over your head.

“What?” You bite out.

“What’s all that?” Wainfleet asks. He doesn’t seem particularly curious; if anything, it seems like he’s only asking to annoy you.

You huff a sigh, but turn your attention back to the monitor. “I’m keeping the air in your sector breathable for you.”

“How kind of you.” Wainfleet drawls lazily, leaning over to get a better look.

You squint at the screen. It looks like the filtering system is gradually getting back to normal, and you click out of a couple of error warnings as they’re thrown up onscreen.

The big looming shadows of the two recoms behind you are distracting, and you find yourself feeling irritably on edge while you work.

“Go away.” You grumble without looking away from your screen. “Let me work.”

Mansk, at least, has the decency to step back even if he doesn’t actually leave. But Wainfleet just snickers, as though your bad mood is amusing.

“Jeez, you’re such a pissy little thing.” He drawls, leaning closer just to annoy you. “Why’re you so much nicer to the Colonel, huh?”

You choke at that, your fingers spasming where you’re inputting strings of code on the keyboard. You have to bite your tongue hard to avoid snapping back, wanting to avoid escalating the situation. Before you can say a thing, another set of footsteps start coming your way up the hall. You drop your head, sighing explosively behind your mask. Why can’t everyone just leave you alone to work?

“What’re you two loitering here for?” The Colonel’s barking voice rings out through the hallway.

Despite your exhaustion, you feel your aching spine straighten out at the sound of his voice and you lift your head. Blinking your stinging eyes, you watch as Quaritch approaches, casting disapproving looks at his soldiers. It doesn’t seem like he’s noticed your presence yet; it’s like you’re too short, and he never bothers glancing down.

Wainfleet and Mansk both straighten up, though they still look fairly relaxed even with the arrival of their superior officer. Wainfleet offers him a crooked grin, and finally steps away from you.

“Sorry, sir. Just watching the little nerd fix whatever the hell that thing is.” He says, gesturing carelessly at you.

You grumble quietly to yourself at that particular form of address, but don’t bother looking up again. You’re obviously busy, and you have no idea why these big blue bastards can’t just leave you be to work.

“Right, get lost.” Quaritch grunts.

You glance up for a second, startled, wondering if Quaritch was talking to you. But then Wainfleet and Mansk are stepping away, smirking, and going on their way down the hall.

You exhale in relief, then turn back to the terminal. There’s a new error flickering in the upper corner of the screen, and you blink at it tiredly before dismissing it. You almost think that Quaritch has left too, but then you hear the sound of him shifting behind you.

 “Your men are morons.” You mutter irritably, jabbing at the screen.

“Mansk’s not so bad.” Quaritch says with a one-shouldered shrug.

Your mouth twitches at the conspicuous lack of mention of Wainfleet. “Mm. What are you doing here?”

“I was gonna ask you the same thing.” He says. A shadow falls over you again as he leans against the wall next you, dwarfing you as he looms overhead. “This ain’t your usual haunt.”

“Oh, and you know my usual haunts now, do you?” You ask wryly.

He hums, but doesn’t reply. The terminal beeps loudly, a grating screechy sort of noise, and you grumble a sour curse under your breath as you work. The readouts are improving, but they could still be better. You feel irritation flare yet again; if Todd had been pulling his goddamn weight, all of this could have been sorted out from the central console in the main control room.

“I need you to look at this.”

Your brows twitch, but you don’t take your eyes off your screen. “I’m very busy, Colonel.”

“It’ll only take a sec.”

You exhale through your nose, frustrated. The terminal emits another screechy beep at you, and you resist the urge to smack it. The filtration system is struggling to synthesise xenon, which is throwing off the ideal atmospheric pressure across the whole Recom sector.

Quaritch is mercifully quiet for a couple of moments as you work, though you have to deal with him peering over your shoulder. You ignore him to the best of your ability, inputting strings of code with quick strikes of your fingers against the keyboard.

“You writin’ that code yourself?” Quaritch asks, and you wonder if you’re imagining the undertone of surprise in his voice. “Thought the system did all that automatically.”

It’s a little surprising that he can recognise that’s what you’re doing, considering his frustration with other elements of technology (he had asked you to reset the password to his RDA-issued email account, like, three times already). You guess he must be more familiar with the compound’s frameworks than most of the everyday technology, given his years spent as head of Sec-Ops.

“Uh, yeah..” You mutter, distracted. “It’s faster. Todd fucked the system up earlier, so it’s faster for me to just manually override whatever shit he plugged into the mainframe.”

After another few moments of tampering, the screen display shifts. The numbers, levels, and bars read fine, and the readouts are showing normal to good – the air stasis is flickering between 99.9% and 100%.

You finally lean back, groaning quietly to yourself as the vertebrae in your back crack brutally. God, you’re tired.

You had almost – almost – forgotten that Quaritch was standing right next to you, until he shifts expectantly on his feet. He’s not a patient man, and to be honest he’s already waited for you longer than you thought he would.

You look up – and up and up—at him. And maybe you allow your eyes to linger appreciatively around his tiny little waist and big muscly chest, because you’re tired and you’ve worked hard today and you think you deserve a little treat.

“Yeah?” You sigh, finally giving him your attention. “What is it?”

Wordlessly, Quaritch holds out a datapad. A big error screen blinks up at you. It seems like he’s entered the wrong password three times into the RDA-staff portal, and it’s now locked him out.

You sigh again. You kiss the chances of getting your nap goodbye.

“Fine.” You grumble. “But you’re buying me a coffee.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

The night shift was surely invented by a total fucking sadist.

You sit at your computer terminal in the early hours of the morning, staring blearily at your screen. Your eyes are burning, strained from the harsh blue light of the monitor as you mindlessly input strings of code. You’ve spent your whole damn shift trying to fix all of Todd’s stupid goddamned mistakes, and you’re tired and crabby and hungry and so fucking irritated.

It feels sometimes like your whole job just revolves around fixing the mistakes made by your incompetent co-workers, and you’re so tired. You and Todd are responsible for only two sectors, but it’s overwhelming when you’re doing most of the work by yourself.

Most of the levels and readings are back to almost perfect levels by the time the rest of Bridgehead begins waking up, and you’ve finally begun to work away at the technical maintenance requests that have been racking up and waiting for your attention.  

By the time Todd finally clocks in to take over for you (fifteen minutes late, as always), you can only imagine what you look like.

The nightshift always has the same effect on you; your eyes are puffy with dark circles in hollow sockets, your skin is dull from the lack of natural lighting in your shabby little tech hub, and the big baggy sweatshirt you’re wearing has stains from the salty freeze-dried noodles that you’ve boiled and are slurping on as a poor excuse for breakfast.

“Morning.” Todd says, irritatingly chipper.

You grunt, slurping on your overstarchy, flavourless noodles.

Todd settles into his own swivel chair on the other side of the room, looking frustratingly well-rested. He stretches his hands overhead and sighs happily, then takes a look at his own terminal.

“Oh! Wow, the readings look good!” He notes, sounding rather pleased.

Your grip tightens around your fork as you grit your teeth. No doubt all your hard work will be undone by him in no time.

“Mm.” You say, stabbing at the somewhat gloopy mess of your overprocessed starch. “There are a lot of maintenance requests that need to be filled for the—”

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’m on it.” Todd says, without waiting for you to finish.

You purse your lips, irritated, but you’re too tired to start fighting this losing battle. You’re used to the thankless nature of your job, even if it exhausts you. You just sigh, and finish up on one of the last server maintenance requests you had been working on.

There’s a brief moment of blissful silence, but those never last long when Todd is around.

“So, busy shift?” He asks, and you can feel his stupid eyes staring at you.

“Obviously.” You grunt, shovelling another fork full of noodles into your mouth.

Todd laughs as if you had told a joke, and you feel your brow twitch in aggravation. God, he’s so annoying. You wish he would just work in silence.

“You work too hard.” Todd speaks with the air of someone imparting great wisdom. Insufferable moron. “You should take a break.”

It takes superhuman levels of strength not to roll your eyes. You can actually feel yourself straining not to.

“Yeah, well, my shift is over now.” You say with your mouth full, manners abandoned. “I’m going to take a nap now.”

Todd laughs gratingly, again acting as if you’ve said something very funny. You glance at him out of the corner of your eyes, irritated.

“Oh, I didn’t mean just a nap.” He says with what he probably thinks is a charming grin. “I just mean—you’re always so… wound up. Don’t you want to let loose?”

You have a feeling that saying you’re wound up is just another way of calling you uptight. The worst part is, you can’t even necessarily protest that. Your workload on Pandora has always been challenging, but since being paired with the most useless co-worker on the planet it has been damn near overwhelming. It feels like all you do is sleep, eat, and work, and sometimes those activities cross over – you barely even have time to shower anymore. Some days you barely feel human.

“Not really.” You say shortly, unwilling to be drawn into this conversation with him.

“Oh, come on.” He wheedles. “You deserve a bit of fun, don’t you think?”

You don’t even bother to reply, too busy trying to slurp at the briny liquid left over at the bottom of your Styrofoam noodle container.

“I was thinking, we’ve been working together for ages now and we spend hardly any time together outside of work.” Todd continues. “We should—oh, I don’t know, go for a drink or something sometime.”

What a bizarre idea. You send a look his way, hoping that your face expresses your disbelief.

“Too busy for that.” You say, wiping the noodle juice roughly off your chin.

Todd nods, as though he had been expecting that. “Sure, sure. But just one evening. Could be… you know, could be nice. Just the two of us.”

And… oh god. Your shoulders stiffen, your eyes growing wide and horrified as you stare into the bottom of your Styrofoam container. No, no, no. There’s no way that he means what it sounds like he means.

You feel yourself seize up with nerves, anxiety blooming in your belly. Fuck, why is this happening? All these months of working together, Todd has never attempted to cross the boundary of co-workers, so you’re completely blindsided by this offer.

You could have guessed that Todd was desperate, but this desperate? You hardly look like a catch right now, with your unwashed hair and coffee-stained sweater, yet Todd is blinking expectantly at you for your answer.

“Oh, um…” You hedge, staring blankly at your monitor as you scramble for an answer. “I don’t think so, Todd. I don’t think it would be—uh, you know. Appropriate. With work, and all.”

Todd is leaning forward now, and it’s taking a significant amount of energy to not look at him. “Billy and Gina from the North-East sector server maintenance team have been going out together for months now, and HR has no issues with it.”

You forcibly unclench your teeth, and instead start chewing at your cheek. Fuck – if this was just some guy at a bar, you could turn him down as harshly as possible. But you’re still on the damn clock, and this is a co-worker.

“I don’t want to.” You say, trying to keep your tone as polite as possible while also being blunt.

“Oh, come on.” Todd says, trying for another charming grin. “Just one or two drinks. It’ll be fun, honestly. We get on so well at work!”

 You realise with a sinking feeling that he’s not going to take no for an answer. Goddamnit Todd.

And you hate playing this card. You seriously hate that this is the only way to end the conversation, but you don’t want things to be awkward – you have to work with this guy for the foreseeable future.

“I have a boyfriend.” You blurt, and try not to wince.

It’s kind of infuriating, but you can actually see Todd deflate at this. Typical. You should have known he was the kind of guy that would be persistent despite your clear no, yet back off at the mention of a boyfriend.

“Oh.” Todd says, his mouth twisting in a disappointed frown. “I- shit, sorry. I didn’t know that.”

“Mm.” You say. Your shoulders relax a little bit now as you turn back to your monitor, relieved that the matter is resolved. You think you’ve handled that well, and with minimum awkwardness, but you don’t think you’re going to be able to look at Todd in the same way for a long time.

“So, who is it?”

You pause. Blink at the screen.

“What?”

“Your boyfriend.” Todd says, still looking your way. He’s barely looked at his own monitor even once since he clocked in, his attention focused all on you. “Who is it?”

It takes everything you have not to freeze up. You hadn’t thought this far ahead, and now your thoughts have gone slow and jittery with panic.

“Oh.” You say slowly, swallowing. “He’s…”

Todd just looks back, waiting.

And shit, but your mind has gone blank. You can’t come up with a single name. You can’t even come up with a made-up name, because Todd is staring at you and you’re already so damn sleep-deprived that your brain is barely even working at half-capacity.

A brief knock sounds on the door, and you seize on the distraction. You whirl around with far more zeal than you’ve displayed your whole shift, impossibly relieved that someone is interrupting this godforsaken conversation.

It’s hardly even a surprise to see the big blue form of Colonel Quaritch ducking through the door, jabbing at the screen of a datapad with a huge finger. In that moment, you’ve never been so happy about his complete inability to work all the new technology that the Recom squad has been given.

Todd straightens up in his seat, visibly intimidated by the sheer size of Quaritch’s Na’vi body, but Quaritch doesn’t even glance his way.

“Hey kid, you gotta minute?” Quaritch says, but it’s not really a question. It’s perfectly clear that he expects you to make a minute for him.

Usually you’d be irritated by that. But now you jump to your feet, accidentally splashing a little bit of noodle juice all over your already stained sweater. You swipe distractedly at it, but don’t pay it too much mind as you push your swivel chair back.

“You need help?” You ask, your voice coming out much too loud.

Quaritch glances up at you with him brow furrowed. You must sound off, because his ears twitch and his tail curls as he eyes you – a little hint of shame blooms in your stomach as you watch his sharp golden eyes take in your unwashed hair, dirty sweater, and no-doubt frantic expression.

“Jesus, kid.” He says, “When’s the last time you showered?”

Okay, that just adds salt to the wound. You wince.

“I’ve been busy.” You say lamely, trying not to feel like a big crusty loser. “Do you need help or not?”

Quaritch is still eyeing you doubtfully, but his ears are still twitching in a way that honestly looks a little adorable. It’s body language that you’re quite certain means something, but you’ve never looked into Na’vi anthropology before.

“This needs fixin’.” He says bluntly, holding a datapad up.

You blink at it. The screen has been absolutely decimated. The glass is smashed in spider-webbed patterns, little shards of the screen falling off of it, and the metal back of it is all bent out of shape.

“What happened?” You ask, staring at it in disbelief; it looks like someone had driven over it with a tank.

“Wainfleet.” Quaritch says simply. He lifts and drops a single shoulder, as though he’s not bothered to commit to the full movement.

“Right,” You breathe, shooting what you hope is a surreptitious glance towards Todd. He’s still watching, with wide eyes. “Um…”

Quaritch is watching you too, his tail swishing impatiently behind him as he waits for your answer. Their dual stares are making you feel shifty, and you shove your hands nervously into your pockets as you try your best to avoid eye contact. Fuck, you want to sink through the floor right now.

You need to get out of here, your skin itchy with aggravation and embarrassment. You reach out to grab the broken datapad out of Quaritch’s hand. It’s even worse up close, and you give him another look of faint disbelief; you don’t even think fixing it is possible. You’ll just have to commission him a new one.

You glance up to tell him this, and accidentally make eye contact with Todd.

His eyes are darting between you and the Colonel, and he mouths “Him?” at you with a look of astonishment.

It takes you a moment to realise what Todd is asking – he thinks the Colonel is the boyfriend you lied about? Is fucking stupid?

And yet…

In a moment of thoughtless panic, you give a jerky nod. You’ll regret the lie later, maybe, but for now you just need to get out of here.

Todd turns his head and stares up at the Colonel with a slightly dumbstruck expression, and you can feel yourself flush as you realise that he’s trying to picture how that might work.

“I’m finished my shift, I’ll fix it in the commissary if you buy me another coffee.” You mutter, already pushing past Quaritch with the datapad in hand.

His eyebrows raise, obviously confused about where you’re going since you almost always fix his shit here, but you can hear his big footsteps following along behind you as you head for the door.

You hardly even breathe until you’re out in the corridor, and then you cover your face with your hands and let out a muffled shriek into your palms. Fuck, you handled that so badly. You’re undernourished and sleep deprived, and you swear your brain isn’t working properly, because what were you thinking?

The door slides shut, and you can hear Quaritch’s footsteps, but he says nothing as you have your silent little breakdown by the wall.

“Damn, sweetheart.” He says at last, his tone mixed with disbelief and amusement. “You are just one hot mess, aren’tcha? What’s the matter with you?”

“Don’t wanna talk about it.” You mumble into your palms.

There’s a moment of silence, then Quaritch clicks his tongue. You’re afraid to look up and see his face; you’re sure that you’ll see a look of mingled disgust and horror.

God, you wish you had least showered before he saw you, but you’ve just worked a near 20-hour shift and you feel half-dead, so showering is way down on your to-do list. The first thing you need to do is sleep, but before you can do that you need to sort out Quaritch’s stupid data-pad.

“Alright.” Quaritch says, reaching out to push at your shoulder with his big index finger. “Come on, kid. Let’s get you that goddamn coffee.”

You grumble into your hands but don’t protest as Quaritch pushes you into motion, using that index finger pressing into your back to guide you towards the canteen. He doesn’t say a word, and you’re too afraid to look at his face.

The canteen is mostly empty when you enter, and the very few people who are lingering around take one look at the looming figure of Quaritch before promptly hurrying their way out of the room.

You’re left almost entirely alone with the Colonel, and you’re shifty and grumpy and embarrassed as you settle into one of the plastic tables. Quaritch taps on the tables once with his knuckles before leaving you sitting there as he goes to get coffee.

God, you want to sink into the ground and die. You wonder if you should take this moment while Quaritch is gone to run back to your work room just to tell Todd that there had been a little mix-up, that you hadn’t really intended to insinuate that you and Quaritch were involved in any way.

But then Quaritch returns, and you lose your chance. Not that you were seriously considering going back to explain things to Todd, but still.

“So, can you fix it?” Quaritch asks in a drawl, plopping a styrofoam cup of steaming coffee down on the table in front of you.

“What?” You ask distractedly.

“The datapad.” He gestures at the wrecked piece of technology. You had almost forgotten you were holding it, and you place it down on the table beside you.

“Oh. No, obviously not.” You say, glancing at the smashed datapad. “You’ve totally wrecked it. I’ll get another one commissioned for you tomorrow.”

Quaritch hums, satisfied with that. “So, what, you just wanted to spend some time with me, is that it?”

You choke, surprised. You almost knock the coffee over, your fingers going clumsy with embarrassment.

“No,” You snap. “I just—high rank officers get better coffee. You should see the shit served to us tech grunts; it’s gross.”

The stupid bastard looks amused. He’s watching you with his big golden eyes, and his ears twitch every couple of minutes. To your great irritation, you think he looks adorable – like a big blue cat. The illusion only lasts for as long as he doesn’t speak, which of course means that it doesn’t last long at all.

“Mhm.” He rests his chin in the palm of his hand, his tail coiling coyly as he watches you. “Whatever you say, sweetheart. I think you just like being alone with me.”

“I—I do not!” You protest, mortified. “It’s not my fault that you practically harass me with all your stupid broken tech!”

He snickers, as if he finds your outrage funny.

“Sure, kid.” He leans back in his chair, and even sitting down you feel as though the sheer bulk of his body is dwarfing you. “Now, you gonna tell me what crawled up your ass?”

You’re certain your face must be making your mortification perfectly clear, but you struggle to control your expression all the same. There is nothing on this planet that could convince you to explain that you had inferred to your co-worker that you and Quaritch were in some sort of relationship, and so you end up curling up awkwardly on your rickety chair like a child, tucking your knees up against your chest.

“No.” You grumble.

He snorts, and his ears flick again. “Try that one again.”

You fiddle with the over-long sleeves of your stupidly big sweater, flustered and clumsy under his gaze. You’re mortifyingly aware of the stains on your clothes, and your unwashed and messy hair, and the dark bags under your eyes. You half-wish that you looked better, but then again you know that he’s definitely seen you looking worse.

“I had a long night-shift.” You mutter, hugging your knees. “Spent the whole night fixing all of the stupid mistakes Todd made during the day-shift. I haven’t slept in like three days.”

Quaritch doesn’t look particularly sympathetic, but at least he doesn’t mock you. Maybe he can sense your exhaustion, but his amusement doesn’t falter and his fingers continuously drum an uneven rhythm on the tabletop.

“Yeah, I might’ve guessed that.” He murmurs, his big eyes tracking over your face critically. “But that’s not all, is it? C’mon, kid, out with it.”

You fiddle with the cuff of your sleeve, avoiding his eyes. “Mm…”

“C’mon, you look even worse than usual,” He points out, and you scratch self-consciously at a noodle broth stain on your chest. “And you looked as spooked when I walked in on you. I take it that it wasn’t me that startled you like that, huh?”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, growing all hot and prickly with embarrassment. Maybe if you give him just enough of the truth to be convincing, but not enough to be humiliating, he’ll let this go and you can sort this whole misunderstanding out with Todd tomorrow.

“Todd, um…” You start haltingly. “Took me by surprise, is all.”

Quaritch’s fingers go still on the tabletop, and his eyebrows raise incrementally. “… Oh yeah? How’s that?”

Oh, his judgemental tone is even worse than you had been expecting. You have to fight a wince. God, why couldn’t the conversation have just stuck to technology?

“He, uh, he asked me out for drinks.” You say, keeping your eyes fixed on a couple of loose threads on your sweater sleeve, “And I said no, because Todd is kind of a jackass, but now I think things are gonna be awkward—”

Quaritch raises his eyebrows, an odd sort of expression on his face as he lifts his mask to his face to take a quick sip of air before dropping it to hang around his neck again.

“So what, he wouldn’t take no for an answer?” He drawls, sounding half bored and half amused. “The nerd’s some kinda pervert?”

Ugh, you feel all hot and prickly with embarrassment right now. It feels a little surreal to be having a conversation about your romantic life (or severe lack of it) with Quaritch, and you’re only telling him part of the story.

“He’s not that bad, he’s just useless.” You mutter. “But, um… that’s all.

His gaze is so intense it feels like it’s burning right through you. “Anything else?”

“No.” You mumble, avoiding his stare. It feels like he’s looking right through you.

A long moment of silence. And then a careless shrug.

“Alright.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ

Quaritch jabs his finger at the screen of his shiny new datapad. It’s a sturdy thing, he notes with amusement. Seems like you had gone out and found a reinforced one, just for him.

Sweet, He thinks, his mouth curling a little.

You’re such a thorny little thing, always so aggravated and grumpy, and he always gets a kick out of seeing your reactions when he comes to you with any problems for you to sort. You always look as though you’re barely awake, under-nourished and surviving solely off of bad coffee and vacuum-packed instant noodles, and you always mutter so grouchily under your breath when he arrives with the pieces of tech he needs you to fix.

You’ve got such a foul mouth, too – most of the time you don’t seem to realise that he can hear you when you grumble insults under your breath thanks to his new big-ass Na’vi ears.

Shouting draws his attention, and he raises his head to see Fike and Wainfleet wrestling as they both try to get the other into a headlock. Quaritch purses his lips as he watches them, debating with himself whether or not to interrupt them. He eventually decides to let them be, though he watches them to make sure they don’t get too rowdy.

He clicks his way into his emails, and wonders absently how irritated you’d get if he showed up in your little tech lair to ask you to reset his password again. He always gets a little kick out of your eye rolls and annoyed little frowns.

He checks the time; 8.37pm. He’s not ever going to admit it to anyone, but he knows your schedule well by now. You’re on the day-shift today, no doubt tired and crabby from your long hours, but the night-shift will soon be underway. You’ll be alone in that tiny little office all by yourself. His lips quirk at the thought.

He gives into the temptation, and pushes himself to his feet. He’s pretty sure that his impulse control has gotten far worse since he had woken up in this stupid blue body, but it’s not as though he’s actually trying to stay away from you anyway.

He likes a woman with a bit of bite, and you smell good, and he gets a kick out of antagonising you until your face is all screwed up into that annoyed little grimace you do. So why not indulge a little?

His squad glance up at him as he stalks towards the door, but they’re wise enough to keep their comments to themselves. At least, mostly.

“Going to see your little girlfriend, boss?” Z-Dog drawls, a smug grin growing across her face.

Quaritch shoots her a look, but doesn’t bother to make any kind of reprimand. He hasn’t been particularly subtle about his interest in you, after all, and he doesn’t mind a bit of friendly ribbing from his team so long as they don’t cross any lines.

“Watch it.” He says without heat. There’s no point making any pretences when everyone knows where he’s headed.

The short exchange has caught the attention of Walker, who is already grinning.

“Rumour has it you’ve made it official.” She says, leaning forward and waggling her eyebrows like a jackass. “Didn’t take you for a romantic, sir.”

And… that gives Quaritch pause.

“Rumour?” He repeats. Though his voice remains level, he is certain that the twitch of his ears reveals his interest.

There is some deep, strange part of him that preens at the insinuation. It’s definitely the result of some stupid deep-seated instinct built into this goddamn big alien body – he can feel his tail swish with the satisfaction of knowing that others recognise that he has some sort of claim on you.

Both women are laughing now, snickering and sending each other knowing little glances that irritate him. His tail lashes, waiting with diminishing patience for an explanation.

“Sure,” Z-Dog drawls, popping that damn gum. “Apparently, that sleazy little guy that works with her was telling the guys in mechanics that your nerd told him that you’re her boyfriend.”

Quaritch’s expression may remain impassive, but his tail lashes out of his control behind him. You had said that? That doesn’t sound like you at all.

The memory of you sitting in front of him in the canteen only a few mornings ago comes back to him; you were so small and grumpy and irritated, but anyone could have seen that you were also spooked about something. He had taken your explanation at face value; that the little creep you work with had asked you out. But now it seems there was something more to it.

“That so.” He says slowly, rolling his shoulders.

A slow, pleased smile of his own is beginning to grow on his face. Such a sweet little thing, deep down, he thinks smugly to himself. Should’a known.

“I’ll be back later.” He says, stepping away.

He can hear the quiet snickers he’s leaving behind him, but they’re wise enough to keep their comments to themselves until he’s out of earshot.

He can’t help the smug sway of his tail as he shoulders his way out of the Recom sector, nor the way his damn ears keep twitching. This body is still unfamiliar to him – while he relishes the strength and agility that his new body provides, the absolute inability to conceal what he’s thinking because of these new appendages is infuriating.

Your little work room is almost hidden, all tucked away down a narrow corridor that hardly anyone ever frequents. This means that Quaritch is able to slip down the hall unseen, which is a rarity these days now that he’s near ten feet tall.

Your shitty little room is empty when he pushes his way in, and Quaritch feels a momentary flash of satisfaction. You must have gone to get yourself a cup of coffee to wake yourself up before the end of your shift; this gives him enough time to position himself for your return.

He’ll admit that he’s always had a flare for the dramatic. He chooses the low, drab-looking couch that’s all set up in the corner of the room, and settles himself in on it. The springs creak ominously beneath his weight and the worn couch cushions dip right down, but it holds. He allows his legs to spread wide as he makes himself comfortable, his eyes fixed on the door as his ears prick up alertly.

It doesn’t take long for you to return, and when the door finally slides open Quaritch notes with immense satisfaction that you’re holding a chipped mug filled with coffee in your hand.

You freeze at the sight of him, your eyes flaring wide, before you visibly force yourself to relax.

“Colonel?” You say, and you almost sound calm but for the slight tremble in your voice.

“Hello, sweetheart.” He says, drawing the nickname out. “Long day?”

You gape, and Quaritch enjoys the look of bewildered surprise on your face before you manage to cover it up. Your fingers are twitching around your cup of coffee, and you swallow in a compulsive sort of motion.

Quaritch lets his eyes wander over you, lazily perusing your body. You’re wearing one of those stupid baggy hoodies you favour and a pair of soft baggy sweatpants, your body shapeless beneath your over-sized clothes. You look tired, your eyes a little bloodshot from staring into your screen all day, but your fingers drum nervously on the chipped ceramic of your mug.

“What are you—what are you doing here?” You ask, taking a slow uncertain step into the room.

Quaritch watches you move, and he can’t stop his tail from coiling in anticipation. You’re usually so crabby and grouchy, to see you all wide-eyed and uncertain like this sends a little bolt of excitement right between his legs.

He reaches out an arm to gesture you forward. “”C’mere.”

For a moment you don’t move, and Quaritch wonders if he’s going to have to stand and get you. But then you shuffle forward, if a little hesitantly, and he feels a smug smile begin to tug at his lips. Under all that bite you’re a good girl when it matters, though he can tell your obedience comes reluctantly.

“If you need help resetting your password or—or unlocking your datapad or something, come back tomorrow. I’m—I’m finished my shift soon, I don’t have time—”

Quaritch isn’t listening. That sweet scent of yours has just hit his nose, and he feels his ears twitch in response. Fuck, you smell so good. What the fuck is that about?

It doesn’t have the artificial acridity of a perfume, which means that the syrupy headiness is all you, all natural. Goddamn. He wants to bury his whole face in your hair – he’s pleased to note that you’ve showered since the last time he’s seen you, too.

“Thought you’d be happy to see me,” He says smugly, interrupting whatever the hell you had been rambling about. “Thought you’d wanna spend a little private time with your boyfriend.”

And oh, the way you freeze is just perfect. You look so startled, like a rabbit caught in a trap. Your breath catches, your eyes widen, your mouth drops open. He could just eat you right up.

And then you’re scrambling, your eyes all wild and horrified.

“Oh my god, listen, I can explain—”

Quaritch raises a finger lazily, and feels a thrill of slow satisfaction when you choke into silence at the quelling gesture. He reaches over and pats the threadbare couch cushion next to him, raising a brow as he waits for you to come closer.

And though you’re visibly hesitant and mortified, you do approach slowly like a skittish animal, as though you can’t help it. There’s really not much space left on the couch; he’s man-spreading hard, his knees splayed out wide as he stretches out, but you still approach and hover nervously near his left knee.

His senses are dialled up to a hundred in this new body, and he can practically feel the way your throat bobs as you swallow nervously.

“Sit beside me, kid.” He says, and his voice comes out in an unintentionally low purr.

You’re still clutching that damn coffee like a lifeline, holding the chipped ceramic mug to your chest even as you lower yourself to perch nervously at the edge of the couch beside him. You look delightfully nervous, and he grins lecherously at the sight. Cute.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to—it was a big misunderstanding.” You say. Your usually grumpy voice is missing, replaced with an uncertain wavering tone. “I was so, so sleep deprived, and I hadn’t eaten properly in so long, and Todd was just—he wasn’t taking no for an answer, so I lied and said that I had a boyfriend, and I thought that we could just leave it at that but then you walked in to annoy me like you always do, and then Todd thought that I had been talking about you—”

Quaritch listens with a crooked smile, making no effort to hide his amusement. You appear so frazzled, practically swallowed up by your over-sized hoodie as you bluster your way through a panicked explanation.

He reaches out and lays his arm against the back of the couch, resting it around your little form. You twitch, tilting your head back to stare up at him with wide eyes, but you don’t actually pull away from him.

Quaritch doesn’t actually give a shit about your explanation. He doesn’t need to hear it. Even if it was unintentional, you’ve been spreading around a rumour that you’re his little girlfriend.

“You been sleeping?” He asks, interrupting you mid-blabber.

You blink at him, clearly trying to stifle your irritation at being interrupted. He’s tickled by the little flash of fire in your eyes.

“Have I been—what?” You snap, clearly thrown off.

Quaritch doesn’t normally like repeating himself, but he enjoys the way you look when you’re floundering.

“I asked if you’ve been sleeping, kid.” He repeats, making a show of slowing his words right down. “You look a mess.”

Your hand twitches, as though you’re moving to try and touch your hair before you quickly redirect and bury your hands in the long sleeves of your hoodie. Your eyes dart away, as though you’re embarrassed.

“I… I’ve been working some overtime.” You mutter, fidgeting. “Todd fucked up some of the systems I coded, so I’ve had to pull some long hours to try and fix it.”

It’s far from the first time you’ve mentioned your limp-dick, useless puke of a co-worker, and he feels his brows pull together in a frown. He can’t help but wonder how the hell someone so useless has held down a job for so long, but then he supposes that you’ve been hauling ass trying to fix all his mistakes.

He clicks his tongue, then reaches out and settles his hand at the back of your neck. You seem so tiny under his fingers, and he has to stifle his reaction at the sight.

“You’re just too sweet, aint’cha?” He rumbles, and feels his tail twitch. “Helpin’ that little loser out like that.”

He sees the breath stutter in your chest, sees you chewing uncertainly at your lower lip, and feels himself stiffen in his fatigues. His teeth ache; he wants to sink his canines into the squishy flesh of your thighs.

“It’s my job.” You say. Your tone is dry, but his ears twitch when he hears the slight shake in your voice.

“Nah, it ain’t.” He says slowly, allowing his fingers to curl around your neck as his palm rests at the top of your spine. “It’s his job you’re doing. Waste of your time, honey.”

He feels you shiver under his hand, and his grip tightens incrementally around the back of your neck.

“Someone has to do it,” You say, and though you sound defensive your voice wavers adorably. “I don’t want to get in trouble over Todd’s mistakes.”

Quaritch can’t help the wolfish grin that grows on his face. Oh, you don’t want to get in trouble. You might just be the cutest little thing he’s seen in his whole life – both of his damn lives.

“Mhm, you won’t.” He says, a little gruffly. He’s beginning to grow a little distracted, losing track of the conversation; you smell good, sweet and a little spicy, and he wants so badly to take a peek at what you look like under those damn baggy clothes.

You glance over at him, obviously about to say something before your eyes drop, then widen a little bit.

Ah, he thinks to himself, silently amused. You’ve noticed, then.

He keeps his legs spread wide, crowding into your space and throwing into relief the way that his hardened cock is tenting the fabric of his fatigues. The size difference between you and him only makes his erection look even bigger, and the obscenity of it gets him going even more.

He can feel the sharp breath you take, and he watches the way your eyes hastily dart away. You look bashful, and yet you don’t move away. His thigh presses against you, and your gaze visibly darts down to the bulge visible in his pants. You look a little mortified, but Quaritch can see the poorly hidden interest in your eyes.

He runs his thumb over the curve of your neck and the junction of your shoulder, and watches the goosebumps that raise on your soft skin.

“Tell me about this little white lie you’ve told.” He murmurs, his voice coming out in a deeper rumble than he had intended.

You swallow, then take a shaky breath.

“I didn’t mean to,” You breathe. “Really, it just—what I told you before was mostly true. Todd was asking me to go for drinks, he wouldn’t take no for an answer and I just—I just panicked, and I said I was with someone, but then he asked me who it was, and then you walked in here and he just assumed before I could really say anything—”

“Mhm.” Quaritch watches your face as you speak, enjoying your flustered panic.

“And then it all just snowballed, and people have been asking me in the corridors if it’s true – people I don’t even know—!” You seem genuinely horrified.

“You told people we’ve been fucking, hm?” Quaritch asks, just to watch you react.

You don’t disappoint; your mouth drops open, you take a sharp little inhale, and let out a scandalised sort of gasp.

“No, I didn’t—I didn’t say that—”

“But that’s what they’re thinking, honey.” He says, his eyes darting from your pretty little face to the way the soft skin of your shoulder yields under his stroking thumb. “Is that why you said it? Because you’ve been thinking of that too? Hm?”

You swallow thickly, your throat clicking, and shake your head. But you’re not meeting his eyes, and you’re fidgeting with your ridiculously long sleeves, and he swears he can see a bead of sweat forming on your temple. 

He reaches out and lays a hand on your thigh, letting his fingers curl around your soft flesh. Your leg twitches, but you don’t move away. You’re clutching that damn cup of coffee like it’s a lifeline, darting glances at him over the rim. You’re nervous, and the departure from your usual grumpiness is a novelty that he can’t get over.

Then you shift where you’re sitting, and Quaritch’s oversensitive nose twitches, picking up on a new scent.

Oh, he knew it. Beneath your usual sweet smell is something a little spicy, like brown sugar mixed with a kick of hot rum, and he swears he feels his cock pulse as the scent fills his nose.

You’re horny. He can smell it off you – and he can’t help the cocky grin that tugs at his mouth at the realisation.

That’s all he needs to take the next step.

He takes the hand that’s been resting on the back of your neck and brings it to his belt buckle, undoing it in one deft movement before unzipping his pants. He’s confident, but he watches your face carefully all the same; you’re a jumpy little thing, and he doesn’t want to scare you away at this point.

But it doesn’t startle you at all. In fact, if you had ears like him then he’d put money on them being pricked up right now, because you’ve turned to watch as his palm settles over the tent in his pants.

Quaritch grunts quietly as he presses the heel of his hand into his hardened cock through his pants, and the electric jolt that runs up his spine is only heightened when he sees the way your eyes have gone dark as you watch him.

His other hand squeezes lightly where it’s still resting on your thigh, and he gets to watch as you take a breath and squirm.

“Come on, kid.” He says, bending his head down so he can murmur into your ear. “Where’s all your usual bite?”

He punctuates the word with another squeeze, this one higher up on your thigh, right at the softest part, and he’s rewarded with a little jolt.

“I don’t—” You start to say, but then you stop and start again. You look more uncertain than he’s ever seen you, all wide-eyed and nervous. “Am I in trouble?”

He has to take a breath before he can answer you – the urge to put you on your back under him is growing overwhelming.

“For what?” He asks, nose twitching with the strength of the scent of your sweet-spicy arousal.

You’re frowning now, and he finds himself pleased to see that little furrow in your brow again. He has to admit, he likes it when you’re irritated with him. He’s always liked women with a little fire in them, even if you’re an awkward little recluse that hides away from society like a damn gremlin.

“For lying.” You say, and there’s an edge to your voice now as though you’re getting antsy. “About you. Being with me, I mean.”

He huffs a short laugh, and uses the opportunity to take a slow deep breath from the respirator hanging around his neck. He drops it after a beat, then reaches out to take you by the wrist instead. You’re so small under his big hands, and he’s so aware of how fucking delicate your bones feel; he could break you in two if he’s not careful.

He keeps his grip light as he guides your hand to his crotch, but you hardly need any guidance at all – as soon as he starts to move your hand, you move of your own volition. Your palm is tiny and soft when it lands on the outline of his hard cock, the touch so light that he hardly feels it at all.

“Does it feel like that’s something I’m mad about?” He rumbles, unable to disguise the amusement in his voice.

You swallow, and your hand tightens compulsively. Quaritch hums at the feeling, then rocks his hips up slightly to encourage you.

Your eyes dart up to his face, clearly trying to read him. He just raises an eyebrow; as far as he can see, this ain’t a complex situation. He’s sitting next to you with a cock as hard as a steel rod, and he can smell how wet your pussy is even through those baggy pants of yours. There’s surely only one natural conclusion to this situation, and it’s one that he’s hungry for.

“Go on,” He grunts. “Keep going.”

For a moment, it’s not clear what you’ll do. You just watch him, brow furrowed, hand still resting over his clothed cock. Quaritch watches you right back, waiting for you to make your choice. It feels like the two of you are teetering on a precipice, just waiting for one of you to topple over the edge and drag the other down with them.

Then you make your decision.

You slide off the couch and set your cup of coffee on the floor by the couch, and for a moment Quaritch thinks that you’re going to curse at him and march right outta there. But then you surprise him; you sink to your knees, right in front of him, in between his spread thighs.

“Oh?” He hums, flashing his sharp fangs at you in a grin.

“Shut up.” You say defensively.

He laughs, but says nothing further. He’s not stupid enough to ruin his chances of getting his dick wet for the first time since he’s woken up in this stupid blue body, so he just settles back and makes himself comfortable on the shitty, tiny little couch and spreads his legs wide to make room for you.

Your body is practically dwarfed by his muscled thighs, and Quaritch bites at his lip to try and suppress his smug smile as you reach clumsily into his briefs to pull his cock out. You’re a little uncoordinated, no doubt as a result of nerves, but that just makes it all the more endearing.

He’s big, thick in your small hand. Almost ridiculously so. You hold him in both of your soft little palms, staring at his cock with a look of blank surprise. It looks like you’re wondering as though you’ve bitten off more than you can chew.

Quaritch waits a beat, then after a moment of inaction he grunts and rocks into your hand. Your fingers squeeze tight on reflex, and he revels in the momentary jolt of pleasure.

But then you pause, loosen your grip just slightly, and give him an exploratory sort of stroke before looking up to his face as though searching for approval. When he just raises an eyebrow, you appear flustered.

“I… I don’t know what to do with this.” You confess, still holding his weighty cock in your small hand.

The nervous furrow of your brow and your tentative, uncertain touch is only making his cock throb harder. He’s never seen you so hesitant before, so eager to please.

“Never seen a cock before, baby?” He asks, his voice a little gravelly from arousal.

You laugh, but it’s a shaky thing. “It’s—it’s been a while.”

A bit of apprehension begins to sneak through his haze of lust.

“You a virgin, kid?” He asks. God, he hopes you’re not a virgin. There’s little to no chance of him being able to successfully jam his cock into you if you’re as innocent as you’re acting right now.

You roll your eyes, but he can see that you’re all embarrassed. “No. It’s just—like I said, it’s been a while.”

“Mhm.” He eyes you, not entirely convinced. “How many men have you been with?”

You lower your eyes back to his cock, still holding him with both of your hands. You’re all bashful now, your little hands flexing around the thick length of his erection.

“Two.” You mutter self-consciously, glancing up at him again to see his reaction.

Ah. Well, aren’t you just perfect. You’ve already had your little cherry popped, but you’re still inexperienced enough to look a little lost as you kneel between his legs.

“You sucked a cock before?” He asks, schooling his expression into one of sympathy.

“Yes,” You say, a little too defensively. “I’ve—once.”

Once. Quaritch feels excitement unfurl in his belly. You’re such a thorny and grouchy little thing, he can imagine you keeping yourself all holed up in this shitty office of yours, losing yourself in all your screens and monitors and programmes, and shying away from real meaningful human interactions. God, he wants to ruin you.

“Go on, then. Try with your mouth.” He says, leaning back and making himself comfortable as he looks down at you.

You take a breath, and your small hand grips the base of his cock firmly. It’s as thick as a soda can, and he can’t help the smug satisfaction that swells when he sees the size difference between him and you.

His equipment is all still new to him, so he can only imagine how strange it must be for you. He’s messed around with himself a couple times, tugging at his blue cock and examining the little white dots that speckle the skin and glow and pulse as his arousal grows, but it’s different having someone else touch him like this. He feels like a raw nerve, more sensitive than he’s ever been as a human – maybe it’s because all his senses are primed, every nerve and synapse firing and alert and directed towards you.

He just — fuck — he looks so big in your hands. 

The moment he sees this, blood rushes to his cock at almost painful speed. He didn’t think he could get harder, but his new young body keeps surprising him. He watches your small mouth part with glossy lips as it keeps growing bigger and bigger in your hand, until a trace of apprehension flashes on your face. 

“What, can’t take it?” He drawls. After all these months of seeking you out, he knows the best way to wheedle anything out of you is by appealing to that stubborn streak in you.

And sure enough, you set your jaw and scowl. “I can!”

Then you’re leaning forward and your small pink tongue is flicking out to lick the smearing precum from his tip.

Quaritch hisses, his head tilting back.

“Fuck,” He says, reaching out to lay his hand on the back of your head. His palm spans the whole back of your skull, like he can hold your whole head one-handed. “Just like that. Take it deeper.”

For the first time ever, you don’t try to talk back or roll your eyes or grumble under your breath. You’re too preoccupied with trying to fit the big head of his cock into your mouth without scraping it with your teeth, your brow furrowing in concentration.

“That’s it, good girl, keep going.” He grunts, his stomach flexing with the effort it’s taking not to buck up and force himself down your throat.

You take the encouragement in stride, inhaling sharply through your nose as you try to do as he says. He reaches out to caress your soft cheek with his knuckles, and grins when you gargle weakly as you struggle to wrap your lips around the thick length.

You don’t know what you’re doing, that’s obvious, but goddamn if you’re not trying. Quaritch exhales through his nose as he uses his hand on the back of your head to keep you bobbing your mouth over him. Your hand lies forgotten on his shaft as you devote your whole focus to not gagging. Though inexperienced, he can see an excited sort of gleam in your eye as you suckle at the tip of his cock. Your tongue is so small and hot and wet, and the texture of it feels so damn good against him.

He feels more like a teenager than ever before when you suck the tip of his cock back into your sweet mouth, the first mouth he's ever felt on his cock in this body. He's transfixed as he watches your lips tighten around him. He can feel your tongue moving along the underside of his cock and he bites his lip. 

When you try to swallow his cock down, the feeling of your small tongue squirming over the vein running along the underside of his length nearly has him reeling.

You choke, and spit bubbles out over your chin as it coats his cock.

“Jesus, kid.” He sighs, spreading his thighs wider and laying his arms across the back of the little threadbare couch. His fingers curl into the understuffed couch cushions as he tries to repress the urge to grab onto your hair and buck his cock down your throat.

You glance up at him, your slick glossy lips stretched around the bulbous tip of his cock as your eyes water. Fuck, you make for such a pretty little sight like this. Quaritch has never had much of an imagination, but he knows that this trumps anything he’s beaten his cock to over the past several months.

You lower your head and swallow his fat cock once more, taking only a fraction of it but still struggling. Your eyelashes are all clumped together and shiny as you blink rapidly to clear the tears forming as your eyes water furiously. You barely make it a quarter of the way down before you gag and sputter.

Quaritch hisses, his lips pulling off his teeth as he feels the wet heat of your throat constrict and convulse around his dick.

You pull away coughing, spit and pre-cum cover your pretty mouth as your chest heaves, trying to catch your breath again.

“Well, shit,” He breathes, his big golden eyes darting over your messy face. “Ain’t you just gorgeous like this.”

You’re still coughing a bit from gagging on his cock, but he can see the way the praise hits you – your still glossy eyes brighten as they dart up to look up at him, and you roll your reddened lower lip between your teeth.

“Treating me so well, huh?” Quaritch grins, unable to help himself from teasing you. “Like a good little girlfriend.”

You look a little mortified at that, which is what Quaritch had hoped for, but you apparently decide the best course of action is to simply ignore him by flattening your tongue against his cockhead and licking at him again.

He hums in satisfaction as he watches you explore what he’s sporting between his legs. The sight of the cranky little tech analyst he’s been admiring for months taking his cock and treating it so well with those little hands... It has him leaking right into your mouth.

Your mouth is so wet, slick, and hot, and a shiver rips through him as you suckle at the pale purple head of his cock. He reaches out and places his hand on the back of your head, encouraging you to swallow him deeper. His toes curl inside his boots as he stifles the urge to fuck deep into your throat – you’re so delicate between his big thighs, he’s never been so aware of how easy it would be to break you.

It's probably the messiest blowjob he’s ever gotten in his life – either of his lives. You’re slobbering all over him, saliva dribbling all over your chin as you suck at him. The gagging and slurping noises pouring from you are enough to make a hooker blush, and you’re finally getting into the swing of it. You’ve started using your hands to touch him, jerking him off as you drool and suck at the head of his cock.

Your mouth is obscenely wet and hot and tight, your tongue wriggling against the underside of his cockhead, and Quaritch can’t help but imagine how much better your pussy will feel around him. He feels his ear flatten back against the side of his skull and his tail whips around his thigh as he feels the tension of an orgasm build in his stomach, but it’s too soon – he doesn’t want this to be over yet.

He reaches out and grips you by the back of your neck, pulling you away from his cock, and to his surprise you whine. The sound goes straight to his cock, and he feels his arousal throb.

“Colonel,” You whimper, and your voice comes out hoarse and wrecked. “I—”

“You can call me Miles when you’re sucking my cock like this, princess.” He says, before taking a grip of your arms and hauling you up onto the couch again.

You’re so damn small under him, and pulling you around like this comes so easily to him. He tosses you on the threadbare cushions beneath him and then looms over you, enjoying the size difference between you as he bullies your thighs apart.

“You and these goddamn clothes,” He grunts, pulling at your stupid baggy hoodie. “It’s like you’re wearing trash bags. You trying to dress like a fuckin’ nun?”

“No,” You gasp, wriggling under him as he tugs at your clothes. “They’re just—they’re comfy—”

Quaritch just grunts, but he finally manages to pull your hoodie off and he immediately tosses it aside. Despite all the looking he’s done over the last couple of months, he’s never actually seen you without the stupid shapeless sacks you insist on wearing. And right now, he’s never felt so fucking resentful of a pile of fabric, because goddamn.

Your underwear isn’t in the least bit sexy; worn cotton gone a little shapeless from being washed so many times and the colours a little faded. The elastic around the waistband of your underwear is gone loose too, and Quaritch can feel himself salivate when he sees the way the thin threadbare fabric is stuck to the outline of your slick pussy.

There’s something oddly endearing about seeing you like this, all laid out under him in your worn out and shapeless underwear. It’s so unsexy that it’s obvious that you haven’t planned for anyone to see you like this, which only makes him desire you more. His cock is so hard it hurts, throbbing like one great bruise between his legs.

“Just look at you, girl,” He rumbles, one of his sharp canines hooking over his lower lip as he tugs at your bra and watches your soft tits spill over the cups. “Fuck. Spread those legs, let me see you.”

“Oh my god,” You breathe, turning your head away from him and squeezing your eyes shut. You’re embarrassed, which is a reaction that Quaritch doesn’t have time for.

He reaches out and grips your chin, pulling your face back so he can look at you. His fingers look so big against your little face, and he leans in and presses a messy kiss to your spit-slick lips. He licks into your mouth, his wide rough tongue pulling a little shivery gasp out of your mouth.

“Spread your legs.” He repeats into your mouth, and this time you listen to him. Your thighs drop open, and he wastes no time in pulling your ill-fitting panties off of you.

He almost tosses them over his shoulder, but stops last minute. Your cotton panties are ugly, but there’s a certain charm about the faded floral print and worn elastic waistband, and before he can think too much about it he’s tucking them into the pocket of his pants. They smell like you, and he has no doubt that he’ll be using them later on when he tugs his cock to the memory of this encounter.

Next is your bra, and it falls victim to his rough grasping fingers as he grows impatient with the clasp and pulls a little too hard. The seam tears, and he pulls the scraps away and tosses it aside carelessly, ignoring your indignant gasp.

“Asshole!” You squawk, “Do you have any idea how hard it is to get bras that fit on this damn planet—?”

You slap at his shoulder, and your little hand bounces off harmlessly. Adorable.

“None of your damn clothes fit,” He says dismissively. He’s not really listening to you; he’s too preoccupied staring at your soft tits, admiring the peaked nipples and the supple folds of your belly. “You don’t need to wear a bra. Can’t see anything under those stupid sweaters anyway.”

His enormous calloused hand paws at the fat of your breast, testing the weight of it in his palm and admiring the feel of it. He feels so large and rough, his body so huge and powerful and yet ungainly in the frenzy of his lust.

“You’re a fucking pervert.” You grit out through clenched teeth, though you still arch your back as he touches you.

And ah, there’s his snarky little loser.

“Never said I ain’t.” He says simply, leaning down and licking a wet stripe up the length of your breast.

You shiver, then gasp when he flicks your wet nipple afterwards.

 “You like that?” He teases, a finger tracing the sensitive underside of your breast.

“No.”

He laughs. “Liar. Your pretty little nipples are harder than my cock.”

You hiss at him, and it’s so similar to a Na’vi hiss that he’s actually surprised for a moment. But then he grins, and ducks down to kiss your tits again. He takes a swollen nipple between his teeth, practically taking the entire mound into his hungry mouth.

“Fuck,” You breathe, reaching up and interlocking your fingers around his neck. “Touch—touch me.”

Quaritch growls against your chest, taking his time kissing your tits. He leaves teeth marks on your delicate flesh and leaves your nipples coated with his saliva. He moved his lips back up to your panting mouth, slipping his hand between your thighs.

And Jesus fucking Christ, you’re wet. He drops his gaze to your pussy as he parts your labia with his thumb and pushes right up against you, and she’s so, so slick already, to the point where his thumb is already glistening with it. Fuck.

Distantly, he registers that you’re making some sort of noise, and he shushes you mindlessly, feeling a little wild. It’s hard to believe this is the same grouchy little tech analyst that he’s been eyeing up for months, here, lying in front of him, wet for him, moaning and squirming for him as he starts rubbing your clit with his index and middle fingers.

“How does it feel?” Quaritch asks. He slows his fingers enough to give you the chance to catch your breath, and you open your eyes from where they were just screwed tightly shut to stare up at him.

It takes you a second to focus on him and a second longer for words to leave your open mouth.

“Good,” You finally say, followed by a whimper as he rubs right over your clit. “It’s - it’s good.”

He hums at that, but he’s too preoccupied by the way his fingers are coated in your sticky slick to really pay much attention to your answer. He slips one of his big fingers inside of you, and his stomach clenches when he feels how tight you are around his single digit. You’re wet enough to make it a smooth slide, and god, but his patience is running out.

He hardly waits before sliding a second in; you squeeze your eyes shut and your nose scrunches, but you tolerate the stretch well.

That sweet-spicy scent of your arousal intensifies as you wriggle on his fingers, and he’s unable to stop himself from ducking his head down so that he can lean in and lap his tongue over your swollen clit. The tart taste of you bursts over his tongue, just to the side of sweet, and he rumbles out a pleased noise before licking at you again.

He knows that his tongue is different now, textured and rougher than it used to be as a human, and your legs jerk as he swirls his tongue around your clit again.

He’s been catching hints of this scent for months now, and he feels his erection strain at the idea that it was your slick pussy that he’s been scenting all this time. He drinks in your noises just as much as your taste; both are intoxicating, addictive, and if it wasn’t for the persistent arousal thrumming through his own body, he’d think he could do this forever.  

“Oh god,” You breathe, reaching down and tentatively running your fingers through his buzzcut. “Qua—Miles.”

The sound of first name falling from your tongue is better than he could have imagined. You’re starting to writhe, your hips trying to rut against his mouth even as he pins you down with his big hands. The noises that you’re making just from a little bit of licking to your clit are bordering on frantic, and he barely manages to keep from grinning as he sucks at your clit and works his tongue around your labia.

Unbelievably, it feels like you’re winding up to come already. It seems incredible that you, who’s always so sleep-deprived and tense and repressed, is currently humping your pussy against his tongue like a little fucking whore.

He slides a third big blue finger in, though it takes a bit of effort this time. You grunt and try to twist your hips to the side, but with the way Quaritch’s body is caging you in, there’s nowhere for you to move.

“Wait,” You gasp, your hips twitching, “Oh god, shit, wait, Miles, I’m gonna— fuck!”

You’re so sensitive and horny that it only takes a couple more strokes of his wide tongue for you to unravel. You let out a sob, shaking and quivering; your thighs tense around his head, pressing against his skull as your body goes rigid with the strength of your orgasm.

Your pussy squeezes tight around his fingers, growing impossibly wetter from the fluids of your release, and this tastes good too.

He groans as he laps you up, his much larger mouth almost swallowing you whole.

“That was quick, darlin’.” He murmurs, his slick lips sliding over your damp flesh.

You don’t even seem to hear him. Your gaze is unfocused, and there are faint tear tracks on your cheeks - a sight Quaritch never realized he would like as much as he does.

He chuckles at the dazed expression on your face, and pulls his wet fingers out of your cunt before letting them rest on his own tongue. You let out a soft sound of loss, though you watch him suck the taste of you off his fingers with wide, avid eyes as your gaze sharpens.

“When’s the last time you came, huh?” He asks, leaning in to murmur the words against the delicate shell of your ear. “’Cause that was a little too easy. You were too wound up, kid.”

You’re still trying to catch your breath from your orgasm, but you avert your eyes in embarrassment at the question. His interest piques.

“How often do you touch yourself?” He asks, stroking his hand down over your hip and squeezing lightly. “Hm?”

“I—” You say defensively, “I’ve been busy. I don’t have time for—for that!”

Good god, it’s like everything you say is specifically engineered just to make his cock pulse. You’re so disgruntled about the question, your little face all embarrassed and irritated even though your brow is smooth and your eyes are still a little hazy after your orgasm.

“Well then,” He murmurs, amused. “We’ll have to give you another couple to make up for that.”

You squeak when his thumb lands on the swollen flesh of your clit and rolls over it in confident little circles. “Wait, wait, I don’t—I’ve never come more than once in one go.”

“You will this time.”

His plan, as much as there is any plan left in his brain, is to get you off one more time before getting his cock into you. But now that he’s felt you around him, now that the slide of his fingers seems to be as easy as it’s going to get, he’s finding it difficult to wait.

But he curbs his impatience as well as he’s able to, and keeps rubbing at your clit. Your pussy has gone all puffy and creamy from your first orgasm, and the way you squeeze so tight around his fingers is sending him insane. At first you mewl and try to push at his wrist, but he’s bigger and stronger and doesn’t budge until you relax into him, overstimulation melting into pleasure all over again.

He loses track of time as he fucks you with his fingers, enamoured with the feeling of your velvet-soft walls. A thin film of sweat lays over your skin like a gloss, leaving you glowing in the unforgiving light of your little tech hub. You look so pretty like this, too young and too lovely for a dirty old man like him. It seems hard to believe you’re letting him do this, never mind reacting so positively.

When you start to let out those sweet little gasping breaths again, he leans in and swirls his tongue around your clit. Your legs jerk, one thigh splaying over his shoulder as your hips buck. Quaritch doesn’t let up, the movements of his tongue lazy and languid.

He pulls back, then spits on your pussy, watching your little body jerk under him.

He grins. “Oh, you like that?”

“No.” You choke out, but it’s unconvincing considering the way your eyes are practically rolling back in your head.

He laughs indulgently, letting his tongue loll against your clit. Despite your bratty attitude, he’s still set on making sure you come again. He’s feeling generous tonight.

“F-faster.” You demand, your voice coming out a little thready as you rock your hips back on his fingers.

He snickers again, his own breath coming out fast and a little ragged. “Fuck. You want me so bad, don’t you, kid?”

Your second orgasm creeps up on you faster than even Quaritch had expected. It washes over you in a shivery haze; your muscles convulse and you whine as your legs kick out.

He pulls back, licking his lips and grinning at the tart taste of you. He feels an immense sense of satisfaction, intense enough that it surprises him. He’s always felt a sense of pride when he’s succeeded in pleasuring his partners, but this is different. Your scent is thick in his nose, blocking out all his other senses, and it feels like he’s got tunnel vision right now. All he can focus on is you and your reactions to him, and what he sees soothes the jagged edges of his arousal for a brief moment.

He's never been so desperate to bury his cock into anyone in his living memory, but he’s careful to hold back. You’re still shivering and gasping, reeling as you twitch away from his insistent fingers.

“How’re we feelin’, mama?” He asks in a low voice, finally pulling back from you.

The distance allows him to regain a little clarity, but it also makes him aware of the painful strain of his erection as it hangs between his legs. His pants are still laying wide open and hanging low on his thighs, but the scratchy fabric of his clothes is beginning to feel unbearable on his overheated skin. He shoves the trousers down further, practically kicking his boots off so he can shed his pants completely, before turning his attention back to you.

“I feel..” You start to say, and your voice comes out pleasantly throaty in a way that makes his toes curl. “I feel like my muscles have turned to water.”

He chuckles, feeling his ego inflate yet again. “That good, huh?”

You roll your eyes, then push yourself up onto your knees on the couch beside him. You’re still breathing heavily, but you’ve lost some of the mistiness that had clouded your eyes. Now, you’re looking at him with an expression that’s a little wild, and hungrier than he’d expected considering he’d already given you two orgasms.

“I want you to fuck me.” You whisper, as bold as he’s heard you.

He’s not able to keep himself from wrapping a hand around his cock, squeezing lightly at the base. But despite the bass beat throbbing in his cock, he holds himself back. You’re so small, with your fragile bones and soft skin, and he really doesn’t want to accidentally kill you with his dick. He’s got to take this slow.

“Mhm.” He grunts. “When I’m ready to.”

A flash of irritation crosses your face. You’ve never liked being told ‘no’, and your lips twist into a pout. But that only lasts a second before it’s replaced by something a little more calculating, your eyes darting down to his cock.

His erection is as big as your forearm, and iridescent precome dribbles down the swollen lilac head. He’s expecting to see a flash of fear or apprehension at the idea of him fucking you considering the size difference, but your expression is pleased.

You reach out to touch it, much more confident and coy than earlier, and it’s shameful how the relief of your hand on him nearly knocks him flat.

“Oh, all this for me?” You coo, false sweetly. “Poor baby. You want me so badly.”

The mocking mirroring of his own words is his last straw. He moves, throwing you on your back on the couch under him so quickly he’s sure your head must be spinning. Oh, he’s going to make you regret that comment.

You squeak at the sudden movement, but your thighs are already spreading eagerly as he settles between your legs. That inexperienced nervousness from before is beginning to melt away, leaving you all breathless and restless as you wait for him to make another move.

“Hands and knees.” He directs you, and the order comes out with the same iron edge he usually uses for his squad. He watches as the words sink in, your breath hitching as a shiver runs through you.

You begin to roll over, and he reaches out to take your hips in his hands. He guides you over onto your stomach, then pulls your hips up so that you settle onto your knees with your ass in the air, your pussy visibly wet where it peeks from between your thighs.

“Jesus.” He mutters to himself. “Ain’t that a pretty sight.”

He shifts closer, putting his knees down on either side of your calves, and when he drapes himself over your back – or, really, over your whole body, with the way that the top of your head only reaches his chest – and slides his cock up against you, the helpless little sound that you make is nearly buried by his own groan.

He presses his cock against you, but doesn’t push in yet. He just lets himself relish the contact, the heat between your legs.

“In—put it in—” You gasp, your words muffled by the way your face is pressed into couch cushions.

“Shh, shut up. Just take a deep breath.”

He waits until he feels you obey, then plants one hand firmly on the couch, just next to your head, and the other on your back, and starts to push in—

– And it doesn’t work.

“You have to go slow.” You say, your voice small as Quaritch tries again to push inside.

“I am going slow— fuck.” He hisses, using his hand to position himself so he can try again, but you aren’t budging. “Too fucking tight—"

You make a noise like a wounded little animal, dropping your forehead down between your hands on the couch cushions as the tip of his cock presses into the tight ring of resistance at the entrance of your cunt.

To say the absolute least, it’s slow going. By the time that just the head of his cock is in, the edges of Quaritch’s vision is going black and your arms are starting to get shaky. You’re making soft, pained noises, but you’re not telling him to stop.

“Ungh.. Miles..” You croak, your fingers curling into the ratty couch cushions.

“Good girl,” He says mindlessly, hardly even aware of what he’s saying. “Take it, just like that.”

He rocks out, eases back in, rocks out, eases back in, back and forth and back and forth and moving a little further forward each time, until finally, finally, he’s pressed as deep inside you as he’s going to get. You’re gasping like you’re coming up from a long swim underwater. Even if he wanted to take it slow, Quaritch doesn’t know if he’d be able to.

You try to turn towards him, your mouth falling open with a silent gasp when your hips twist. You’re looking back over your shoulder at him with your eyes hooded and your jaw slack, your breathing pattern growing uneven and strained as he splits you open on his enormous cock.

“Too—too big—” You wheeze, your head dropping down between your folded arms.

He knows it’s mean of him, but he barely gives you a moment to adjust. You’re trembling, your back arched so perfectly as you practically present yourself to him, ass high in the air as he rocks himself inside of you inch by inch.

“Sh, shh… you’re doing fine.” He coaxes, pressing down on your shoulders to increase the angle of your arch for his own viewing pleasure.

You’re so warm and wet and if he thinks about the fact that the same little loser he’s been idly watching for months is currently crying out on his big new dick, his head starts to spin. You’re the tightest thing he’s ever stuck his cock in, and it feels like he’s cleaving his way through hot velvet.

“Just like that..” He groans, sinking a canine into his lower lip.

It takes a humiliating amount of effort not to come immediately upon feeling the slick hot grip of you around him – he’s reminded somewhat uncomfortably that he’s as good as a virgin in this new Recombinant body. He’s got his memories, alright, and they’re enough that he knows what he’s doing, but when it comes to the physical sensations they’re so much more intense than he remembers. He feels like a damn teenager again.

His ears are tucked flat against the sides of his head as he grinds into you, breathless as your body grips at him as though you don’t want to let him go. The scent of you is thick in his nose, and he feels his stupid neural queue tingle in a way it’s never done before.

“Am I—am I doing good?” You gasp. You’re visibly hanging onto his every word and noise, responding with an eager little whimper every time he lets out a groan or grunt.

“So good, baby,” He breathes, working himself back and forward just a single slow, hot inch. “So good for me. So good for—” 

Don’t, he thinks wildly. Don’t fucking say it.

You stare at him over your shoulder, holding his gaze like you’re urging him to say it out loud.

He gives in, resigns himself to the knowledge that he’s a pathetic, dirty old man.

“So good for Daddy, FUCK!” He practically yells it, curling his fingers into the couch cushions so harshly that his fingers tear through the shitty thin fabric into the stuffing.

You gasp, and he feels you clench down like a vice on him. Oh, you like that, he can tell by the way you squeak, how you go tight and gushy, how your lower lip quivers.  

“Nasty old man,” You hiss, though your ass arches higher to give him a better angle to fuck you with even as you grind your words out.

He gives a harsh, grinding thrust into you, and you promptly give up on looking over your shoulder at him as your elbows give out. You end up face down in the couch, your little fingers grasping at the grungy cushions.

He nearly slips out as you fall, and he quickly moves both hands back to grab onto your hips and hold you steady with a low, “Fuck.” Your hands are left to scrabble at the cushions below you, searching for purchase but failing to find it, and as he watches, a bit of drool slides from your mouth along with the helpless sounds being pushed out with each of his thrusts.

“Watch that mouth.” He warns, though he knows he doesn’t sound as harsh as he wants to. He’s sure that you’ve felt the twitch of his cock inside you in response to your name-calling, though that’s not something he’s willing to examine.

“Okay,” You wheeze, wriggling a little under him. It takes a moment for him to realise that you’re trying to fuck yourself back onto his cock. “I’ll be good, daddy.”

His head drops to your shoulder with a punched-out groan. Shit. He should have known calling himself that stupid name would bite him in the ass – hearing it come from your mouth might just be the hottest thing he’s ever heard.

 “Fuck.” He says, his voice gravelly and rough and more honest than he intends to be. “Can’t fuckin’ handle you calling me that, kid.”

He’s aware that he’s being a hypocrite, considering it was him who had said it in the first place, but he hadn’t considered the effect it would have on him. It’s been a long time since he’s gotten his dick wet, even when he was human – longer than he’s willing to think about. So to have a pretty little thing like you hanging off his dick and whining, calling him daddy as tears rolls down your cheeks, is pushing him right to his limit.

“Oh yeah? Is me calling you daddy gonna make you cream early, old man?”

Fucking hell. He’s always liked that smart mouth of yours, but right now he thinks it’s going to kill him.

He smacks his open palm against your ass, and the ‘crack’ of it echoes in the shitty little tech hub. You wheeze out a surprised gasp and rock forward with the force of it, but he can feel the way you clench down hard on him.

He adjusts himself so he’s fully over you, enveloping your body from above as he watches you take cock way too thick for you. You’re still trembling, glancing over your shoulder to watch him with glassy eyes, one of your hands reached between your legs so you can rub at your own clit. 

Quaritch drags his cock back, his eyes practically rolling back in his head as he feels your impossible tightness clutch at him, before pushing back experimentally. A little noise leaves your mouth and he can’t help himself. He does it again, slams back in — harder than he meant to.

You’re rocked forward, your hands grasping at the armrest of the couch in an attempt to grab some stability as you yowl. All that rigid tension and exhausted irritability has melted right out of you, to be replaced by desperate pleasure as you’re filled to the brim and pushed beyond your limits.

And then – he can’t help himself. He’s ruthless, fucking you so hard that you’re wailing with it. He can’t fit his whole cock inside you, you’re too small, but the part that he can get into you feels like it’s wrapped in buttery velvet, gripping him so tight.

You’re crying out for real, now, but you’re so wet that obscene, slick sounds are filling the room and it’s all he can hear. If he listens, he can make out some of the half-formed words falling from your mouth - “please, Daddy, please, please, feels good,” and so on and so forth like the best melody he’s ever heard. His ears twitch relentlessly, trying to pick up on every single sound you make, determined not to miss any of it.

He wants to leave you ruined, to leave you red and aching. Unable to walk without thinking of this, of him— of this whole encounter with him, of the way he has you used and crying on this dingy couch.

You reach back blindly as he fucks you, your little body taking him so well, and sink your nails into his thigh as he pistons his hips into you, your upturned ass making the angle so easy.

“Shit,” He hisses through his teeth, glancing down to see that your sharp little nails have drawn thin lines of blood from his thick blue thigh. “You’ve got fucking claws.”

You just whine in response, your face pressed into the couch as he ploughs into you, your legs twitching. It seems like you’ve sunk your nails into his thigh just so you can keep a grip on something.

The springs of the couch are squealing so loud that Quaritch has a brief, fleeting thought that the whole thing is going to collapse underneath the two of you. Between the grating noise of the springs and the gasping and babbling spilling from your lips and the soft squelching noises your pussy makes as his cock bullies its way in and out, he almost doesn’t catch the sound of the door opening.

But even though his senses are dialled up to eleven and directed at you, he’s still got enough situational awareness to realise that there’s someone standing in the doorway watching with a slack mouth.

It’s your co-worker. Tom. Or Troy. Something like that.

He barely spares the energy to send a glance his way, though he can’t help the sharp, smug grin that spreads over his face when he realises that your little loser co-worker is watching him fuck you with an expression of horrified and shocked fascination.

Quaritch has never been into voyeurism, but there’s a sense of bone-deep satisfaction that runs through him at the knowledge that this man, this challenger, is watching him claim you so thoroughly. His tail lashes as he humps into you, all hunched over your arched back so that he’s caging you beneath his big arms, and he glances over to the deadbeat in the door and bares his teeth at him.

Quaritch reaches under your belly to rub at your clit with one hand, using his other one to grab your hip, the flesh firm but supple and such a pleasure to squeeze, so he can fuck you harder and faster still. You cry louder for him, and he can’t tell who’s worshipping whom. It’s pure ecstasy, even despite the little worm watching you both in disbelief.

“Just for me, huh?” He snarls in your ear, his big fingers curling into the soft flesh of your hips. “This perfect fuckin’ pussy, mine. Fuckin’ mine.”

Beneath him, you make a soft, desperate sort of noise, drawing every gaze in the room to you – and you look nothing short of obscene. Your eyes are teary and unfocused, your face is flushed, your mouth is open and your lower lip bitten red, your pussy is wet and just this side of swollen. Quaritch dwarfs you in every way, and being above you like this, forcing your body to let him in and take him, is a sight that he suddenly feels grimly possessive over.

“Yes,” You sob, your finger scrabbling against the dingy couch cushions. “Y-yes, Miles, fuck—!”

Suddenly, he’s not so smug about someone else seeing you like this at all, especially not when it’s your loser co-worker that doesn’t take no for an answer that’s watching you with an open mouth and flushed cheeks.

The hiss that tears out of his mouth surprises even him – it’s born of pure instinct, a base urge rising out of the depths of his brain to get this motherfucker away from here.

Tom-Troy-Tim-whatever staggers back, eyes wide and frightened, before he promptly turns on his heels and flees, letting the door shut behind him again.

Below him, you don’t even seem to notice that there’s been a witness to your little rendez-vous. You’re too busy drooling as his cock carves out a space for himself inside you, mewling all soft and sweet as he strokes your clit.

“Perfect,” Quaritch says half-deliriously, “Perfect little slut. Doin’ so well, baby.”

He knows you’re a smart girl, and maybe that’s why seeing you all dumb and fucked out on his cock is so hot. It’s like all that sharp intelligence has been fucked out of you, replaced with nothing but the desperate desire to come as he pounds into you with your ass up in the air.

Liquid fire spreads from his loins, and he knows he’s close. It feels too good. He would open you up and crawl inside you if he could, just fuckin’ eat you from the inside out.

You glance over your shoulder, your eyes heavy-lidded and your lips shiny as you watch him fuck you from behind.

And then you speak, your voice throaty and teasing despite your dishevelled state. “Gonna come inside, daddy?”

And that’s his last straw.

His orgasm almost takes him by surprise, even with how long it’s been building. He holds you by the hips so tightly that it’ll be a miracle if you don’t bruise, and he snarls like a goddamn animal as he comes, emptying his balls deep inside you. He holds you there for a long, long moment, letting your tight, tight cunt squeeze around him for just a moment longer before the feeling starts to edge into something bright and oversensitive.

He starts to pull out, the head of his cock already sensitive, but you’re just so enticingly wet and soft and messy that he can’t help but thrust against you once more, his breath hitching.

You’re gasping softly yourself, sniffling and half-lifting your head from where you’d dropped it on the couch as he pulls out, but Quaritch doesn’t let you so much as get a single word out before he sits back on his heels.

He uses his hold on your hips to flip you around, so fast that all you can do is wheeze in surprise as he throws you onto your back beneath him. Then he pulls you up so that your pussy is right in his face, pulling a shriek out of you as he licks right over your clit and dripping wet cunt.

He mouths at you with a fervour, savouring the way your sweet-spicy taste mixes with his seed and bringing you to full-on sobs in between your moans. There’s something feral about his movements now, his thoughts clouded from his release – his arousal hasn’t yet abated, as though he’s still holding out for your release.

“Miles—oh fuck, it’s—I can’t—please!” You cry, and Quaritch just flicks his tongue over your clit and lets your words dissolve into nothing.

Some part of him recognises that he’s not usually so generous with his partners. He’s never been selfish; he always gets his partners where they want to be, always leaves them satisfied, but he’s never felt this all-consuming urge to leave his mark on someone like this before.

You’re a mess, squirming all over his face as though you can’t decide whether you want to move closer or further away. He holds you as steady as he can, not letting you get away as he suckles and licks relentlessly at you.

You cry out his name as you come, your pussy clenching around nothing and your hips rocking helplessly back against his face. It has his spent cock twitching from where it’s hanging heavy between his legs, his eyes practically rolling back in his head as he tastes your salty-sweet release on his tongue.

He presses one more kiss to your clit, just to make you choke on a small squeak of a sound, and then he pulls back to let you both catch your breath. Once he remembers how to move his body properly, he lays you back down and follows you, laying his body on top of yours on the pathetically small couch, mindful not to crush you.

“Jesus Christ.” He rumbles out, his sweaty body heavy and numb from all the activity. “You okay, princess?”

“Princess.” You repeat breathlessly, snorting. “Thought I was a little slut.”

Quaritch smirks against the soft skin of your collarbones, tired but immensely satisfied. He loves the mouth on you, that familiar snark raising its head as you recover from your exhaustion, but it’s important to keep you in your place.

He swats at your ass, right over the same spot he had smacked before, and you jolt, squealing.

“Fuck!” You squeal, legs kicking. “That hurts, asshole!”

“You liked it before.” He points out, his ego and male pride swollen.

You grumble, but turn your head to hide your face, obviously embarrassed. Quaritch takes the opportunity to let his eyes wander, uncaring whether you catch him staring or not. Minor muscle tremors run through your calf muscles even still, and your skin is still damp from perspiration.

“’m not gonna be able to walk f’r days.” You mutter, though you don’t sound upset about it. Unless Quaritch’s ears are deceiving him, you sound pleased.

He just grunts, too preoccupied with basking in the feeling of bonelessness that comes after a good orgasm.

There’s a beat of silence, then you say, smaller this time, “That was… good.”

He snickers, amused by your sudden shyness. He strokes a lazy hand down over your flank, relishing the softness of your skin.

“Mm…” He hums in wordless agreement.

Some of that somnolent satisfaction that’s been weighing you down has begun to fade away; he can feel you begin to fidget beneath him, and then you dart a look towards the door.

“Todd’s shift starts soon,” You say, and now he can hear a nervous edge in your voice. “We should—we should get up before he gets here—”

His tails coils, curling around your lower thigh. He doesn’t move, and he’s too heavy for you to shift his weight off you.

“Shh,” He hushes you nonchalantly. “He ain’t comin’.”

You pause, a frown furrowing your brow. “What d’you mean?”

He just grunts, unwilling to explain.

“I’ll have a little chat to him tomorrow,” He says instead, his face still lazily tucked into your neck. “About doin’ the damn job that’s been assigned to him.”

He snuffles at your neck as though your scent is a drug, then sucks at the tender flesh of your throat. You’re no doubt already covered in bruises – he was rougher than he should have been – but adding another few along your collarbones makes some deep instinct in him settle.

“You don’t—” You start to say, your breathing somewhat jagged as his teeth scrape over your throat. “You don’t have to do that.”

He doesn’t bother responding. He thinks it’s obvious by now that he doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to. He strokes one hand down your body, curling it beneath your ass just so he can squeeze gently at the crease between your bum and your thigh.

You settle, relaxing with a somewhat confused little sigh. He’s still curled over you like a stupid big cat, and the resemblance irritates him, but not enough to move away from you. You’re not snapping or teasing him right now either, which he’ll take as a win.

“Think of it as repayment,” He drawls out, “You’ve been such a good girl for me, sorting out all my little technical problems. Least I could do, huh? Besides, I’ve never liked a deadbeat.”

Then he grins lecherously, and he squeezes at your ass again. “But if you’re that grateful, you can always show me how much you appreciate it.”

You groan and reach up to push at his face, but your weak little hands don’t shift him and you’re doing a poor job at hiding the little smile on your face.

“You’re such an old pervert,” You grumble, as grouchy as ever as you curl into him from underneath.

He huffs a snort in response, unoffended. He knows how it looks; he may have a nice shiny new blue body and all the perks that his new ‘youth’ has to offer, but that doesn’t change the fact that he is, in essence, a dirty old man pawing at the sweet young little thing beneath him.

“You’re gonna let this old pervert come to see you again though, ain’t ya?” He says, a low mocking tone in his voice. “Gonna let me come bang you in this shitty office again tomorrow?”

He’s just prodding at you, mostly. He knows you’re not going to be able to take him again tomorrow. You had done such a good job taking him tonight, but that doesn’t cancel out the fact that he’s big and you had confessed yourself that you were inexperienced, that it had been a long time since you had done anything with a man. He’ll be impressed if you can walk tomorrow.

You yawn, your little pink mouth opening wide like a kitten. “You gonna sort out a nice new office for me too?”

He thinks of fucking you in a bright new shiny office, with a comfy new couch and space to spread you out and take you apart as leisurely as he wants. It’ll have to be somewhere out of the way, so you can make all those pretty noises of yours and not get interrupted. Maybe close to the Recom sector – he’s sure he can come up with some sort of excuse for why they need increased tech support.

He wonders idly if he’ll be able to get away with it without General Ardmore catching wind of it, then decides he doesn’t care.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

tags:

@live-laugh-neteyam@narwhal-swimmingintheocean @mechformers @malinowoczekoladowebudynie @byunpum @areislol @kisssatoru @notquitehero @kyurii-chan @shadowshart @atokirina-writings @cantescapethefantasy @thespadedhazesrave @mooniequeen @marauderseragal @lovebeinaprincessworld @justcaptainnoodles @sweetdayme4427

tìtunu | tsu'tey (part 4 | nsfw)

pairing: tsu'tey x human fem reader

word count: 10k words

warnings: nsfw, jealousy, hurt/comfort, size difference, p in v sex, doggy-style, rough (?) sex

notes: i really though that i was finished with this, but y'all got me with the asks about jealous and protective tsu'tey 😭 (also this gif makes me fucking FERALLLL)

read it on ao3

part one | part two | part three (nsfw) | part 4 (nsfw) masterlist

Tsu’tey doesn’t think he’s ever been so smug in his whole life.

He survived the battle with the Sky People, he has healed from his wounds and come back even stronger, and he has been successful in his mating advances with his chosen mate. 

The fact that his chosen mate was one of the little sky demons that he hates so much, was a surprise to the whole village (he had surprised himself too, truthfully) but everything is different with you. You are not destructive, you are not harmful – you study the flora and fauna of his planet with the reverence of a wide-eyed child, and he finds it terribly endearing. You are so small, and his planet can be such a harsh place for one as soft as a human. It’s a constant source of frustration and concern, despite his best efforts to handle and minimise possible risks.

“You are certain?” He demands of the Sky Person in front of him.

The man is one of the so-called scientists that live in the pathetic excuse for housing that the alien demons had built in the forest after the rest of the Sky People had been forced off the planet. There’s not many of them; the ones who stayed were approved by the few loyal demons, and they are largely respectful of the native populations as they try to integrate as much as they are allowed. That does not mean that Tsu’tey trusts them, and it certainly doesn’t mean that he likes them.

“Yes,” The little man in front of him says, visibly nervous. He swallows thickly, his heavy breaths fogging up his odd little mask. “Yes, we tested all the fruit you brought, and they all came up safe for human consumption. A human digestive system wouldn’t be able to break down something like meat from Pandoran animals, but the fruits you brought should be fine. Chemically, it’s quite similar to fruits we have back on Earth-”

Tsu’tey just grunts. He does not care about Earth's fruits. All he wants to know is whether he can feed you some of the fruits that he has foraged, and now that he has gotten his answer he is not inclined to stand around and listen to the little man bumble along any longer.

 Without another word he turns and strides away, reaching his pa’li and pulling himself astride her with ease before urging her forward into the forest. At a swift pace, he reaches the village in no time and from there he moves quickly to find you.

Unsurprisingly, he finds you beneath one of the pxiut trees. You have your notebook open in front of you as you lay on your belly making your silly little notes, totally absorbed in your work. As he approaches, he takes the opportunity to look you over.

You appear content, head bowed over your work as you write. The bright sunshine filters in through the trees overhead, sending dappled patterns over your exposed skin. Seeing your strange human form dressed in the traditional clothes of the Na’vi always sets Tsu’tey alight, and his tail swishes appreciatively as he admires you.

“Hello, demon,” He murmurs when he reaches you, lowering himself to his knees out of pure habit. It has become second-nature to lower himself to your level when he’s around you – he enjoys the closeness of it.

You hum. Though you don’t lift your eyes from your work, a smile is beginning to curve your lips. “Is that any way to greet your mate?”

Tsu’tey’s lips quirk in response, and he leans in so his nose is nuzzling into your hair. You lean into him in a move that’s mostly automatic, and he feels a flare of smug pleasure at the ease with which you melt against his side.

“My little demon,” He corrects himself with a sardonic little grin, enjoying the way you roll your eyes fondly. “I have brought you food. Will you eat?”

Your eyes dart to his immediately, visibly uncertain. He already knows what you’re thinking, and he tries not to wince. 

“It is safe,” He says quickly. “I asked one of the tawtute. They did tests.”

Your expression changes then, your grin growing sharper. “Aw, look at you taking care of me, huh?”

He can tell by your tone of voice that you’re teasing him, but that doesn’t stop the swell of pride in his chest. Yes, he is taking care of you. It’s always gratifying when his efforts are noticed, and he tries not to look too smug as he reaches out to touch you. 

You are laying on your belly with your notebook in front of you, so his hand comes to rest on the back of one of your thighs. You are so small beneath him, so soft and squishy compared to the lean hardness of most Na’vi bodies. He can’t resist squeezing just slightly, just to watch the squidge of your thighs poke out between his spread fingers.

You roll your eyes at him – you know exactly what he’s doing, after all. He has not been very successful at keeping his fascination with your little pliable body a secret, and why should he? You are his mate, and you belong to him as surely as he belongs to you. Getting to touch you like this is a privilege belonging only to him, and he wishes to get as much out of it as he can.

“I always take care of you.” He says, and your smile softens.

“Yeah, big guy, you do.” You say, and the fondness in your voice is so obvious that it makes Tsu’tey’s hardened heart tremble a little in his chest.

His hand slides up your plush thighs and comes to a rest over the swell of your backside, relishing the heat of your skin even through the tewng covering you. You’re even softer here, nothing but squidge, and he allows himself a moment to indulge in squeezing you here too as you laugh.

“Alright, pervert,” You snicker, closing your notebook and pushing yourself up. “You can’t just start feeling me up – we’re in public.”

Tsu’tey’s hand falls away as you move to stand, and he has to fight the urge to pout hard. “The People know that we are mated in the eyes of Eywa.”

“That doesn’t mean that it’s okay to traumatise them all like this.” You snort. “I don’t think anyone wants to see you groping me in broad daylight.”

Many of the People have a sort of morbid curiosity about how mating with a tawtute works, so Tsu’tey isn’t entirely certain that you’re correct in that assumption. There are many who would be only too pleased to watch. But he doesn’t argue; you are beginning to push yourself to your feet, so he stands too. 

“What is pervert?” He asks, looking down at you as you stretch your arms overhead and yawn. 

Truthfully he gets distracted for a moment, admiring your soft belly and exposed skin in Na’vi clothes – if he could burn all your human coverings without you getting angry at him, he certainly would. He wants to see you dressed in the clothes of his People all the time.

You laugh as if he had said something very funny. “A pervert is what you are.”

“Is it a bad thing?” He wonders, reaching out so that his hand rests on the back of your neck across your shoulders. 

Your eyes flutter closed as he kneads lightly at the base of your neck. “No,” You murmur softly. “Not when it’s you.”

He relaxes, nodding decisively before reaching for your small hand. “Come. You will eat and watch me train.”

It’s become almost like a routine for him to drag you with him to practice fighting or sparring. While you don’t come with him every day, he has managed to bring you often enough that the sight of you trailing behind him towards the training ground is a familiar one for the young warriors in training. 

As he leads you towards the training grounds, he sees the few young warriors gathered around the archery practice range turn to watch his approach. Their eyes flicker towards you – though they never say anything about it, he knows that their curiosity is burning at the sight of you at Tsu’tey’s hip. The apprehension and caution about the Sky People is still very much embedded in their hearts and minds, and yet you are probably the least intimidating thing they’ve ever seen in their lives.

Tsu’tey imagines that his own interest and desire for you only fuels their curiosity further. He had gained somewhat of a reputation for himself before he had met you; he is the strongest warrior in the clan, he had been trained from a very young age for leadership, and he is a prominent and well-respected figure within the village. He was much desired as a mate by many women in the clan.

 So when he chose you, the small and soft demon that is entirely unsuited to their planet, it was a source of surprise to many. Yet he is lucky – his people are supportive, even when they do not understand his choice of mate. Even if some of the women remain slightly disgruntled with him.

“You will sit over here,” He pushes you gently towards a clearing, out of the way of the other Na’vi that tower over you, to a spot where you will be safe. “You can see well, from here.”

It’s important that you have a good view, after all. He likes it when you watch him – it’s satisfying to give you a display of his physical strength and his skills, to remind you that he is a strong mate for you.

You just sit down where he’s directed you, and smile eagerly at him. He knows that you enjoy watching him too, and his tail swishes in anticipation. If you are pleased with what you see, it can only mean good things in store for him later.

“What are you up to today, then?” You ask, lounging back in the soft mossy ground against the stump of a tree.

“Spear training, and then hand to hand combat.” He says, reaching into the small bag around his waist. He pulls out the soft wrapped leaf package that he had prepared earlier and hands it to you. “Fruit. Eat.”

You take the wrapped fruit from him and peer at it with curiosity, poking at it with your small fingers. You seem pleased, and take a breath before lifting your mask so you can pop the fruit in your mouth before replacing it.

“It’s good,” You say, smiling, before tilting your head up at him with a faux-innocent expression. “So, do I get to see you all oiled up and wrestling some other super muscly man?”

That makes him chuckle, and he reaches out to stroke a single finger over the top of your head. “Would you like to see that?”

“Oh yeah,” You hum, and your grin behind your mask is unmistakably suggestive. “Definitely.”

His own grin grows sharp, and he bends on one knee so that he can be at eye-level with you. “I can oil myself up and show you wrestling later, after eclipse.”

That makes you laugh, tilting your head back with delight. “Oh, that’s so corny.”

He has no idea what that means, corny, but you look happy so it must be a good thing. He leans down and kisses the top of your head before straightening up. From behind, he can hear some of the younger warriors in training begin to call his name.

He gives you one last lingering look before turning and making his way towards the others.

Training takes the better half of the afternoon. 

He demonstrates spear throwing techniques, he corrects postures and methods, he shouts criticisms and praises by turn. Every so often he glances towards you, mostly out of habit – you have pulled out your little book at some point, and are making notes again. Every single time, without fail, you look up as though you feel his eyes on you. And every time, you beam at him and his heart stumbles a little in his chest. Burying his reactions as best he can in front of his fellow warriors, the most Tsu’tey allows himself is the flick of a single ear.

When they finally do get to hand to hand training, he sees you visibly perk up and his ego inflates significantly. It is so very gratifying to be able to train and show off in front of you, especially when he successfully overcomes his opponents. 

He can feel your watchful eyes on him all the time, pushing him harder and harder as he wrestles with warrior after warrior. The young ones in training watch on too, eager to learn, but the only gaze he truly cares about is yours.

Eventually, he takes a break from tumbling around the square that had been cleared off specifically for training and steps to the side so that he can observe some of the young ones in training practice their form. While he attempts to focus on calling out constructive criticism, he can’t stop his eyes from darting towards you occasionally.

Though your notebook is splayed out front of you, you are making no effort at all to hide the fact that you’re watching him. His chest is heaving and a thin layer of sweat coats his body, and he can feel the weight of your stare dropping slowly over the length of him. It makes him feel hot and itchy, and he has to fight to keep himself from marching right over to you and doing something very stupid indeed.

He is so distracted by your stare that he almost doesn’t notice when one of the other warriors sidles up to him. It is Takuk, and he is watching him with an amused sort of expression.

“Brother,” He greets him, offering the customary gesture of respect. “You are distracted today.”

His statement is nothing but the truth, but Tsu’tey bristles anyway. Takuk had been a hunter trainee not too long ago himself, but has developed into a man in the last year; he has claimed an ikran, he wears a battle band around his waist, but he has not yet taken a mate. Tsu’tey dislikes the way he is looking at you, considering you are already claimed.

“I am not distracted.” Tsu’tey lies through his teeth. His tone is sharp enough that he hopes it will dissuade Takuk from this line of conversation.

Takuk just hums, clearly unconvinced. He has grown irritatingly confident since his iknimaya. He looks over to where you’re sitting; you’ve lowered your head once more to scribble in your book, and Takuk takes the opportunity to squint at you.

“What is it like, being with one of them?” He asks, casting a slant-eyed glance back at Tsu’tey. “Is she not too… small?”

Tsu’tey’s tail lashes around his ankles, though he keeps his expression carefully contained. He is proud to be mated to you, but he does not like questions like this. He does not like to think that Takuk is imagining you like that.

“She is small,” He acknowledges, his voice clipped. “But not too small.”

It is enough to answer his question without giving him details, but Takuk grins as though what he has said is much more revealing than it truly is. When he looks back over in your direction again, Tsu’tey tenses.

Takuk notices, and sighs. “Brother, I am only asking. We are curious about your mate. You are so protective of her.”

Tsu’tey rolls his shoulders, considering. This is not untrue. The curiosity of his people is blatant, and mostly harmless; perhaps he has been too protective, but he has always been a private man.

“It works.” He says at last. It feels a little as though the words are being pulled from him by force. “She is small, and strange, but it works.”

Takuk’s ears twitch forwards in amusement, but he wisely decides not to make a smart comment.

“Even though she cannot make tsaheylu?” He wonders, low and quiet.

Ah. So that is the source of all their curiosity. Tsu’tey supposes he cannot blame them for that. It is a most unusual relationship he has with you, after all. Tsaheylu is the building block of all life on Pandora, and it is how every living creature interacts with the world around them. To have taken a mate that is unable to make this bond would be almost unthinkable to many Na’vi. Tsu’tey supposes he cannot blame them for that morbid curiosity – it would have been unthinkable for him once, too.

“Even though she cannot make tsaheylu.” Tsu’tey confirms quietly. “She sees me anyway.”

Takuk is thoughtfully silent at that, which Tsu’tey is mercifully grateful for. That was a little too vulnerable for his tastes, and he ends up clearing his throat and straightening his shoulders in an attempt to regain some of his authority. 

“Back to training.” He says firmly, reaching out to push at Takuk’s head. “No more making eyes at my mate.”

Takuk just laughs, his ears twitching with good humour. “It is not me you need to tell, brother,” He says, before tilting his head pointedly in your direction. “It is the trainees that are so curious about her.”

Tsu’tey follows his gaze. Sure enough, you are no longer alone in your spot at the side of the training grounds. Several of the hunter trainees are crouched near you, watching you with big curious eyes as you chat to one of the young Na’vi that has been bold enough to creep forward. It is At’u, one of the foremost young men in training.

Tsu’tey’s ears flatten when he sees the way At’u’s tail is coiling. It is the universal signal of interest among their kind, and the audacity of the younglings infuriate him.

Without waiting another moment, Tsu’tey strides your way. He can hear Takuk starting to laugh from behind him, but he ignores him; he is precision-focused on you and the jumped up little shits around you.

When At’u reaches out to touch the hair on your head, Tsu’tey’s vision goes black around the edges. Anger bubbles up in his chest; curiosity is one thing, but having the insolence to touch you right in front of Tsu’tey’s eyes is another thing.

When Tsu’tey reaches you, you look up at him with a smile. He doesn’t return it; he’s too busy levelling a dark glare At’u’s way, his ears flat and tail held low. The youngling’s tail coils low in response, but he does not move away from you.

Tsu’tey hisses at him, baring his sharp teeth as he rounds on the rest of the trainees. They scatter almost instantly, scrambling to flee back to the training area. At’u flees too, flinching hard before following after his friends.

“Tsu’tey!” You hiss at him, visibly horrified. “That was so rude! They were only curious-”

 He’s still glaring at the backs of the young trainees as he crouches down in front of you, but after a moment he turns to look at you. Your brows are scrunched, your eyes flared a little in outrage as you scowl at him. Oh, you look angry with him. It’s more adorable than you probably mean it to be.

“They do not know their place.” He mutters, scooching a little closer to you.

“They’re children!” You protest, rolling your eyes.

“They are training to be hunters and warriors.” Tsu’tey grumbles. As cute as you are when you’re angry, he doesn’t like being on the receiving end of it. “They know what they’re doing. They will be eligible to pick a mate after iknimaya.”

That makes you pause, and your eyes flicker carefully over his face. 

“Are you…” You begin slowly. “Are you jealous? They’re going to pick Na’vi mates. Besides, I already have a mate.”

Warm satisfaction pools in his chest, and he scooches closer to you yet again. Something deep within him eases now that you’re within arms reach.

“Did you not see the way they were twitching their ears at you?” He murmurs, brow furrowing. You hesitate, and his tail lashes in agitation. “I knew it! You do not even see how they act-”

“Oh, hush,” You sigh, reaching out to pet the side of his face. “You’re being silly. Why would I want anyone else when I have a big handsome beefcake like you, huh?”

Tsu’tey has no idea what beefcake is, but you sound pleased when you say it so he imagines it is a good thing. 

Your thumb strokes over his cheek, and then you frown and reach out to wipe under his nose. “You’re bleeding.”

He had received an elbow to the face at some point during hand to hand combat, but it feels only mildly tender now. Still though, when you begin smoothing away the blood with your thumb he leans into your hands. It feels good to be cared for. 

“Does it hurt?” You wonder, peering closer as you try to assess the damage.

“No,” Tsu’tey snorts, a little offended. How weak do you think he is? But then you start to pull away, taking your little hands away from his face, and he’s quick to add, “A little. Will you care for me later?”

That makes you laugh, and his ears wiggle smugly when you lean forward to bump your forehead against his. 

“Yes,” You whisper, grinning up at him. “I’ll take real good care of you.”

His tail thumps off the ground, his mouth beginning to curl in an eager smile. Your eyes are lingering around his sweat-slick chest and your thumb strokes over his bloodied nose, gentle over his bruised skin. He fights the urge to lean in further into your grasp, though it’s difficult.

“You watched me train?”

You huff a soft laugh. “Of course. Couldn’t tear my eyes away. You looked good, big guy.”

Tsu’tey swears he feels his whole heart thump heavily in his chest. There is a bone-deep satisfaction that settles over him at the confirmation that you see him as someone worthy, a good mate. It soothes the edges of his jagged pride and makes him feel whole.

“I am happy to have pleased you,” He murmurs sincerely, tucking his ears low as he meets your eyes. Your eyes soften, and you brush the last remnants of blood from his nose before taking your hand back. “Would you like to watch further?”

You hum in thought for a moment, before shrugging. “I think I’ll head back to the kelku. I wanted to cross-check some notes I took today with my other research.”

Tsu’tey has never been able to make much sense of your science talk, but he inclines his head in acknowledgement. “Then I will meet you back at home, ma’yawntutsyìp.”

For the rest of the afternoon, Tsu’tey’s feels as though he’s crawling out of his skin. He runs through the rest of his duties on autopilot, offering criticism and compliments by turns to the young warriors and hunters throughout the day, but his mind is preoccupied with thoughts of you the whole time.

It’s a struggle to stay focused. He keeps thinking of your eyes tracing over his chest and stomach, of your soft hands on his face, of your coy promise to take care of him later. It feels almost physically painful to force himself to finish out training with the others, but he pushes himself anyway.

It’s nearing evening when he finally begins to finish up, delivering his last few instructions to the young hunters as they begin to ready themselves to return to the village. He’s antsy, watching impatiently as the young ones push and laugh at each other.

When Takuk approaches him again, he has to fight not to roll his eyes – he has picked up too many of your little human mannerisms already.

“Your aim has improved.” Tsu’tey grunts, preoccupied with slinging his bow back over his shoulder.

Takuk perks up, visibly pleased with the compliment. He inclines his head in thanks, before leaning his weight casually back on one leg as he watches Tsu’tey pack up. He’s no doubt noticing that he’s moving with an unusual sense of urgency.

“Your mate is waiting for you, hm?” He asks, his mouth twitching.

Tsu’tey’s tail lashes in warning. He doesn’t like Takuk’s teasing tone, but he can’t help the anticipation that’s building in his stomach at the thought of getting back to you after your teasing throughout the day.

“Yes,” Tsu’tey grunts. “I will bring her fruit.”

Takuk nods, clearly approving, before looking to his feet. He appears to be thinking, and Tsu’tey waits as patiently as he can for him to speak again.

“I am thinking of taking a mate soon,” The young warrior says at last, still keeping his gaze low. “Do.. Do you think that Kaey’ra would have me?”

Tsu’tey pauses to give his question some thought. “Yes. I think she would. It would be a good match.”

Takuk’s shoulders loosen, and his ears rotate forward in satisfaction. It is a confidence booster for Tsu’tey too – it is nice to have his opinion so valued by one of his past students, now a peer. He is happy for his friend, and Tsu’tey claps him on the shoulder. 

“I must plan a courting display,” Takuk murmurs, his brow lowering thoughtfully. “I will-”

He cuts himself off, staring somewhere behind Tsu’tey’s shoulder. Frowning, Tsu’tey turns to follow his gaze only to be met with the sight of one of the young warriors approaching him with his tail tucked low between his legs.

“Ma’Tsu’tey,” He greets, his ears flattened anxiously against his head. “I am sorry-”

“What.” Tsu’tey interrupts, his eyes narrowing. The sight of the youngling all twisted and anxious leaves a bad feeling settling into his stomach. “What is it?”

The youngling looks as though he would rather be anywhere else other than right there. “It’s just.. Your mate is-”

Tsu’tey’s stomach plummets to his feet, and he takes a step forward. His teeth bare without conscious thought. “Where is she?”

The young hunter flinches, but to his credit he doesn’t step back. “She is with tsahìk-”

It feels as though Tsu’tey’s brain has been filled with static panic. He’s hardly aware of turning away from the warriors and racing away, his feet pounding hard against the ground as he shoulders his way past the young trainees that are still lingering around the training area.

The only reason for you to be with Mo’at is that you are injured, and the thought fills Tsu’tey with a bone-deep, nauseating fear. He was only apart from you for a few hours at most – how could you have gotten hurt in such a short space of time? He thinks of your fragile bones, your thin skin, your diminutive stature; he knows that the answer is all too easily.

He can’t help himself from conjuring up worst-case scenarios – he imagines you broken and bleeding, unconscious, crying from pain, calling for him when he’s too far away to hear you. He feels sick as he reaches the village, making a beeline for the tsahìk’s hut.

“Move,” He snarls at someone who walks across his path. He’s blind with panic, hardly even sees who he’s snarling at. They jump out of his way as he storms past, practically diving his way towards the tsahìk’s home.

Usually, Tsu’tey prides himself on his grace and agility. He has always been the best warrior in the clan, and one of the most decorated hunters – his training has left him swift and dextrous. And yet now he finds himself stumbling, acting like a fear-stricken fool as he ducks his way into the hut.

Mo’at doesn’t even glance up at his unceremonious entrance, though you do. You’re perched carefully in the corner, with the tsahìk hunched over you as she carefully wraps your forearm with plant-fibre bandages. The whole space smells like the medicinal herbs used for healing – he guesses that she’s spread healing paste over you.

Something loosens in his chest at the sight of you unbloodied and conscious, though he doesn’t relax just yet.

“Oh, shit.” You sigh when you see him, before offering him a weak little smile.

“What has happened?” He demands, ducking his way under the dried herbs hanging from the woven ceiling as he makes his way towards you.

Mo’at still doesn’t look away from her work. “Where are your manners, Tsu’tey?”

Her tone is sharp enough to chasten him, but he does not relent completely. He comes to a stop over Mo’at’s shoulder and attempts to lean over her in an attempt to see what she’s doing, his tail whipping anxiously around his feet.

When he spots your arm, he makes a wounded sort of noise. Your wrist is all swollen, and if he looks closely he can see the beginning of discolouration around the joint as it begins to bruise. He ends up dropping to his knees beside you. In his haste, he almost pushes Mo’at aside, oblivious to the sharp look she sends his way. 

“What happened, ma’muntxate?” He demands, reaching out to take your wrist in his hand so he can get a better look.

Mo’at knocks his hand away with a resounding slap before hissing a sharp warning at him. “Do not touch while I am bandaging!”

“Is it broken?” He asks, whirling to face the tsahìk. His tail curls around your thigh, squeezing tight as he seeks reassurance in the form of your soft, warm flesh.

“It’s fine-” You start to say, but Tsu’tey isn’t listening to your attempts at placating him.

“It is a sprain.” Mo’at says. Her tone implies that she is sick of dealing with him already, but he pays her no mind.

“How did this happen?” He asks yet again, shuffling forward on his knees so that the bulk of his body is curling around you. There is no danger here in Mo’at’s tent, but it makes him feel better when he hunches protectively around you.

“It’s no big deal,” You say quickly, clearly attempting damage control. “I just- I fell, and I landed a little awkwardly-”

“Fell where?”

That makes you pause, and Tsu’tey’s expression flattens as he waits for your answer.

“Um.. The ladder,” You murmur, glancing down at your lap. “The ladder that leads to the kelku. I slipped climbing up it, and fell. But it wasn’t from very high.”

He hadn’t thought it possible, but he feels his stomach sink even further at that. Fuck, it was his fault. The vine ladder he had woven for you was only meant to be a temporary measure to help you climb up into your shared kelku in the high trees until he could get around to building a more permanent solution. He had considered the possibility of you falling, but never seriously – not even children would fall so easily.

He must look stricken somehow, because your own face begins to contort in response. 

“It was my fault,” You say hurriedly. “I wasn’t paying proper attention, and I slipped. I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

He lets out a soft, low sound, before shaking his head. His jaw is clenched tight. What a stupid mistake for him to make. His tiny soft mate, so frail and weak. He should have known that the ladder was too risky for you to be climbing up and down. Only a sprain; he is so lucky that it was only a sprain. What would he have done if it was something worse? 

Mo’at clicks her tongue, then sits back and surveys her handiwork. It’s as neat and meticulous as ever, the bandages wrapped tight around your injured wrist. 

“There,” Mo’at says simply. “Rest it. It will be just fine in a few days.”

Tsu’tey hardly hears her at all. He’s too busy staring at the bandages, pale green against your bruised skin. This should never have happened. He’s meant to protect you, to keep you safe. That’s what he had promised you. What kind of mate is he, if he can’t even provide a safe way for you to enter the home he had offered you?

He’s pulled out of his cycle of self-flagellation by Mo’at swatting ungently at his head.

“Take your mate and leave,” She says, shooting him an unimpressed look. “No sulking. Just watch after her.”

“Yes, tsahìk.” He says quietly, inclining his head towards her out of respect.

When he turns back to you, you’re already watching him with big, guilty eyes. That only makes him feel worse – why should you feel guilty, when it is him that has failed you?

“Come, ma’yawne,” He murmurs, reaching out to hold you. “I will take you home.”

You open your mouth, no doubt to be stubborn and protest that you can walk yourself, or some other such nonsense, but he doesn’t wait to give you the chance. He just tucks his arms under your back and legs and hauls you up into his arms, holding you close to his chest as he stands.

With one last murmured thanks to Mo’at, he carries you right out of the hut and back into the evening light.

Tsu’tey is willing to admit that over the next few days, he is a little more… vigilant than usual.

“Tsu’tey, seriously,” You complain. “It’s a sprained wrist, it’s nothing!”

He doesn’t justify that with a response. Your injury is not nothing. It is a representation of his failure as a mate, and it hurts his pride to look at the bandages for too long. All he can do is commit himself to ensuring that something like this never happens again.

He brings you food and water in bed, he offers you gifts of books and the silly little glowing pads he manages to bully out of the tawtute in the human science encampment, and he makes sure the kelku is more cushioned and comfortable than ever before. His aim is to make sure that you have everything you need right there in your home, so that you won’t have to leave again – at least, not until he has finished safe-guarding the sloping rope bridge he is attempting to build for you.

Even now, your legs dangle from the edge of the kelku’s entrance as you watch him work on the wide branch below. You’re secure where you are, your hands holding tight to the edge of the tree branch that your legs hang from, but Tsu’tey keeps stealing looks up at you every couple of moments to ensure that you’re still there.

Around the twentieth time he glances up at you, you roll your eyes and meet his gaze with a challenging stare. 

“Why don’t we go for a walk?” You ask, swinging your legs in the air. “It’s a nice day, and I haven’t been out in ages.”

Tsu’tey grunts, but doesn’t answer properly. His tail curls as he weaves another section of his makeshift rope bridge; it will be narrow and a little precarious, but he is certain it will be a better solution than the ladder you had fallen from.

From above, you click your tongue in dissatisfaction. “I know what you’re doing.”

He slants a glance up at you, lips pursed. Once again, he says nothing. Knowing you, you’re not finished speaking yet anyway.

Sure enough, his silence only seems to irritate you.

“I’m not staying up here forever, you know.” You say insistently, and Tsu’tey tenses when you lean forward to get a better look at him as he works on the branch below you. “I know you’re angry at me for getting hurt, but it’s only a sprained wrist and it’s not like-”

“I am not angry.” Tsu’tey interrupts, though he can’t manage to meet your eyes. His ears are pinned to the sides of his head; is that really what you think? 

You let out a clearly frustrated noise. “You’ve hardly spoken to me for days. All you do is work on this stupid bridge-”

He finally looks up at that, lip curling in annoyance as he squints up to you. The rope bridge is admittedly rudimentary, but it’s for you. It’s true that he hasn’t been as demonstrative with his affections as usual for the past couple of days, but you’ve been injured. He couldn’t even think of touching you when you’re hurt – the remnants of bruising around your wrist makes him feel that sense of failure every time he catches sight of them.

When he fails to verbally respond yet again, you scowl at him. “Are you just not going to talk to me?”

At that, he sighs. “What do you want me to say?”

You set your jaw and glare for a second, before promptly shoving yourself to your feet. Tsu’tey tenses once more as you stand, so nerve-wrackingly close to the edge of the kelku, before you turn on your heel and march back inside.

Once you’re gone, Tsu’tey allows his shoulders to drop. Damn. He probably could have handled that better – communication has never been his strong suit. He’s never really felt the compulsion to explain himself or his thinking to anyone before, and now he finds himself at a loss for how to approach his feelings with you.

You think that he’s angry with you, which is absolutely untrue. Are you angry with him? Fuck. 

Sighing, he finishes one last knot in the rope he was working on before dropping it. He needs to sort this out. 

It only takes one jump for him to catch the edge of the kelku with his hands, and then he hauls himself up with ease. Part of the reason that he had been so startled when he realised you had been injured climbing the tree was because it was something that should have been so easy, something that just came naturally to the Omaticaya. It hadn’t occurred to him that it might have been possible for you to fall so easily.

When he steps inside the kelku, he spots your little form curled up on the woven rug atop the cushy leaves he had padded the wooden floor with. You’re holding one of the glowing pad things that the tawtute are always tapping away on, although you don’t appear to be reading anything off it – it seems more like you’re simply staring fixedly at it in an effort to avoid meeting his stare.

He moves slowly towards you, tail held low in as non-threatening a manner as he can manage. You don’t look up, though he can see the way your eyes slide subtly toward him. When he kneels down by your side, you’re forced to raise your gaze towards him.

“I do not mean to upset you, Säsrätx,” He murmurs, his voice low as he bends his head towards you. He does not want you to be angry with him – the thought curdles in his stomach.

You take a slow inhale through your nose, the breath fogging lightly against the clear material of your breathing mask before dissipating. 

“I’m not made of glass, big guy,” You mumble, glancing back down at your hands. “You can’t treat me like a kid just because I got a minor injury.”

Tsu’tey makes a soft grumbling noise in the back of his throat, but doesn’t argue. You’ve never been annoyed at him like this, and he’s surprised by how much he doesn’t like it. He’s never been one to put too much stock in the opinion of others, but this is different. You are his mate, and he doesn’t want to make anything worse.

He adjusts his stance so that he’s crouched at your side, his much bigger body curling over yours as he looms over you. You’re just so small, it makes his palms itch. He hasn’t touched you properly in days, so afraid that he’ll make your injuries worse, but now he’s finding it difficult to keep his hands to himself.

You must be thinking the same thing, because your gaze drifts from his face down over his shoulders and chest, lingering around his woven necklaces and his battle waistband. Tsu’tey preens a little under your eyes, his chest puffing out a little.

“You should not have been hurt like this,” He murmurs, reaching out for your hand. “The kelku should have been safe for you. This was my fault.”

You just sigh, and shake your head. “Don’t be stupid. It was an accident. These things happen.”

Tsu’tey grunts unhappily. He’s too busy peering carefully at your wrist; your wrist and hand look so fragile in his much larger palm, and his lips press together tight as he strokes a careful thumb over the lingering discolouration on your skin. The bruises are almost gone, but he can still see the faint traces remaining.

“I have waited a long time to take a mate and have a family of my own,” He murmurs without looking up at your face. He tilts his head, a wry sort of smirk beginning to grow on his face. “I did not expect it would be with a tawtute, but I would not change things. I have lost too much over the years – I could not take it if something happened to you.”

Your expression wobbles, and then you toss your little piece of technology aside and push yourself up to your knees.

“Tsu’tey,” You whisper, eyes turning soft. “It was only a sprained wrist.”

His tail lashes, but he ducks his head down towards you so that you can cup his face in your little palms. Some of the restlessness in his chest begins to settle now that he has your hands holding his cheeks.

“I do not want you to think less of me as a mate.” He says quietly, reaching up to lay his palm flat over one of your hands on his cheek. “I should have ensured you had a safe way of entering our kelku-”

“Less of you?” You interrupt, choking out a laugh. “Are you kidding? I thought that you would think I was a total skxawng for falling like that. I had literally been promising you earlier that day that I would look after you, and then I ended up hurt like an idiot.”

Tsu’tey just makes a soft, rumbly noise in his chest in an effort to soothe you. To his relief it seems to work, and you relax into his chest. 

“You can take care of me when you are better.” He says, his lips pulling up into a little smirk. It is something he looks forward to.

You hum, tilting your head back so you can look him in the eye with a coy grin. “I’m better now, big guy.”

Tsu’tey starts to snort, to pull back with an eyeroll, but to his surprise you continue grasping at his hand. When he blinks at you, he finds you staring up at him with a determined sort of look about you.

“I mean it,” You whisper, eyes all liquid and pleading. “My arm is fine, Mo’at said so. You haven’t touched me in days.”

Tsu’tey pauses at that. He looks at you properly; behind your breathing mask, your eyelashes are longer and darker than usual, and your lips are glossier. He recognises the traces of what you call makeup, and his ears twitch backwards in surprise. He knows that you wear this when you’re trying to catch his attention, and a little jolt of realisation rockets through him as he looks at you.

“Oh,” He breathes, reaching out to capture your jaw in one hand. “I see. My little mate feels neglected, is that it?”

Your cheeks grow hot in his hand, your eyes flickering away in an attempt to avoid eye contact. Despite your plea for him to touch you, now you appear flustered. 

“Yes.” You whine, tilting your head into his hand. Despite your embarrassment, you manage to appear semi-confident when you finally raise your chin to look at him. “I want you to touch me.”

The edge of your breathing mask digs into his palm, and he starts to grin as he winds his long fingers into your hair. Oh, that soothes his wounded pride. Despite his mistake with the ladder, you still want him. 

He ducks his head and presses a kiss to your neck, humming in satisfaction when you tilt your head back immediately to allow him access to your throat. Tsu’tey lets out a soft breath, and reaches for your waist so he can pull you into his lap. You go eagerly, clambering onto his thighs with a grin. You’re just so pliable, so trusting and needy. As soon as you’re settled in his lap, you start to grind yourself down against the growing stiffness beneath his tewng.

He lets out a quiet, surprised little huff. You really do want him to touch you, and your eagerness rushes straight to his head. He really has been neglecting you if you’re reacting like this just from a simple little neck kiss.

“I will make you feel good, ma’yawntutsyìp.” He promises – he is determined to make up for the last few days of distance between you, and he wants so desperately to taste you.

But when he begins to kiss his way down your chest, your belly, towards your thighs, your fingers weave into the roots of his hair and you tug lightly to stop him.

“As nice as your mouth would be,” You breathe, your mouth curving into a grin. “I said I’d make you feel good, didn’t I?”

His ears twitch, and he tilts his head as he eyes you carefully. You look earnest, but he’s not sure if he understands. You do not want him to use his mouth on you? Why not?

When he doesn’t make any immediate moves, you appear to take initiative yourself. You reach out to take his hand in your much smaller one, and pull it down beneath the hem of the little tewng that had been specially made for you. When his fingers make contact with the wet heat of your cunt, he goes stock still.

“You…” He starts, his brow furrowing as his fingers slide along the slickness between your legs. 

He dips one finger inside, awed by how easily it slips in. It seems like you’re already all stretched out, far wetter than natural – he recognises the texture of the tawtute-made liquid you used on occasion to make the size of him easier to take. Lube, you call it. He slips another finger in, and you moan softly at the slide of it.

“You are ready.” Tsu’tey rumbles in surprise, his fingers twitching inside you.

“I’ve been ready for days,” You complain, dropping your head against his shoulder as you move your hips, attempting to get his fingers working deeper. “Waiting for you to get over your stupid worry and just fuck me.”

That just about sends him over the edge entirely. You had prepared yourself for him just to save time with stretching? The thought of you walking around the kelku for days, all sloppy and dripping down your legs as you wait for him to emerge from his brooding mood and please you sends his thoughts scattering. Fuck. How could he have been so preoccupied with his stupid rope bridge when you were sitting waiting for him to pay attention to you?

“I will fuck you,” He breathes, nuzzling at your jaw eagerly. The human term is harsh on his tongue, but he enjoys the coarseness of it.

“Don’t be gentle.” You blurt, still writhing against the bulge beneath his tewng and sending zings of pleasure shooting up his spine. “Fuck me like you mean it. I won’t break.”

Tsu’tey lets out a soft hiss. Well. What kind of a man would he be if he did not obey his little mate’s orders?

Though you have been making demands, it still seems to surprise you when he launches into movement. He grips your hips and flips you around – it’s a quick movement, and it takes you a moment to regain your bearings when you find yourself on your hands and knees on the soft leaves he’s padded the kelku’s bouncy floor with.

“Fuck, yes.” You breathe, guessing where he’s going with this immediately. You arch your back, pushing your ass back eagerly into his hands as he unties your tewng and tosses it aside.

Tsu’tey bears his teeth in a grin, lowering his face to lay a hot, biting kiss between your shoulderblades. 

“Needy girl,” He rumbles, groping at your ass as his thumbs roll around your puffy, slick pussy and pull you apart so that he can admire the sticky strands of arousal that drip from you. “You are so swollen here. My poor, neglected little mate. I will make this up to you.”

When brushes his fingers through the puffy lips of your cunt and then pushes inside, you can't quite stifle the whine that escapes you. It drives him crazy. You’re still squirming even on your hands and knees beneath him, and Tsu’tey hunches over you so he can plaster his big chest over your back. 

His erection presses thick and heavy against your ass. He grinds into you at the same time as he reaches around and rubs quick, tight circles into your clit. You practically choke, alternating between pushing back into his erection which is laid flushed and hot between your thighs, and pushing forward into his hand, which is still toying with your pussy.

“Come on then, big guy,” You say, your voice wavering slightly as he rubs at your clit. “Stop telling me how good you can fuck me and actually do it.”

That makes Tsu’tey snicker into the hot skin of your neck. Oh, how he can’t wait to fulfill the orders of his bossy little mate. 

Grinning, he reaches out and places a hand on the back of your neck before exerting gentle pressure to push you down onto the padded floor. You go willingly, until you’re face down and ass up in a position that has Tsu’tey’s mouth watering. He can smell your arousal, so sweet and dizzying as you lay exposed and waiting for him.

You crane your neck around so that you can see him as he eyes your arched back and exposed behind eagerly. You look flustered, but your eyes are still challenging as you watch him and wait for his next move.

“So impatient, ma’tawtute,” He rumbles, amused. 

He smooths a hand over your waist and down over your hip and ass. A quick, open-palmed smack is delivered to the soft, squishy flesh of your ass, and you rock forward with a choked gasp. He was careful to control the pressure he used, but even still the hint of force makes your soft cunt flutter around nothing. 

“Come on, big guy,” You gasp, laying your cheek flat against the padded floor as you push your ass back towards him eagerly. “Come on, come on-”

With you all spread out and wet and begging beneath him, his self-control crumbles. He tears off his tewng and grabs at his cock, stroking it with a growled rumble before rubbing the sensitive tip against the slick folds of your cunt. 

You’re gasping already, before he even begins to press inside, and he can’t help but feel impossibly endeared by your stubborn nature. Look at you – so determined and eager to take him.

When he does begin to push inside, you drop your head down to the padded floor and moan, clearly just short of overwhelmed. You’re so tight, Tsu’tey swears he nearly blacks out. He pushes in slowly, his front plastered to your little back as one of his arms reaches under your stomach to support you. The two of you are breathing heavily; you from the struggle of accepting his size inside you, and him from the vice-like grip of your cunt.

“Breathe and relax, my small mate,” He grunts, squeezing his eyes tight as he nuzzles into your shoulder. “You are taking me so well.”

You do as he says unthinkingly, gasping a breath and forcing yourself to relax as he presses inside of you inch by excruciating inch. You can't seem to decide if you want him to hurry up and get it over with or go slow and gentle, and you keep alternating between twitching back on his cock and flinching away from it. Tsu’tey, however, is careful to keep a very medium pace; he pushes evenly and steadily until he's seated inside of you, hunched over your back, and then pauses to let you adjust. 

As you tremble, face pressed into the floor as your pussy flutters frantically around his cock, Tsu’tey presses soft, insistent kisses all around your back and shoulders. It feels as though you’re trying to squeeze his cock right off, and he grunts a moan into the soft flesh of your bare back as you finally begin to ease up around him.

Then, finally, he begins to move.

"Fuck!" You gasp, squirming a little as he starts up at a steady pace.

When his hands come down to grip your hips and keep you in place, you grab at the leaf-padded floor, fingers scrabbling for purchase as the thrusting of his hips rocks your whole body forward. 

He's barely started fucking you at all, but Tsu’tey’s thoughts are already scattered and his body feels like it's close to overheating already. There’s something about seeing you so hungry for him that sends him wild – he’s never taken you from behind before, but the view of your ass stuck up in the air as your cunt sucks him so greedily makes his head spin.

"You feel so good," Tsu’tey murmurs into the side of your throat before biting at it, "So tight around me. Oh, fuck, that's it."

Each thrust pushes you further up the floor, until you’re forced to stop grabbing at the leaf-padding and instead to reach behind you and grab at one of his hands. He takes your hand eagerly, wrapping your odd little five-fingered hand in his own four-fingered one and pinning it to the floor as his other hand uses your hip to pull you back into him. You moan quite happily as you bury your face into the leaf-padding as he fucks you into the floor.

It doesn’t take long before you’re pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts as best you can, and he bares his teeth at the sight beneath him. You’re just adorable – you glance over your shoulder and smile dazedly as you tighten up around him. He makes a soft sound of pleasure and wraps his arm firmly around your stomach to keep you close to him.

“Come on, ma’yawne,” He rumbles, nipping lightly at the juncture of your bare shoulder as you shudder beneath him. “Talk to me.”

You manage an embarrassingly breathless little moan in response, and Tsu’tey snorts a wild sort of laugh. It feels a little as though he's coming apart at the seams. Tsu’tey is big, a fact which is apparently emphasised even further in this position, and it's overwhelming but it's so good — you feel so delightfully perfect, all wrapped around him like a vice as he fills you up.

He must be hitting a spot inside you that makes your legs go weak, because your jaw is slack and you keep making senseless little gasping sounds as you go limp as he fucks into you. It’s so sweet that he thinks momentarily about relenting, but you had asked for this. You did not want him to be gentle, not tonight.

"I didn't hear you." He says, a warning in his voice. His fingers weave into the roots of your hair and fist at the base of your skull, before he pulls your head back so that your face is no longer buried in the floor. “I want to hear you talk to me, my girl.”

"Oh, fucking goddamn shit-" You manage to choke out. His hand pulling your hair has somehow caused you to go semi-boneless as he fucks into you.

He picks up his pace, his hips rolling into yours so that your breath is catching in your chest and your eyes are rolling wildly. When his hand slips under you to start playing with your clit, you make a soft, broken-sounding moan and throw your head back eagerly.

Tsu’tey is so close to coming that his head is actually swimming, his thoughts slow as molasses as every nerve and synapse tunes into you beneath him so that the only thing he can actually focus on is the feel of you gasping and writhing below. He has always taken mating with you seriously, but right now it feels as though his only purpose is touching and stroking and fucking you so good that you forget everything other than him.

“Oh god,” You wheeze, your little hand squeezing tight around his fingers as his other hand uses his grip on your hips to pull you back into his thrusts. “Oh god, oh god, oh god-”

He recognises that frantic edge to your voice, and he bares his teeth in pleasure as he realises just how close you are to coming. His balls slap against your clit with every thrust, and he can feel the way they begin to tighten and draw up as his thrusts get faster. He’s close himself, his teeth practically buzzing with his oncoming orgasm, but he clenches his jaw as he attempts to hold it off. He wants so desperately to come inside you, but only after he’s experienced you creaming and squealing around his cock.

He adjusts his angle just slightly, but it's enough to have you dropping bonelessly back to the floor as you gasp. 

"Fuck, there, don't stop!"

He snickers, though it trails off into a winded sort of snarl. His bossy, demanding little demon of a mate. Your orders only make his cock harder, and he lets out a whole body rumble as he feels his cock start to pulse inside your soft, wet, tight insides. He needs you to come now, before he completely loses his mind.

“Come, ma’yawntutsyìp, my precious one,” He grunts, leaving nipping kisses along the length of your spine. “I want to feel your release around me.”

The combination of his cock rubbing and grinding against the soft spongey part inside of you and the messy stimulation of your clit has your legs trembling and pussy quivering wildly. It feels like you’re being strung tighter and tighter under him as your orgasm draws closer and your breath begins coming in rapid pants. 

You just manage to get out the words "Oh, yes-!" before the pleasure growing in your belly seems to crest and your back bows as you start to cum. All of the pressure that's been building up in your body is set free with the sweetest release, made all the sweeter by the fact that Tsu’tey keeps rocking into you the whole way through, the heavy head of his cock grinding hard against your G-spot the whole time.

Your eyes roll back and your mouth drops open as your orgasm rocks through you, and Tsu’tey watches with wide eyes and avid interest as your entire little body shudders and shakes beneath him.

“Yes,” He breathes, his whole face contorting in toe-curling pleasure as your cunt clenches and ripples around him. “Yes, my love, so good.”

Your orgasm seems to last forever, leaving your chest heaving and back glittering with sweat, but eventually you reach back and slap at his thigh.

“Turn me around,” You wheeze, sounding winded. “Keep going, I want you to come in me-”

Fuck, how he loves it when you make demands. He doesn’t even wait for you to finish speaking before he pulls out, gripping your hips and flipping you around so that you’re on your back. He pushes back in immediately, snarling out a desperate groan as his cock splits you open all over again, you wrapping him up all snug and tight inside.

One of his hands snakes under your back and curls around your waist to pull you up against him as he pounds into you. With the other arm, he's balanced himself on his forearm beside your head for leverage as he drives into you hard and fast. He is still conscious of your limits, of your soft and fragile little human body, but his head is reeling from the sheer sensation and from the squealing little moans that are escaping your mouth. He’s still careful not to hurt you, but he’s also rolling his hips into your more frantically than he’s ever done before.

When you hike your little legs up over Tsu’tey’s narrow hips and squeeze tight around him, he lets out a rather wrecked, desperate sounding whimper. He drops his head to your chest, shoving the woven chest covering out of the way so that he can suck one of your tits into his mouth, sloppily rolling your nipple around on his tongue and clutching at your ass with one hand when you arch into him.

“Oh, fuck,” You gasp, arching your back so that your breasts are pushed further into his face. Your voice is hoarse — you sound absolutely wrecked. “Oh god, yes, please-”

He's hovering right on the precipice of orgasm — it's obvious by his desperate open-mouthed panting, the way he hunches over as his thrusting starts to turn clumsy, and the way he's messily sucking at your tits.

What really pushes him over the edge, to his honest surprise, is when you moan out, “Fuck, I.. Tsu’tey, I really love you-”

Tsu’tey lets out a choked, desperate groan before dropping his forehead to your breastbone as he comes inside of you. It’s like a wave of white rushes through his mind, wiping everything clean inside his head as he strains desperately against you. The motion of his hips stutters and falters as his brow pinches, and he lets out a long, low moan as he grasps at you, his eyes squeezing shut tight as he feels his cum flood your cunt and overflow, dribbling down your ass.

"Oh." He groans, shivering as his elbows give out and he drops down on top of you so that you’re plastered together from head to toe. He tucks his face into your neck and kisses under your ear, enjoying the heat from your overworked, sweaty bodies while also being hyper-conscious of crushing you.

You’re both covered in a sheen of sweat, which makes your bodies slide slickly together whenever either of you move. Tsu’tey’s hand drifts down over your ass, and he squeezes lazily at the soft, squishy flesh there.

“Are you well, my mate?” He rumbles, still a little dazed as he lifts his head to squint down at you. “Did I- are you hurt?”

You’re staring at the ceiling, mouth softly ajar as you take deep, heaving breaths. His question makes you laugh, though it’s a quiet, breathless little sound.

“No,” You whisper, your mouth curving in a dopy sort of smile. “Only sore in the best way. Fuck, that was good.”

The positive affirmation is exactly what he needed to hear, and he feels his tail begin to sway in slow satisfaction. You had been right, after all – you could take it, and you were not necessarily as delicate as he had feared after your injury. The lazy, contented smile on your face only reassures him further that you are happy and unscathed.

He pulls out carefully, his ears twitching as he leaves your perfect, wet warmth. You hiss at the sensation too, and he rumbles a quiet apology before running the pads of his fingers over your swollen, puffy pussy; his come is dripping slowly out of you, and he rubs absently at the wet white trails to massage it into your skin.

“Bring me to the bed,” You say, though it lacks the demanding edge of the previous requests you had made. You sound sleepy, as though he had entirely worn you out.

His mouth twitches, and he reaches down to scoop you into his arms. You go easily, your head rolling around on your neck as you nuzzle into his chest. To his surprise, his own knees feel a little jelly-like when he moves to stand and put weight on them. Damn, he doesn’t think an orgasm has ever left him reeling like this afterwards.

When he lays you out on the tawtute-style bed he had made for you out of plant fibres and leaves, he crawls up next to you and stretches out, his tail undulating in lazy satisfaction. You roll over and shove your face up against his still glistening chest, burrowing close to him.

“Told you I could take it.” You say. You sound exhausted, but so damn pleased with yourself.

Tsu’tey just laughs, a tired sort of chuckle as he nuzzles his nose into your sweet-smelling hair.

“You take it so well, ma’yawntutsyìp,” He assures you fondly, pressing a little kiss to the top of your small, blunt little ear. 

When he takes your hand and pulls it up to his face, he gives a small smile and presses his mouth to the near-invisible remnants of bruising around your wrist. He bares his sharp teeth against your fragile skin as he murmurs, “And I love you too.”

ミ sex education

part one. | part two.

🍓 pairing: jake sully x human fem reader x neytiri

🍓 tags: nsfw, best friend!jake, dilf jake cause i can't help myself, jealousy, allien cultural misunderstandings,size kink, alien genitalia, human x na'vi, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, vaginal sex, threesomes

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

You have no idea how you’ve managed to get yourself into this position.

Well, that’s not strictly true. You suppose it all started with your best friend stuffing you full with his fingers until you had trembled apart in his arms. 

You awake the morning after, loose-limbed and jelly-jointed with a sense of bone-deep satisfaction, naked limbs tangled with Jake’s big blue ones. He’s comically overlarge for your bed, his legs hanging off the edge of the mattress, and one of his big arms is looped lazily over your back. 

You had expected things to be awkward afterwards, but when Jake finally stretches himself awake he just greets you with a yawn, slaps your ass, and asks if he’ll see you later on for dinner. When you agree he kisses the top of your head, wiggles his way back into his loincloth, and gives you a cheeky wink before sauntering out to return to the village.

You’re left bewildered and alone in your room. Truthfully, part of you had expected him to freak out a little over awaking naked in your bed after indulging in inappropriate activities with you the night before; maybe panic and call it all a crazy mistake. You certainly hadn’t expected him to act as though waking up with you naked in his arms was the most natural thing in the world.

You spend the day alternating between overthinking and relishing the memories of Jake’s hands on you. Good god, had you been missing out on that all along? He had seemed so casual about it all, as though it was simply a given that he would finger you to climax if that’s what you wanted. 

You have to take a cold shower shortly after Jake leaves, partly to calm yourself down and partly to wash off the scent of Jake that still clings to you. If your dull human nose can pick up on it, you can only imagine that you must stink to a Na’vi, so you make sure to scrub at yourself with your berry-scented shower gel until you smell of nothing but artificial human soap.

You’re still a little nervous when you wander into the village later that day, but you’re greeted as enthusiastically as ever by the whole Sully family. Jake ruffles your hair and winks at you before clapping Neteyam on the shoulder and leading him off towards the cookfire to gather meat for the family. 

You’re left with Kiri and Lo’ak, and you can’t help but smile as the kids start to shepherd you towards the usual spot where you all usually take meals.

“– and then Lo’ak fell all the way down and landed flat on his back,” Kiri is telling you a story with great relish, walking close to you. “And all the girls he had been trying to impress thought it was so funny–”

“It was on purpose.” Lo’ak blusters, picking up the pace so that he can come up on your other side and interject. “I was trying to make them laugh–”

“Oh yeah? Did you mean to burst into tears too–?”

“Shut up!” Lo’ak hisses at his sister, but it comes out as more of a whine. “I did not burst into tears!”

The familiar sound of their bickering soothes away the last of your nerves. Your shoulders loosen, and you start to smile as you follow the kids towards their usual spot for dinner. Neytiri is already sitting there with Tuk, brushing back her youngest daughter’s hair and murmuring softly to her. 

Your stomach clenches at the sight of her; you have no idea how she’s going to react to you, and you have no idea how you should act around her. You’re still trying to wrap your head around the fact that Jake pleasuring you like that had been her idea, and you feel yourself start to sweat at the thought that she might act differently around you now.

As Kiri and Lo’ak approach the log where their mother is sitting, she looks up and smiles when she sees them. She really is very beautiful; her amber eyes are bright, the skin at the corner of her eyes crinkling up with joy at the sight of her children. She’s graceful even when she’s sitting down, her long limbs corded with lithe muscle as she stretches out next to Tuk. 

Just the sight of her makes you feel clumsy and ungainly, and you feel your cheeks heat as you approach.

Her eyes flick from her kids to you where you’re following behind them, and you tense a little as you wait for her reaction. To your surprise, her face doesn’t contort into an expression of disgust like you had been expecting – her smile gets smaller, almost knowing, but no less genuine as you come to a halt by the log she’s sitting on. 

Lo’ak and Kiri are still bickering as they flop down on a log next to their mother’s, but Neytiri is still looking at you. Her eyes flicker from your head to your toes rapidly, as though checking you for injuries.

You’re wearing the Na’vi clothes that have been gifted to you again today, and you shift a little self-consciously under her gaze. You feel more exposed than ever, and you’re hyper-aware of the subtle bruising around your tits from Jake’s teeth; you just pray that they’re not obvious to anyone else.

Neytiri reaches out to you, and you blink in bewilderment as she grabs at a string of broken beads on your top that you hadn’t even noticed before now. She peers at it critically, before looking up to your face with a small frown. For a moment you wonder if she’s angry at you, and feel your stomach sink rapidly until she speaks.

“He was gentle?” She asks quietly, and you twitch when her palm grazes the side of your breast. “He forgets himself, sometimes, and you are very weak.”

“I–” Your tongue feels too large in your mouth. You stumble over your words clumsily; your whole world has narrowed down to that one, confusing point of contact between Neytiri’s hand and the underside of your tit as she studies the broken string of beads. “He was– it was good.”

Neytiri hums, and you swear her mouth twitches as though she’s holding back a laugh. “You should have asked for it earlier. You know we would not have left you feeling neglected.”

You make an odd noise in the back of your throat, mortified. You dart a panicked look towards the kids, but Tuk has wandered over to Lo’ak and Kiri and they’re all laughing together a few feet away, blissfully ignorant of your conversation.

“I– I didn’t–”

Neytiri chooses to ignore your fumbling, instead leaning down closer to your chest so that she can tie the snapped string of your top. The back of her hand brushes over your nipple and you tremble, confused as warmth blooms in your lower belly.

“You have needs that must be met,” Neytiri murmurs, her voice low enough that it’s just for you. “You do not need to look elsewhere to have them maintained.”

Your heart leaps and your stomach flutters, and you hurriedly lower your gaze. This is far from the reaction you had expected from her, and it makes you nervous. 

Stop it, you think furiously to yourself. They’re your friends! They’re married!

“Right.” You choke out, cheeks burning. “I– um… thanks.”

She nods, but then pauses. Her face is hovering close to your chest so that she can look closely at the snapped string of beads on your top, but she leans even closer as her nostrils flare. A small frown creases her brow, and her pretty golden eyes snap up to look at you. She’s so intense, and being caught up in her gaze like this has you feeling like a fly trapped in amber.

“You have used the demon soap.” She notes, still frowning. 

One of her knuckles brush over your nipple as she fiddles with mending your top, and you end up jolting at the sensation as blood rushes to your face. You can only pray that she didn’t notice your reaction.

“Oh, yeah.” You choke out a reedy laugh. You know that the Na’vi don’t like the artificial, acrid smell of human soap, but you had figured it was the best way to get the scent of your activities from the night before off you. “I, uh… I reeked of Jake. Thought it would be best to wash it off before, um… coming back to the village.”

Neytiri hums with a frown, and with one last deft movement of her fingers, the broken tie on your top has been temporarily mended. However her hands linger somewhat strangely, and when she withdraws from you her wrist ends up rubbing a little oddly over the side of your neck. You have no idea what’s going on, and you have no idea how you should be reacting. 

All you can do is swallow thickly, your throat bobbing against the warm skin of Neytiri’s wrist before she pulls away from you.

“It is good that Jake pleased you,” She says simply, turning her head to look casually towards the fire. When you follow her gaze, you see that Jake and Neteyam are returning from the cookfire with their hands full of food. “I worried that he would not.”

That makes you choke out a surprised laugh. “Wow. No faith in his abilities, huh?”

“It is not that,” Neytiri hums, though you can see the corner of her mouth curl in a repressed smile. “He was watching you all evening, getting worked up. I thought he may not be able to last long enough to satisfy you fully.”

That makes you laugh properly, surprised enough that you’re not able to hide your delight at hearing Neytiri roasting Jake. Your conversations with Neytiri alone don’t often poke fun at Jake, and you feel oddly thrilled by it. She offers you a small smirking smile, and you bite at your lip shyly as you return it. 

You’re still stifling laughter when Jake and Neteyam reach you all again; Jake steps over to you and Neytiri as Neteyam carries his food over to the other kids.

“Hey, what’re my girls giggling about?” Jake drawls, sitting heavily next to you on the log. He’s holding several nikt'chey filled with sweet meat and vegetables in one large hand, and a little wooden carved bowl full of teylu in the other.

Neytiri grabs at a plant-based nikt'chey, but instead of eating it she passes it to you. You smile, flattered; teylu is an important food for the Na’vi, but you’ve never enjoyed the texture of the little grub worms. You’ve spent so many years sharing meals with the Sully’s, but it still surprises you when she shows that she’s noticed your preferences.

“I was asking about your performance,” Neytiri says casually, her expression growing coy. “Tawtute believes you could have been better.”

If that pricks at Jake’s pride, he doesn’t show it. He just laughs as though Neytiri has told a very funny joke, before he turns to you. He wraps an arm around your waist and hauls you up into his lap, still clutching his food in the other hand – the motion is so familiar for the both of you that he’s able to situate you across his thighs with ease, even one-handed. 

Jake has been pulling you into his lap at mealtimes for a long time now, and yet this time feels different. His hand lingers around your waist, coasts briefly over your thigh. He’s always been touchy, but this time your brain keeps offering up memories from the night before; his big hot hands touching you, his mouth devouring you, his low voice murmuring insistently in your ear. 

Your face burns, but you’re determined not to show it. You don’t want to be the one to make this weird.

“Now I know that’s a lie,” Jake croons, his breath warm on the back of your ear as he leans towards Neytiri. “You should have heard her cry–”

“Oh my god,” You hiss, whirling in Jake’s lap to slap at his chest hard enough that your hand stings. “I did not cry, you unbearable jackass–”

“It is normal to be overwhelmed by pleasure after so long of…” Neytiri pauses, her brow pinching just slightly as though she’s trying to remember specific phrasing that she’s heard before. “‘Not getting any.’”

Your jaw actually drops. The sound of the human phrase dropping from her lips is jarring, even more so when you know that it’s Jake she heard it from.

“Oh, you guys are the worst.” You grumble, curling into yourself in mortification.

The two of them snicker together as you scowl, and Jake pats your flank as though trying to calm an irritated cat. Neytiri, at least, bites at her lip and tries to hide her amusement.

“No shame in it, honey,” Jake says, and you can hear the stupid grin in his voice. “I’m just very good.”

You roll your eyes so hard that it almost makes you dizzy, and when you glance to the side you see that Neytiri has a similar expression on her face; this time, it’s your turn to laugh with her, with Jake as the subject of your snickering.

“Do not get too confident, ma Jake,” Neytiri croons, leaning in so that she’s resting her body against his side. “You have only pleasured her once, and it cannot have been that good – she has not said much about it.”

Jake makes a sound of pure offense even as he wraps the arm that’s not holding you around Neytiri’s shoulders. “What? Nah, she loved it. C’mon, honey, help me out here.”

Neytiri’s eyes slide to you as she takes a dainty bite of her food, and you can see the conspiratorial little smile that she’s trying to hide. Your own lips start to twitch in response, and you hide your own reaction behind your nikt'chey.

“Oh,” You say lightly, keeping your expression as neutral as possible. “He was okay.”

Instead of wounding his pride, your ribbing just makes him laugh. His arm tightens around your belly, holding you close to his chest as he ruffles Neytiri’s hair – she hisses playfully at him, though he just grins at her.

“Oh, you asshole,” He murmurs into your ear, his chest rumbling against your back as his bulk looms over you, “What, I wasn’t nice enough to you? I wouldn’t have known it from all the whimpering.”

Blood rushes to your face, and you barely suppress the urge to hide your face completely in your hands. You hold the nikt'chey up in front of your masked face in an attempt to hide, mortified when Neytiri chuckles softly.

“Alright,” She says, reaching out to pat at your thigh with her large, slender hand. “Enough. Tawtute is embarrassed.”

Jake just snickers, but mercifully gives up on his playful bantering in favour of taking a large bite of his own nikt'chey. His hand stays firmly planted across your middle, large thumb stroking over your exposed skin there every couple of moments. His touchiness isn’t anything new, but your skin is hot and sensitive and you have to fight back shivers every time he caresses your bare skin. Your stomach is alive with butterflies, shy arousal simmering at a low boil deep in your belly.

You’re antsy, and it’s only made worse by the fact that Neytiri still hasn’t removed her hand from your thigh. It just lingers there as she leans into Jake’s side, as though it’s just perfectly natural and comfortable for her to allow her touch to idle around the exposed skin of your thigh.

You wonder distantly if you’re reading too much into this. Jake has always been touchy, and it’s not that unusual that Neytiri has left her large, soft palm resting against the expanse of your thigh with her fingers curling absently around the sensitive skin of your inner knee. 

Sure, it might feel as though you’re boiling up a little on the inside from the overwhelming contact of their big hands on your exposed body, but you push your reaction down the best you can. Maybe you’re just super conscious now that the nature of your relationship has changed. It seems like you’re the only one that feels that shift though, because Jake and Neytiri are so casual about the way they’re touching you, as though nothing has changed at all.

You’re so busy trying to appear calm and measured and entirely unaffected that you hardly notice when Jake pauses his eating to turn his face towards you with a curious frown. He sniffs at you once, twice, before glancing towards Neytiri and raising an eyebrow with a barely stifled smirk. 

She just blinks back at him innocently, though there’s an unmistakable look of mischief about her eyes – whatever they’re communicating about silently, Jake seems to find it amusing. 

The interaction flies mostly over your head, too distracted with the way Jake’s thigh flexes beneath you when he shifts on the log and the way Neytiri has started to draw absent-minded little patterns around your kneecap. While Jake has always been clingy, Neytiri has always been more reserved in herself. Now, with her touching you like this, you feel absolutely thrown. It’s like someone has turned on a white noise machine in your head; all you can hear is static.

“Sa’nu,” Tuk warbles from a few feet away. “Lo’ak is being mean to me.”

“I am not! Tuk, stop being such a snitch–”

Neytiri’s eyes turn sharp, and she whirls to glare at her children. “What is happening over there?”

Jake rests his chin on your shoulder as he allows his wife to take the lead on dealing with the children. It’s comfortable, and you allow yourself to melt back into his embrace, like usual. Everything feels so normal, as though last night was just a fever dream.

As Neytiri scolds the children, Jake turns his face so that his flat, cat-like nose is nuzzling into your temple. It’s almost like he’s heard your thoughts and wants to brush them away.

“You okay?” Jake murmurs in your ear. “Last night wasn’t too much?”

You laugh a little wheezily. “No, it– no. It was… it was great. I was only joking, before.”

“Yeah, I know.” He snorts, “You’ve never been a good liar, anyway.”

“Fuck off,” You grumble, wriggling on his lap and nudging your elbow back into his stomach. He groans, but you can tell he’s exaggerating the amount of pain he’s in. “Your dick isn’t nearly as big as your head is, you know that?”

Jake lets out a startled, full-belly laugh at that, his head tilting back as his arm tightens around your middle. He seems to find that very amusing, and he’s still snickering when he leans in to press a kiss to your temple under the strap of your mask. 

Your stomach trembles a little, and you can’t help yourself from leaning back into the warmth of his chest – Jake has always expressed his affection physically, satisfying your own desperate skin hunger, but now that you’ve experienced his touch more intimately you find yourself craving more in a way that’s beginning to freak you out a little. You’ve never really thought about Jake like this before, and you can’t help but feel guilty. 

After all, you’re the one who’s looking at him differently now – as far as you’re aware, nothing has changed for Jake. Though he seems very flirty, that’s the way he always is! The only reason he had touched you like that last night was because he wanted to help you out.

Neytiri turns back from the children after giving them one last warning glare, shuffling a little closer and tilting her head so she’s peering down at you. Her hand is still on your knee; it hadn’t shifted an inch even when she had turned to hiss at the children, and now she squeezes at it a little to get your attention. 

“What is funny?” She wonders.

You clear your throat, a little flustered, and mutter, “Your husband is a moron.”

Neytiri’s lips twitch, and she darts an amused look over your head at Jake as his head looms over your shoulder. 

“Yes,” She agrees. “He is a skxawng.”

“Alright, alright,” Jake says hastily, adjusting you on his lap so that you’re pulled right back against his chest, “No ganging up on me, thanks. Besides, I know you both love me.”

Neytiri makes eye contact with you, then gives you a conspiratorial little eye roll. You giggle, impossibly pleased with the sense of camaraderie between the two of you. You even push your knee a little further into her hand, enjoying the contact.

“Will there be more dancing later?” You wonder, turning to look back at Neytiri with a smile. You remember the wondrous dancing from the night before, and find yourself hoping to catch a glimpse of the mating season dancing once more.

Neytiri hesitates, her head tilting to the side like she’s confused. “You are very interested in mating season,” She says slowly. “Even still.” She turns and gives Jake a strange look – one that’s almost chiding.

You’re not sure you know what she means, so you just shrug. “The dancing was pretty. I enjoyed watching it.”

Neytiri hums thoughtfully, her mouth twitching. Her chiding expression turns playful, and she leans in to murmur to you, “We will dance for you later, if you wish to see it.”

You almost do a double take at that, eyes growing wide as you choke on your own saliva in surprise. Behind you, Jake laughs at your reaction, his fingers stroking absently over the soft skin of your belly. It takes a moment for you to register that Neytiri must have been joking, and then you laugh nervously, unsure how to respond.

Jake just snickers, and leans over to nudge at Neytiri’s shoulder. You’re still not used to how beautiful Jake and Neytiri are, how perfectly matched. They ebb and flow against each other, always communicating with just looks or gestures. Jake has always been pure raw passion, while Neytiri is more intimate and reserved about her emotions. They compliment each other so well, something you’ve always admired about them. 

You’ve always thought that you would love to find something like that for yourself, but now it’s like your thoughts have taken a turn. Now it’s like you’re looking at them and wanting them; it feels as though your brain is rotting from the inside out.

The village is bustling full of life, the smell of sweet meat sizzling and the sounds of the People laughing and children squealing filling the air for dinnertime. You force yourself to relax in Jake’s arms, trying to act casual in the face of his and Neytiri’s teasing – fucking your friend was one thing, but now you find yourself utterly flustered at the thought of him and his wife dancing for you, of thinking about where things might go from there.

It’s a mercy when Lo’ak shuffles over, his presence promptly putting an end to any suggestive conversation. You’re almost desperately grateful; you don’t think you’d be able to survive much more of their teasing.

Lo’ak is quiet when he settles next to Jake, a little moody. It seems that he’s come over less because he actually wants to talk to his parents, and more because he’s trying to escape Kiri, who is still teasing him over whatever embarrassing mistake he had made while training.

Undeterred by Lo’ak’s scowl, you lean over and give him a little smile. You’ve always had a soft spot for Lo’ak – you love all the Sully kids, of course, but Lo’ak has always been your secret little favourite. The kid is funny, so like Jake, and so starved for recognition in a way that you recognise from yourself. When you reach out to pat his head, he leans into your touch with a little pout.

“Are they bullying you?” You ask teasingly, brushing his braids back in an attempt to neaten them.

Lo’ak just scowls even fiercer, but he doesn’t move away from your hand. “Kiri’s being an asshole.”

“Hey!” Jake says sharply. “Don’t talk like that about your sister.”

You offer Lo’ak a sympathetic little smile, before leaning over to whisper, “Are you still upset about falling out of that tree?”

Lo’ak’s ears pin back as he winces, clearly embarrassed. “I didn’t fall. I slipped.”

“Ah,” You murmur, fighting a smile. “Of course. Completely different.”

From there, the evening mellows into a familiar, laid-back atmosphere that you’re familiar with. Spending time with the Sullys like this has always been easy, and you find yourself almost deliriously relieved that nothing has changed. You had been so anxious that sleeping with Jake would have totally ruined the dynamic between you and the whole family.

To tell the truth, you’re not quite sure what to make of the fact that it hasn’t.

You sit sprawled across Jake’s lap all evening, with one of Neytiri’s hands settled over your knee. Jake is always pulling you across his large striped thighs, supporting you with a massive arm around your back, but this somehow feels even more intimate than usual; or maybe it’s all in your head.

You try not to think too hard about it. After everyone has finished eating, the children all come to gather around Jake as he tells stories. Both you and Neytiri exchange eyerolls frequently – Jake is predictable, and always chooses the same tales to tell.

“—Your mother tried to kill me when we first met. She thought I was a moron, but I thought she was beautiful.”

Tuk looks absolutely enchanted by the story, despite having heard it a hundred times. Even Kiri, at the peak of her teenage angst, is listening with a little smile on her face. 

Neytiri snorts, but she’s smiling too. “I still think you are a moron, yawntu.”

The kids laugh, and you hide a smile of your own. You feel at home here, with Jake’s family like this. That usual sense of pervasive loneliness that usually haunts you is entirely absent, chased away by Jake and Neytiri’s warm touches. 

“What about um’ma?” Tuk asks, shifting closer with a bright smile on her face as she turns her attention towards you. “Tell us about how you met um’ma, dad!”

You had been getting sleepy, but her question wakes you right up. The kids have always called you um’ma, for as long as you can remember. It’s like an affectionate name for mom, as far as you’re aware. You’ve always sort of assumed that it’s somewhat teasing. You know it’s not entirely unusual for Na’vi children to refer to older female figures in affectionate terms like that – the school children had called Grace sa’nok, a much more formal name.

“Oh, god,” You breathe with a little wince. “No, that’s not–”

But it’s too late. Jake is only delighted to tell that story, too.

“The first time we met, your um’ma walked right past me.” Jake says, launching into his story before you can stop him. “I was trying to catch her attention, and she didn’t even look at me once.”

“I didn’t see you–!” You attempt to protest, but Jake steamrolls ahead.

“I was in my wheelchair, so I was shorter than her–”

“Shorter than um’ma?” Tuk whispers in what sounds like bewilderment, her big eyes swinging towards you as if she wants to double-check your height.

 “–and she didn’t see me when she turned around, so she actually elbowed me in the face when I tried to get closer to her to talk to her. Gave me a bloody nose and everything.”

To your horror, the kids are acting as if they’re already heard this before. Neteyam is nodding along with Jake, and Lo’ak is already snickering. Tuk looks as enchanted with this story as she did with Jake’s story about meeting their mother, starry-eyed as she leans on Kiri. Your stomach flips – how often has Jake told them this story?

“I was trying to impress her, and she didn’t even look at me once.” Jake is still laughing, leaning forward over your shoulder so he can see his kids properly. “So you can imagine how embarrassed I was, after the pretty girl I had been trying to chat up completely ignores me and then nearly breaks my goddamn nose–”

You blink, startled. What? 

Jake has teased you about your first meeting several times over the years, always delighting in the fact that you had been so awkwardly clumsy, but you had never actually heard him recount the full thing from start to finish before. You had certainly never heard it told like that before.

“You were flirting with me?” You blurt out. For a moment you’re worried that you had misinterpreted what he meant and that he might laugh at you, but no such thing happens.

Instead, Jake tips his head back and lets out a groaned little sigh. “Oh, come on. You didn’t even notice?”

Lo’ak looks delighted with this news, and nudges at Neteyam. “Dude! Dad has no game!”

Jake shoots Lo’ak an irritated sort of look, his pride clearly somewhat stung, but his youngest son doesn’t even seem to notice. Lo’ak seems to be too busy reveling in the fact that his father isn’t as smooth as he thought; in fact, he looks far too pleased about this little revelation.

“I have loads of game.” Jake argues, turning to the rest of his family as though seeking backup. Neytiri looks down, visibly hiding a smirk, and says nothing at all. “Your um’ma is just a difficult woman to impress.”

You’re still gawking at him, bewildered by the turn of the conversation. You’ve been friends with Jake for a long time, and he’s always been playfully flirty – that’s just his character. He makes cheeky jokes, he’s touchy, he calls you teasing nicknames, he gives you affectionate little kisses. That’s just Jake! He’s always been like this! And yet right now, he sounds as though he’s being serious about his flirting. 

You look at Neytiri, still a little bewildered, but she has a wry sort of smile on her face as Jake defends himself. And that confuses you even more. Her hand is still on your thigh, her fingers stroking absently over the soft skin there. The caress is sure and unhurried; it’s a kind of patience possessed by predators who are sure of their prey. You’ve never experienced a touch like this from Neytiri before. Your skin is a little too tight, your breaths a little too shallow.

You feel like you’re losing your mind. It’s almost a relief when you’re interrupted, although you hardly even notice Ola’netu’s approaching figure until he’s stopped only a few feet from where you’re all sitting. 

It’s Neytiri that notices him first, as evidenced by the way her hand tightens around your thigh, but you soon feel Jake tense beneath you as well.

“Olo’eyktan,” Ola’netu greets, his head dipping as he greets Jake with the traditional greeting gesture. “I see you.”

Jake’s hands flex at your hips, but he offers Ola’netu a stiffly polite smile all the same. Foregoing any greeting of his own, Jake simply says, “What can I do for you?”

Ola’netu straightens, and his big golden eyes land squarely on you. It’s unnerving to be on the receiving end of his sharp gaze, and you swallow nervously as your cheeks flare red. It’s… a surprisingly bold move on his part, approaching you like this when you’re having dinner with the Sully’s. Jake has always been a little overprotective of you, on account of you being so much smaller and more fragile, and right now his brow is drawing into a scowl that’s honestly intimidating.

“I wish to speak to tawtute.” Ola’netu says. Though his tone is perfectly polite, the fact that he’s not actually looking at Jake is clearly making your friend antsy; he shifts under you, adjusting you on his lap, and holds you tight.

The silence that follows is awkward. You had been so blown away by the exciting strangeness of having messed around with Jake, and then the way that Neytiri had been caressing you, that you had forgotten about Ola’netu entirely.

At your side, Lo’ak straightens up from where he had been slouching lazily. He’s got a little frown on his face, though he’s clearly a little confused, and he looks so much like Jake in that moment that it’s a little bewildering. He leans in a bit closer to you where you’re sitting on Jake’s lap, and all of a sudden it’s like you have two Sully guard dogs with their ears pricked up.

“Yeah,” You say, suddenly awkward. “Right, of course.”

It’s a bit of a struggle to get out of Jake’s lap. Not only do you have his hands holding onto your waist, but Neytiri is holding your thigh and Lo’ak keeps shuffling closer into your space. You actually have to practically worm your way out of their grip, before you stand in front of them all panting with the effort. You scowl a little at Jake, and he purses his lips in that way he does when he’s annoyed about something before he offers you a quick shrug.

Ola’netu leads you a couple of steps away from the family, before stopping just out of earshot and turning to you with a smile. He even bends down so that he’s at eye level with you. The village is bustling full of life, and the sounds of the People laughing and children squealing fill the air. Despite the hive of activity around you, you’re hyper aware of the stares of the entire Sully family burning into your back.

Ola’netu must notice the fact that the two of you are being watched closely, but he gives no indication of it. “I am pleased to see you here. Can I get you food?”

“Oh,” You get a little flustered at his offer, trying hard not to look over your shoulder at the Sullys. “Um… I’ve already eaten.”

Ola’netu glances over your shoulder, presumably looking at Jake, before his eyes fall back to your face. It’s a little difficult to read him; there’s a friendly little smile on his face, but there’s a small furrow in his brow that suggests he’s confused.

“Jakesully watches you closely.” He notes, his tone careful. “He is… always looking.”

“Oh, he’s a little protective.” You laugh nervously. “Don’t mind him.”

Ola’netu’s eyes linger on your face a moment. There’s a beat of silence as nostrils flare; you’ve seen Jake do this often enough to realise that he’s scenting you. It’s an embarrassing thought, made even worse when his brows furrow. 

“Ah.” He says after a moment, his head tilting a little. He looks confused, as though he doesn’t quite know what to make of you. “He has scent-marked you. Neytiri too.”

Your hand flies up to hold your neck. “They what?”

Ola’netu hums, and reaches out to brush his fingers over the spot where Neytiri’s wrist had brushed earlier. Had that been an accident? Surely she would never have done such a thing on purpose.

He’s still watching your face closely. “I do not want to… misunderstand. You always smell of Jakesully but… they have not yet claimed you?”

You nearly do a double take. Claimed you? You don’t even know how to begin unpacking that. You wonder if there’s some sort of cultural nuance that you’re missing here. Your fluency in the Na’vi language is advanced, but even still you sometimes mistranslate or misunderstand things.

“Jake is my best friend.” You say with an awkward smile, hoping that answers his question. 

You think of the way Jake had stuffed your pussy full with his fingers the night before, and the way Neytiri had been so subtly brushing her fingers over your tits earlier that evening, and you wonder how on earth to explain your relationship with them. Not even you fully understand it. They’re your friends, but even you have to admit that it often feels like… more than that. They feel like home in a way that the human outpost never has, and yet you have to admit that the dynamic feels a little different now.

“They look after me.” You continue stupidly. It’s the only way you can think of to explain.

Ola’netu looks thoughtful, but he nods slowly. “I see. But they have not…” 

As Ola’netu trails off, his brow furrows in a contemplative frown. It seems as though he’s thinking about his next words very carefully. 

You dart a quick glance over your shoulder. It’s not much of a surprise to find Jake and Neytiri watching you closely (just like they had the last time Ola’netu had approached you), but it is somewhat of a surprise to see that the kids are all watching you with hawk-like eyes as well. You offer them an awkward, close-mouthed smile to try and ease the tension. The only one who returns it is Tuk, who throws in a cute little wave as well.

Finally, Ola’netu seems to find his words. “They have not yet mated with you, have they? I cannot… I cannot tell from your scent. You smell like Jakesully… but you always smell of him.”

Your mouth flaps open and closed moronically. Oh god. The bold line of questioning leaves you completely flustered. You hadn’t expected him to be so forthright about things, and you’re certainly not prepared to admit that you had let Jake finger you until you were limp and drooling in his arms only the night before.

“I… I don’t- I mean, no, they haven’t mated with me.” You say when you finally gather yourself enough to answer. “They’re- they’re mated with each other!”

That makes Ola’netu crack a smile, as though amused by your reaction. 

“It is not unusual for a mated pair to take on a third. Jake and Neytiri have not discussed this with you?” Ola’netu asks. When you shake your head, his big golden eyes dart over your shoulder towards where Jake and Neytiri are sitting behind you. “I had thought… they act as though…”

Ola’netu doesn’t finish that thought, though you wait for him to. The resulting silence is a little awkward, but then Ola’netu creeps forward a little. He doesn’t reach for you, though it looks as though he’s thinking about it.

You shift on your feet a little awkwardly, and scratch at your elbow. Now that you’re actually in front of Ola’netu, you feel incredibly awkward. You’ve been looking at the Na’vi in a rather hungry way for a while now, and yet now that you’re faced with a male who actually seems interested in you, all you can think about is the way Jake had touched you the night before.

It’s like the floodgates have opened inside your brain. You’ve been around Jake and Neytiri for years now, and yet now you feel shivery and bubbly with simmering arousal after experiencing their attention all evening. You wonder if there’s something wrong with you. 

This is your best friend and his wife! You feel like a weirdo for thinking about them like that. 

“You are interested in Na’vi?” Ola’netu’s tail lashes behind him as he watches you. 

You swallow thickly. Oh, you feel totally out of your depth now. You can feel the eyes of the Sullys boring into you as you speak with Ola’netu; you’re just grateful they can’t hear what you’re saying, because you don’t think you’d be able to live the embarrassment down.

“Um… Yeah.” You say faintly.

 Your brain decides unhelpfully to offer up memories of Jake’s big hands and pretty blue skin from the night before, and the ridiculous size of his dick. Jake may have only touched you like that so that you could experience being with a Na’vi for the first time, but you think he may also have unintentionally ruined you for anyone else. Your mind just keeps replaying the encounter in your head like it’s a damn slideshow.

“But… you do not accept Jakesully and Neytiri?” Ola’netu speaks slowly, as though approaching a sensitive topic.

All you can do is blink, wondering if you’re misunderstanding what he’s asking you. It sounds as though he thinks that you’re the one making the final decision here, as though you’re the one with the power. The thought is comical.

“I’m not sure I…” You trail off, bewildered. “What do you mean ‘accept’ them?” 

“As mates. They seem to be waiting for your decision.” Ola’netu murmurs, his eyes darting back over your shoulder towards when Jake and Neytiri are no doubt still watching. “But you must be a difficult creature to impress.”

That’s so similar to what Jake had said earlier that you find yourself floundering. That couldn’t have been what Jake had meant though, surely? You feel as though you’ve been struck dumb – the connotations of what Ola’netu is suggesting is almost more than you can handle, and yet he keeps on talking before you can actually wrap your head around it.

“Perhaps it is that you are not ready to take on a mate?” Ola’netu says, his big golden eyes peering into your face. It seems as though he’s having difficulty assessing your thoughts thanks to your alien human features. “I, too, am not ready for a mate. But if it is exploring you are interested in–”

You’re hardly listening to a word he says. You think back rather frantically to every reaction you’ve had with Jake and Neytiri for the past several years. It’s true that you’ve always been close, probably closer than any other relationship you’ve ever had in your life. 

You spend almost all of your time with them when you’re not at the human outpost, you sleep in their bed when you stay over with them, their children call you um’ma. And that’s not to mention the tactile nature of your relationship with Jake. But that’s how Jake has always been, even when he was human!

Okay… maybe you can see where Ola’netu’s coming from with his assumptions. 

“Wait,” You choke out, interrupting whatever the hell Ola’netu had been saying. “Hang on, are you… are you saying that everyone thinks that I’m– that Jake and Neytiri are–” You can’t even figure out how to put your thoughts into words. You end up just standing there, gawping at Ola’netu like an idiot as your brain tries to sort all of this out.

Ola’netu frowns, tilting his head in honest confusion. “I had thought that you were mated for many years. But maybe they are just courting you?”

You positively goggle at him, struck dumb. You don’t think you could form a reply even if you wanted to. 

It should be a ridiculous notion. Jake has been your friend for years! Sure, you might be closer than most friends, but that’s just how you two have always been. And Neytiri has become your friend too, treating you like family and even welcoming you into her and Jake’s bed whenever you happen to stay the night. If Ola’netu had told you this a week ago, you might have even laughed at his questions. But now, after your experimentation with Jake and all of his and Neytiri’s suggestive touches and comments today, you find yourself baffled. 

You never get the chance to respond. Footsteps sound from behind you, and Ola’netu’s eyes flicker above your head as a warm body presses close to your back. You glance over your shoulder, expecting to see Jake – you’re surprised to find that it’s Neytiri who’s standing at your back, watching Ola’netu with sharp eyes.

“Come,” Neytiri murmurs to you, but her eyes remain fixed on Ola’netu. “You have not finished eating.”

You hesitate for a moment, staring up at her. You wonder if you’re losing your mind – Neytiri is so beautiful, her features sharp and bold and her golden eyes intense as she stares down Ola’netu. There’s an awkward silence, but then you start to nod.

“I’ll, um… see you later.” You say to Ola’netu, but your heart’s not in it. You’re distracted, sending uncertain glances up at Neytiri. Ola’netu nods and raises a hand to wave, but you’re already stepping after Neytiri as she leads you back towards the family with a large slender hand pressed between your shoulderblades.

Jake is sitting on the log where you left him, but he’s leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees as he watches you return with Neytiri. He’s frowning, his ears twitching; he looks strangely alert, although some of the stiffness in his shoulders eases as you and Neytiri join him again. The kids are all gathered nearby, and you can see them exchanging looks with each other in a little silent conversation.

You feel embarrassed that they all just witnessed you chatting with Ola’netu, but you try to shake it off. You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about, after all, and it’s not like they heard you.

“What was that all about, sweetheart?” Jake asks when you get close enough, already reaching out to try and pull you into his lap.

But for the first time, possibly ever, you resist. You pull your arm back, refusing to go, and Jake blinks at you in bewilderment. You feel sort of guilty, but your head is spinning so fast that you feel dizzy – you need space, and time to think and sort out all of these bizarre thoughts and revelations.

“I’m… I’m going to head to bed, I think.” You blurt, taking a step back. 

Hurt flashes across Jake’s face, and he sits up straighter. In all your years of knowing each other, you’ve never pushed Jake away like this.

“You are not staying with us tonight?” Neytiri asks with a discontented frown. She sits down next to Jake on the log, and you think you see her nudge him hard in the side.

You shake your head, swallowing thickly. Normally, you’d be only too delighted to spend the night, but everything has happened so fast and you need time to think.

“No, I’ll just… I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” You murmur, forcing a smile as you step back. 

Your expression can’t be very convincing, because the kids exchange another look before turning to look at their parents. Lo’ak stands, looking between his parents before turning to look at you.

“I’ll walk you back, um’ma–” He starts to say, but he’s cut off when Neytiri grabs his shoulder and pulls him back down.

Jake stands instead, and rests his hand on your shoulder. “I’ll walk you back.” He says, squeezing lightly.

You can’t bring yourself to refuse the offer — the forests of Pandora are deadly for a human alone, and you can’t afford to go without an escort. You bite your lip, before nodding jerkily. This is fine. Jake is just looking out for you as a friend, like he always is. You’re the one that’s acting weird! You need to pull yourself together.

The walk home is awkwardly silent. You’re lost in your thoughts, replaying every interaction you’ve had this evening and picking them apart obsessively in your head. Meanwhile, Jake ambles along at your side, matching your pace perfectly. He’s equally as quiet, but he keeps darting looks at you out of the corner of his eyes. Jake is many things, but he’s never been subtle.

By the time you reach the outpost, hardly a word has been shared between the two of you. Jake has started tapping his fingers against his thigh, and the frequency of his glances have increased yet again. He clears his throat, and finally speaks up.

“So, uh… did you enjoy dinner, honey?” He asks. The levity in his voice is rather forced, and it contrasts with the little frown creasing his forehead.

You hum, but you’re distracted. “Mm, sure. It was fine.”

Jake bites at his lip for a second, obviously thinking. His nose twitches, nostrils flaring. He leans a little closer, and you can see his pretty golden eyes dart to your neck.

“Did he touch you there?” Jaks asks. A scowl creases his brow as he reaches out to brush his fingers over your throat, right where Ola’netu had touched where Neytiri had scented.

You jerk back, and then it’s like the floodgates open. You’re unable to keep your thoughts to yourself any longer.

“What the fuck is going on, Jake?” You blurt, eyes wide and bewildered as you take a step back. “I don’t– I’m so confused. Last night was– but then today! You were so– and then Neytiri as well! I don’t understand, and then Ola’netu said– but I don’t get it–”

Jake’s expression drops, all pretence at cheerfulness abandoned. He takes a knee instantly to put himself down at your level, his eyes wide and a little panicked.

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, sweetheart. What’s the problem? Deep breath.” He says, his voice low and soothing as he tries to shush you. He reaches out and puts his hands on your shoulders, his thumbs stroking delicately over your skin.

You push his hands away, still reeling. “Ola’netu thought we were mates. As in, you, Neytiri, and me.”

You wait for a moment, and allow that to sink in. You’re not entirely certain what you’re expecting his reaction to be; will he laugh at that ridiculous notion? Will he be horrified? Disgusted? 

But instead, Jake’s face wobbles, as though he can’t hide his expression fast enough.

“He… and yet he was trying to put moves on you anyway?” He says, his nose scrunching in distaste as his fangs glint in the moonlight.

You gape at him. Jake misses the point so damn often it’s like he does it on purpose, but the fact that he doesn’t see that you’re being serious about this infuriates you.

“Jake!” You hiss, fists clenching at your side. “You’re not even listening–!”

“I’m listening, I’m listening–” Jake throws his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“You said that you’d help me– or, or that you’d help me experience Na’vi… um, bodies, and it was… it was really good, but– I thought that– I don’t know, I just– you said that you were going to guide me through it before I went messing around with other Na’vi–”

Jake’s ears have folded back against the side of his head, and he listens to you with a frown. “I didn’t think you’d actually want to mess around with other Na’vi after I took care of you–”

“Oh what, you think your dick is just that good?” You fold your arms across your chest immediately, scowling. 

Jake pauses for a moment, and you see his mouth begin to twitch into a smile. Your temper flares, and you glare furiously at him.

“Don’t you dare.” You warn, already knowing that he has some smart remark planned.

Jake breathes a soft laugh, but then hastily wipes his expression clean when he catches sight of the glint in your eye. He sighs, and reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. He looks a little ridiculous kneeling in the dirt and bending over so that he’s on your level, his expression open and conciliatory.

“Honey, I don’t understand what’s wrong–”

“Stop calling me honey!”

Jake gapes at you. You’ve never shouted at him like that; in all the years you’ve known each other, you’ve never gotten so mad at him that you’d yell, and you’ve never once told him to not call you by his cutesy nicknames. For the first time, Jake seems to actually realise that you’re in turmoil over here.

“Tell me what’s wrong.” He says, and his voice has lost all trace of levity and humour. His expression is serious now, as though he’s dedicating his full attention to solving this problem.

You groan, reaching up to scrub at your face. You can barely even sort through your own thoughts in your head, you have no idea how to effectively go about communicating your feelings here. Throwing delicacy to the wind, you take a deep breath.

“I think I have a crush on you!” You yell close to hysterics. “And it’s ruining my life! I mean, fuck! I’m ruining everything just cause I can’t control myself–”

Jake’s ears twitch and his tail lashes wildly, as though he momentarily loses control of his extremities. His eyes go big and round, and you wonder if this is it – have you fucked everything up? 

You had such a good thing going with the Sully family, and the thought of you ruining it just because you got flustered over Jake and Neytiri touching you in a way that was probably meant to be friendly anyway makes you feel ill.

“Baby, come on. We’re practically married anyway, a crush is a good thing.” Jake says, reaching out to take a hold of your elbows. He shuffles closer on his knees, his back bowing as he ducks down to look you in the face. 

His expression is open and earnest, and there’s a faint trace of urgency in his eyes as he watches your reaction, and yet you find yourself rearing back and searching his face desperately for any hint of a lie.

“What do you–” You start to say uncertainly, but Jake keeps going before you can finish.

“The kids call you um’ma, you sleep in our bed, you do everything with us. You’re– I mean, we’re crazy for you. Can’t you see that?” Jake’s forehead is all creased up as he tries to keep your attention on him. “We’ve– we’ve been together for years–”

“What?” You blurt, bewildered. “We– no. We’ve been friends. You called me your best friend last night even when you had your goddamn face between my legs–”

“We always call each other that! It’s like… it’s like a bit or something–” He looks helplessly confused. “When you talked about Ola’netu I thought you were just curious, or that you just wanted to experiment or something–”

“Why would you not tell me!” You shriek, throwing your hands up in the air. You feel like an absolute madwoman, and Jake is regarding you like you’re something fragile about to shatter. “Oh my god– so, you and Neytiri have been married for years, and the whole time everyone has thought that I’m just some sad loser that follows the two of you everywhere–”

“No!” Jake says, and now he’s raising his voice too. “No, that’s not what I meant! I meant that you’ve been part of our family this whole time. You must have known that–”

Oh god, you’re getting overwhelmed. Confused and embarrassed tears begin pricking at your eyes, and Jake’s entire face drops when he realises that you’re about to cry.

“How would I have known that, Jake?!” You’re shouting loud enough that you’re certain the scientists inside the outpost can hear you, but mercifully no one comes to check what’s going on. “You’ve never said anything! The only time you’ve ever touched me in a way that suggests we’re more than friends is last night–!”

“It never occurred to me to say anything!” He’s clearly fighting not to raise his voice, trying to keep calm and composed. “I didn’t realise that you didn’t– baby, I have plenty of friends. How many of them spend the night in our bed, or sit on my lap? How many of them do I kiss–”

“I don’t know! You’re a friendly guy!” You yell back, painfully aware of how stupid you sound right now. “But– it doesn’t matter how touchy you were, you never actually did anything! And yet now you expect me to believe that you really wanted me all this time–”

“I didn’t think you were interested!” Jake bursts out. “You never talked about sex, not until last night! I’ve been hinting for years, I just thought that you weren’t into sex or intimacy that way– which is fine by the way, me and Neytiri never minded that, you know that we’d take you anyway we could have you–”

“I’m only human, Jake! I have– I have needs!” Your cheeks are absolutely burning, but you manage to hold eye contact with him. “I mean, you never said anything! So I’ve been sitting lonely in the human outpost while you and Neytiri have been having babies–”

“You–” Jake’s ears flick desperately, “You want a baby?”

“NO!” You yell, flustered and frustrated.

“What?” Jake breathes to himself so quietly that you nearly miss it. He shakes his head quickly, as though trying to clear his head. “Okay, okay, I screwed up, obviously. I should have been more upfront, I should have talked things through with you, I shouldn’t have just assumed we were all on the same page, I get that. But honey, you’ve always been a huge part of our family, we’ve been bringing you gifts of jewelry and clothes and food for years–”

Fuck, you feel so mixed up and confused. You run your hands frustratedly over your face, already shaking your head. Jake is getting steadily more frantic as he talks, clearly seeing that you’re beginning to withdraw. 

He tries to take your hand but you step back, chewing at your lip.

“Stop. Jake, stop for a minute.” You groan, turning away from him so that you can breathe for a moment. Your breath rasps through your mask, and abruptly you feel incredibly claustrophobic. 

You can’t wrap your head around any of this. Truthfully, you had been perfectly content with your life on Pandora up until a few weeks ago. Jake had satisfied your skin hunger with his caresses and cuddles, Neytiri had always made you feel welcomed around the village by providing you with pretty Omaticaya style clothes and jewelry, and you’ve always been so close to the children that you never craved any of your own. The fact that you had gone so long without any sexual intimacy is surely a testament to how happy you were with the way things were, and yet now you find your head spinning. 

Does this mean that you could have had more this whole time? That all those months of craving sexual intimacy, of your growing interest in Na’vi biology, was entirely useless because you had two enormous sexy Na’vi who loved and cared for you very much just sitting right there the whole time thinking that you weren’t interested in sex? What the fuck?

“I can’t do this right now.” You whisper. You’re breathing heavily, as though all of your overthinking is taking an actual physical toll on you. “I have to– I can’t. I have to go.”

Jake’s expression drops entirely, and he pushes himself to stand, already reaching out after you. “Hang on, please. Look, kid, why don’t you just come back home, huh? We can talk things out properly, all three of us–”

You shake your head as you step backwards towards the outpost door. You probably should talk this out, but you just can’t right now. You need to get this mask off, and you need time to think to yourself about all of this and what it means for your relationships going forward.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jake.” You whisper.

You don’t let yourself listen to the way he calls your name as you escape into the outpost; you already know that if you see the look on his face, you’ll crumble.

The heavy door swings shut behind you, the hiss of the hydraulics drowning out the last of Jake’s pleas. You’re finally alone for the evening, but for a very long moment you can’t move at all. You just stay leaning against the heavy door as the oxygenation chamber begins to work, finally allowing you to tear your mask off and toss it to the floor. 

You take deep, heavy breaths, before hiding your head in your hands. You can’t help but feel as though you’ve handled that rather poorly.

For the next several days, you don’t leave the outpost once. Ostensibly, you’re helping Norm with his research. In reality, you’re likely just getting underfoot and annoying all the other scientists that are actually trying to do work.

It’s cowardly and immature, but you just don’t think you can face Jake or Neytiri right now. You can’t stop thinking of the looks and whispers that the two of them had exchanged when you had talked about possibly being interested in Na’vi men and mating. You’re so damn embarrassed, and you feel like a total idiot.

And yet at the same time, you feel so prickly and irritated. After so many years of friendship, how ridiculous is it that they didn’t speak to you about this? Your irritation bleeds over into your mood as you sit around the base, and soon enough everyone else in the outpost starts to avoid you as best they can.

Three days may not seem like an extraordinarily long time to avoid your friends, but it’s the longest you’ve gone without seeing them in… well, possibly ever.

Jake knows you well enough to know that you need space to think things over, which probably accounts for the fact that he hasn’t yet shown up to bust your door down. But while Jake may be giving you space, no one seems to have given that memo to Lo’ak.

“Whatever dad did, I’m sure he’s sorry.” Lo’ak blurts on the afternoon of your third day of self-imposed exile.

The two of you are sprawled out on one of the couches in the meagre corner that Max has attempted to turn into a recreation area – the couch Lo’ak is laying across was originally designed for Avatar bodies, and he spends enough time in the outpost that he looks perfectly at home here with a CO2 respirator hanging around his neck for him to sip at the air.

You sigh, avoiding his eyes. You know you’re not meant to have favourites among the children, but you’ve always had a mushy little soft spot for Lo’ak. He’s always so hungry for recognition and validation, and yet he can be so damn sweet. It’s no surprise that he’s the one that’s skipping his duties in the clan just to hang out with you at the outpost because he’s worried about you.

“Your dad didn’t do anything, Lo’ak.” You murmur, though you’re still having a hard time looking at him.

Lo’ak’s brow puckers. “... Mom, then?”

“No!” You say quickly, before taking a deep breath and continuing in a calmer tone of voice. “No, it’s not– look, it’s just… sometimes, grown-ups just need some time apart to think, that’s all.”

Lo’ak is quiet for a moment. He’s staring down into his lap, his brow drawn together moodily as he fidgets with his thumbs. He’s obviously thinking hard, lost in his thoughts, though you couldn’t begin to guess what it is he’s thinking about.

Lo’ak is more like his mother than anyone gives him credit for; just like Neytiri, he does a poor job keeping his thoughts and feelings to himself for too long.

“Spider said that Norm told him about a human thing called divorce.” He bursts out, finally raising his head to look at you. For the first time, you see the glimmer of panic in his eyes. “Are you– you’re not doing that, right?”

You rear back, struggling to hide your shock from him. Oh god, now the guilt is starting to set in. In all your panic and embarrassment, you hadn’t really considered what the kids must have thought about all this. 

Lo’ak’s ears are pressed flat against the side of his head and his tail is coiled tightly against his body, giving you an insight into how vulnerable he’s feeling right now.

“Oh, no, kiddo!” You blurt, sitting up on the couch and leaning over to place a hand on your shoulder. “It’s not… It’s not like that.”

Lo’ak’s eyes are suspiciously glassy, and he immediately shuffles over to hide his face in your shoulder. The hug is a little awkward; he’s not nearly as small as he used to be as a small child, but he’s still trying his best to curl his much larger body into your chest. It’s like cuddling a golden retriever that doesn’t realise how large it is.

“Mom and dad have been arguing since you left.” He mumbles into your shoulder. “Whatever they did to make you mad, they’re sorry about it.”

Your heart aches, and you close your eyes and sigh as you kiss his forehead. Damn, now you really feel like an asshole. You never expected this to impact Jake and Neytiri’s relationship at home, and to hear that they’re actually in conflict comes as a surprise to you. They’re usually a united front, so to hear that there’s cracks in that front because of you is somewhat jarring.

“... What are they arguing about?” You murmur, feeling a little guilty for prying.

Lo’ak shrugs, as though the way his parents think is utterly mystifying to his brain. “Mom thinks dad fucked up somehow, I dunno.”

He darts a quick look up at your face as though trying to check whether he’s going to get scolded for cursing, but you hardly notice. You’re too busy thinking. You can’t help but wonder exactly how Jake had recounted your little conversation to Neytiri, and you feel your cheeks burn at the thought of what she must have had to say about it. They probably both think you’re a total moron.

You sigh through your nose and pet Lo’ak’s braids absently. He seems happy to burrow close as you think, relaxing into your arms as though he’s not comically large for a fourteen year old. 

Truthfully, you wonder if you’re overthinking this. Because if you’re being honest with yourself, the thought that Jake and Neytiri think of you romantically sends a thrill of excitement so pure running through you that it feels as though it’s going to knock you off your feet. 

You’ve spent so long moping about being alone that you didn’t even realise that you have two big sexy Na’vi sitting there interested in you but thinking that you weren’t interested in sex? Fuck, how could you have misassessed the situation like that?

“Hey, um’ma?” Lo’ak mumbles, his voice all muffled by your shirt.

“Yeah?”

There’s a pause. Then Lo’ak says, “Ola’netu’s a loser.”

“Lo’ak!” You scold, swatting at his head. 

“It’s true!” Lo’ak complains. Your light smack to his head is so inconsequential that he doesn’t even bother moving his head out of the way, choosing instead to shuffle even closer until he’s practically crushing you.

“It’s rude to call people losers.” You sigh.

Lo’ak just grumbles. “Not when they’re trying to steal one of your moms.”

“That’s not–” You start, before falling silent. Na’vi mating practices and culture still throws you for a loop sometimes, but to hear Lo’ak say that he considers you a mom leaves you feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. You had known he viewed you as some kind of role model figure based on how he used to follow along behind your ankles as a young child, but to hear him come out and say it is something entirely different.

“Aw.” You whisper, unable to help it as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and hug him tight. “You’re so sweet, aren’tcha?”

Despite the fact that Lo’ak was literally just burrowing his way into your side, he starts rolling his eyes and leaning away. “Um’ma, quit it!”

You’re still laughing when you hear the sound of a door opening somewhere behind you, and you don’t even bother looking around. It’s Lo’ak who looks over your shoulder instead, and his face goes slack in surprise as his mouth drops open.

“Mom!” Lo’ak says, pushing himself up onto his knees on the couch so he can stare wide-eyed behind you.

You whip around at that, and feel your heart actually skip a beat at the sight of Neytiri picking her way through the narrow walkway of the outpost. You’re certain that your own expression matches Lo’ak’s surprised bewilderment perfectly. 

Neytiri has never visited the human outpost before; she mostly tolerates the presence of the humans living beyond the boundary of the Omaticaya village, and is understandably wary of most of them. The sight of her walking towards you as she fiddles with the respirator around her neck is surreal.

Your stomach trembles at the sight of her. You’re not sure you’re ready to have this conversation with her, but you already know there’s no escape. If there’s anyone that can match Jake in pure hard-headed stubbornness, it’s Neytiri.

“Lo’ak,” Neytiri murmurs as she approaches. “Go home. Your father wants you to go foraging with Kiri.”

Lo’ak groans loudly, and Neytiri shoots him a look so sharp that it practically cuts. He gets the message almost immediately, and obviously decides it’s in his best interest not to argue any further. He stands up off the couch and skulks off, though he glances over his shoulder at you before he rounds the corner.

“See you at dinner, um’ma?” He calls, his eyes gone soft and hopeful.

You hesitate, glancing nervously at Neytiri. “Uh… I’m not sure.” You say non-committedly, smiling weakly. 

Lo’ak frowns, stopping dead-still as his ears pin back. “Um’ma, please.”

Ah fuck, you never could deny that kid anything. You sigh, reaching up to rub at the space between your eyes. “Right. Yeah, okay. See you later, Lo’ak.”

As soon as Lo’ak disappears around the corner, Neytiri steps towards you. Flustered, you stand up to meet her as she stops just short of the couch. She’s watching you closely, her honey-coloured eyes tracking over every inch of you. 

You’re so thrown by the fact that she’s actually here, in front of you, in the human outpost, that you barely even know what to say to her. 

“Um… hey.” You say stupidly.

Thankfully, Neytiri decides to ignore your weak little greeting. 

“I wish to talk, tawtute.” Her voice is soft, as though she’s trying not to scare you away.

Right. Of course she does. Your eyes dart around the little rec area, all shifty. Towards the back of the open space of the outpost, you can see some of the scientists sending you curious looks. You can’t really blame them; while the Sully kids are regular visitors around here, the sight of Neytiri must be rather startling.

“We can talk in my room.” You mutter, stepping back and hurriedly leading the way towards privacy.

Neytiri follows along silently, though her attention is mostly taken up with looking around the building curiously. You usher her into your room quickly, your heart rate already picking up nervously.

It’s more than a little unnerving to watch Neytiri’s tall, willowy figure stepping into your cramped, windowless room. She looks so out of place amongst the clutter of your stuff, and yet she steps forward and sinks down to perch herself on the edge of your bed as though she belongs there.

You barely manage to stifle a squeak at the sight of her sitting right where Jake had sat only a few nights earlier, right before he had fingered you within an inch of your life. She’s watching you as though she knows what you’re thinking, and you feel your face grow warm under her regard.

“Jake said that you needed space,” She murmurs, breaking the expectant silence that had settled over the two of you. “And I trust him with many things. But he has already made a mess of this, hasn’t he?”

You swallow thickly, fidgeting with your fingers. You can’t help but feel guilty; it was you that had made a mess of this by hiding yourself away like this and refusing to face them after your obvious misunderstanding. 

“I’m sorry.” You say stiffly. “I didn’t mean to… well. I just needed time to think.”

Neytiri hums, though she doesn’t appear too convinced. “Jake tells me that you did not realise how we valued you as a mate.”

She says it as though she thinks it’s ridiculous, which certainly doesn’t help things. She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she watches you. Her delicate little chest covering sways forward, and it takes everything in you not to stare at her tits.

“Why would you wish to mate with someone you cannot connect with?” You ask, your voice quiet. 

It’s probably not fair to throw Neytiri’s own words back at her from the conversation you had had about Ola’netu on the first night of mating season, but you get a twisted sense of satisfaction from the way her expression cracks into surprise. She looks taken aback, her ears flattening. 

“That was not what I meant.” She protests, her brow creasing into a frown.

“You were asking me to find “release” with the other humans!” You burst out. It might not be fair to get frustrated at her like this, but all of these thoughts have been brewing since your little argument with Jake and you finally get the chance to express them.

Neytiri’s tail lashes, revealing her own restlessness. 

“You never approached us for…” She trails off, then takes a breath. “I assumed that you were seeking pleasure from your kind. It is like I said; sex is a way for bonding in mated pairs as well as outside of them.”

You blink at her, bewildered. You had thought that she was just making a sweeping statement about Na’vi sexuality. It hadn’t occurred to you that she had been telling you this because she was including you in the mated subsection of the population.

“Jake thought that you were not interested in sexual intimacy at all, because you never mentioned anything to him.” Neytiri says. “But I had thought that you just preferred intimacy with your own kind. And that would be fine, tawtute. There is much diversity among Na’vi mating bonds, and there is almost no mating bonds between Na’vi and Sky People. We are learning as we go.”

She’s doing the same thing that Jake had done; keeping her voice carefully low as though trying not to upset you. You’re a little torn; you can’t decide whether it’s sweet or aggravating that they treat you like you’re something delicate that needs to be protected. You decide to settle on aggravated, even as she keeps talking.

“There are other forms of intimacy; sitting in laps, grooming, cooking for each other, sleeping in shared spaces, spending quality time together. We do all of this, syulang.”

“If you aren’t interested in having sex with me, just say that.” You say, crossing your arms defensively over your chest. You know that you sound like a little brat right now, but you can’t help it. “You don’t have to come up with all these different excuses.”

Neytiri’s eyes widen, her hairless brows raising.

“We did not think we were–” Neytiri struggles for a moment to find the right word. “Compatible. Sexually. We are too big, tawtute, we could have hurt you.”

“But you never even tried.” You say stubbornly, a frown creeping onto your face. “Jake wasn’t too big when he fingered me the other night.”

You might be stretching the truth a little there, because Jake has fat-ass fingers that had stretched you until you had been an actual sobbing mess, but you’re trying to make a point here.

Neytiri reaches up and presses her fingers against her mouth, and it takes you a moment to realise that she’s trying hard not to laugh. 

“If you wanted to be touched, all you had to do was ask.” She murmurs, before reaching her other hand out towards you.

You hesitate for a moment. You’re not sure if you’re ready to let go of your annoyance so easily, but you step towards Neytiri all the same. Her tail is twitching, a clear sign of her anticipation. As soon as you get within arm’s reach, she takes you by the arms and pulls you right up into her lap.

You squeak, flustered at the sudden movement. It’s not like it’s strange for you to be hauled into a Na’vi’s lap, but it’s never been Neytiri’s lap before. You grab onto her shoulders without thinking to try and steady yourself, and out of the corner of your eye you see a pleased smile playing about her lips.

“What did you think of Jake?” She asks, her voice low. Her long, slender hands wrap around your hips to keep you in place across her thighs.

“Um…” Your brain has stalled a bit, completely distracted by the way your own thighs are spread wide so that you’re straddling her hips. 

Neytiri’s tiny little smile is knowing, as if she knows that your cunt is growing wet and hot just from the feeling of your thighs being stretched wide over hers. Even more distracting is the way her long fingers are tracing over the exposed skin of your thighs where your dress has ridden up over your hips. 

“You wanted to experience Na’vi bodies, hm?” She murmurs, her fingers pushing higher as she traces little circles over your hips. “What did you think of Jake’s?”

“It was– he was… great.” You sound like an absolute idiot, and you feel like one as well. It’s like your brain is actually grinding to a halt, as though every ounce of your awareness is narrowing down to the points of contact between you and Neytiri. 

Neytiri hums, her eyes dropping down over your own body and lingering. She’s clearly curious about your cotton dress – you almost exclusively wear your Omaticayan style beaded top and loincloth when you’re in the village, and Neytiri hasn’t actually seen you wearing your own human clothes in years. She tugs at the back of it with a tiny frown.

“Good.” She murmurs, her fingers tangling in the soft fabric of your dress. “But just as you were unfamiliar with Na’vi bodies, I have never experienced the body of a Sky Person.”

You take a sharp breath. You’ve clearly been painfully oblivious of any signals that Jake and Neytiri may have been sending you over the years, and you’re not prepared to miss out on anything else just because you’re not willing to take a risk.

“D’you want to?” You ask in a whisper. It comes out more breathless that you had intended, your excitement causing your lungs to squeeze tight.

Neytiri’s smile widens, the delicate skin around her eyes creasing right before she leans in and presses a full-mouthed kiss to your mouth. 

It’s messier and more heated than you had expected from her, and you moan without meaning to when her sharp canines tug at your lower lip. Neytiri kisses like she's got something to prove — her mouth is firm and unyielding against yours, and her teeth nip lightly at your lips in a way that sends a shiver rippling down your spine. 

As you gasp into her mouth, her hands grip at your waist and haul you closer to her until your chests are pressed tight together, your thighs spread wide around her hips as she pulls you tight to her.

You whimper against her, unable to help yourself, and then to your immense disappointment she pulls back. Her mouth is wet and swollen, but she looks so pretty when she grins at you. When she tugs at your dress again, you pick up on her unspoken request and immediately begin tugging your dress over your head.

You’re left in just your bra and panties, but you’re not given a moment to feel self-conscious. Neytiri’s big golden eyes are taking you in hungrily, but despite that hunger there’s also a gleam of curiosity in her eyes. When you unclasp your bra and let it fall to the side, her eyes land on your breasts as though you’ve just unwrapped a gift for her.

She reaches for your tits immediately, and her big hands practically swallow them whole. You’re reminded of the way she had brushed her hands against your tits when she had fixed your top in a way that was almost casual, but in hindsight was unmistakably erotic.

“Ah,” Neytiri murmurs, sounding almost surprised as her hands close around your tits. “They are softer than I expected.”

“Are they?” You breathe a little dazedly. 

She hums, and you bite back another squeak when she reaches up and pulls off her pretty chest covering. You’ve seen Neytiri’s breasts before, of course; the Na’vi are not modest about their bodies, and those beaded tops the women wear are mostly just for accessory. 

But seeing is different to touching, and your breath catches when she takes your wrist and guides your hand to one of her tits.

Neytiri’s breasts are small, in proportion to the rest of her tall svelte body, but they’re firmer than you had expected. It shouldn’t be too much of a surprise, you suppose – the muscle structure of the Na’vi is insane, and there’s almost zero softness to them. Neytiri’s breasts are probably the most pliable part of her whole body, but even still the flesh doesn’t yield as much as you might have expected. You can certainly understand why Neytiri is so fascinated by the cushiony softness of your own chest.

Neytiri lets out a small, pleased sound when your thumb rolls over her nipple, and she lifts her CO2 respirator to take a quick sip of air before dropping it and clasping your jaw with one hand. She pulls you into another kiss, and you sigh happily as her tongue slides against yours. The size difference means that the kiss is a little awkward, but her enthusiasm makes up for that.

It feels like the world is spinning, and you let out a soft noise of surprise when her teeth sink into your lower lip. It’s not hard enough to hurt, but the sensation has you shivering in her lap. You almost whine when she breaks away from you, but she just starts to trail kisses down your neck and across your chest.

“Oh, fuck.” You breathe, your whole body jolting when she bites at the curve of your breast. It stings, and you look down at yourself to find a reddened bite mark at the top of your tit, right where it starts to swell.

“So soft and pretty, syulang.” Neytiri mumbles, sucking a bruise on the top of your other tit. 

She’s the oddest mix of rough and gentle with you; she’s obviously very conscious of how much bigger and stronger she is, because she’s holding you like you’re made of glass. But even as she strokes her thumbs over your hipbones, her hot, hungry mouth nips and kisses at your sensitive skin and leaves purpling bruises behind. 

When her mouth actually closes around your nipple, you let out an absolutely mortifying sound of confusion mixed with arousal. She can fit so much of your breast in her mouth that when she actually suckles on it, your eyes practically roll back at the stimulation.

“God,” You whimper, your hips twitching against her lap. The lace of your panties drags over the soft buttery fabric of her loincloth, and the friction against your clit leaves you shivery. “Neytiri, will you please– can you–?”

Neytiri hums, reluctantly releasing your tit from the wet heat of her mouth. You shiver as the cool air of the room hits the spit-slick skin of your breasts, but Neytiri quickly places her hand over the spot she had been sucking, warming your skin as she squeezes lightly.

“So eager, tawtute.” She coos, smiling at you like she thinks that you’re just adorable. She reaches her much larger hand into your panties, her long slender fingers sliding through the slick folds of your pussy with ease.

You groan like you’ve just been punched, and drop your head down against her shoulder. Her thumb rolls over your clit and your hips jump, grinding in her lap. She chuckles at your reaction, and watches your face closely as she presses one of her fingers inside of you. While a single one of her fingers is much larger than yours, it’s still smaller than Jake’s and you find yourself wanting more.

“Another one.” You beg, already humping your hips into her hand.

Neytiri laughs softly, but does as you ask all the same. The second finger is a definite stretch, but you’re so aroused already that it only stings for a moment before your body adjusts, squeezing tight around her.

“Pretty, pretty girl.” She whispers, ducking her face back down to your chest even as she fingers you.

Oh god, she’s bitey. The wet heat of her mouth leaves trails of stinging bruises across your tender chest and shoulders, which she then soothes over with her large, catlike tongue. There’s going to be no covering the marks she’s leaving behind, but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

You’d likely let her do anything to you right now; you feel overheated and shivery, and you can’t stop your chest from heaving as you rut your hips into her fingers, moaning as the heel of her hand grinds into your clit. Her hand is much too big to fit properly in your panties, but you’re far past the point of caring if she stretches the fabric out.

The only thing that could actually bring you out of the sweaty, horny haze you’ve found yourself in is the sound of your bedroom door opening, and you freeze in Neytiri’s lap with your breathing embarrassingly loud in the silence. 

For a wildly horrifying moment, you think that Lo’ak had returned for something, and you think about just dropping dead on the spot.

But then you look reluctantly over your shoulder, and you see Jake’s big body standing hunched in your doorway, and you want to drop dead for an entirely different reason. 

Jake is looking between you and Neytiri with wide golden eyes, his eyebrows raised so high that his whole forehead is creased. His stare lingers on your bare chest, then on Neytiri’s, and then drops down to where Neytiri’s hand is stuffed down the front of your panties.

“Oh shit.” Jake breathes once he manages to get over his surprise. His expression brightens and he hastily shuts the door behind himself, shuffling quickly over to your bed to join you and Neytiri.

The little room you had claimed as a bedroom is far from large, but it feels even smaller now that you have both Jake and Neytiri’s nine-feet-tall big ass bodies joining you on your miserable, rickety little bed.

“I guess that your little chat went well, huh?” Jake murmurs, a shit-eating grin on his face as he settles next to Neytiri, leaning in close so that his hungry eyes can rove over your almost naked body.

Neytiri hums, though she hardly even looks up at her husband. She’s too busy nuzzling little kisses into your throat, pulling helpless little gasps out of your mouth every time her lips close over your sensitive skin. Her hand doesn’t stop moving either, and you feel like you’re going weak in her lap every time the thick pad of her thumb rolls over the little bead of your clit.

“You handled things badly, ma Jake. I told you I would sort it.” She says, and you can feel her lips curving into a smile against your throat.

Jake just snickers, and you can feel the warm weight of his palm land on your back. He strokes over the bare length of your spine, and then you feel his fingers tug playfully at the back of your panties. He purposefully tugs the lace fabric so that it’s wedged uncomfortably between your asscheeks, and you let out a soft yowl of complaint before half-turning and slapping at his hands.

“Ah fuck, you’re wearing your sexy panties, huh?” Jake’s laugh is a little hoarse as he tugs at your underwear.

Neytiri hisses at him in aggravation when his messing about leads to her hand being forced out of your panties, but Jake just grins. The two of them are so fucking big, they’re practically looming over you right now. Even perched in Neytiri’s lap, you feel tiny in between them.

“The fabric means something?” Neytiri asks, her attention now caught on your red lacy panties.

“Oh yeah.” Jake mutters, his chest pressing up against your bare back, which consequently pushes your breasts against Neytiri’s. “Why don’t you tell her what your panties mean, honey?”

“Jake.” You complain, though it comes out more whiny than you had intended. 

He just ignores you, his chest rumbling quietly in amusement against your back as he leans down to murmur in your ear. “Means she was hoping someone’d take her clothes off to get a peek at her, isn’t that right?”

You don’t get the chance to respond, because Jake wraps an arm around your middle and plucks you right out of Neytiri’s lap. You end up sprawled in his lap with your thighs spread wide over his, your back plastered against his chest. One of his hands rests against your belly to keep you pinned against him, keeping you firmly in place against him.

You half expect Neytiri to be irritated over being interrupted, but if anything she’s brightened even further. There’s a gleam in her eyes as she pushes herself off the bed, landing on her knees in between Jake’s spread thighs.

You feel ridiculously exposed like this; it’s almost as if Jake has maneuvered you into this position with the express purpose of showing your body off. Your thighs bracket his, and when he spreads his legs yours are forced wider too, giving Neytiri an eyeful of your scarlet red panties and the absolutely humiliating wet spot that’s currently soaking through the crotch. 

Your back is arched too thanks to the way that he’s holding you tight against him, which forces your tits out and gives him a good eyeful of the nips and bruises that Neytiri’s greedy mouth had left behind.

“Damn, you did a number on her, didn’t’ya?” Jake’s big fingers trace over the tender marks across your breasts, and you swear it feels like the contact sends a little zap of electricity racing through you.

Neytiri just giggles, her cheeks dimpling as she smiles up at you and Jake from between your spread thighs. The close proximity of her face to your pussy almost takes your breath away, and your breath catches in your chest when she rubs her big thumb over the wet patch on the fabric of your panties.

Some part of you wonders if you should try to slow things down, to talk things out, but then Neytiri hooks her long fingers in the band of your panties and tugs them clumsily down your thighs and all sensible thought completely abandons you.

You let out a soft, wanting sound when Jake’s fingers run through the slickness of your pussy, spreading you wide so that Neytiri can get a proper look at you. She even leans closer, and the heat of her breath against your oversensitive, damp skin has you twitching.

“What do you think, baby?” Jake asks Neytiri, leaning over your head and looking down at her with a grin. His fingers roll a teasing circle over your clit, and you groan as your head falls backwards to rest against his chest.

“She is so small.” Neytiri coos, her own big fingers joining Jake’s in stroking over you. 

All you can do is lay there in Jake’s lap, with your eyes wide and your chest heaving as their big fingers press into you, stretch you wide, and rub at your clit. It’s like they’re trying to outdo each other, trying to unravel you with their fingers alone. Their hands are so big that the combination of their touches feels overwhelming, as though the heat of their fingers is stealing the breath right out of your lungs.

God, you love how they make you feel so small and delicate. Getting manhandled and pinned down during sex is exciting normally anyway, but with two Na’vi twice your size that excitement turns into an outright thrill.

Neytiri kisses the inside of your thigh. It’s such a sweet little motion, her plush lips dragging gently over the thin sensitive skin of your inner thighs. It’s not much of a surprise when her lips add a little suction, a little nip of her canines, just so she can suck another little lovebite at the juncture of your hips and thighs.

“So pretty, syulang.” She whispers, but her voice is muffled as she trails kisses tantalisingly close to where you want her mouth.

“Neytiri,” You whimper. You try to squirm, but Jake keeps you still. “Please-!”

Jake chuckles, his chest rumbling pleasantly against your back. “C’mon, Neytiri, baby, help me get her ready.”

“She’s so wet already.” Neytiri murmurs, her cheeks dimpling so prettily as she leans in and finally lays her mouth on you.

The wet heat of her mouth has your head tilting back onto Jake’s shoulder with a moan, earning a quiet laugh from Jake as he presses a kiss to your shoulder. His big hands keep your thighs spread, and you end up with your legs spread wide and thrown over Neytiri’s shoulders as she latches onto your clit and sucks.

“Fuck!” You yell, your hips jerking. But Jake keeps your hips pinned down so that your ass is pressing against the hardened bulge in his loincloth, his arms wrapped around your belly as he watches Neytiri eat you out from over your shoulder.

“She tastes good, doesn’t she, baby?” Jake croons to her, snickering when Neytiri moans out a garbled response, all muffled into your cunt.

Even from the corner of your eye, you can see the excited smile that’s tugging at Jake’s lips as he hooks his chin over your shoulder to get a better look at Neytiri hungrily licking you out. Judging by the stiffening of his cock pressed against your ass, he is more than enjoying the view.

Na’vi tongues are so oddly textured, like a cat-tongue almost, and Neytiri’s licks against you are rougher than they would be with a human partner. It also means that when her wide, rough tongue rasps over your clit, sparks practically burst behind your eyes as you cry out.

“That’s it, honey. Just relax.” Jake whispers to you, his wide palm cupping your tits and squeezing a little.

Neytiri’s tongue slides down the lips of your pussy until she reaches your slit, and then her tongue is wiggling inside of you and you’re turning your head to the side and whining into the pretty blue skin of Jake’s neck. He just hums, obviously enjoying the sight of his wife tongue-fucking you as you’re held spread open in his lap.

Jake’s cock is pressing into the dip at the small of your back, scalding hot and hard as a goddamn rock, and you alternate between rocking against the length of his hard dick and back into Neytiri’s greedy mouth. She mouths along your pussy, her teeth grazing and scratching at the sensitive skin just right. 

You let out an overwhelmed sort of sob, the air catching in your chest as you heave for breath, and you can feel Neytiri smile against the soft flesh of your pussy. Neytiri’s tongue traces your folds, pulling them into his mouth and suckling. You arch your back and moan into Jake’s neck, though your own little sounds of pleasure are mostly drowned out by the soft, breathy moans she keeps making into your pussy everytime she licks into you.

The two of them are caging you in with their big bodies, holding you so gently even as they push you close to the edge. The sweet, hot tension in your lower belly coils tighter and tighter until you’re a trembling wreck, ready to shatter apart.

“Oh… oh god.” You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut tight as your head rests back against Jake’s chest. He just chuckles, and smooths some of your sweaty hair back off your forehead.

“Gonna come, honey?” He whispers, his voice all coy and teasing in your ear. “Oh shit, you crying?”

You are tearing up, just a little bit, from all the sheer stimulation of Neytiri’s mouth on your pussy and Jake’s enormous hands groping at your tits. You still manage to smack Jake’s bicep for that comment though, a weak little slap to his hard muscle.

“Shit, I’m… I’m gonna–” You start to say, your eyelids fluttering shut in anticipation as that beautiful, toe-curling tension starts to coil sweetly in your lower belly.

But right as you’re about to tip over that precipice into bliss, Neytiri pulls away and you nearly start crying for real.

“No! Wait, don’t stop–” You whine, your hips humping into the air in an attempt to follow after Neytiri’s mouth.

“Shhh, mawey, syulang. Calm.” Neytiri purrs, another little kiss placed on your soft inner thigh. “So perfect, yawntu.”

The pupils of her eyes are wider than you’ve ever seen them, and she keeps leaning her cheek against the plush flesh of your thigh. She looks drunk almost, even as she keeps kissing all along your thighs and up over your tummy, before returning to your cunt just to give you slow, kittenish licks right over the bead of your clit.

Your entire body jerks with every kiss. Her tongue is hot and wet as she licks at you, and it feels like liquid fire erupts through your nerves. Your hips twitch and chase after her touch, but Jake keeps you in place with his firm grasp on your thighs.

You’re desperate, frantic for any kind of release. This feels as though it’s been building for years, as though your body has just been waiting for them to touch you like this. God, it feels good. They’re so much bigger than you that any wrong move could end up with them actually crushing you between them, and yet they’re so sweet and careful. You feel as safe with them as ever.

As if he senses your impatience, Jake kisses the spot just under your ear. “You want more, sweetheart?”

“Yes!” You hiss, already squirming in his lap. Your ass rubs against his dick and he groans, his arms tightening around your waist to pull you back onto him so that he can grind against you.

“What d’you think, huh?” Jake’s voice is rough and gravelly as he speaks to Neytiri, his arousal obvious. “Is our little lady ready for it?”

“She is so small, ma Jake. It will be a tight fit.” Neytiri murmurs, her voice all muffled as her fingers dip back inside you. You roll your hips against her fingers, whimpering a little at the mouth-watering stretch as she pushes a third long finger inside. 

“She’ll take it,” Jake murmurs, his flat nose pressing into your temple. “Won’t you, beautiful?”

One Na’vi finger is probably the equivalent of two of yours, so the stretch is enough to send your head spinning. You barely even comprehend what he’s saying to you, but you nod blindly anyway, gasping wetly as Neytiri fingers you.

“Uh huh, yeah, please.” You say stupidly, wiggling on his lap.

Jake lifts you a little higher, holding you close to his chest as Neytiri pulls his loincloth off. And fuck, you had almost forgotten how big his dick was. He’s so hard, the delicate little glowing white freckles along the length of it twinkling like little stars, just like the ones splashed across Neytiri’s tits.

“Hush, honey, we’re gonna look after you.” Jake soothes you, kissing your temple. “Gonna be so good to you. Fuck, been waiting so long for this.”

Jake grunts a quiet moan when Neytiri’s hand closes around his cock, and he muffles his appreciative noises in the curve of your shoulder. Neytiri presses a playful kiss to the tip of his dick, earning another groan from Jake, before she looks up at you again.

“You are okay, syulang?” She whispers, setting one heavy hand on your waist and stroking her long thumb over your stomach.

You’ve never been so eager for anything in your life. It’s like your body remembers the feeling of Jake’s fingers and the weight of his cock on your tongue, because it feels like every nerve is aflame as you wait for him to press into you and stretch you wide. You’ve been thinking about this since that night, lying alone in your quarters and stuffing yourself full with your fingers trying to imagine it was his dick. No matter what though, it never feels like enough.

You nod, and lean forward in Jake’s lap to try and kiss Neytiri again. You’re a little shy about it, still a little thrilled that you’re allowed to do this, and she ends up sitting up on her knees and placing her hand on the back of your head to pull you into a sweet, lingering kiss.

As she kisses you, the thick head of Jake’s dick drags through your folds and you shiver in anticipation. Even just the tip of it feels big when he’s grinding it against your clit, and you wrap your arms around Neytiri’s shoulders for stability  as Jake positions himself at your entrance.

“Fuck,” The groan is punched out of you when you feel the insistent pressure of Jake’s cock pressing into you. “Jake… Your dick is too big, it won’t fit–”

“You think I gotta big dick, sweetheart?” Jake laughs, cause he’s an asshole like that. His teeth flash in a grin. 

“You’re such a dickhead.” You complain, but you find yourself laughing breathlessly anyway. 

His intention was to make you relax a little, and it works. Jake and Neytiri’s big fingers have been stretching you out, and you’re so horny and eager right now that it’s now or never.

Jake just snickers, and reaches over to your bedside locker. He opens it up and reaches inside, and pulls out the tiny plastic bottle of lube you have hidden away in there. You can't even think about how he knows it’s there because Neytiri keeps kissing you stupid, and you don’t have any brain power to spare.

Neytiri trails kisses down your neck and chest, pausing at your breasts again. She takes a hasty, shaky breath from the CO2 respirator around her neck, before dropping it and leaning forward to wrap her lips around your nipple again while massaging your other breast with her free hand. Her gentle but eager touches feel genuinely addictive, like she’s leaving trails of pure heat along your oversensitive skin with every brush of her lips.

Jake’s cock, slick with lube, presses up into your cunt, and you let out a garbled whimper at the feeling of intense dull pressure. “Oh, fuck.”

You jolt when Neytiri lets your tit go with a soft, wet little pop. She coos softly at you, cupping your cheek with her hand and brushing her thumb over your cheekbone. Her eyes are so big and golden and pretty, and she’s looking up at you with an awed sort of smile, as though she can hardly believe she’s seeing you like this right now.

Jake begins to press into you, stretching you wide and slipping inside inch by inch. 

You gasp desperately as you’re speared open inexorably slowly, tears pricking your eyes as your mouth drops open. Your hips twitch, unsure whether to press back into him to get him deeper inside of you faster or to jerk away from the intense stretch, but his hands are clamped tight around your hips to restrict your movement.

“Fuck, so tight.” Jake grunts, pausing. “Strangling my cock. Shhh… your pussy was made for this, honey. You’ll stretch.””

The noise you make barely sounds human, an incomprehensible mix between a moan and a squeal as Neytiri steadies you, her big hands settling on your waist. She’s staring between your legs, obviously transfixed by the sight of Jake rocking his cock into you in steady increments. Though you can’t see yourself, you can only imagine that it must be quite the sight.

“Just– put it in all at once!” You burst out, gasping as you squeeze your eyes shut. You feel as though you’re about to get totally overwhelmed, the breath driven right out of you as the shocking girth of him stretches you wide.

“Easy, baby girl.” He rumbles into your ear, breath coming in short puffs. He bites at the junction between your neck and shoulder as he slides another inch deeper inside of you. “You’re doing so good.”

You try to calm yourself, taking your deep breaths, but for a heartbeat or two you can’t breathe at all, hovering on a knife's edge of pain and pleasure as your body could only yield – it doesn’t even feel like there’s room in you even to inhale –

“Be gentle, Jake.” Neytiri murmurs, her thumb landing on your swollen clit and rubbing tight circles against it to soothe you.

“I know, I know, I got her.” Jake grunts.

Each ridge on his cock rubs against your inner walls, the slick, throbbing friction never flagging. His rough hands wander erratically, raking up your rib cage, over one breast and down again, grasping as if a handful of you is not enough as he moves his hips in slow humps to get his cock as deep in you as he can manage.

“Fuck!” You moan throatily, dropping your head to hang low as you rock your hips experimentally back on his dick. “Jake, you gotta… gotta move.”

It doesn’t all fit inside of you, but Jake doesn’t seem to mind – he’s grunting out quiet curses, his voice rough and deep as his cock rocks into the tightness of your cunt. The stretch is achy, but the weight and girth of his cock rubs against every goddamn nerve you have. Even though it feels as though he’s splitting you in two, you still find your hips rocking insistently against him, mewling at the sensation. 

“Oh honey, you been practicing?” Jake grunts, his sharp canines dragging along the side of your throat. “Goddamn, look at you. Sucking me right into you, aren’tcha? Look, baby, you seeing this?”

“I see.” Neytiri hums, still playing with your clit. She shoots you another smile, before leaning in and kissing at your tits again. “So soft, syulang. So lovely. Doing so well, yawne.”

“Fuck,” Jake groans as he watches his wife touch your tits and marvel at how soft they are. “That’s hot.”

“Go faster.” You whine, tilting your head back to rest against Jake’s shoulder. “Fuck me properly, I can take it, I promise–”

Jake chokes out a laugh, and pulls your back tight against his stomach as his dick grinds deep inside of you, stealing your breath and promptly shutting you up. The moan that’s torn from you is absolutely filthy, your cunt fluttering around him as you fight to take him in, every nerve firing as Neytiri suckles at your breasts.

“Shhh, just take what I give you, gorgeous. Feels like you’re gonna squeeze my cock off. So fucking tight, mama, goddamn–” 

You try to lift yourself up, determined to ride him, to take some kind of control over the pace, but Jake holds your hips tight to keep you exactly where he wants you. 

It’s so frustrating, because you’re so desperate for more. You know you can take it, you’ve been fucking your fingers just imagining this for days now, gradually stretching yourself out, and Neytiri has already ensured that you’re good and ready for this. You feel like you’re going to lose your mind if Jake doesn’t just fuck you properly already.

Neytiri’s tongue rolls around your nipple, pulling a soft whine out of your throat, before she releases your titty and kisses her way up your neck, pausing by your ear.

“He can be mean, can’t he, pretty girl?” Neytiri whispers in your ear, her voice all teasing and playful. “You musn’t let him tease you. Take what you want. Do you want me to show you how?”

You nod, your mouth dropped open as you pant, your stomach fluttering in excitement.

Neytiri gives you a sharp, hungry smile, before pushing herself to her feet once more. You crane your head back to watch her, your breathing picking up. You must have missed her taking off her loincloth, but now she’s entirely naked in front of you. Your eyes trace over her small but firm breasts, her toned belly, the impressive musculature of her legs, the pretty curve of her pussy. The beautiful bioluminescent freckles all over her jewel-blue body twinkle in the dim artificial light of your quarters, and your mouth goes dry as you’re seized with the desire to trace them with your tongue.

But she’s already climbing onto your rickety bed, and shoving roughly at Jake’s chest. He lets out a low, wanting sound, and lets her push him flat. Now that he’s laying flat on your bed, Neytiri coaxes you to turn – you have to bite back your laughter as you spin around on Jake’s dick so that you’re facing him, and you can see the way he’s clearly fighting his own snickers too. 

But Jake never gets to make a joke about the way you just spun around on his dick like a top, because Neytiri swings her leg over his head and straddles his face as though it’s nothing, her body facing you as she simply sits down.

“Ah,” She moans, her eyelids fluttering as she grinds herself against Jake’s mouth. “He talks so much, doesn’t he, syulang?”

You wheeze a laugh, hardly able to believe this is happening. Jake does talk a lot, but he seems very happy to be forced into silence like this judging by the way his cock is twitching inside you. His groans are muffled but no less pleased, one hand coming up to wrap around Neytiri’s thigh and encourage her to rock into his mouth.

Neytiri lets out a soft pleasured sound, before raising her eyes back to you. Her smile is lazy, her eyes half-closed as she relishes the feeling of Jake’s mouth against her pussy. She reaches out and takes one of your hands, intertwining your fingers before she leans forward and kisses you so sweetly.

“Go ahead and move how you want to, tawtute.” She whispers, her tongue gliding over your lower lip.

You mewl a little, but do as she says. You place a hand firmly on Jake’s belly for balance, before lifting yourself on shaky knees and dropping back down again. You groan at the feeling, and in the same moment Jake’s hips rock up into you and his belly visibly tightens. His obvious pleasure buoys your confidence, and you do it again.

Your thighs burn – Jake’s cock is long, and you have to lift yourself higher than you’re used to in order to ride him properly. But it’s a challenge you’re willing to take because even though the stretch of him burns, it feels delicious. You feel drunk on it, your mouth falling open as tears over overstimulation begin to leak from the corners of your eyes.

Neytiri watches you through her half-lidded golden eyes, a lazy smile pulling at her lips as her tails sways in the air behind her. One of her hands is squeezing absently at her tits, the other holding your hand tight as the two of you rock against Jake. 

"Hah," You gasp out as you involuntarily squeeze around the girth of his cock. “Ah… oh god, I’m…”

“How does it feel, syulang?” Neytiri breathes, watching the way your hips undulate over Jake’s stupidly big cock, trying to get it to hit just right.

“Feels– shit, so big, but so good–” You sob, overwhelmed yet so needy. Your legs are tiring already, thighs burning as you grind against him. “Want him to move–”

Neytiri hums, before reaching out and smacking at Jake’s hip. He groans into her cunt, the slick sounds of his mouth against her enough to heat your cheeks up, but he gets the message loud and clear because his hips jolt into action.

Each thrust shakes your bed, the springs of your mattress coming to life as Jake’s hips thrust up, fucking you from below. Your pussy is drenched, aiding the lube he had soaked his cock as he glides in and out of you effortlessly, your body opening up for him as though you had been born for this.

His cock reaches something within you that has a sob ripping from your throat, your head tossing back as you wail towards the ceiling.

"Oh my god," You cry out, his cock spearing into you and hitting that spot with precision over and over again, "Fuuuck."

“Is that how you like it, yawntu?” Neytiri breathes. She’s getting close herself; you can tell by the jagged rhythm of her hips as she humps against Jake’s face, and the wide blackness of her pupils.

“Uh huh, yes!” You whine, your vision blurring. It feels like your body is drawing tense as a bowstring, your toes curling so hard it almost hurts.

You’re not sure if Jake can actually hear you or not, considering Neytiri’s thighs are closed tight around his ears, but the hand that isn’t holding onto her leg travels down to your hip and holds you tight. His thumb strokes over the swell of your ass even as he encourages you to rock against him. All you can do is grind against him every time his hips piston up, the thick swell of his cock settling so deep inside of you it feels like it’s in your stomach.

Your pussy is already fluttering, your belly tightening as your rising orgasm begins to prickle at the edges of your body. Fuck, you already feel as though it’s about to shake you apart at the seams, like you’ll never feel whole again without the delicious stretch of Jake’s cock. 

To your surprise, it’s Neytiri that comes first. She cries out, her big hand encompassing yours as her eyes roll, her head dropping forward to nestle into your neck as her body shakes apart. 

Beneath her, Jake’s chest rumbles with a low purr of arousal as she comes all over his face – but he’s a man devoted to his mission, because he somehow manages to keep fucking into you all while he licks Neytiri through her own orgasm.

You’re actually quaking at this point, grinding yourself desperately on top of Jake as his hips thrust up into, the friction so damn good even though you can tell that he’s trying so hard to be careful with you. This particular position isn’t super conducive to your own pleasure, but being fucked like this while having such strong visual stimulation is nice – you can hardly tear your eyes away from Neytiri as her body goes lax, her eyelashes fluttering wildly as she humps lazily against Jake’s face to ride the last shivery shocks of her orgasm out.

God, it feels as though you’re never going to get over this. You feel as though your nerves are right on the edge of frying, your lungs and muscles burning and your skin slick with sweat as you rock and writhe wildly, taking a cue from Neytiri and seeking your own satisfaction. You can’t imagine ever feeling better than this; it feels as though you’re blooming under all of the attention that’s being lavished upon you.

Once Neytiri stops shaking, she takes a moment to just gasp for breath even as her hips roll slowly over Jake’s tongue. Slowly, she blinks back to herself, then her eyes fall back upon you. A slow, lazy smile spreads across her face, and then she’s reaching out to you all over again, her fingers landing on your clit to rub over it in a teasing circle.

Her long fingers barely brush the fraught nerves before ecstasy settles between each of your vertebrae. Your pussy flares, gripping onto the throbbing thickness of Jake’s cock. Shaking violently, your thighs squeeze Jake’s slim waist as everything tightens, pulses, spasms. 

Overwhelmed, whimpering sort of wails pour from your lips in a deluge, your jaw is slack, the waves of ecstasy rendering you utterly helpless to the instinctual rutting motions of your hips. You're rocking up against him while simultaneously attempting to escape the sensation, choking out gasping moans as you fall apart.

You must tighten up like a vice when you come, because Jake yells out, his hips bucking. His shout is muffled by Neytiri’s pussy as you squeeze down on his dick, trembling. 

The way your cunt constricts around him proves too much for Jake’s poor cock. You can feel the hot, thick spurts of cum as as he empties himself inside of you, his soft tummy twitching and trembling as his hips flex. You're exhausted, powerless to do anything other than bathe in the sensation of your cunt convulsing around Jake’s twitching cock as he shakes under you, moaning into Neytiri’s cunt as she grinds lazily on his tongue.

When your thighs finally stop trembling, your over-fatigued body starts to go limp. It feels as though your muscles have been liquefied, and you start to slump over a little. Neytiri seems to take sympathy on Jake, because she finally lifts herself off of Jake’s face in order to cup your face, kissing your cheeks and forehead.

Below you, Jake just groans, pausing to give himself a moment to breathe. He only takes a moment though before he starts slowly rocking his hips again, as though he’s just trying to fuck his cum deeper into you. It was too much, leaking out of your hole and over his cock, soaking into the sheets below.

“Oh my god.” You pant, your lungs overworked as you try to catch your breath. “Oh, holy fuck.”

Jake laughs, wheezy with his own disbelief. However wrecked you feel, Jake looks absolutely destroyed. His chest and stomach are glossy with sweat, his hips drenched in lube and your own release. His dreads are in disarray, his eyes hazy and a little dazed as his chest heaves. His mouth and nose are shiny slick too from both his own saliva and from Neytiri coming all over his face. 

Despite his dishevelment, he looks impossibly pleased with himself as he fumbles for his respirator, taking clumsy breaths even as he smiles dopily to himself, his eyes glassy and unfocused.

Neytiri helps lift you off Jake’s dick, which you end up being extremely thankful for when you find that your knees are watery and weak. You try to pretend you don’t notice the sheer amount of come that’s leaking out of you, thick and a little iridescent in the artificial light of your quarters.

You’re so fucked out that you hardly even twitch when Neytiri pulls you back against her chest, settling comfortably back on the mattress beside Jake. You end up squished between them in a pile of sweaty slack limbs. You feel so tiny next to them, especially considering the two of them don’t even fit properly on the bed – their legs are hanging right off the mattress, their feet planted on the ground as they nuzzle against you and each other.

Now that all the adrenaline is wearing off, you can certainly feel the ache left behind from all of your activities, and the sting from the sheer stretch of Jake’s cock.

“Ow.” You mutter absently, though it comes out muffled as your face is currently squished against Neytiri’s firm breasts.

She coos at you, her big hand stroking over the back of your head before she reaches out to smack at Jake’s forehead. “You were too rough with her, skxawng–”

“I was not– ouch, damn!” Jake flinches back, ducking down and using you as a floppy sort of human shield. “Okay, okay. You alright, honey?”

“Mm. Tired.” You mumble. You feel like you’ve just had all the thoughts fucked right out of your head, because you can barely string a sentence together right now.

“I have balms back at home,” Neytiri ensures you, her lips dragging over your temple. “Where you should be.”

You manage a breathless sort of laugh, your toes curling at the sound of that. They’ve always invited you into their home, but you’ve always been a little worried about overstaying your welcome. Now, all wrapped up in their naked embrace in your little blissful post-coital puddle, you find yourself almost deliriously thrilled about going back home with them.

“You hurt?” Jake asks, his voice rasping pleasantly in your ear. It sends a pleasant tingle down your spine, but that disappears almost instantly as his big fingers prod at the oversensitive lips of your pussy.

“Ow! Fuck, Jake, what is wrong with you-” You grouse, slapping his hand away from you. “No, I’m fine, but I’m sensitive down there. I don’t need your fat fucking fingers poking inside of me again.”

“You loved my fat fucking fingers before.” He grumbles, but there’s a teasing edge to his voice as he places a tiny kiss on the back of your neck. “Neytiri’s too, huh?”

Your cheeks heat in embarrassment, but there’s no point denying that. You just grumble incomprehensibly, burrowing deeper into their arms. Jake snickers, shuffling closer so that he’s completely plastered against your back, his big arm wrapped around both you and Neytiri.

Neytiri hums, enjoying Jake’s arm around her as her own hand trails over the valley of your waist and hips. “No need for others, syulang. You have us, yes? We look after you.”

You breathe a weak laugh, but your answer is interrupted by an ominous creaking noise coming from beneath you. There’s a brief pause, and then an almighty crash as your rickety old bed breaks from the weight of the two full grown Na’vi bodies laying atop of it. You squeal, but there’s really no need because Jake and Neytiri hardly flinch at all. They just glance down as though the wreckage of your bedframe is nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

“Oh my god.” You squeak, sitting up to try and see the damage.

“Does not matter.” Neytiri says dismissively. She’s stretching out, her lithe body elongating as she yawns like a big cat. “You will just stay in our bed.”

There’s a pause. You nearly start laughing, though you manage to bite back your reaction. Oh god, you’ve just fucked your best friends. It feels as though Jake has managed to screw your braincells right out of your skull, because all you can do is gape at their big, sexy bodies like an absolute moron. Not only have you just fucked your friends, but they’re also clearly expecting you to come back home with them. 

“Lie back down,” Jake murmurs, reaching out to beckon you back to their sides.

“I should shower,” You mumble, but you’re already laying back down. Your hips are sore from being stretched so wide, and you have no confidence that you’re actually able to stand without your knees buckling. “I feel gross.”

“Bathe with us back at the village.” Jake says immediately, his wide nose burying itself into the back of your neck. He breathes deeply, and his chest rumbles in a quiet purr. It sends soothing little reverberations down your spine, encouraging you to relax into his big body.

You have a feeling that he just wants you to walk around the village, stinking of the two of them. You also have a feeling that it’s the same reason behind Neytiri leaving all of those throbbing hickeys behind on your body wherever her mouth could reach, and you can’t fight the tired smile growing on your face. You’re too tired to argue, and just flop bonelessly between the two of them, enjoying your warmth. It’s so familiar, laying in their shared embrace. You’ve been doing this for years, although admittedly it’s usually with the rest of the family and you’re usually clothed, but it’s still comfortably domestic and intimate.

You suppose you’ll doze for a while, napping in wreckage of your shitty old bed in the pleasant afterglow of what was probably the best sex of your life. Jake and Neytiri have burrowed so deep into your life, your mind, your body, that everything feels so bizarrely natural with them.

You won’t sleep long, you think as you cuddle up against Neytiri’s smooth skin, with Jake’s bulk curling around your back. Dinner will be soon, and you’re hungry.

Besides, you had promised Lo’ak you’d be there.

💨‧₊˚.° 11:58 p.m. (m) — choi yeonjun & kang taehyun

genre: smսt, threesome, doms!fratboys!taejun, sub!fem!reader, friends to ???, high sex + car sex = 😵‍💫

wc: 4.9k (someone sedate me pls)

becoming friends with frat boys was never part of your plan for college. 

alas, here you are, two of them basically surgically attached to your hip. your first semester of junior year has been full of surprises thus far, your blooming friendship with yeonjun and taehyun being the most significant one; what started out as partners for a project has transformed into a close friendship with the two guys, and your new norm now consists of grabbing starbucks together before heading to class, hitting the gym with either one or both of them in tow, and — for better or for worse — attending their frat’s infamous parties every weekend.

and lucky you: you’ve just arrived at one.

as you climb the steps of tau chi tau’s gigantic house, you spot the bright blond hair of one of the pledges on door duty — your favorite pledge, actually. 

“sunoo!” you greet, tackling him into a hug as soon as you reach him. he reciprocates easily, his lips curling into a small smile before he’s pulling away.

“you’re late,” he teases. “your boyfriends are already high off their asses.”

you scoff, nudging his shoulder with a closed fist. “first of all, they’re not my boyfriends. second of all, they knew i wasn’t gonna be here for a while, and i promised i’d be their d.d. tonight, so,” you shrug. he rolls his eyes playfully, but opens the door for you anyway.

“yeah, yeah, whatever. they should be in the basement,” he says, gesturing for you to go inside. “just be careful, it reeks down there.”

you laugh. “thanks, dude.”

as the front door shuts behind you, you take in the state of the house. the air is hot and humid against your skin, your shoes getting stuck on the floor that is covered with liquids you’d rather not identify. some rap song pounds in your ears, and you nod your head along to the beat as you slip between a small space between two groups, finally reaching the door that leads down to the basement. the moment you swing it open, the potent stench of weed bombards your senses. your nose scrunches up — sunoo wasn’t wrong.

in vain, you wave your hand in front of your face as you make your descent. the haze floating in the air grows a bit thicker the further that you go, your only goal now being to get them out of here before you start feeling the effects as well. you eventually have to drive, for christ’s sake, and you’re not looking to get a dui anytime soon. with one last step, you make it to the bottom of the staircase. the music is quieter down here, but the smell is far worse than upstairs. a familiar laugh pulls your attention to the couch facing away from you, two very familiar heads of hair catching your attention. as you sneak up behind them, you press your index finger against your lips, silently telling beomgyu — who sits on the couch opposite to them — to keep quiet. he simply smirks at you.

“y/n’s here,” he calls. annoyed, you flip him the bird and send him a scalding glare before leaning over the back of the couch, your scowl quickly being replaced by a grin. two pairs of red-rimmed eyes find yours, widening in tandem when they register that you are, in fact, there. 

“my baby!” yeonjun cries, his hands reaching up to pull you down towards him. his lips meet your forehead, pressing an aggressive kiss there, palms squishing your cheeks to hold you in place. you struggle to pull away from his grip, ignoring his pout and insistent grabby hands once you do. you sate him by linking your fingers with his. 

“you’re later than usual,” taehyun comments from next to him, a smile permanently etched on his lips, the sight a testament to his inebriated state. unlike yeonjun, he doesn’t move to touch you, perfectly content with watching. 

“i literally told you earlier that i had a paper due at twelve,” you remind him, removing your hands from yeonjun’s as you round the side of the couch, aiming to sit on the arm of it. that is, until yeonjun pulls you between them so that you rest on his left thigh and taehyun’s right. yeonjun wraps an arm around your waist, while taehyun rests a hand on your upper thigh. you try your best not to squirm. they’re your friends, but you’re not fucking blind. 

“you could’ve asked me for help,” taehyun murmurs close to your ear, squeezing the meat of your thigh. his warm breath tickles the side of your neck, and you gulp. directly across from you, beomgyu meets your flustered gaze, an amused eyebrow raised as he sinks further into the couch. you tear your eyes away from him to focus on your fingers twiddling in your lap. 

“i-i didn’t wanna bother you,” you admit, and he emits a giggle. the hand not sitting on your thigh reaches over to pinch your cheek.

“you’re so cute,” he coos, and for some reason, the praise goes straight to your center. “i wouldn’t’ve minded.”

okay, time to go. you don’t think you can handle any more of their pda, and you’re starting to feel a bit weird after inhaling all of that smoke. if you want to get to their apartment, you need to leave right now. standing, you stretch your limbs in a poor attempt to rid them of their shakiness. 

“time to go,” you voice, turning to face them. their eyes are dark and hooded as they look up at you. you falter a bit, stumbling when yeonjun rapidly leans forward and gathers you in his arms again. 

“but i don’t wannaaaa!” yeonjun whines, pulling you back onto the couch and straight onto his lap, his grip around your waist tightening enough that you’re pulled against his chest. “ten more minutes!”

sighing, you wiggle in his grasp, to no avail. you look over at taehyun for help, only to find him laughing at the sight. then, an idea pops into your mind, something that you know will appeal to both of them.

you turn your head towards yeonjun. “what if i take you to mcdonald’s?”

that gets them going. after one last odd look and crude gesture from beomgyu, you guide them out of the house and into yeonjun’s car. taehyun rides shotgun, while yeonjun mumbles in the back about how that’s unfair treatment — it’s his car, after all. despite yeonjun’s initial complaints, the drive over to the closest mcdonald’s is filled with loud, off-key singing from yeonjun and hysterical giggles from taehyun. it makes your eyes roll, but a tiny grin pulls at your lips all the while. 

“you’re lucky i love you guys,” you mumble, pulling into a spot in the parking lot after giving the drive-through worker the largest order that they have probably ever received, digging into your mcflurry as they silently inhale their burgers, fries, and their own mcflurrys. the pace at which they eat both impresses and terrifies you.

as soon as all three of you have finished, you begin the drive over to their place. you assume that they will let you stay over given how late it is, and it’s not as if they’ve ever minded before. after a few minutes, you realize how oddly quiet they’re being, and you look over to find taehyun staring at you, eyes unblinking and full of an emotion you can’t quite place. you whip your head back to the road — until you hear a sharp shink from the back. looking through the rearview mirror, you find yeonjun’s lighter poised to a brand new joint that rests between his plush lips, the flame bright and inching closer and closer to the paper.

“dude, you are not about to hotbox this car,” you groan. “put the fucking lighter down.”

“it’s my car. i can do whatever i want,” he mumbles in defiance, the lighter moving precariously closer again and illuminating his face in the dark backseat. you swing an arm between the two front seats in a poor attempt to grab the lighter. a hand moving to your thigh — taehyun’s hand — and squeezing nearly causes you to swerve the car before you gain control again. 

you glance over at the boy next to you as his fingers trail up and down your inner thigh, panic lacing your pupils, but you are distracted once again when the flame in your peripherals returns. “yeonjun, i swear to god—”

“don’t you want some?” taehyun interrupts, his hand stilling on a patch of skin high on your thigh, dangerously close to your center. “you worked hard today, you should let loose.”

you do. you really, really do. the stress built up in your muscles has become almost overbearing, and you’d think that it would be gone after your paper was out of the way, but no. honestly, all you want to do right now is relax, and taehyun’s offer is more than tempting — but you also don’t want to crash yeonjun’s car. at the same time, you are within walking distance to their apartment, so maybe…

“fine. just— just let me park first,” you concede, pulling into the nearest empty parking lot, parking in the dark back corner and subsequently cutting the headlights. twisting in your seat, you find yeonjun already prepared with an old pill bottle full of pre-rolled joints. an insane amount of them, actually. you snatch one and place it between your lips, reaching for the lighter in yeonjun’s other hand, only for him to pull it away. 

“nuh-uh,” he drawls with a lazy smirk. “c’mere.”

in curiosity, you lean forward, wondering what, exactly, his game is. he sets the bottle down, and his fingers reach up to grip your chin, fingertips lightly digging into the skin as he brings the lighter up and lights the joint for you. your stomach flips, your thighs automatically closing around taehyun’s hand. wrenching your face away, you turn towards the front again, heart racing in your chest as you take your first hit. then another. you block out the other two as you allow your high to take over. you don’t notice taehyun’s grip on you slip away.

over the course of what you think is a few minutes, your body begins to relax into the seat, head thrown back against the headrest as your brain fogs up. blurry eyes stare up at the gray ceiling. you eventually register just how hot it is, then notice the sheer amount of smoke that’s floating past your vision. a finger pokes your cheek, and you follow the hand back to taehyun. you smile subconsciously.

“such a lightweight, so cute,” he says, tapping his finger against your cheek again. you notice that he doesn’t have a joint of his own. “gimme a hit.”

“get your own,” you reply with a defiant hum, cheeks warming as you jokingly shield your joint with your body. he sighs. 

“c’mon, i just wanna try something. you trust me, right?” he murmurs. blinking hard, it takes you a moment to send him a lethargic nod. he peels the joint from your fingers with ease. “come closer.”

you obey, leaning over until mere inches separate your faces. he grabs you by the collar of your t-shirt, urging you to come closer. his eyes flit to your lips before they meet your gaze again — as if the weed wasn’t enough, this whole situation is rendering you even dizzier. 

silently, he pushes a thumb against your lips, pressing forward to part them. your mouth immediately accommodates the digit, and it presses against your tongue for a moment before dragging down to your bottom lip, your saliva mixing with your lipgloss. something quiet and pathetic sounds from your throat, your breath stuttering in your chest when he bites down on his own lip, his big, wide eyes far from innocent as he stares at you.

“keep it open,” he quietly orders, voice low and demanding, before he removes his thumb completely. you sit there, mouth agape like a fish out of water while he places your joint to his lips and inhales deeply. the seam of his lips closes immediately. then, he leans in, his lips mere millimeters away from yours. he holds your gaze as he opens his mouth and blows the smoke into your mouth, and you inhale it with a shaky breath. it travels down your throat and deep into your lungs, but the heat that spreads through your body isn’t from the smoke — no, it’s something overwhelmingly feverish. needy, wanton. 

the moment your eyes flutter close, taehyun’s lips are on yours, the taste of him sweet from the ice cream he ate earlier. the smoke you exhale passes between your parted mouths, drifting out into the cabin of the car. he feels around for the cupholder, then for his soda, using a single hand to pop open the lid before he’s dunking the lit blunt into the liquid, the movement of his lips unwavering all the while. he wastes no time in curling his palm around the nape of your neck, pulling you closer as he devours you whole. 

“holy fuck,” you vaguely hear yeonjun gasp, too far gone in the sensation of the languid, saliva-slicked kiss. it feels as if you are floating on top of a cloud, and you move to grab at his bicep to ground yourself. taehyun slips his tongue past your lips, curling the muscle around your own and immediately establishing his power over you. whining into his mouth, you attempt to pull away, only for yeonjun to cup your face and take over the kiss. taehyun’s hand slides down your neck and to one of your covered breasts, groping the soft mound of flesh over the fabric of your t-shirt. you moan into yeonjun’s mouth.

gentle hands pull you over the center console and into the back, yet yeonjun doesn’t break the kiss as he gathers you in his lap, your trembling thighs straddling his hips. you feel his cock press directly into your center when presses you down by your hips. your arms throw themselves around his neck, your lips slotting against his like a matching puzzle piece. the car rocks when taehyun slinks to the back as well, but yeonjun refuses to share you, hips angling upwards to grind his boner harder against your panty-clad core. 

“quit hogging her, you asshole,” taehyun growls from next to you, flipping your skirt up in the process to reveal your lacy panties to their eyes. the man next to you caresses the swell of your ass before landing a light smack. you jolt on top of yeonjun with a pathetic squeak, and his hand comes down again. in stark contrast to his actions, his tone is kind, perhaps a bit condescending, as he addresses you, “ooh, that feels good, doesn’t it? our baby likes to be spanked?”

their baby? something warm fills your veins at that, a quiet whimper muffled by yeonjun’s mouth. with the thin fabric of your panties embarrassingly sticking to your folds, you tear your lips away from yeonjun’s to hide your face in his chest, unable to face either of them. however, the rhythm of your hips does not falter. yeonjun forces you to look at taehyun with a firm grip that squishes your cheeks together, your lip puckering involuntarily. 

“answer him.” his warm breath fans over your ear as he speaks. a shiver racks your body despite the feverish heat surging through your body. knowing your voice will betray you, you opt for a shaky nod. 

taehyun’s gaze burns into your own, the blunt, rounded edges sharpened by lust. his dark pupils are the only thing that you can see in full clarity, the rest a foggy blur. “use your words.”

“yes,” you mumble, eyes screwed shut and your cheeks hotter than they’ve ever felt before. the feeling has spread down to your neck, your chest, the epicenter settling in your lower stomach. it festers there and tears at your insides like a feral beast and all you can think about is them — them using you, them fucking you. your breathing grows heavier before you feel a tap to your cheek, the skin stinging at the contact. 

“open your eyes, baby.”

you’re not sure who says it, but either way, you submit. eyelids fluttering open, you find both of them peering at you like two wolves stalking a soft, wide-eyed little lamb. your tongue feels like sandpaper in your mouth when they exchange scheming looks, their hands all over you as they maneuver your body as if you’re a doll. when did they plan this? how did you not notice their soft murmurs? 

you end up sitting between them, legs spread wide with one leg thrown over each of their laps. taehyun aims his focus towards your breasts, shoving your t-shirt up and yanking your bra down with little care, a hand tweaking one of your tits as the other curls itself in your hair and yanking your head back against the headrest. you cry at the sensation of his lips mouthing at your neck and his fingers pulling and groping your sensitive flesh. on the other side of you, yeonjun wastes no time in attempting to divert your attention back to him. shifting your panties to the side, he caresses your folds before dipping down to your entrance and groaning. 

“oh my god, you’re fucking soaked,” he groans as he gathers your wetness on his fingertips. “tae, you gotta feel her.”

said man’s hand leaves your breast, reaching down to join yeonjun’s at your center. a light brush over your clit causes your hips to twitch before he’s reaching down to swipe your entrance and—

“shit, you’re right,” taehyun breathes against your neck. “that’s so hot.”

without speaking, they begin to work in tandem as they pick you apart. a quiet, barely there voice in the back of your mind wonders if they’ve done this before, but that thought is quickly shooed away once two of yeonjun’s long fingers slide into your needy hole to the knuckle, the delicious stretch of your walls causing you to keen. your spine arches off of the seat when he begins to slide them in and out, curling up and grinding into that sensitive little spot inside you that you can never quite hit. meanwhile, taehyun ghosts a finger over your clit that aches for stimulation, his free hand digging into your thigh to keep you spread wide for them, your leg twitching in his grasp. he circles the sensitive bud as yeonjun adds a third finger to the mix, his movements growing faster as he feels your walls relax around his digits. taehyun ducks his head down to your breast, wrapping his lips around your nipple, his teeth scraping lightly against it. crying out, you plead for them to keep going. 

“such a tight little pussy,” yeonjun rambles directly into your ear, and you clench around his fingers. he nibbles at your earlobe before he continues, voice deep and growly and too much. fuck, it’s too much. “you look s’sexy right now, y’know that? so fuckin’ pretty. gonna make sure you can’t think about anything but us— gonna fuck you so dumb, baby. haven't even had our cocks ‘n you’re already losing it. s’cute.” 

with how wound up you are already, it doesn’t take long for the heat building in your stomach to bubble over, the overwhelming sensations all over your body coaxing you through your intense orgasm, waves a pleasure wracking your trembling body, your release coating yeonjun’s fingers while taehyun leans up to capture your lips. your whimpers are muffled by his mouth. the pleasure seems to have no beginning nor end, dizzying and causing your mind to drift somewhere far away, barely able to reciprocate the kiss. neither of them stop their ministrations until you’re pawing at their hands with a pitiful whine, your words staccato and incoherent.

you sit there, chest heaving and your clothes disheveled, barely able to comprehend the way the two boys argue over who should have you first. hands fly in front of your vision, a closed fist versus a flat hand, and though you can barely see through the smoke floating through the air and your terribly cloudy vision, you recognize that they’re playing a petty game of rock-paper-scissors. a dopey giggle shakes your body as you throw your head back against the back seat. they share a concerned glance. 

“y/n? can you look at me?” taehyun carefully asks. your empty-headed grin remains on your face while you turn to face him, humming in half-baked acknowledgment. he frowns, a hand coming up to cup your face as he takes in your red-rimmed, glazed over eyes. he peers around you towards yeonjun. “i don’t know if she can take more, jun.”

the words sober you up slightly, your grin dropping. “n-no! wan’ more, wan’ your cocks,” you ramble. “need them, please.”

“you heard her. she needs us,” yeonjun muses, already reaching for your loose limbs. “‘n i won, so c’mere, baby.”

yeonjun gathers you into his lap like earlier. this time, however, you feel his tip pressing at your fluttering entrance, an arm around your waist to hold you up. he looks up at you with a smirk. “ready, baby?”

you nod, and he wastes no time to begin slowly pushing your hips down. the flared, leaky head of his cock breaches your entrance. you whine, walls fluttering around him already as he moans. the rest of him presses into you inch by inch. it seems as if you can feel him everywhere — in your stomach, in your throat, the length of his cock almost too much for you to handle. the tip curves perfectly against your, his shaft grinding against your g-spot as he gently rocks his hips, allowing you to adjust to the overwhelming stretch. your whines grow pitchier as he finds his rhythm, hands on your waist as he bounces you up and down on his cock. he curses under his breath, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise. he watches you with his tongue between his teeth, lips curled into something cruel and patronizing.

“feelin’ good, pretty?” he breathes, eyes rolling back into his skull as he begins to snap his hips to meet your own. the slap of skin grows louder, echoing throughout the car along with each of your moans and whines. your eyelids flutter, speechless, a cry tearing from your throat when he swipes a thumb over your slick clit, your walls tightening further around him. he doesn’t seem to mind your lack of response, and with a string of curses, he slams you down harder, lips clashing with yours as both of you chase your highs. desperation coats your tongues as he bites down on your bottom lip, pulling it back as you whine, clinging to him desperately, nails biting his skin and leaving deep half-moons in their wake. the slight sting of pain spurs him on, pulling away to spew filthy words into your ear.

“gonna fuckin’ cum deep inside you— ohh fuck, you seem to want that, hm? t-tightened so much around me. you need my cum, don’t you? say you need it,” he demands, holding your face close to his, dark pupils searing into your skin. a light slap to your cheek wakes you up a little. “c’mon— shit. say it or i won’t give it to you.”

“n-need it!” you unabashedly sob, feeling your high hit you. “please, jjunie, cum in me. pleasepleasepleaseplease—”

a deep groan cuts your pleas off, a warmth that floods your walls following close behind. he paints your insides white as he whimpers against your neck, hips twitching as he fucks it further into your hole. you quiver on top of him, holding him close with your arms slung around his neck, nearly in tears at how amazing it feels, sweat clinging to your skin and sticking to your shirt. it takes you much longer to come down this time, your body twitching erratically as the aftershocks continue to roll through your body. 

“jesus christ,” taehyun mutters next to you, and you remove your face from yeonjun’s violet hair to look over at him. his cock lays heavy in his hand, veins bulging as he strokes up and down, pausing at the top to swipe the bead of precum at the tip and smear it over the angry head. the sight causes your mouth to water. the urge to feel him against your tongue is almost too much for you to bear. sliding off of yeonjun with a whine and sore legs, you go to lean down for a taste — before taehyun stops you with a firm hand.

“what do you think you’re doing?” he asks, jaw set as he leers over you. 

“i-i just wanted to—”

“nuh-uh, baby. you don’t just get to do what you want. jun and i are in charge here,” he says, squeezing your jaw roughly. “now, get on your back. head on jun’s lap.”

silently, you do just that, finding yeonjun’s dick already rock hard again right near your face. your juices mixed with his cum gives his lengthy cock a light sheen in the low light, but your attention is soon pulled back to taehyun when he wraps his legs around his waist. towering above you, he guides his head along your slick folds, smearing the remnants of your and yeonjun’s last orgasm along himself. he taps it against your clit, chuckling when your hips jump.

“such a sensitive little thing,” he coos. taehyun doesn’t warn you as he guides his cock to your entrance and pushes his hips forward in one fluid motion, burying himself to the hilt in seconds. the feeling of his cock inside you is far different than yeonjun’s; taehyun’s is a little shorter, but much thicker, the stretch of your hole borderline painful. 

“h-holy fuck, you’re tight,” he gasps, voice sharp as he tries to hold himself together, resting there for a moment as he allows you to adjust to the sudden intrusion. the moment your hips start to grind against him, his jaw ticks, rolling his hips into you as he watches your brows furrow and mouth fall open into an ‘o.’ hands grip your waist as his thrusts quickly sharpen, harder and deeper and cruel. you blink up at him, whining. smoke hangs around his head like a halo, but the cruel snap of his hips is far from holy. 

diverting your gaze away, yeonjun poises his tip at your lips for you to suckle, breathing shaky as your soft tongue delivers kitten licks to the head. just as he curls a hand in your hair, you slip your tongue into the small slit at the very top as your moans vibrate against him, reveling in how he hisses at the feeling, his thighs flexing beneath your head. your dopey smile returns, eyes rolling back as taehyun continues his hard thrusts, quiet grunts falling from his lips as angles his hips upward in an attempt to get your gaze back on him. it works, your eyes widening adorably as he presses his cock right against your g-spot. his teeth graze his bottom lip, biting down hard when he feels you clench around him, a direct result of yeonjun tweaking one of your puffy nipples. 

taehyun is quiet as he fucks you, only quiet curses coming from him as he uses your body to chase his orgasm. a hand slides up your stomach to wrap loosely around your throat. he barely puts any pressure, but it’s enough to send you reeling, a third high, weaker in magnitude washing over you. after the amount of teasing he put himself through earlier, taehyun isn’t far behind, fingers slightly tightening against your neck as he thrusts into you quicker, coaxing you through your orgasm as his own finally hits him. his moans are high-pitched and whiny as he spills inside you, his cum mixing with yours and yeonjun’s, sticky and hot and satisfying. yeonjun cums against your lips immediately after, forcing you to take his tip into your mouth to taste him. you greedily swallow his release, allowing him to gather the escaped liquid with his fingers and shove it against your tongue. 

pulling out, taehyun watches as the thick, white liquid spills from your hole and onto yeonjun’s leather seats. he gulps, pushing it back into you with thin, lithe fingers as you barely react, brain practically rendered mush. 

“that was…wow,” yeonjun mumbles, caressing your cheek as your eyelids flicker closed. taehyun hums in agreement as he fixes your clothes back into their proper place. lethargic and dumb and feeling so, so warm and full, you drift off into quiet, bleary dreams. their voices seem far away now, their tones faintly worried at your state. a cool feeling washes over your body, causing you to shiver, eyes blinking open for a moment to find the windows now rolled down, airing out the smoke. the cool air feels fresh in your lungs; you’re grateful for it. you close your eyes again, finally passing out for good. 

none of you are sure where this situation will lead when you wake…but you suppose you’ll just have to cross that bridge when you get to it.

masterlist

© to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.

[smut] — 18+ mdni!

riding best friend!jake’s dick at his party, bouncing on his dick endlessly as you remind yourself repeatedly that he’d locked the door and no one would come in. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t know how you ended up like this, it was just like one of his usual partys, but as soon as you spurted out that you’d never rode cock before somewhere in the middle, jake had promised himself that you’d be leaving after getting that done. of course he had you say yes, it wasn’t a surprise, he’s hot and you definitely have sexual attraction towards him.

“can’t— please” you groan out as your legs ache and shake from the way you’ve been going up and down his dick. jake only displays a pretty grin on his face, halting your hips so he can take control. you can’t help but focus on the wet and sticky feeling beneath you, you’ve going for quite sometime, and the only person who’s came is you. “calm down, sweets. i’ve got you” he whispers assuringly, his hand on the nape of your neck burying your face into his neck. you can smell his perfume and it only arouses you more, getting you wetter. jake grips onto both of your asscheeks, slowly dragging your cunt up and down his cock followed by wet and lewd noises. the sudden start of pleasure has you whining against his neck, nipples of your tits pressed flushed against him hardening. you hear a deep echo of him cursing as he slams your hips down onto his dick, ass jiggling.

“fuck—! so good! f.. faster!” you moan out, lifting your buried head from his neck. and so he does, going even faster than before. your gummy walls clench down, his tip spearing at your cervix with no mercy. “yeah baby that’s it, shit! take it—” he rasps as he slaps your ass a couple times. there’s a tight burning sensation inside of you, the pure urge to cum building up quick. your eyes roll back to your skull, mouth left hanging as the dirty sounds of skin slapping cloud you. “fuckfuck–! gonna cum! fill me..up fuck please!” you say pathetically. jake chuckles at your words, amused by your desperation. you feel his cock twitch inside of you, spilling ropes of white into your abused and swollen cunt as you cover his dick in white :3

lovely puppy

🌙 staring. Model!Jeno x afab!Photographer!Reader

🔮 preview. You’re reminded of the Greek Narcissus, who had fallen in love with himself in a still pond reflection- But Jeno does tear his gaze away from the photo - unlike the Grecian beauty who’d turned into a flower for want of looking at himself - and Jeno turns to you with eyes full of that same puppylike innocence that had bewitched you during the shoot.

cw/ tw.  simp!jeno, praise, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), sexy polaroids, size kink, fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, pussy/breast worship, etc...I pet names. puppy (7)

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 5.8k

🍭 aus. model/photographer, non idol, strangers to lovers, etc...

☀️ mlist + an. this is a work of fiction intended to spark joy, if Jeno's recent controversies have affected you, please protect yourself and refrain from interacting with this post, and allow others to make the same decision for themselves. 

As a photographer, you’ve worked with your fair share of models. You’re familiar with their general ways of being, the highs and lows, the primadonas- the narcissism that lays the foundation for your profession-

And yet- you still find yourself being surprised by the new talent that fights tooth and nail to be on the receiving end of your attention. There are models who have studied your work, and enter your studio with wide eyes and breathy comments of grandeur. Then there are the models who see you as a cheque, a faceless, nameless camera that is there only to capture their beauty… they have little respect for the great task that befalls you as photographer.

Today, one of the models you’re working with fits neither category, and it’s hard for you to ignore.

Lee Jeno is an up-and-coming male model from Korea; he’s young, and there’s a glint of innocence in his eye that you notice the first time you snap a shot- but there’s also something else- something dangerous. Something that says, try me-

You’re not sure what to make of him, or the way he so easily flips between a man with a confident, smouldering stare, and an off-camera puppy who’s eager to please. But you do know that you enjoy the way he takes direction.

“Lift your chin up slightly,” you instruct, eyes fixed on your camera screen, watching the way a simple shift of his head can allow the perfect amount of light to caress his skin, “Just like that-” the shutter clicks; “Beautiful.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, a small movement, one that most people wouldn’t notice- but it’s your job to notice the smallest of details, and you don’t miss any of the subtle cues Jeno subconsciously throws your way.

Even when you direct him with two of the other female models visiting your studio, Jeno’s body language so often mirrors your own that it almost feels uncanny- things like the simple shift of his feet pointing toward you- something you keep adjusting him on- it’s becoming harder and harder to talk yourself out of the fact that Lee Jeno is interested in you as more than his photographer.

“Look her in the eyes,” you tell him, standing a mere foot or two away for a close-up between Jeno and another model. This is the first thing he’s having trouble with, as his gaze keeps shifting to you, anxiously looking for more and more direction as the shoot goes on- “take a breath, and when you’re ready, look into her eyes-”

He’s beautiful. Breathtaking really, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he tries for the shot again, looking at the girl in his arms with a certain kind of shyness that’s becoming rare in your profession-

“Chin up a little more again-” you urge- gnawing on your tongue, poised to take the photo-

Jeno follows through with the movement, and the angle is just so- allowing sunshine to cascade across his skin again, illuminating the deep, chocolatey brown of his irises-

The shutter snaps; a perfect moment captured in time.

You release the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

As you look over the photo, stepping to the side and allowing some other members of the crew to rush around and deal with the models, you realize that there’s a very real chance of you falling in love with the beautiful model who’s captured so much of your attention today.

You’ll have to be careful.

It’s late evening and you’re two glasses of wine deep into looking over the photos of the day when someone buzzes your front door. Despite everything in your head telling you that the person who’s arrived unannounced isn’t Jeno- something in your heart knows it is.

You take your time, laughing slightly to yourself, swirling your drink as you head down the small flight of stairs to your entryway. Just to be safe, you check through the peephole, and your heart nearly stops from the brief glimpse of the model who’d had your full attention not twelve hours ago.

Swallowing thickly, you open your front door, leaning in the archway with a cocked brow.

You give him a once over, examining the leather jacket, white shirt, black jeans outfit that should be more basic than sexy, except- he pulls it off so well-

You don’t bother with a hello, you jump straight to the point; “Did you forget something, mister Lee?”

“Jeno,” he corrects, and you watch his adam’s apple bob in amusement, “and uh- no, I didn’t forget anything.”

“Yet, here you are,” you tilt your head to the side, flashing a smile that captures his gaze. The man couldn’t be more obvious about his attraction to you if he tried- “Would you like to come in?”

He nods, as eager a motion as ever, licking his lips and following you past the threshold when you push the door wider for him.

“I had a good time during the shoot today,” he tells you, keeping up the same cordial manners he’d shown while on the job. He even flashes you a genuine smile, his eyes dazzling in their sincerity while he takes off his loafers in your awning.

As a photographer based in New York, you’re more than used to people leaving their shoes on when they enter your space- there’s something sweet about the careful, respectful way Jeno interacts with your home-

“I had a good time during the shoot today too,” you echo when you realize you’ve taken a moment too long looking at the model without saying anything, and you clear your throat before continuing; “You’re lovely to work with.”

“I’m lovely.” Now it’s his turn to repeat your words, smiling to himself- and you think he must enjoy the way the English tastes- you enjoy the way it sounds coming from him, the little accented tones- “Thank you.”

He’s so polite- you could really, really get used to this.

“Can I get you a drink?” you ask, as you head up the stairs to the main level of your home, the model following closely on your tail.

“I’ll have what you’re having,” he answers while you enter the kitchen.

Wine it is.

You don’t mind the quiet, don’t mind the way he watches you while you grab the bottle- it feels kind of nice to be the watched instead of the watcher, and within minutes you’re handing Jeno a wine glass and making your way towards the main studio area of your apartment, where you can relax in the safety of a familiar set.

“Take a seat,” you tell him, the instruction coming as naturally as the wave of your hand towards your sage green, sectional sofa.

Despite other sitting options, you choose to also get comfortable on the modular vintage piece you’d purchased last month, it’s one of your favorites, and it allows you to tuck your knees up, leaning an arm on the backrest while you angle towards the model.

Even with his loafers off, Jeno is dressed in a way that makes him stand out- at least, in comparison to you, who are in a mauve, silk sleeping set.

Your night plans hadn’t involved leaving your place of residence- Jeno’s obviously had.

“What time is it?” you ask, taking a sip of your wine while you watch Jeno get as comfortable as possible while in jeans on your sofa-

He pulls his phone out of his front pocket, which makes adjusting substantially easier, and tells you “almost midnight.”

“It’s still early for models, no?”

He lets out a small chuckle, pocketing his phone before taking off his leather jacket to throw over the back of the couch.

“Still early,” he confirms.

“So why aren’t you out at the clubs?” you cock your head to the side, sizing Jeno up again now that his jacket is off. “What brought you here?”

He swallows, shifting to face you, denim stretching across thick thighs when he lifts a knee to rest it on the couch. “I wanted to see you.”

“You saw me this afternoon,” you play coy, trying not to grin too hard at the way the model is inflating your ego.

Jeno licks his lips, hand smoothing against the fabric of your couch. “Wanted to see you alone.”

The word ‘alone’ almost feels like it echoes in the quiet night of your large studio room.

It’s just you and Jeno, nestled on your couch, amongst the various plants and items that make up the space.

There’s no one to witness this, no one except the moon, who shines brightly through your wall of windows, illuminating the model in the same loving manner that the sun had during the shoot.

“Do you do this often?” you ask, taking a sip of your wine and assessing the man over the rim of your glass.

“Do what?”

At first, you think Jeno might honestly not know what you’re implying, but then you see the shadow of a smirk work its way onto his lips, a glint of mischief sparking in his eye-

He’d seen the way you’d played coy just moments ago, when you’d told him he’d seen you in the afternoon, and he’d just shown you two can play that game.

After clearing your throat, you rephrase the question. “Do you often show up at a photographer’s house looking for a little… one on one attention?”

He smiles, meeting your gaze, and gives a small shake to his head - no -  taking a sip of his wine.

You wait on his next words.

“I liked the way you directed me during the shoot today.”

It’s a statement that surprises you- as is his next; “Can you show me some of the photos? I interrupted you while you were editing?”

He motions to the laptop that’s closed on the coffee table a few feet away - you’d abandoned it when your front bell had been rung - along with your tea, and phone, which is already on silent, as you should have been in bed a while ago-

You knew there’d been something urging you to stay awake and edit-

You’d thought it had been the images of Jeno’s back, exposed by wonderful styling-

But it had been the model himself, delivered to your door-

“I can show you the photos,” you tell him, reaching to set your glass of wine down next to the tea. Neither liquid is needed right now, your thirst is being quenched in a much more wonderful way-

“Did you-” Jeno’s words are quiet at first, but he clears his throat and repeats with more confidence, “Did you enjoy telling me what to do?”

You cast him a sideways glance while typing in your passcode, laptop opening to a closeup of Jeno’s face that you’d been inspecting.

“You’re very good at what you do,” you say delicately, still toeing the line-

If you tell him, point blank, that he’s a good boy- that he’s wonderful at taking direction - that you’ve been thinking about what he’d be like in bed- taking more directions-

Well, if you were to do any of those things- then this harmless flirtation would escalate to the next level- and as much as you enjoy Jeno, as much as he draws you in- you’re not really sure you’re willing to risk it- to risk your career, your reputation-

Jeno shifts closer to you, shoulder brushing up against your own while he bends down to look at the open laptop on the coffee table.

“The lighting-” he breathes, lips parting-

You watch Jeno inspect himself- inspect the version of himself that you’d captured hours ago; a beautiful, young stallion of a man- who could have the whole world in the palm of his hand if he wanted to.

You’re reminded of the Greek Narcissus, who had fallen in love with himself in a still pond reflection-

But Jeno does tear his gaze away from the photo - unlike the Grecian beauty who’d turned into a flower for want of looking at himself - and Jeno turns to you with eyes full of that same puppylike innocence that had bewitched you during the shoot.

“No one’s ever taken pictures of me like this before,” Jeno tells you, a line that makes you scoff.

“You’ve worked with photographers way better than me,” you insist, a self-depreciation that you follow through with a list of a few of your peers who’ve also had Jeno in their set-

“But the way you take photos,” the model cuts you off with a statement of his own, his hand coming down on your thigh-

You look down at his hand for a moment, and then back up. Your eyes meet and Jeno’s words die in his throat, his tongue darting out to wet his lips-

“Jeno,” when you say his name, you notice the way his gaze flickers between your eyes and mouth- “from now on, when I ask you things, I want you to answer honestly- can you do that for me?”

He nods, a hurried “yes” tumbling from him a moment later to pair with the motion.

“You’ve come to my studio, at midnight, to get me alone- you want to see the pictures-” he gives a small nod with each statement, “so why don’t you tell me, in detail, what you really want.”

“Hm?” he blinks.

“I said,” you rest your hand on top of his, the one that’s still on your thigh, “why don’t you tell me, in detail, what you want. I can’t direct you and have you be my good boy if you don’t make it clear what you need.”

“I need-” you watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly, breaking your gaze to look at your laptop again- then his eyes meet yours and he states, as clearly as possible, “I need you.”

“I assumed that much-” you say with a laugh, “I said I wanted details.”

He’s tensed now, broad shoulders all stiff, pupils blown- eyes darting everywhere. His lips part to say something, but in the end, he just sighs, musing, “I want what my director wants.”

“You like making me happy, is that it?”

You cock your head to the side, reaching out to gently drag your nails across Jeno’s cheek and down to his jaw- he leans into your hand, eyes closing, a soft sound of pleasure escaping him-

“You’re so eager to please, huh?”

“Yes,” he breathes, lids fluttering open again when you retract your hand- “Want to make you feel good.”

“Then you’re going to do a few things for me, okay?”

“Anything.”

You reach for your wine, closing the laptop before relaxing back into the corner of your sectional, eyes turning to Jeno. “How about you start by moving my coffee table off the carpet.”

His face shows his confusion, but Jeno stands all the same- reaching down for the furniture-

“Ah ah ah,” you tut, making the model freeze. “Don’t want you lifting it and having everything on top fall off- be good and go slow, take off all the items, move the table, then put them back.”

You watch him swallow, and he follows through, movements looking less frenzied and rushed.

He starts by taking your laptop and the two decorative photography books and setting them to the side.

He’s clearly aware of your gaze, watching him while he completes the task, and you can see the flush of his neck, betraying Jeno’s inner anxieties before he voices them, asking gently, “Can you tell me why I’m doing this?”

You stand up, and Jeno stops, turning his body to look at you- eyes widening-

Whatever he expects, it’s not for you to turn your back on him, crossing the studio toward the shelf of photography tools and memorabilia.

“You’re moving the coffee table,” you say, plucking up a polaroid camera, “so that when you get on your knees to eat me out, you don’t knock anything over.”

He gapes at you for a moment or two before hurrying back to his task.

You leave your wine glass on the shelf after one last sip, and then return to the sofa.

After you take your seat, you simply watch Jeno. He’s down to the final details, his hands mad scrambling for your laptop and design books.

When he’s done with your coffee table, it looks the same as it had before - decorative pieces and all - just a meter to the side, off the carpet.

And then Jeno is a foot away from you, dropping his knees to the braided jute rug-

“Eager puppy,” you coo, enjoying the way the model still holds that air of innocence, even while on his knees for you.

His hands are gentle when they reach for your form, warm palms cupping against the back of your knees- and then he’s tugging you forward, dragging your silk-set-covered core closer-

“Want you,” he states, with as much confidence as you’ve seen from him.

His eyes stare into your own, and you can’t help but set your camera down and lean forward, cupping his face so you can press your lips to his for the first time.

It’s a chaste kiss- but when you pull away, Jeno follows, hands finding leverage on your knees while he captures your bottom lip between his own, tongue gliding against its surface-

You stifle a groan, adjusting one hand on Jeno’s cheek while the other anchors onto his shoulder, fingers digging into the hard muscle you find there.

He gives a small tug to your pants, and it has you breaking the kiss in favor of lifting your hips-

Jeno may have told you he wanted direction, but he knows exactly what to do with you, no prompting needed: he tears your silk bottoms off.

His eyes immediately go to your core- and he lets out an animalistic sound when he finds you still in panties. His fingers hook past your waistband next, and in an instant, Jeno has you naked from the naval down.

His own shirt is quick to follow your clothing to the floor, exposing his broad shoulders, and muscular torso-

This time, when he adjusts your legs over his shoulders, he gets a full glimpse of your pussy, and you can see Jeno’s pupils blown with lust, even in the limited light of your studio.

The same way the model needed little direction with tearing your clothes off, he needs no direction when it comes to what to do next; he simply tugs you forward, burying his face between your thighs.

It’s the most you can do not to let out a desperate whine at the way he just goes for it- his tongue pressing into your hole, his nose brushing by your clit-

And his hands- they reach behind you, grabbing at your ass, forcing you harder onto his mouth-

Your fingers lace through his hair, anchoring you while your back arches, you’re propped up by the backrest while Jeno has you on the edge of your seat, his shoulders taking more of your weight as he burrows deeper and deeper into your pussy.

“Just like that-” you tell him, voice breathy in the silence of your studio-

Jeno growls against you, vibrations jittering through your body like magic-

His lips suction around your clit and your legs twitch around his head- you can feel a rush of wet between your thighs, can feel your orgasm building faster and faster in the pit of your stomach-

Then Jeno is pushing a digit into you, one long finger thrusting into your sopping heat while he flicks at your clit with a tongue intent on making you cum.

You can’t help but grind down against him now, tightening your grip in his hair so you can wiggle your hips-

A second finger enters you, both of them crooking up to brush by your sweet spot, earning a whimper of ecstasy that fills the room.

“You’re gonna make me cum-” you whine, closing your eyes and throwing your head back so you can focus on the feeling of him worshiping your pussy-

Your admission makes him go down on you even harder, lips suctioning around your clit again, making lewd wet noises while his fingers pump in and out of your hole, continuously brushing by the spot that makes you tingle-

“Jeno-” you gasp his name, a warning of what’s to come-

But you can’t say much else, your thighs locking around his head while he tips you over the edge, core fluttering around digits that pump you through your orgasm, tongue flicking at your clit-

A flurry of praises tumble out of you while you grind against the model’s face, using him for your own release- prolonging it-

Jeno works you through your orgasm, works out every last drop- his tongue as eager as ever to collect everything you have to offer him.

When you finally let go of his hair, body going slack, he knows you’re done, and he pulls his mouth from your core.

His fingers continue inside of you, slow, rhythmic pumps that quickly make you whine-

Opening your eyes, you find Jeno watching you.

His lips are a little swollen, they’re parted, allowing him to take steady breaths-

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Jeno had just cum- he’s giving major bedroom eyes, the dreamy kind of dazed expression a prince would bestow upon a princess-

You reach for your camera, lifting it and taking a quick polaroid-

The flash makes Jeno flinch, and you find yourself reaching out to cup his jaw, sweet assured nothings tumbling out of you in an effort to apologize for the camera flash-

The model leans into your touch, but he also plucks the polaroid as soon as it’s done, assessing it with eyes that flicker over the photo- before handing it to you.

“You got my best angle,” he remarks, as you take in the image for the first time.

He’s right- there’s something so… (for lack of a better word) endearing about Jeno-

This je ne sais quoi-

Especially when he’s between your legs, eyes lusty, lips puffy-

You’d taken a perfect photo, including only a little of your thighs on either side, capturing the main subject - Jeno - in a type of voyeuristic, sin skin framed vignette-

You lean back against your sofa to get a better look at the image, and Jeno moves slightly to follow, which prompts you to adjust your foot, pressing the ball against his shoulder to stop him-

“Did I say you could move?” you challenge.

Jeno’s lips part, and then he swallows thickly, shaking his head and sinking back to his knees patiently.

You allow your foot to slip over his shoulder again, leg once more relaxing on the large expanse of Jeno’s back.

“You’re good with your tongue,” you conclude finally, gaze shifting between him and the polaroid.

“Thank you.”

“And your hands too.”

“Thank you.”

He turns his head to the side kissing at the part of your leg that’s reachable-

He’s being so good for you- allowing you to control the tempo, the pace-

“How are you feeling, puppy?”

The pet name feels natural- you’ve said it once before, and Jeno had practically mewled in response.

The use of the name now makes Jeno shuffle on his knees, breaking your gaze-

“Want more,” he says quietly, bowing his head-

“Do you want more here? In my studio? Or would puppy prefer a bed?” You enjoy teasing him, enjoy the way ‘puppy’ feels on your tongue.

“Like, your room?” There’s interest in his eyes now, and it has your own core tingling at the prospect of allowing the model into your most sacred space-

“Yes, Jeno, my bedroom.”

You figure, he’s already made you cum once, the least you can do is give him a proper bed to fuck you in-

Besides, in the studio, it still feels like there’s a barrier between you. You still feel like photographer, and he still feels like the model- it will be nice to go to your bedroom with Jeno- with the man who’s made you question all your preconceived notions and prejudices around models.

None of the men in his profession whom you’ve entertained for a date have ever reached your bedroom.

You’re excited for Jeno to be the first.

He’s also excited, so excited that he jumps the gun a little, standing and grabbing you, tugging you to his chest in a bridal-style hold that has you giggling, juggling the photos and camera in your hands-

“Which way is your room?” he asks, already taking long strides towards the entrance you’d entered the studio through.

“Straight through the door, down the hall, last room on the right,” you tell him, allowing yourself to melt into his embrace.

It feels good to be carried- feels good to be made to feel small and light-

Jeno is five foot eleven inches of solid muscle, and you have no doubt his regular workouts involve a good amount of weight training; he definitely makes it seem like he’s used to lifting someone of your size.

While he carries you, you take the opportunity to admire his bare torso, the muscled pectorals- his bread basket abdomen-

Before you know it, he’s entering your room, and the two of you are collapsing onto your bed.

He gets you under him, slotting between your thighs while you abandon your camera to the side in favor of reaching for him, grasping at his strong, bare shoulders while his lips press to your own-

It’s an eager tangle of limbs, but as soon as Jeno gets solidified, you find yourself pinned; completely at the mercy of the large, all-muscled model, who ruts his hips against your own, dragging his denim-clad cock by your core-

“Jeno-” you whimper his name between a flurry of kisses, reaching one hand between your bodies to cup the front of his jeans-

He lets out a groan of pleasure, hips rutting, pressing himself into your hand-

“Take these off, and fuck me,” you tell him, remembering that - even though you’re in your bedroom now - you can still give commands.

He’s quick to follow through- and his follow-through involves rolling off of you and onto his own back, so he can fumble with his belt, lifting his hips to push the denim down-

You find yourself all but jumping on him the moment his cock springs free, your knees pressing into the bed on either side of his waist, your hand reaching between your bodies-

Jeno releases a moan when your fingers wrap around him, your thumb brushing past the head, swiping beads of precum across his skin-

His hands grasp your hips, adjusting you on top of him, and he looks up at you with lusty desperation-

You can’t help it- you reach for the camera discarded by his head, and you lift it to snap another polaroid while Jeno stiffens below you, muscles jumping to tensed glory-

“Such a pretty puppy,” you tell him, releasing a breath of pleasure from the mear sight of Jeno, while your free hand tightens more around his cock-

“Fuck-” he grunts, hips pressing up- length pushing through the grip of your hand- “Tell me what to do.”

“I already told you, take off your pants, which you’ve done- so, good boy-” you let out a laugh at the way Jeno reacts to the term of endearment, “and now,” you fan the polaroid, helping it develop faster- “fuck me.”

“Protection?” he asks, swallowing thickly- releasing your waist in favor of rubbing his thumb against your clit, prompting you to shift your hips just so-

“I’m clean and on the pill, you?”

“Clean-” he responds, left hand applying pressure for you to lift yourself up- “not on the pill.”

You release a laugh- and it’s stifled when Jeno adjusts his cock and helps you sink down onto it, his girth stretching you out deliciously.

You’re wetter than belief - from one orgasm and just from Jeno in general - so sliding down, inch by electrifying inch, is almost too easy.

Your camera is forgotten, as is the polaroid, and you discard them to the side in favor of your palms falling flat onto Jeno’s shoulders. His own hands are tight on your waist, aiding you in your first movements- lifting up and sinking back down-

Moans of pleasure fill your bedroom, the feeling of Jeno’s cock dragging against your walls is too much to bear silently- and your nails dig down against his skin, helping you grip him as tightly as your pussy is gripping his length.

Then he’s tugging at your shirt, the word “off?” prompting you to get yourself fully naked in seconds, nipples peaking to the coldness of the room-

But they’re not cold for long, as Jeno is quick to sit up, capturing one in his hot mouth while the other is pinched between two shockingly gentle fingers-

“Jeno-” you whimper his name, pussy clenching around him at the feeling of his attention being focused on your chest-

With him sitting up, it’s easier than ever to use his shoulders as leverage for your movements, and his free hand finds your hip, urging you to bounce faster on his lap.

“You feel so good-” you tell him, throwing your head back while you ride closer and closer to an orgasm-

The man beneath you releases your nipple, hungry mouth moving up your neck- he grabs your jaw, forcing your lips to his own.

His other hand goes flat to the bed, allowing him some leverage to thrust up and meet your motions-

He eats up your noises and returns them with pleasured sounds of his own, his cock burying deep inside your pussy with each bounce on his lap-

You break your kiss, latching onto his shoulders while you gasp in his ear- “I’m cumming baby, don’t stop-”

And suddenly you’re rolling.

Suddenly you’re on your back, and Jeno is above you, adjusting your legs around his hips-

“Touch your clit?” he asks - his first real request - and your hand flies between your thighs.

Being on top had made Jeno feel as deep as ever- but with him hovering over you, his own powerful hips rutting against yours to dictate everything- you realize Jeno is simply big.

Both positions feel equally wonderful- your pussy filled deliciously with every thrust-

And your fingers glide easily over your clit, making your whole body tingle with ecstasy that gets closer and closer to fruition until you’re over the edge again.

You throw your head back against the pillows, eyes closing so you can focus on the waves of pleasure that threaten to overtake you while Jeno continues to fuck you as if his life depends on it-

He’s making the prettiest sounds- and you grab at him, smoothing your fingers through his hair while you bring his lips to your own.

You’re intent on breathing him in- on hearing every noise- and he’s more than eager to kiss you, with the same ferocity as his hips-

“Gonna cum for me?” you ask, still tingling with wonderful pleasure that’s definitely bordering on overwhelming now-

You want him to cum so badly, want your young stallion model boy to fall over the edge with you-

He releases a grunt of affirmation, but it’s not good enough for you.

You continue to thread your fingers through his hair, forcing your eyes open to look at him-

“Jeno-” you coo, stealing a chaste kiss- “please cum, you’ve done so well- cum for me-”

He lets out his loudest moan yet, burying his face in your neck, mouth playing feverish kisses against your throat while he continues to fuck you wildly-

“Come on-” you breathe, trailing one hand down his gorgeous back- reveling in the muscles you can trace there-

You still have one hand playing with your clit, and the bucking of Jeno’s hips is quickly building you to yet another orgasm, that you definitely hadn’t been expecting-

“Fuck, Jeno-”

He kisses you desperately, thrusts faltering when your pussy squeezes his length. You can feel him cumming too- coating your walls while he continues to pump into you, pinning you to the mattress with his large body-

You grasp for his shoulders, dragging your hands across muscle while you eat up his moans, your lips and tongues colliding.

His pace gradually starts to slow down and soon he’s still on top of you.

You’re kissing lazily now- and you’re the one to break it, pulling back just enough to prompt Jeno to give you space.

He looks at you with hazy, bedroom eyes, while he catches his breath, and his lips are downright enticing-

“That was really good,” you tell him, brushing your fingers up and down his back.

Jeno buries his face in the crook of your neck, pressing hot kisses there to show his enjoyment of your praise- and then his lips find your ear.

“Was I your good puppy?” he asks, gently nipping at your lobe-

His hips rut forward- he’d never truly slipped out of you after cumming, and now… you can feel him starting to stiffen again-

“Of course,” you coo, threading your fingers through his hair, gently running your nails across his scalp, “you’re my best puppy-”

“Yeah?” He kisses your pulse point.

“Uh huh-” you relax against your pillows, letting out the most contented breath of your life. “And what pretty photos I took too-”

He groans, gently rocking his hips against yours again-

“You’ll be good and spend the night, won’t you puppy?” you ask, tone turning mischievous when you add; “It feels like you still have some energy I could enjoy.”

Jeno lets out a sound of affirmation, kissing at your jaw-

He’s your good model, always taking directions.

And now, he’s your good puppy too- wrapped around your finger and eager to agree to whatever you ask.

You know there’s no hope of a conventional relationship- afterall, he’s an international model and you’re New York based-

You don’t have any romantic notions about traveling together, or pinning the angel down- no, you’re realistic about it. Realistic about the way your bodies respond to each other, and the purpose you both serve in inflating the other’s ego-

He’ll be your secret-  your lovely puppy.

He’ll be whatever he ends up being.

But for now, you simply enjoy the feeling of having his complete and undivided attention while he thanks the gods that he has yours.

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! i don't often do dom leaning y/n's, so this was new for me, but i really enjoyed the way it turned out :)

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview. As much as you call Jeno puppy- as much as he gets on his knees for you- the man knows exactly what he’s doing in regard to making you cum. He could have all the power if he wanted, and the thought of that has been scaring you a little as of late-

cw/ tw. oral (f receiving), fingering, pussy whipped Jeno, unprotected sex, praise, mentions of male masturbation, multiple orgasms, etc...

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 1.5k I teaser wc. 380

🌙 staring. jeno x afab!Reader  

bonus teaser

You’re sitting in your kitchen, sipping your drink and looking over the photos you’d taken last night.

Your collection of polaroids gets bigger and bigger every time your model and part-time loverboy comes to town, and you’ve begun to enjoy the process of adding them to a special photobook complete with a lock and key.

To have Jeno trust you with the pictures- it fills your heart with something unexplainable, a warmth that licks at you every time you open the book to wistfully recount your past experiences with the angelic man who’d been delivered to your doorstep months ago after a shoot.

The first few photos hold special weight for you, the innocence you’d captured in his eyes has remained, but it’s less so now, replaced - in part - by a confidence that one gains when they spend a great deal of time with another.

There’s a similar confidence in the warm hands that smooth across your shoulders, announcing the arrival of the man in question, who molds his bare torso against your back, leaning over your chair so he can see what you’re up to.

“Hi,” he says, his lips brushing past your cheek.

“Morning sleepy,” you smile, turning your head to the side so you can capture his lips in a chaste kiss. “How are you feeling?”

“Good.” Jeno straightens, heading around the island counter to grab himself some coffee. “I always get the best sleep here.”

His statement makes you happier than you can say, so you don’t say anything, opting to simply watch the lovely, very shirtless, man, as he slowly starts his morning.

“What time are you heading to the fashion show today?” you question after a few beats of silence.

Jeno looks up at you from where he’s stirring his coffee, and then he lets out a small knowing chuckle. “Not for a few hours.”

“Don’t give me that look, puppy,” you release a laugh of your own. “You know I try to let you retain your energy for days when you work… but after…”

“Don’t want after,” Jeno insists, abandoning his coffee in favor of approaching you again, forcing you to turn in your chair so he can slot between your knees while he captures your hands, lacing your fingers- “Want now.”

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pairings: ony x reader

warnings: violence...kinda (reader throws a phone at ony), smut 18+, mentions of infidelity,

a/n: did i proof read this? no. so squint if you see imperfections

Accusations & Apologies

“Onyyy, slow down” You cried, your hand behind your back in an attempt to slow his relentless thrusts.

“Nah, cause a minute ago it was ‘fuck you’ right? Now you wanna be a fuckin cry baby” He hissed.

You knew better. Ony was the love of your life, the one who stood beside you no matter the circumstance, even when times were rocky. You knew he'd never do anything to hurt you, yet all rational thinking left the building the moment you saw the notification.

“Who the fuck is Ayesha, Onyankopon?” His phone clattering to the floor as it bounced off his chest, the moment he stepped foot into the room. 

“Ow, did you just throw my fuckin phone?” Inked hand rubbing the area as he bent down, examining the device before tossing it back on the bed.

“You picked the shit up didn't you?” You huffed in annoyance.

Confused about your unusual behavior and attitude he walked over to you. His calloused hands gripping your jaw softly as he forced you to look at him. “The fuck going on, ma? Talk to me. We don't do this acting out shit"

A part of you knew your behavior was unnecessary, and irrational, but the other half was too afraid of being hurt to stop and truly think about the situation.

“What's going on is you got some bitch blowing up your phone talking bout she misses you. Are you cheating on me, Ony?" Voice raising to hide the growing anxiety in your chest as you pushed his hand away

“Are you serious? After everything we've been through, you gon accuse me of cheating?” His voice gradually raising to meet yours

“Then explain yourself. Who is she and why is she on your phone?” You shouted

He was trying his best to stay calm, aware that you were afraid, but he was getting frustrated. Anyone who knew you and Ony could easily tell he'd rather die than think of another woman the way he thought of you. So why couldn't you just stop for a second and think?

“Some girl from high school, we used to be cool but I cut her off when I met you.” The annoyance etched on his features was evident as he ran his hands over his face. 

“Then why is she texting you? How'd she get your number? You think I'm stupid or something?” You narrowed your eyes.

“Right now? Yeah. Cause clearly you done lost all your goddamn brain cells if you think I'm cheating.” He shrugged, tired of your accusations.

The nonchalant tone of his voice irritated the fuck out of you and made what he said ten times worse.

“Man, fuck you” You stood, hands pressed against his chest in an attempt to push him out of your way, anger wavering when he didn't move an inch, and instead, his large hands gripped your wrist, dark eyes glaring down into yours as he clenched his jaw.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“Please, Ony” You whined, legs trembling as he tightened his grip on your hips, forcing you back onto him as he pounded into you.

“Why you like being mean to me, huh? What daddy do to deserve this?” He spat, thumbs kneading into the flesh of your lower back before delivering a heavy slap to your ass, groan emitting from his lips at the squeeze your pussy gave him.

“I don't mean to, daddy, I'm sorry, just- fuck slow down” You cried. Teary eyes looking back at him as you pleaded.

With a hand wrapped around your throat, he leaned down, pressing a sloppy kiss to your glossy lips, string of your mixed saliva connecting you two as he pulled away.

“You the only girl I want, ma. You ain't never gotta worry about that shit. I love you and only you, rather die than think about some other girl” He whispered in your ear, emphasizing each word with deep thrust as he made you look back at him, your big eyes staring into his as he kissed all over your face, pink muscle licking up the tears that raced down your cheeks.

“You hear me?” His teeth grazing your earlobe as his free hand rubbed figure eights on your throbbing clit.

“Mhmmm, y-yes, Ony” Your head bobbing up and down rapidly as a response.

“Yeah? Then tell me whose dick this is, mama?” Both hands back on your hips as he let you fall back onto the bed.

“I-It's mine, Ony” Nails gripping the sheets as his hips ricocheted off your ass at a rapid pace

“Mhm- fuck say that shit again” Quickly pulling out before he flipped you onto your back, giving you .5 seconds to recover before he was ramming back into you. The sticky white ring around his thick base and pelvis contributing to the pornographic sounds bouncing off the walls. 

“What I say, ma?” Pearly whites on display as he bit his lip.

“You're mine, baby. Fuck right there.” Legs closing around his waist as your hands searched for anything to grip on to.

“Y-yeah only yours, ma.” Shaky breath indicating he was close as his fingers interlocked with yours.

“Come on, nut on your dick, baby” He whispered, rocking his hips into yours as the tip of his tongue ran over the small purple marks along your neck from your earlier endeavors.

Low moans escaped you as you gushed around him, freshly done acrylics leaving welts along his chocolate skin.

“Shit, baby” He groaned, teeth sinking into your shoulder as he came, the twitching of his dick mimicking a heartbeat as he pumped out ropes of milky white cum into your walls.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“I'm sorry, you know. For hitting you with your phone and accusing you.” Your whisper, breaking the silence of the room as you laid in each other's embrace under a thin blanket.

“Yeah?” The vibration of his deep voice contrasting yours as he repositioned your bodies so you were now straddling him.

“Mhm” Bottom lip trapped in between your teeth as you felt him growing against the soft flesh of your ass

“Prove it”

Maybe Opposites Do Attract

Jock!Eren Jaeger x Socially Anxious!blackfem!reader

Synopsis: Football player Eren Jaeger has taken a genuine liking to the quiet girl in his class, wondering what goes on in that pretty little mind of hers.

CW: college au!, Eren is quite the loud mouth, he's talkative but sweet, while reader has social anxiety, she's not super shy and timid, internal dialogue from reader since she thinks a lot, she wears glasses, porn with plot beforehand, mentions of drinking/ being drunk, playful teasing, fingering, dirty talk but nothing too aggressive, oral fem!receiving, unprotected sex, creampie, body worship, confession of feelings.

Author's note: By football, I mean American football.

7k

Psych Lecture had ended for the day, most students got up to leave as soon as class ended. However, you decided to stay along with a couple other students since the professor gave permission to use the classroom for a quiet place to study or just get some work done. You sit in the very back of the room, textbook, and notes spread across the table. You push your glasses up on your face as you rest your cheek in your palm, looking down at the textbook, eyes scanning the words on the page.

Eren and a couple other football players sit across the room, suddenly turning to one another, only to start talking pretty loudly, annoying you greatly as they interrupt your ability to think clearly. You dig through your bag, putting your earbuds in to block out their loud talking and laughing. As you flip through your book, you begin to write down things that may be important for the upcoming exam.

Eventually Eren gets up from his spot with his friends, moving over to plop down in the seat next to you, propping his elbow on the table as he watches you write for a moment before his eyes shift upwards to study your face. He’s talked to you before, asking to borrow your notes or giving you a compliment on something random, you could tell he just pull out his ass on the spot. You take one of your earbuds out, looking at him with a confused expression, obviously uncomfortable that he suddenly came over just to look at you, not bothering to try to speak this time.

“What?” You ask, looking back down at the paper as you continue writing so you wouldn’t have to acknowledge his silent gaze again.

“You’re just so quiet.. I don’t ever hear you say nothing.” He says, voice sounding playful, making you think he only came over to fuck with you. You continue writing, shrugging your shoulders lightly.

“Cause I ain’t got nothing to say.” You words come out sounding blunt, unemotional, but it was the truth.

“Ohh. Damn.” He says, faking offense as he throws his hands up, leaning back in the chair a bit before he crosses his arms. For some reason his playful reaction gets a small smile out of you, your eyes going over to him, heart beat picking up as you both make eye contact for only a second before you look back at the paper.

“I ain’t mean it like that.. I’m just not a talker.. I don’t feel the need to think of something to say just to have something to say. If I don’t feel like I have something worth saying, I just don’t say nothing at all.”

“Hm.. I get it.” He says, looking back over to his friends who aren’t paying him any mind. His moment of silence makes you a bit anxious, wondering why he really came over to you, wondering if he came over to be an asshole, if his friends dared him to come talk to you or if he really just came over for a simple conversation.

“I’m Eren Jaeger.. by the way..” He says looking at the paper you continue to write on.

“I know. You’re on the football team.. and we have this class together.. and anatomy. I’m y/n. His eyes move back up to your face, small smirk on his lips, and he can tell you're nervous about talking to him.

“Right. I know cause we have this class together.. and anatomy." He says repeating what you had just said back to you. "So, you got a crush on me or something? Avoiding lookin’ at me, voice all soft and what not.” He teases, causing you to look at him like he lost his mind for a second, a little amused that he’d even assume something like that right off the bat.

“No. I’m uncomfortable and I don’t know you like that.” You say matter-of-factly but not at all, meaning it in a rude way.

“Uncomfortable? Cause of me?” He asks.

“Yes. No.. it’s not you necessarily. I’m just not good at like.. talking to people or strangers, I guess I should say. Social anxiety.”

“Social anxiety.. you know you could get to know me, and then you won’t be uncomfortable around me, I promise I didn’t come over here to be an asshole or make you uncomfortable. I just see you in class often, and you never talk, caught my attention, I suppose. I was just picking at you a little.. I guess I ain’t good at talking to people either, huh?” He says, and you can tell he’s trying to be understanding and clarify that he’s not judging.

“It’s not personal, I swear. You weren’t bothering me.” You say, looking at the clock on the wall before you start putting up your papers and textbook. You pick up your bag, placing the straps on your shoulder, and you stand.

“I do have to go, though. I should get back to my apartment before my dog loses her mind. She’s probably hungry.”

“Right. Hey.. the boys are having a party tonight if you wanna come.. I’d like for you to come.” He says lightly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“A party?” You say turning to him.

“Nah, I don't.. I’m not really the “party” type.. too many people. I’m sorry.” You say not exactly intrigued by his offer.

“Nothing to apologize for. Could I give you my number, though? Just in case you change your mind.” He says, hoping you’ll say yes.

“Sure.” You say getting your phone out of your back pocket , unlocking it before handing it to him. He types his number in giving you back your phone, and you give him a small smile before turning to leave. When you start to walk away, you hear his boys come over to him, dapping him up and being obnoxiously loud, once again about him giving you his number. Eren just shoves them kinda hard, laughing and telling them to fuck off. You grin, shaking your head a bit thinking to yourself, “boys”.

Once you get back to your car, you sit behind the wheel, letting out a breath you didn’t even seem to realize you were holding, muscles loosening up a bit.

“So stupid.. what are you even nervous for..” You think to yourself, annoyed with yourself for not being more talkative and always reacting the same in social situations before shaking the thought from your mind, pulling out of the parking lot and making your way back to your apartment.

“Hey, baby..” You say in a playful baby voice after shutting your door. Your dog rushes up to you with her tail wagging, and you crouch down, putting your hands on either side of her head scratching at her fur lightly. You stand up after hugging her, giggling at how excited she is.

“You hungry? Sorry, I should’ve been home by now, huh? You better not have tore up nothing while I was gone."

She follows you into the kitchen as you fix her food and water, twirling in circles excitedly. You hop up on your kitchen counter, mind wandering to Eren and the party he mentioned and while you really didn’t wanna go, something in you wanted to see him again for whatever reason even though you just assumed he was some dickhead football player. You scroll through your phone, and you look at the time before pulling up Eren’s number.

“What if he don’t even want me to text him for real.."

"What if he ignores me? Then ima feel stupid for texting in the first place.. or will he think I’m rude for not texting since he gave me his number??"

"I’m not gone text him.. what would I even say??”

Thoughts bounce around in your mind, just as they always do, causing you to constantly overthink even the smallest of things.

“Fuck it.” You mutter under your breath, choosing to text anyways. Your heartbeat quickens as you text him.

“Hey, what time is the party?” You hit send, quickly locking the screen, and putting the phone down before hopping down off the counter. Your mind unreasonably goes to negative thoughts.

“He’s probably showing his homeboys the text and laughing.”

“Why did I even text him for real?” But you try to shake them off, hearing your phone ding and expecting the worst when you pick it up.

“Hey. It starts at nine, you coming right?🤞🏻” Eren texts back quickly. You smile softly at your phone looking at the “fingers crossed”, texting him back.

“I dunno.. I might. I’m not doing nothing else. This is y/n by the way.. guess I should’ve started with that.”

“Lol, I figured. Well come on then, you know I ain’t gone let nothing happen to you. You safe with me, mama, I promise.”

You’ve never felt anything for Eren, not paying much attention to him or anyone else for that matter. Yeah he was attractive but it’s not like you would’ve stood a chance with him, at least that’s what you thought. He’s a football star, probably in college off a scholarship or something. He’s the party type, outgoing, sociable, popular. You’re just the quiet girl that sits in the back of the class, spending way too much time in her head.

“Okay.. fine but I probably won’t stay long.. it’s not my kinda thing.”

“Long as I get to see that pretty face.”

You take his words as just playful flirting. Popular guy flirting with the “weird” girl.. nothing new. You roll your eyes at the phone, small smile across your lips. You brush the thoughts aside, texting your sister to see if she’ll stay at your place with your dog while you're out, before getting in the shower. One you get out, you throw on a pink velour trackset, comprised of a crop top jacket and shorts that stop at the top of your thighs, you slide on your white ones, spraying a bit of perfume. You don’t feel the need to dress up too much for some college party you don’t wanna be at anyways. Once you’re dressed, you make your way outside, talking to your sister for a minute before heading to the party. Luckily, it's close enough to walk to. When you walk in, it’s way more people than you were expecting, groups of people already drinking, talking, smoking, dancing and being loud. You look around for a moment debating where to go.

“It’s way too many people over there.. I don’t know them, I can’t just walk up and start talking, that’s weird.. if I stand here too long I’m gonna look stupid though..” You think before deciding to just walk to the large kitchen, standing in a vacant spot, fixing a drink so you don’t look completely out of place.

“Why is it so fuckin hard to talk to people?? What am I supposed to say? Hey? Then they gone say hey.. then what?? How do people do this.. I should’ve just stayed my ass at home.” You think bringing the cup to your lips as you look around at everyone, making sure not to stare too long to avoid looking like a creep.

Your self-deprecating thoughts are soon interrupted by Eren coming up to you, genuine smile on his face as he sees you.

“Hey! Not gonna lie. I really didn’t think you’d come.” He says loud. Making a couple people look at y'all.

“He so goddamn loud.” You think.

“I shouldn’t have honestly.” You say aloud, giving him a soft smile as you lean against the counter giving the red solo cup soft squeezes as you look down at the contents of the cup.

“What’re you drinking? Vodka? Tequila?” He asks leaning against the counter next to you crossing his arms, muscles flexing against the white t-shirt.

“It’s just juice.” You reply, bringing the cup back to your lips.

“Just juice? At a party?” He teases, not really meaning anything by it other than just thinking you were cute.

“I don’t know these people to be up in here drunk.. plus I’m annoying when I drink.. talk too much.”

He smiles “You? Talking too much? I don’t buy it.” Dismissing the idea that someone as quiet as you could ever talk too much.

His humor and politeness eases your nerves a little, feeling a bit better now that you’re not standing alone, drinking juice in the kitchen of a stranger’s house.

“It’s true.. I ramble when I get drunk, it’s bad.” You say throwing the empty cup in the trash.

“I’d like to see that, hear your voice for once.”

“I’m not mute.. I’m literally talking to you right now.” You say being playful back.

“Yeah, but I can still tell you’re uncomfortable.”

The party grows louder and louder as time passes, more people coming into the house, the kitchen getting more and more crowded as the music gets louder. You start to feel more and more uncomfortable and out of place. Eren is talking to you, standing very close to you due to the crowd of people, his hand pressed against your lower back, not to be weird but to stop you from getting push around by the people moving around, some of them drunk. You hear him talking but you don’t really hear what he’s saying, your eyes are deeply focused on your phone as your fingers fidget with your phone case, snapping the corner on and off the phone as thoughts flood your mind.

"It’s so loud in here?"

"It’s literally so hot? Why do people do this?"

"Do people actually like this shit? It’s so many fucking people in here like if something happens how ima get the fuck outta here??"

"Ohh shit he's talking.. what he say?"

Eren’s hand comes out to stop your fingers from fidgeting with your phone case and your train of thought breaks. You look up at him, and by the look on your face, it’s quite obvious you’re uncomfortable and overwhelmed. He gives you a sincere look leaning down to your ear. Pressing his palm into your back, pulling you closer so you can hear him.

“Do you wanna go somewhere else?” You quickly nod without hesitating as he takes your hand, not minding that it’s a bit clammy from your nerves as he walks outside. The soft breeze and the noise of the party fading feels like a weight off your shoulders and you take your hand back from him, wiping it against your clothes.

“I’m sorry. That’s not cute.” You joke softly, a little embarrassed about your hand being sweaty and he smiles, shaking his head.

“Hey, it’s cool, I get it. We can just chill together, You can come back to my apartment if you want. I promise I’m not saying it to be weird or like getting nothing outta you. I’m not a creep.”

You laugh softly and he raises and eyebrow, confused smirk across his lips.

“What?”

“Telling me you’re not creep doesn’t exactly convince me that you not... Sounds like something a creep would say to make me think they’re not a creep.” You tease, trying to ease your own nerves.

“Touché.. but the offer still stands. I honestly invited you here cause I just wanted to see you, get to know you better. You told me about your anxiety earlier and I was just being an airhead not thinking this would make you uncomfortable.. I wanna get to know you, I’m not ready for you to leave yet.. If you’re down we can go back to my apartment, chill, play some games, talk, anything you want.. just us two, and we don’t have to be surrounded by a bunch of people. Or, I can take you back home, and you just gimme a call, okay? Up to you.”

You think for a moment, listening to him speak and wondering why he’d wanna get to know you of all people in school, questioning if he’s being genuine or not..but you decide not to press the issue..for now at least.

“Okay. I'll go with you.”

“Yeah? Cool.” He says, clearly happy with your decision, as you both begin to walk to his car. He opens the door for you, letting you get in before shutting it and getting into the driver’s seat.

“So..” He begins as he pulls out from the curb, driving down the street, the only light illuminating the dark road is coming from the dimly lit streetlights and a couple porch lights. “What are you in school for?” You tell him your major and he nods.

“I can see that, what do you think mine is?” He asks looking over at you seeing the lights reflecting off your glasses as you look out the window, watching the houses pass by.

“Business.”

He grunts and you look at him as he drives for a moment, his eyes focused on the road.

“I knew you were gonna say that, it’s cause I play football isn’t it, you think I’m lazy when it comes to school? Think I’m just here to party?" You can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, I did say it cause of that actually. My bad. Guess that’s not fair.. What is it then?”

“I’m an Engineering major.”

“Engineering.. that’s interesting, not at all what I was expecting.”

“Why? Cause you think I’m dumb?” He asks and you see him look over at you for a second with an unamused, stoic expression causing you to look at him apologetically.

“No, I didn’t say that. I was just teasing.. I’m sorry.” And he laughs, much to your confusion.

“I’m just fuckin’ around y/n.”

“That’s not funny, I felt bad.”

“I could tell, you should’ve seen your face.” You smile, rolling your eyes as you look out the window again. “Whatever. You’re lame.”

You both listen to the music for a little while before pulling up in front of his apartment complex, getting out of the car and walking up to his apartment which is, to your surprise, completely spotless. You choose not to comment on it though, thinking you’ve pre-judged him enough for one night.

“You can make yourself at home. It ain’t much in here, but I got a couch and a TV. The important shit.”

You move to the couch, taking a seat. You feel your nerves cool down quite a lot. Feeling better that it’s just you two now.

“You want anything?” He asks pulling his brown hair back into a bun, a couple strands hanging in front of his face.

“You got liquor?” He didn’t expect you to ask but he nods.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do. It’s tequila though.”

“Fine by me.”

He nods, going into the kitchen before he comes back with the bottle, a chaser for you, and two cups tucked under his bicep that he places on the coffee table in front of you.

“You think I need a chaser cause I’m girl?” You ask, voice sounding offended but a blank expression playing on your face and he freezes for a moment.

“That’s sexist.” Your voice blunt, eyes looking up at him.

“Oh.. no. I wasn’t.. I can put it back, I just..” You laugh as you take it from the table, opening the can.

“I’m just fuckin’ around.” You mock what he said to you in the car earlier and he sighs, relieved that you were only messing with him.

“Sorry, I had to get you back for earlier.” You say smiling softly before sipping the drink and he laughs before sitting down on the couch pouring you both a shot to take together, which you do.

“Do you feel any better?” He asks.

“I do actually, I just don’t like being around a whole bunch of people, especially people I don’t know.”

Although Eren can’t relate, being the social butterfly that he is, he tries to understand how you feel.

“That’s okay, most people don’t really be talking about nothing anyways. I feel like you just prefer meaningful, genuine connections. It’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Yeah.. I know I just wish I didn’t feel so.. weird.”

“Hey, you’re not “weird” for having anxiety. Honestly when you fidget with things and avoid eye contact with me, it’s cute.” You smile softly.

“It doesn’t feel cute and I don’t “avoid eye contact” with you.”

“No?” He says smirking and turning your face to him, by placing his finger under your chin. Your eyes meet his, looking for about 2 seconds, before you pull back turning away from him again, shy smile on your face.

“Like I thought. I must be ugly or sum?” He says jokingly.

“No! No.. of course not.. I just don’t like prolonged eye contact.. makes me feel weird. It’s not you. I swear. I’m like that with everybody unless I’m super close with them and even then, it’s a limit.”

“I make you nervous?”

“A lil bit.”

“Why?” He asks, grin on his face and you shrug.

“I dunno, you just do..” it gets quiet for a bit before you speak again.

"I’m a lil confused about somethin’ and I wasn’t gone say nothing cause I just ain’t wanna bring it up but, why do you seem so interested in me all of a sudden?”

“Well it may seem all of a sudden to you but honestly, I been liked you.. I feel like I'm supposed to know you as goofy as that sounds. I seen you sitting in the back of the room and even though you were quiet I could tell it was a million things running through your mind. It’s just something about you that makes me wanna know who you are, I wanna know what you like, what makes you happy, your dreams.. Find out what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.”

You smile, heart skipping a beat at his genuine answer.

“That's sweet.. not what I was expecting though.”

“So you gone let me in? Let me have a look around? Let me learn you?” he asks and you shrug, small smile on your face.

“Maybe, I guess we’ll see.”

“I ain’t gone stop tryin’..”

As time passes by, you feel yourself growing more and more comfortable with him. Sharing childhood stories, laughing and joking, talking about your favorite things as you continue drinking together. You’re both a little tipsy at this point but it lightens your mood, making you actually enjoy having such a long, deep conversation. You begin to ramble about something he said that caught your interest, not even noticing you’re the only one talking for a while, till you stop and you look at him. He’s sitting there looking at you with a sweet smile on his face like he’s completely captivated by you.

“I’m sorry.. I told you I talk a lot when I drink..” You say feeling bad for talking that much, not even knowing why you felt that way just cause you were talking.

“Hey, please don’t apologize for talking. I’ve never heard you talk this much. I’m listening.. I like hearing you talk.. I’m not judging, I promise.”

You smile softly, giving a small nod and you look down at your lap, fingers messing with the hem of your shorts.

“Look at me.” He says bluntly, reaching out to tap underneath your chin lightly. You turn your head back to him, your eyes going to his. The teal color of his eyes reflects the light beautifully as he tilts his head, looking at you with a small grin on his face. Strands of his brown hair fall in front of his face and you quickly look away from him again, heart beating quickly.

“You’re annoying.” You say behind a soft laugh, knowing what he’s doing. Your statement causes him to laugh rather loudly making you smile.

“I didn’t even do anything.”

“Quit lookin’ at me like that.”

“Like what?” He asks and you look back at him for a moment, the same look still in his eyes, a look of genuine admiration and attraction and you shove his arm playfully, stomach filling with butterflies.

“Like that.”

“Well you’re just so damn pretty. How is that my fault?”

You laugh softly. “Yeah, yeah..”

“Why you act like you don’t believe nothing I say when it comes to you, y/n?”

“Maybe I don’t, guess I just don’t get why you’d have feelings for me when it’s other girls out there that’s more outgoing, other girls that like you.

“Maybe it’s not for you to get, princess. I don’t want them, I want you.” He shrugs.

“You said you wanna know what goes on in my head.. wanna take a look around. What if you don’t like what you find? What if the things that go through my head are bad or ugly?”

“Then I’ll help you make them beautiful.. I really, really do like you, y/n.. stop trying to convince yourself otherwise. I should’ve said something sooner, I know, but please believe me.”

You look at him, never having someone sound this genuinely interested in you as a person. Your eyes search his, for once not feeling that pit in your stomach, that tightness in your chest. You wanna make sure he’s being serious so you hesitate in your response. After not being able to find a trace of deception in his gaze, your lips part allowing a soft “Okay.”, to slip past them.

A bit more time goes by, both of you talking more, watching TV and laughing together, drinking more, and it's starting to feel like you've known each other for a lifetime.

“Take your hair down.” You say looking over at him as you lean back against his couch, head resting on the back of it.

He reaches behind his head pulling the hair tie out, brown hair falling a bit past his shoulders as a smiles a little bit.

“I like when you wear your hair like that.”

“Yeah, why?”

You shrug, eyes looking at him, a bit hazy from the alcohol, the substance giving you a bit more courage than you’d normally have.

“You just got pretty hair.. you ain’t gotta have it pulled back all the time. The color compliments your eyes.”

“Noted..” He says running his fingers through his hair. You move closer to him, eyes looking at his hand before your hand comes up, fingers running through his hair just as his did. The entire time his eyes are focused on your face, shifting from your eyes, to your plump lips that are shimmering from the gloss covering them and his hand comes up to your chin gently, thumb pulling down at your bottom lip slightly.

“You are just too damn pretty.” He mutters, eyes moving back up to yours. You drop your hand back down from his hair, leaning closer to him, tilting your head a bit.

“You think so?”

“Hell yeah..” He says softly again, the sound of his voice was deep and smooth. A chill runs down your spine, heat traveling straight to your core as you both sit there, looking into each other’s eyes.

“You’re not too drunk, are you?” He asks, playful smile across his lips, noticing the hazy, lustful look in your eyes.

“No.. are you?”

“Nah, I’m good, pretty girl.. I’m asking.. cause I wanna kiss you so bad.. but I don’t wanna cross no boundaries.. make you uncomfortable or nothing.” You smile at how tender he’s being, how considerate and sweet he's been all day and you lean in pressing your lips to his, surprising him a little as you pull back slowly, lip gloss causing your lips to stick to his for a second as you pull back.

“I’m not uncomfortable..” You reassure him. He leans back in pressing his lips to yours softly once more before he sucks your bottom lip, pulling back only for a moment before he pushes his lips against yours again, tongue coming out just enough to meet yours. You both kiss slowly, lips moving in sync and you hear him groan softly against your lips. His lips trail down from yours to you chin, moving down your jawline to your neck. His large hand comes up to caress the other side of your neck with his thumb as his tongue slides along your skin, lips leaving soft kisses. Your hand runs along his shoulder, moving up the back of his neck as your fingers tangle into the back of his hair. You tilt your head back slightly, soft moan coming from your lips as he sucks on the skin along your collarbone.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks, hand moving down from the side of your neck to your hip, massaging the skin softly as he looks in your eyes. You shake your head no.

“Please don’t..” Your voice barely above a whisper.

“If you want me to stop.. just say the word and I will.. I promise, okay?” He says looking in your eyes, making sure you understand before giving another soft kiss to your lips. His hand comes up to the zipper of your cropped jacket, pulling it down slowly, giving you time to tell him no, if you wished.

“I’m not made of glass Eren and I’m not gonna push you away.. I promise." You say softly, hand moving to caress his cheek. He grins, looking up at you.

“I know.. but I wanna enjoy you.. God, I’ve been thinking about you for months.. please just.. just let me enjoy you..”

“Okay..” You say softly, he continues pulling the zipper down, pushing the material off your shoulders as his lips trail down the middle of your chest, black bra still covering you. His hands run up your sides, smoothly wrapping them around your back to undo the bra. You help him take it off, tossing it aside.

“Fuck, you’re perfect..” He says, tongue running over your nipple before his lips wrap around it, sucking gently. You lean back a bit on the couch, holding yourself up by placing your palms behind you on the cushion as you’re seated sideways, facing him. You moan softly as his hand runs up your stomach. His lips moves to your other breast, tongue flicking at your nipple before he leans back, hands moving to your chest as his thumbs run over your nipples, covered in his saliva.

“Mm.. Eren.” You moan softly, watching his fingers caress the hardened buds, skin glistening from his spit.

“Mmm.. sound so pretty when you say my name like that.. sit back for me, mama.” He says, tapping the back of the couch with his hand before shifting around enough to get on his knees in front of the couch. You move as well, leaning against the back of the couch, just as he told you to.

“Let’s get these shorts off, yeah?” He says and you lift your hips letting him pull them down.

“Spread your legs wide for me.” He says caressing your thighs softly. You open your legs, damp material of your panties clinging to your fat pussy and he just stares hungrily before licking his lips. His hands run up your inner thighs, fingers digging into the flesh, softly.

“Gone let me get a taste, babygirl? Promise I’ll eat it so good.” His voice is low, eyes shifting from your pussy to your face. When he sees you nod he smirks a tiny bit, leaning in to run his hot tongue over your clothed pussy before his fingers hook into the material pulling it aside.

"Fuck, I love everything about you, ma." He gives a soft kiss to your puffy clit before swiping it with his tongue. He leans back just enough to watch his thumb massage your clit, dragging the digit down over your folds slowly.

“Shit baby, this pussy looks just as fucking pretty as I thought it would..” He leans in, spitting on your clit before his thumb smears it down to your hole, digit massaging circles over the opening of your pussy watching it clench every time he circles over it. He slides his ring and middle fingers inside causing you to whine his name.

“Ren…”

“Yeah, what is it mama? That feel good?” He questions watching his finger drag in and out of your pussy. Pussy squeezing his fingers every time he tries pulling out.

“Damn.. pussy just greedy as hell." He groans softly. He slips his fingers out, bringing them up to his lips as he slides them into his mouth, sucking them clean.

“Swear ima get addicted to you..” He says taking his fingers from his lips. “Let’s get these panties off, baby.. tryna go crazy ma and they in my way.” You shift enough to allow him to pull them down watching him sit them aside.

“Ima keep those.. hope you won’t mind.” He says hooking his hands around your legs, pulling you closer to his lips with ease. His hot, smooth tongue swipes a long, slow stripe over your pussy, quiet growl coming from him as he tastes you, feeling the folds move under his tongue.

“Mm.. my God..” He laps at your pussy, fingers digging into your thighs as his tongue moves in slow circles on your clit before sucking the bud between his lips, pulling away with a soft pop over and over again. Your hand reaches down to his hair as he licks and slurps at your pussy.

“Mm. Good girl.. play with my hair, mama..” He mumbles against your pussy, eyes looking up at you as he devours your pussy, eating you out like he’d never have the chance to do it again as your fingers glide through his chocolate brown hair.

“Fuck.. Ren..” You moan softly feeling his spit running down from your pussy, to your ass, all on his couch.

“Ahh Ren.. the cou-“

“Fuck this couch.” He groans, yanking your hips forward more, hands moving to push your thighs open wider as his tongue dips into your hole, swirling around, pussy smacking as his tongue moves. His tongue comes out, watching the cream leak out of your pussy

“Fuck.. I wanna fuck you so bad..” He says leaning in to lick it up with the tip of his tongue, shoving his tongue back inside of you. Your fingers curl up into his hair.

“Ohh.. fuck..”

“Mm please tell me I can have this pussy.. please.. please princess. Please let me have it..” He begs in between needy licks against you.

“Mm fuck Ren.. okay.. okay..”

He stands for just a moment, untying the sweats as he pushes them down, his dick already hard as hell just from eating you out, the head a soft, flushed pink as he gets back on his knees in front of you. He spits in his hand bringing his hand down to his dick, fingers wrapping around the length as he starts stroking it slowly. He drags his fist to the top, wrist twisting every time he gets there only to drag his hand back down.

“Ahh.." He sighs, leaning in to eat you out once again as he strokes himself slowly. His eyes close tightly as his tongue and lips go at your pussy. He’s groaning and moaning at the sensations of your pussy on his tongue and his hand stroking his dick. He massages the aching tip with his palm, wanting so bad to feel your hot walls swallow his dick.

“Oh my God..” He hisses, taking his hand off himself to pull his shirt over his head, muscles flexing as he lowers his arms back down. He takes your hand, leading you to the bedroom.

“I need more space than this, mama. Lay on the bed for me.” He says following you to the bed as you lie back, his sheets faintly smelling just like the cologne he wears to school, the one you love. He moves up between your legs, body hovering above yours before he leans down kissing you passionately, reaching down between you two lining himself up.

“Mm lemme take care of you princess.. swear I’ll treat you so good..” He says burying his face in your neck as he thrusts his hips forward slowly, pussy spreading around him as he pushes into you.

“Ohh fuck baby.. you feel good.” He groans before sucking your bottom lip gently. Your hands run over his shoulders, fingers running along the muscles of his back, legs spread wide as he fucks you slowly.

“Ahh God babygirl.. fuck I wanna make you mine. Been wanting you for so long..” He leans his forehead against yours. Your hands move to his cheeks, both of you moaning softly before he pushes himself up from your body. He plants one of his hands in the mattress above your head, the other comes to your thigh pulling your leg higher up on his hip, fingers digging into your skin as he thrusts, speeding up just a bit.

“Fuck.. you know how many times I thought about this mama? Mm sitting in here beatin’ my shit, thinkin' about you, groaning out your name.. mm fuck.. see what you do to me mama.. got me going fuckin' crazy.. losing my damn mind..” He groans, hips slamming into yours, pussy sucking him in, cervix putting stimulation on his sensitive tip.

“Mmm.. shoulda.. shoulda said something Ren..” You moan as your hands run down the sides of his neck.

“Mmm fuck.. yeah, I shoulda..” a soft whimper comes from his mouth and he bites his lip softly.

“Uggh.. this pussy feels so good..” His hand comes up to your jaw from your thigh, your eyes closed as he fucks you.

“Fuck.. uh uh.. went all that time with you not lookin’ me in my eyes.. come on pretty baby.. look at me..” His voice is soft yet demanding. Your eyes open, full of pleasure as you feel every inch of his large, veiny dick rubbing against your soaked walls.

“Fuck.. look at you..those pretty eyes.. keep lookin’ at me just like that..” He moans shamelessly. He pulls his hips back, damn near completely sliding out of you, before pushing back in deep, tip of his dick kissing your cervix causing your body to jump a bit, cry coming from your lips.

“Ohh fuck.. pussy was made just for me.. fuck, only for me..” Your walls clench around him tight causing him to grit his teeth.

“Uggh shit!” He spits yanking his hips back a bit before pushing in deep again, pussy sounding sloppier by the second.

“Fuck.. look how you just lay there, taking it so good for me.. fuck.. that’s my girl..”

He pulls his hips back, hand coming up to your face as he looks into your eyes, the look on your face makes it so obvious that he's making you feel good.

“I swear.. you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever.. ever seen in my life.. my God..”

He pulls out for just a moment. His hand comes down, rubbing over your pussy, making a mess with the cream and juices that he’s managed to fuck out of you.

He pushes your thighs apart, legs spreading wider as he slowly pushes back into you, leaning his head back just for moment, while his finger tips dig into your thighs.

“Fuuuckk..” His breathing gets heavy, chest rising and falling as he fucks you, you reach your hand down, thumb and first finger making a tight circle around the base of his dick tight as he's pushed deep inside of you. Fingers loose enough for his dick to continue sliding back and forth through it and in and out of your pussy and his head falls back forward instantly, eyes snapping to your hand.

“Ah! Fuck girl.. what’re you doing to me..” his brown hair curtains around his face, eyebrows furrowed as he feels his dick slipping between your fingers and deeper into your pussy before he grabs you wrist tight pulling your hand away.

“Ugh fuck. Stop that.. tryna make me cum?” His groaning, whimpering, cursing only grows louder and more frequent as he fucks you, deep and slow.

“Uggh.. fuck.. swear Ima treat you right princess. Swear I will.. ohh my God.. fuck you’re mine.. mine.. Swear to God, I’d fuck up anybody that’d try to take you from me.” He rambles out watching his dick slide in and out of your pussy, dick glistening like hell from your arousal. “So fuckin wet.. fuck..”

“Mm fuck I’m gonna cum.. swear.. fuck I swear..” He whines.

“mmm.. inside..” You mumble out in a moan.

“Mm what’s that mama? Want me to cum inside this pussy?”

“Fuck.. yes.. yes.. please Ren..”

"Fuck.. cum with me.. cum baby.." He growls, your begging immediately pushing him over the edge, hips jerking forward at an uneven pace as the thick, white ropes paint your walls, his groaning is extremely loud as he cums. Seeing your pussy squirt on his lower abdomen as your back arches. His hand snakes beneath your back as it does and he’s slowly still fucking you as his breathing shakes, cum gushing out around his dick, your pussy squeezing him tight, milking every drop out of him. He pulls out slow, low groan coming from him as he lies next to you.

“Shit..”

You turn your head, smiling softly at him.

“Fuck, you’re pretty.. I meant what I said y/n. every bit of it.. ‘m not fuckin’ around bout you, baby..would beat the shit outta anybody that’d even think about tryna take you away from me.. I swear I’m gonna treat you so good.. gonna take care of you. On my life..” He says cuddling into your neck.

“You’re mine.. my pretty girl..” His lips press into your neck.. “Always been so crazy bout you.. wish I would’ve said something before..”

You turn your head to kiss his forehead softly. Thinking to yourself with a peaceful smile.

“Who would have thought it’d be me and him.. the loud, outgoing, social football star and the quiet girl who sits in the back of class, feeling invisible, unable to even talk to people without overthinking everything.”

“I guess what they say is true, huh?” You ask him softly, making him look up at you.

“What do they say?”

“Opposites attract.” And he smiles softly, kissing your cheek and then your lips.

“Hmm.. guess it is. You'll stay with me, yeah?" His hand caressing your cheek.

"I will." You reply placing your hand on top of his.

Taglist: @kirayuki22 @chrollohearttags @violetxxvenom @loversmeteorz

Thanks for reading! Please like, comment, and/or reblog if you enjoyed it. ♡

Masterlist if you'd like to check out my other work. ♡

the parent trap | KHJ

part 1 of the Night in Hollywood!series

☆ trope: exes to lovers!au, divorced!au

☆ pairing: producer!hongjoong x designer!reader, dad!joong x mom!reader

☆ warnings: nsfw (mdni), swearing, mentions of food, mentions of food poisoning, female desc. reader, drinking, suggestiveness, smut, slight!breeding kink, oral sex (f. receiving), overstim, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap!) nipple play, titty sucking, marking, praise, slightdom!joong, blond!joong bc that itself is too much for me, mentions of (early) pregnancy, you’re both in your early thirties and make an unbelievably stubborn couple in this!

☆ synopsis: AS DIVORCED PARENTS to two twin daughters, you and hongjoong have your fair share of work cut out. Driving to piano lessons, cheering at hockey games, drop offs at each other’s houses, it can all be a little much. But could a relaxing summer retreat as a whole family possibly rekindle past emotions you’ve swept under the rug? . . .

☆ word count: 18.1k

☆ playlist: soulful strut by young-holt unlimited, l-o-v-e by nat king cole, just the way you are by billy joel, slipping through my fingers by abba, this will be (an everlasting love) by natalie cole

☆ a/n: it’s finally here. I can’t believe I’m writing this and saying it’s finally here oh my goodness. first off, thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who has supported me with the series so far (shoutout to @kitten4sannie , @byuntrash101 and especially @desirehorizon for being amazing!) everyone’s sweet comments have been greatly appreciated, and I just hope this silly little fic brings a smile to your everyday lives.

ty for making writing worth it as a writer. now cue the opening credits!

“ABSOLUTELY NOT” Hongjoong says.

“But dadd,” she whines, clutching the wrinkled pamphlet closer to her chest. Eunseo’s small hands are covered in purple doodles her sister drew using a glitter pen. 

“Why not?” the girl complains, shrugging her shoulders. 

He sighs, pushing his glasses up with one hand as he continues typing away at the important document the producing company sent him on his laptop. He tries his best to reason with the child.

“Because, baby…” pausing to think for a moment before responding. “It would be hard for your mom and I to find a time that fits into our schedules. I’ve got work, and she must be busy as well.” 

Eunseo glares at her father’s excuse. 

Okay, yeah, the man knows it’s somewhat of a lie, himself. 

She continues to protest by shoving the advertising pamphlet in her dads face and blocking his view of the screen. Thankfully, Hongjoong is used to these sort of work distractions, expertly avoiding her by craning his neck sideways and continuing to type away.

“But dad, it’s an amazing cottage resort! They’ve got a lake where you can go swimming in, a forest hiking trail, a bonfire to roast marshmallows and even a diner less than fifteen minutes away! So if you end up burning the camp food like last time, we can just order and eat in! Isn’t that great?” She beams. 

He stops typing for a second, fingers hovering over the keyboard as he gives his first born a look that makes her immediately break into a sweet smile, batting her lashes and flashing him a look of innocence. 

“Please?” She begs, standing on the edge of her feet as she gazes up at him. “The last time we went was when Eunbyul and me were toddlers.” 

And how on earth could any dad’s heart not melt at the sight of his daughter trying to convince him about one harmless vacation? 

Hongjoong wheels his office chair back, turning so he could look her in the eyes properly and tuck a stray hair behind her ear. 

“Listen honey, I’m sorry, I really wish I could, but…” he trails off, looking back at the open tabs and file documents displayed on his computer.

Turning his head around and upon seeing a frown form on his daughter's face, he quickly reassures her. 

“Once you finish your final piano recital tomorrow and your mom picks your sister up to take her to her hockey game, how about we go fishing the weekend afterwards?” he suggests, brows raising. “That’ll mean I have just the two of you all to myself.”

Eunseo mumbles under her breath, quiet but insistent enough that he catches it. 

“But we’re supposed to be a family of four.” 

She sulks, thinking of how that would leave you, her mother, left out of their plans. The arms holding the pamphlet up, ultimately fall down in defeat. 

He places a peck on her forehead, patting her on the back. “You know, if you can get your mom to say yes, then I’ll think about it” he chuckles, knowing the highly unlikely probability of the event.

Adjusting his glasses, the producer goes back to his work, peeking his daughter slugging away from the corner of his eye. 

Eunseo slumps her shoulders in defeat as she walks out of her dads office, turning the corner to see her twin sister, Eunbyeol, pressing her ears near the door with her neck outstretched. Clearly she’s been caught in the middle of trying to overhear their conversation. 

The twin younger by fifteen seconds quickly rushes over, waiting expectantly.

“So? What did dad say?”

Eunseo exhales, throwing the information pamphlet away on the wooden floors and slumping against the living room couch. 

“He’s totally not buggin. Said he wants to take us fishing next weekend instead. Just us three.” she grumbles. 

Eunbyeol scrunches her nose at the idea. 

“But dad sucks at fishing.”

Her sister groans, kicking her small feet against the couch in frustration. “I know!” Eunbyeol starts to worry, coming to sit beside her.

“Then how on earth are we going to get mom and dad to get back with each other again? They haven’t been in the same room since we were like, five!”

Her twin sister scoffs, “First, we gotta get them to have a proper conversation with each other. They barely even talk when they drop us off at each other's houses.”

Nobody truly knows why you and Hongjoong had divorced so suddenly when the girls were young. Not even themselves.

All they were used to were cold stares and one word replies shared amongst their parents, refusing to find harmony in their co-parenting.

Frankly, your girls have had enough of the performance you were both trying to maintain, looking past your expressions to realize you and your husband still held feelings for the other. It was only a matter of time and place in order to set you two up together, thus, the idea of an intimate, family getaway came into their minds. 

After a few moments of letting her words hang in the air, Eunbyeol’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. 

“That’s it!”

The older twin looks up quizzically, watching her sister jump off the couch and gaze at her excitedly. 

“We’ll just have to force them to meet each other! We can always guilt trip them for dropping us off at their houses and making us play alone!”

Eunseo rolls her eyes at the idea. “Right, and how are we going to do that dummy? The only reason they’d do that, was if it was an emergency.”

Whoever said twin telepathy wasn’t a thing was a liar, because the second Eunseo catches onto what her sister is saying, the twins share a look of pure mischievousness, the gears in their brains working together as one. 

With hushed whispers and quiet giggles, the twins immediately begin conducting their plan in secrecy near the corner of the living room, backs turned and in the middle of discussion when Hongjoong walks out of his office with an empty coffee mug. 

“What are you guys doing over there?”

“Leave us alone! Family man traitor!” Eunbyeol shouts, holding a slightly hostile grudge to her father before turning back to whisper to her twin. 

Hongjoong shakes his head, sighing as he heads into the kitchen. 

“Then it’s perfect! I’ll stay here with dad once my piano recital is over, and then when Mom picks you up for your hockey game tomorrow, we’ll try convincing them together!”

Eunbyeol nods her head in agreement, eyes lighting up with excitement as she whispers in a hushed tone. 

“And once both events end, we’ll pretend to be so sick that they have to take us to the nearby hospital.”

The other twin smirks. ”Where we’ll end up guilt tripping them into taking us to the cottage.”

They double high five in victory at their flawless plan, already waiting for tomorrow to come as soon as possible.

“A summer cottage?” you repeated, brows raising at the idea as you made a left turn onto your street. 

Eunbyeol nods eagerly from the back seat after getting picked up, having ranted on and on about the ad in the pamphlet since the moment you saw her.

“It's an amazing establishment mom,” She boasts, making you laugh at her words while parking the car and unbuckling your seatbelt.

“They have everything you could possibly think of!”

“Oh, really?” You say skeptically, opening the door for her. 

Eunbyeol is lost in the middle of passionately describing all the relaxing activities you could do by yourself, or rather per se, with a special partner together. 

“There’s couples hiking retreats, couples canoeing, couples yoga… did I mention couples hiking retreats?” She confuses, retracing her words. 

You roll your eyes and smile, keys jangling as you walk through the entrance of your apartment flat while balancing the bags and items in your hands.

Being a wedding dress designer and yet picking up your daughter from your ex-husband's house could’ve been ironic to some people. But after having split with Hongjoong since the girls were so young, you came to grow fond of having some independence as a divorcee, channeling your main focus into setting up your own bridal shop downtown.

It was through that hard work and focus that you did it all by yourself with no additional help.

You’d be lying if you said you haven't opened a bottle of red wine some nights due to loneliness as a divorced single mother, but at least that was what you had your daughters for.

You made sure to work just as hard as you did enjoy playing and spending time with them. After all, they were the light of your life and purpose for living.

Balancing the pizza you picked up on the way home, you set it down on the kitchen island, telling Eunbyeol to go wash her hands in the sink. The girl doesn’t stop ranting.

“There’s usually only two rooms in the cottage, so you’ll have to sleep together with dad, but I guess you won't mind, would you? After all, you were once married” She rolls her eyes, reaching for the soap.

You shake your head with a sigh. ”What is up with you and getting me and your father together in the same room?” you muttered as you took out the plates and utensils. 

Eunbyeol eventually walks back to you, wiping her hands on her baggy jeans before sitting on the kitchen stool. 

“It’s not that I’m obsessed, Mom. Actually, Eunseo and I are just dying to get away this summer now that school is over.”

Turning around from plating the pizza and salad, you chastise your daughter, telling her to sit with her bum flat on the stool so she doesn’t fall. She immediately listens, carrying on with her persuasion. 

“We just want you and dad to get the chance to relax as well, that’s all!” her mouth full from a bite of hot, greasy pizza. 

You smile, wiping your washed hands on the kitchen towel and coming over to wrap your arms around her affectionately. 

“Spending time with you and Eunseo every week is how I relax,” you assured her, smothering your baby with kisses on her cheek.

Byeol lets out a squeal of annoyance, taking another bite of her pizza. “You’re squishing me!” She tries hiding her smile, failing when you lean in closer. 

You pull back in laughter, ruffling her hair as you walk away while reminding her.

“Oh! Don’t forget you’ve got your hockey game tonight!”

Byeol chews faster, munching on the soft crust and counting down the hours on the kitchen clock. 

She smiles to herself. 

“Don’t worry, I know!”

“What do you mean you need to go to the hospital?” Hongjoong asks in a worried voice, standing against the women’s washroom stall. He holds Eunseo’s congratulatory flower bouquet for first place in hand, feeling the stares of multiple women passing by, clearly judging him for being in the ladies room with them. 

“Honey, is everything all right?” He asks worriedly. A string of groans come from behind the door.

“You need to leave!” one old lady thrusts her walking cane at the father, lips pursed in dissatisfaction. 

Eunseo did such a phenomenal job tonight for her piano recital, that Hongjoong was shocked to see his daughter clutch her stomach first thing after running down the steps of the stage, dashing to the washrooms.

He whips his head back. “My daughter’s having a bit of a situation in here, okay miss? Have a bit of understanding!” He barks frustratedly out loud to the onlookers before speaking softly back to the stall door. 

“Eunseo, baby, talk to me, is everything alright in there? Are you sure you need to go to the hospital? Is it that bad?” 

The girl continues her acting performance, letting out fake groans while typing furiously on her cellphone. 

“Oh the pain! I think I might have food poisoning, dad!”

Seolie: How far along are u

Byeolie: Mom’s outside, banging to come in. 

Seolie: same, I told dad I needed to go to the hospital.

Eunseo lets out another groan of pain, causing Hongjoong to worry even more. 

“That’s it, Eunseo. Let me in and help you” he decides, searching his bag for a painkiller or at least some sort of medication for relief. 

The girl frantically checks her phone, eyes lighting up at the new message. 

Byeolie: Mom’s getting the car to take me to the hospital. I’ve got her convinced to call dad soon.

Eunseo types as fast as her small fingers can move, even faster than when she performed her piano solo from before. 

Seolie: Then what do I do????

Hongjoong gets slightly suspicious at the lack of sound coming from the stall, calling to his daughter again.

“Eunseo? Everything alright?”

At the next notification, the girl makes up her mind, getting the signal from her sister. 

Byeolie: play dead. Mom calling soon. See ya there.

The actress gets into character, gaining her composure before unlocking the washroom stall and holding her stomach as she stumbles into her dad’s surprised arms. 

“Eunseo!”

She wails, falling limp. “Oh, dad! Please! Take me to the hospital, it hurts too much!”

It’s truly a mystery which parent she got her acting skills from.

But she doesn’t have to tell him twice at that point. The man is already piggy backing his fainted daughter and sprinting out of the ladies washroom, reassuring her with soothing comments as he makes a beeline for the parking lot.

“Stay with me baby!” He huffs, unbeknownst to Eunseo who peeks one eye open. 

Only after he straps his daughter in the backseat and is turning on the engine does he receive a sudden phone call from you, pressing the speaker for the whole car to hear your panicked voice. You break the news to him first. 

“Eunbyeol’s severely sick. She fainted right after her hockey game.”

Hongjoong’s eyes widened. “What?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “She was holding her stomach saying she ate something wrong. Is Eunseo okay?” 

Hongjoong puts the stick into drive, backing out of the parking lot and replying in a hurry.

“She’s hit with the same thing right now. I’ll meet you at the Hospital in ten” he grunts, sweat forming on his brow as he speeds through traffic, not caring if he gets a ticket. 

Had he looked in his rear view mirror, he would have seen Eunseo sagging near the car door, clutching her stomach with a small grin on her face.

You never liked the hospital. 

The sounds of babies crying and hospital beds wheeling become the background noise, shifting nervously in your seat that was in the emergency pediatrics unit waiting area. 

Hongjoong has his eyebrows furrowed, hunched over one seat beside you as he hangs his head in his hands, knees bouncing up and down. A middle aged nurse nasally calls on the next family waiting from the front desk, boredom laced in her voice. 

You sigh, uncrossing your legs and choosing to bite at the fingernail on your right hand once realizing you’ve already done the same to all the ones on your left. 

“It’s all my fault.” Hongjoong confesses, suddenly sitting still. 

You glance to your left, watching as he sits up slowly. 

“Last thing they ate together would’ve been at my house. I probably made them sick with something I fed them,” he dejects, hanging his head down in shame. 

“It’s all my fault, god I’m so stupid!” He beats himself up. 

You have half the mind to snap at your ex-husband, anger already filling up inside you earlier when you heard Eunbyeol suggest it was something she ate at her dad’s house. You really did want to yell at him for being so bad of a chef that he sent his own daughters to the emergency pediatrics unit, undeniably relieved that Seonghwa was working tonight’s shift. 

But those cruel words sitting on the tip of your tongue are thrown away when you glance down to see your ex-husband missing a shoe on one of his feet. 

Hongjoong rushed over here so fast with Eunseo that he left his shoe behind like some sort of fairytale, Cinderella. He hasn’t even realized he wasn’t wearing one right now.

You exhaled, knowing that if there's one thing you’ve learned while parenting, it was that to have patience and understanding was a virtue. Even for your ex-husband.

“It’s not your fault,” you sighed, staring at your hands folded in your lap. 

It feels awkward when Hongjoong stops tugging at his blond locks to look at you in surprise, continuing to speak as you place a gentle hand on his thigh. 

“That could’ve happened to anyone. We don’t know yet if it was because of the food. Let’s just pray and wait and see” your voice being a sign of reliability to him. 

The man is a little shocked at your supportive nature to tell you truthfully. He delivers all the things he needs to say through his grateful gaze alone, reciprocating a small smile. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you guys tonight.” Seonghwa chuckles, walking in before Hongjoong has the chance to reply. He comes from the patient's room wearing his dashing, white doctor's coat. “Together, at that” he mumbles under his breath before looking up and flashing you a polite smile while giving his worried friend a soft pat on the back.

Hongjoong holds his breath when he asks: “How are they?”

“Better,” he tells him, flipping through some papers on his clipboard. “But it was a big shock to their bodies. They need some rest at the moment.” 

The pediatrician tries not to show his smile, standing in front of you and Hongjoong while hiding his expression behind his clipboard as per his niece’s request.

To be fair, if someone had told Seonghwa earlier that evening that he would receive a fifteen minute pep talk from his best friend's twin daughters that day in the emergency unit, he would’ve laughed in their faces. 

Alas, life was always filled with surprises. Here’s what went down thirty minutes earlier in the hospital room:

“We’re trying to get them back together,” Eunseo announced confidently, sitting next to her sister on the hospital bed. 

Eunbyeol nodded, eyeing the dumbfounded medical professional standing in front of them with his clipboard tucked under his arm, hands in his pockets. 

“So.. you guys don’t need an IV drip?”

“It’s this whole entire thing, Uncle Hwa, we’ll explain to you later.”

It took a minute before Seonghwa reclaimed his composure as an adult, chastising the twins for pulling a false alarm over something like this. He made sure to make them promise him they wouldn’t do something stupid like this again. But after that, of course Seonghwa is immediately pairing to help them with their plan on getting his best friend back together with his ex-wife. The man is just tired of watching Hongjoong beat himself up half the time about missing you. 

“So you essentially want me to lie about the fact that you guys don’t have food poisoning, and were just faking this whole thing so your mom and dad would have a reason to see each other.” 

The twins nod, one of them pointing out. “And make sure to tell them we’re fine of course. Maybe throw in we’re like, really sick, but that we’ll live so it’s best if we get rest.”

“At like a cottage or something” the other chimes in, wiggling her eyebrows at the hint. 

The doctor sighs, scratching his neck sheepishly. 

When Seonghwa leads you and Hongjoong into the hospital room, both of you feel awful seeing your babies laying in their beds, dressed in the children’s gowns. 

Eunbyeol peeks open her eyes first, voice hoarse (she practiced). 

“Mom? Dad? Is that you?” she groans, pretending to clutch her stomach in pain. 

Both you and Hongjoong rush to each child, grasping their hands and stroking their heads softly with sympathy. 

“Hey baby, I’m here” you coo.

“I’m so, so sorry girls, it was probably all my fault. I should’ve never cooked for you guys earlier today.” their dad cries out painfully, looking down in shame.

You come to stand beside him, reassuring them both. “But what’s important is that you guys get better now. We want to make sure you get the rest you need” you say, making eye contact with your ex-husband. 

Seonghwa clears his throat, crossing his arms as he flashes a wink to the girls behind your backs. 

“They seemed to have been mentally exhausted as well,” He asks on purpose, watching as you and Hongjoong share a look with each other. “Have they been receiving proper familial support at home?” 

“I can’t even remember the last time I saw my parents in the same room together.” Eunseo weakly admits, showing a faint smile. 

As parents, you and Joong feel the most amount of guilt anyone could ever feel. You realize how exhausting and stressful the pickups and drop offs to each other's houses could’ve been, especially when you two were so busy with your respective jobs to spend time with your daughters now that it was summer break for them. 

Hongjoong smiles, holding both their hands and making a promise to them. 

“Make sure to rest you two. Tell me, is there anything you guys need right now? Anything you guys want I'll make sure to get it for you.”

”Do you guys have crunchy ice?” Eunbyeol blurts out loud, breaking her weak facade. 

Eunseo almost wants to shoot a glare at her sister but she realizes both of you are still looking at them. 

“I can get you some ice!” Seonghwa quickly assures you and his nieces, mouthing to them good luck for support as he shuts the door behind him. 

You sigh, coming over to stroke Eunseo’s hair and caress Eunbyeol’s hand. 

“Well? Is there anything else you guys need from us?” Hongjoong states, eyes soft in sympathy. You nod, waiting to hear their response.

“Let us know girls, anything at all.”

Eunbyeol and Eunseo finally take their chance, sharing a hesitant look before speaking at the same time. 

“We want to go to the cottage”

“Together,” Eunseo says.

“As a family.” Eunbyeol adds in.

You and Hongjoong share a silent look. 

Later into the night, the twins are finally discharged from the hospital, deciding that they would stay at Hongjoong’s mothers apartment which was closest nearby, considering they were both tired and immediately needed a place to rest. 

The car ride home is awkwardly silent, even as the kids are (what you think) to be fast asleep, hockey gear and a bouquet of flowers riding with them in the backseat.

It was at their request for you to drive them to their grandmother's house, wanting both their parents with them till the ride home. Hongjoong settled on driving your car and dropping all of you off, planning to take a taxi back home and pick up his own car in the morning. Despite your protest on how inconvenient that was, he insisted as he didn’t want to disappoint the twins.

But suddenly the man begins to regret his offer, currently driving in complete silence on the highway, eyes facing forward and shoulders tense. Quiet FM nightly jazz plays from the radio. 

You’re sitting passenger seat up front with him in what feels like forever, looking solely at the reflections in the window, the street lamp lights scattering across your face as you travel through the nighttime traffic. It’s awkward being together like this.

You hear him clear his voice, speaking softly so he doesn’t wake up the girls.

“So, are we really considering that cottage retreat?” he glances back at you. 

You sit up, straightening your back and exhaling as you secretly wanted to have avoided that topic of discussion.

“We can’t Hongjoong,” you reasoned, shaking your head. “I couldn’t possibly take a whole vacation from the dress shop. Not unless I had someone take care of it for me, which my staff probably aren’t ready to do.” you explained, voice tense.

Hongjoong nodded, understanding your point of view. “I realize that. I’ve got a few projects I have to record and demo with Eden.” he tells you, an arm placed on the wheel with his sleeve rolled up. His veins become perfectly outlined as he passionately tells you about his producing job.

He’s so hot like that.

Jesus what were you thinking? Cursing your mind as you clear your voice and try to change the topic.

“How’s everything been going then?” you say stiffly. He nods, still awkward with sharing conversation with you. 

“Um, it's going good. You?” he asks.  

“Fine.” you swallow. 

Silence prevails. He’s first to speak again, building the courage to say the next thing in his mind. 

“I’m willing to put things on hold if I need to.” He confesses. 

Hongjoong continues to drive normally after having said that. Now it becomes your turn to stare at him now, watching how he glances at the side mirror, switching lanes swiftly like the pro-driver he was. 

“What do you mean?”

“Honestly, I think it would be good for the girls,” he admits, calling you by your name. Even hearing him call you your name feels weird. It feels foreign, like it almost wasn’t yours. 

“Hongjoong-” you warn, shaking your head at the warry possibility. 

“Just hear me out, alright?” He states firmly, making you quiet. 

He glances back into the rear view mirror, watching your girls peacefully asleep with their heads leaning against each other. 

“It’s been almost seven years. Seven years since they’ve last seen their parents speak to each other without breaking into a fight. Tonight was the first time they saw us together without having to plan a drop off and pick up in god knows how long.”

Hongjoong licks his lips, gripping the wheel as he emphasizes. “Seven years since they’ve gotten a goodnight hug and kiss from us at the same time in one place.”

You scoff, turning to face him properly this time. “I don’t know why you’re acting as though we can make this request of theirs come true Hongjoong. This is a big deal-”

“It is a big deal!” he exclaims, trying to get his point across. “I can see how badly our daughters want us to both be in their lives more, to acknowledge the fact that the other still exists after splitting apart.”

He sighs. “Us, not acknowledging each other’s existence at all is worse than if we had to see each other regularly.”

You bite your lip, getting angry. “So what Hongjoong? You’re saying you want to suddenly play family with them at the cottage?”

You shrug your shoulders. “Do you really think we can pretend to be normal parents to them without fighting like we are now? There’s a reason why our current schedules work. Don’t make me seem like the bad guy for not wanting to take them.” You glared, pointing a finger at him. His jaw locks. 

“You fully knew the lifestyle changes we would need to make as a couple when you signed those legal papers—”

“Well then did you also predict everything that happened after you brought me those papers?” He spits like venom, gaze hard as he clenches the wheel.

You blink your eyes at his words, pressing your knees together at his sudden attack. 

You don’t remember clearly if you even meant what you said at the time when you threw those papers at him seven years ago. But all you still know is that Hongjoong was just as stubborn as you were, making up his mind to sign them in the end regardless.

Looking in the rear view mirror, you muttered to him quietly. 

“Don’t raise your voice. The kids are sleeping.”

Their dad scoffs, muttering a sure, under his breath as he switches lanes. 

The kids were in fact, not sleeping, and very much awake. Eyes closed but ears wide, as they were listening in to the first real discussion their parents were having in so long. Or perhaps it was an argument?

At the right turn into his mother’s apartment’s underground parking lot, Hongjoong shuts off the engine, getting out of the car without another word and shutting the door in your face. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose, hear the back door open. 

You watch in the corner of your vision as his demeanor immediately changes, softly caressing Eunseo and Eunbyeol’s hair. 

“Hey girls, we’re here now. You gotta wake up.” He coos.

They yawn theatrically, pretending to stretch their arms. 

“So soon?” Eunbyeol mumbles.

A few feet ahead, you see your mother in law walking out from the elevators, a knit cardigan wrapped around her small frame. You smiled, getting out of the car and greeting her first. 

“We’ll leave Eunbyeol’s hockey gear with you for the night if that’s alright Mom-” 

Hongjoong’s words are cut off as the woman who birthed him walks straight past him, ignoring him and immediately taking you in her warm embrace, eyes forming crescent moons. 

“How are you my dear?” she asks, causing you to smile and hug your mother in law affectionately. “It’s been so long, I’ve missed you so much!”

Despite the break up between you and Hongjoong, you were thankful for one thing, and that was the fact that your relationship with Hongjoong’s family stayed strong, especially with Mrs. Kim.

“I’ve missed you too” you tell her genuinely. “I’ve been good, I’m just sorry for dropping them off so suddenly at your place,” You say, feeling apologetic for waking her up late into the night. 

“We had a bit of a situation,” you explain, watching as Hongjoong collects their things. 

She shakes her head, reassuring you. “Nonsense! Why would you be sorry for that.” she grins, turning her head at the car. “And where are my girls, may I ask?”

At the sound of her voice, Eunbyeol and Eunseo dash out from the back seat and into their grandmother's welcoming arms, pressing soft kisses to her cheeks.

Hongjoong is the only person that stands all alone, awkwardly holding the bouquet of flowers with heavy hockey gear and a duffle bag perched on his shoulder. 

“Oh, how I’ve missed my little squirrels!” she exclaims using their signature pet name and happily reuniting with her grandchildren. 

She turns her head, face falling at the sight of her son and lips pursing into a frown. 

“And where on earth have you been? Not giving me a call!” she snaps, slapping her son on his back. Eunbyeol laughs out loud while Eunseo tries to keep her giggles in. 

You hear your ex husband protest to her while you close the back seat door. 

“OW! I’ve been busy alright?” he mumbles, massaging his sore arm. 

Your mother in law takes both the twins hand’s on each side, nodding her head to you. 

“Leave all the kid’s stuff to Hongjoong, he’ll take care of it darling” she smiles sweetly, sending a glare to her son to take a hint and be more of a gentleman to you. She walks away with her smiling granddaughters, exchanging light-hearted giggles and excitement. “Bye, mom!” The twins wave back. 

Hongjoong cranes his head up, sighing at the ceiling before taking Eunseo’s piano bag that you were holding in your hand in one swift motion, walking reluctantly behind the three. 

“Stay here. I’ll drop them off.” he briskly walks away, leaving you stunned. 

Hongjoongs words from before can’t help but replay inside your head as you wait for him to come back down. 

Before you guessed it, it was already the ride back home, and the car was painfully silent once again. In reality, you were each thinking deeply to yourselves about the possibility of the cottage retreat. Could you really be a mom and dad together as a couple to your kids?

“Are you giving your plants enough water?” He brings you out of thought, the car slowing down as he turns onto your street. 

You look up, giving him a confused look. 

Hongjoong nods in direction, following his eyes to look at the measly, dying flower pot perched on the steps of your flat’s entrance as the car stopped to a halt. “You know, it’s really hard for plants to die when they’re outside.” He says in amazement at your shit gardening. 

You scowl at him, asking him when he became such a plant expert all of a sudden. 

He continues to poke fun at you, smirking when he undoes his seat belt. Hongjoong suddenly leans over to help you unbuckle your own, face dangerously close to yours as he lowers his voice. 

“Unless their owner just really sucks at taking care of them.” 

His eyes gaze into yours for a split second, feeling your face heat up from the proximity. You let out a tiny gasp for air when he leans back in his own seat. 

“Fuck off” you replied harshly. 

“You should give them some more care,” he suggests, ignoring your swearing. 

You don’t reply to his stupid comment, refusing to look at him as you get out of the car. 

“I can go in by myself” you press, adjusting the strap of your purse on your shoulder. You didn’t think it was necessary to draw out your time with this man any further.

Hongjoong straightens his dress shirt as he moves to your side of the car, shoving his own car keys in his trousers as he locks your doors and hands over the keys. You take them hesitantly, watching as he rests against the car door, strong arms crossing against his chest. 

“Think about it at least.” he mutters to you. 

You look at him, eyes shutting softly when you realize he was still talking about the cottage getaway. Sighing his name is exasperation, you run a hand through your hair. 

“Hongjoong-”

“Would it kill you to spend a week with me and our daughters?” He scoffs as he asks you straight up, looking at you in a way that makes you hesitate to say your next words. You observed one hand come to shuffle with the silver lighter in his trouser pockets. 

You stayed silent for a moment, genuinely thinking back to your daughters and what this meant to them if you went. What this would mean for you two as well. 

Finally, you look up to him, returning his gaze.

“I need time.” 

He nods, face serious. “I understand.”

“Let me think about it.” You mumbled. 

And with that you turn around, walking up the steps to your front door. At the sight of your flowerpot, you quickly remember his comment and snatch it in your hands, slamming the door shut to Hongjoong as he finally lets a soft grin break out on his face. Letting his back come up from leaning against the door, Hongjoong nods his head, satisfied enough at that answer, as he walks silently down the road while opening his Uber app. 

At least you’d give it some thought. 

Okay, maybe now you’ve given it too much thought. 

Sipping your fifth glass of wine of the night, you’re sitting, back hunched over with your knees tucked into your chest on the breakfast table chair, zoning out as your best friend Sophie continues barking at you and your inconsistent commitment. 

“I don’t even understand why you’re considering going! Does the man realize what it takes to leave your own shop for a full week?” she fumes, adjusting her royal jelly sheet mask while cursing at your ex-husband for pressuring you into going to the family retreat. 

“Not everyone can just pack their bags and go swimming at the cottage, Jesus Christ” she rolls her eyes. 

“He didn’t pressure me,” you told her pouting. “He wants to do it for the kids” you mumbled looking down as you defended him. 

You invited your best friend Sophie over to your apartment that evening for your weekly slumber party, a time you each looked forward to dedicating a bottle of wine and chardonnay over some gossip, spilling all the uneventful drama in your lives. 

Perhaps you revealed too much drama to your best friend tonight. 

“I don’t think I would mind going, to be honest” you hiccup, words slurring. “I haven’t had a vacation in so long, Sophie, and the girls really want to go! I would feel bad for leaving them with nothing to do this summer.” confessing through the alcohol. 

Cheeks flushed, you sigh as you play with your silk robe mindlessly while Sophie shakes her head at you, one hand coming up to snap at you and bring you back to reality. 

“Hello? Earth to Ms. Divorcee?” She sighs, rolling her eyes in frustration. “You said you wanted to set boundaries with him! To cut the line straight and keep your distance so you could get over your feelings for him! Show him who’s boss!” 

“He said he’s willing to put his music projects on hold for us,” you muttered quietly, the thought making your heart weak as you smiled at the memory of Hongjoong teasing you about your flower pot. Your chest blossomed with warmth now. 

Sophie sighs, shaking her head as she thinks just how differently you were feeling four wine glasses ago.

“Listen, honey, I’m just warning you in advance” she sips the golden liquid in her glass before placing it on the table. 

“Take it from a girl who’s had three divorces. I mean look at me! I’m still somewhat young, I’ve got no kids, no responsibilities, filthily rich, and not once have I had to pay for my own divorce settlement fees!” 

You nod mindlessly, eyes blinking softly under the bright kitchen lights. 

“What you need is a provider, sweetheart,” she crooned, caressing your head. 

“A guy who won’t leave you stressed and unimpressed like Hongjoong does.”

You continue mindlessly nodding your head at her words, ears perking up when you hear small footsteps come down the stairs. 

“Hi mom, Hi aunt Sophie.” Eunbyeol greets, eyes glued to her iPad that Eunseo trails after from behind, whining how it was now her turn to play Super Mario.  

“Hi girls,” Sophie replies like the cool, hot aunt she is, eyes shut as she’s concentrating on giving herself a collarbone massage right now. 

“Hey sweetheart,” you mumbled, smiling at your daughters standing near the fridge getting a glass of water. 

“Say, did your dad tell you guys anything about the cottage?” You blurt out loud, avoiding the look that Sophie gives you. Eunbyeol looks up from the glowing screen, ears perking in interest. “No, not much, why?” 

Eunseo snatches the iPad from her twin, coming over to you. “Did Dad say we’re going?” She asks enthusiastically, eyes widening. Sophie is quick to assure them. 

“Now of course not girls, your mother here was just-”

“Oh fuck it, why not?” you say confidentially, shining a bright smile. “Let’s go to the cottage!” You exclaimed in drunk excitement, all three girls staring at you with their jaws hanging at your sudden profanity as well as your final decision. 

Oh, how dangerous the effects of a bottle of wine were. 

Eunseo and Eunbyeol immediately embrace each other in a passionate hug, squealing in excitement that their plan actually worked. You and Hongjoong were now both convinced. “Oh my gosh, we’re going to go as a family!” They cried in happiness. You giggled at their joy, reciprocating their enthusiasm.  

Sophie leans back in her seat defeated, shaking her head with pursed lips as she picks up the whole Chardonnay bottle and sips it. 

“Oh whatever. . . This isn’t my problem anyways.” 

When Hongjoong drops by the next morning to pick up Eunbyeol and Eunseo from your house for the weekend, he can’t lie but be a little heartbroken at the way his daughters ignore his kiss to them first thing. They instead, immediately shove the cottage advertising pamphlet in his face with victorious grins. 

“See! We told you mom would say yes!” 

“Say yes to what?” He pouts, avoiding the paper and obsessively trying to peck a kiss to each of his daughter's cheeks. The idea of going to the cottage almost slipped the busy man’s mind after almost a week of no news from you. 

“What’s so important that you guys don’t even say hi to me anymore?” he sulks.

Eunseo giggles, fighting back her laughter when her dad tries to tickle her with his kisses. 

“We’re going to the cottage!”

Hongjoong stills himself, leaning back to make sure he heard her correctly. 

“We’re what?”

Eunbyeol, taking after her mother, has a cheeky expression on her face as she places her hands on her hips and sasses her father. 

“Pack your bags and swimming shorts, daddy, we’re going on a family vacation!” 

In perfect timing, you manage to stumble out your front door, coffee mug in hand and mid-yawn when you realize Hongjoong is already staring at you in shock. 

“What?” you snap, still grumpy from your slight hangover. “You’ve never seen a woman wake up before?” You replied, asking your kids if they packed all their stuff. 

The twins watch as their dad stands up from his crouched position. 

“You’re going to go to the cottage?”

At Hongjoongs words you freeze, everything coming back to you all at once. The wine, the twins, the promises, it hits you like a moving truck. 

“Well…”

“No take backs mom! You said it yourself last night that you were excited to go to the cottage!” One of the twins pointed out. 

Hongjoong doesn’t take his eyes off of you. 

“I-I did say that, didn’t I?” You chuckled sheepishly, toes curling at the rookie mistake you made in parenting 101: saying yes when you should’ve said no. 

Your ex-husband quickly tells the kids to put their things in the trunk, promising he’ll be right with them after talking to you. As Hongjoong dashes up the stairs in his white polo golf shirt, you feel slightly exposed being in only your silk slip dress and robe. 

“I didn’t realize you’d be here so early” you mumbled, looking down at your toes. 

He ignores you. “So I’m guessing we’re going then?” He smirks, looking at you with an expression of undeniable cockiness and peaked interest. 

You shrug nonchalantly. “Let’s surround the focus of this trip towards the kids” you remind him, straightening your back.

Hongjoong nods, agreeing with you wholeheartedly. “Of course, that was my intention from the beginning,” he smiles. 

You swallow the lump in your throat, unnoticing his stare drop at your breasts perking up from the cool morning air. You jump in surprise as you hear the honking of the car. 

“Come on, love birds! We gotta go back to dad’s to get our swimming stuff!” Eunbyeol cackles, leaning from the backseat into the driver's seat window. Eunseo already begins journaling in her hello kitty note book, an organized list of what she’ll need to bring to the cottage.

Hongjoong looks back at his daughters, before looking back at you with a smile. 

“Let’s keep in touch about details, alright?”

You nod silently, gripping your mug. At the sound of your nextdoor neighbor coming out, Hongjoong contemplates for a moment before quickly leaning forward, shielding you from their view with his backside. Clearing his throat, Hongjoong nods his head to the inside of your house, leaning forward to whisper to you. 

“Think, um, you should get inside, it’s getting cold,” he mutters, his dimples faintly showing. You glare up at him, “I’m going to say goodbye to my own daughters”. Still clueless to what he was referring to. He grins, shrugging his shoulders before looking at you. 

“If you insist. Just thought you wouldn’t want your neighbor to see what I can see, would you?”

You gasp at his words, looking down at your chest to see what he means before wrapping your robe around you. You quickly waved goodbye to your girls before you shut the door in Hongjoong’s smug face. 

It’s now become the second time you’ve done that.

Thankfully, the next time you see Hongjoong you’re wearing a much more appropriate outfit. In a white cotton blouse and casual jean shorts, your effortlessly chic vacation outfit was the only highlight today, considering the day you had been internally dreading for so long was finally here. 

You tried to take deep breaths while scurrying all over your house and finishing some last minute packing. Reassuring yourself that a family getaway couldn’t kill you. 

Right?

Reservations at the cottage were made over the phone last week, booking a house with the perfect lake side view, access to the forest trail and close proximity to the offered activities. It would only be a seven day stay, both in your respective rooms, (you clearly emphasized you and Hongjoong had to have separate ones) while the twins would lodge together. You had no intention of interacting with your husband alone together on this trip, apart from the quote on quote, ‘family bonding times’ you promised your daughters. And yet why were you here sweating nervously like a sinner in church?

“What a hot lady!” Eunbyeol wolf-whistles at your outfit when she walks through your bedroom doors. You jump at the sudden entrance, realizing Hongjoong was already here to pick you up with the girls.

A pair of black designer sunglasses slightly too big for her sat perched on her nose. Eunbyeol smiles before jumping onto your bed of clothes. You already know Hongjoong must’ve spoiled her and her sister with those, buying them a pair each.

“C’mon Byeol, off the bed” you quipped, packing your toothbrush as she reluctantly slugged off the covers. 

Your suspicions of Hongjoong buying them designer items are correct when Eunseo walks in, classily perching her matching white ones on her head before chastising her sister's tasteless compliment. 

“Elegant. She’s Elegant, Byeol. You don’t just go around wolf-whistling at people.” she rolls her eyes. 

“You look very pretty by the way, mom”

You smiled, nevertheless pleased at both their compliments and thanking them before going back to doing a last minute check of your things. 

Sun cream, clothes, makeup bag, swimsuit…

At the thought of your swimsuit you immediately blush, thinking back to how Sophie forced you to borrow her yellow bikini that left very little to the imagination. Despite your protests that you wouldn’t be needing it, she insisted. 

Hongjoong is last to walk through your front doors, swinging his car keys around his index finger and calling to his three girls from the downstairs foyer of your apartment. The man is clearly excited for the trip, he can’t lie. 

“Come on ladies, we’re gonna miss the chance to swim in that lake if we don't leave soon!” 

Hongjoong is your typical dad, except for the fact that he does not mess with dad!fashion. The producer is dressed classily from top to bottom in a loose-fitting designer button up with a pair of reformed denim pants, his pearl earrings and gold piercings complementing his outfit perfectly. 

Kim Hongjoong didn't play when it came to fashion. Even as a father. 

“Coming!” You exclaimed, ushering your kids out of your bedroom and making your way down the stairs with your suitcase. Seeing that it would only be a week at the cottage, you tried to pack light, though you may have to reconsider that thought with the way you struggled to lift the case properly. 

“Need some help?”

A strong hand comes to help you, immediately inhaling the scent of Hongjoong’s cologne as he brushes his knuckles near yours. “Here, I’ve got it” he assures, making you step back and admire your undeniably fine husband. 

Ex-husband. You meant Ex-husband. Scratch out the fine as well. 

You watch from behind as he struts out the foyer, smiling and joking playfully with his twin daughters, carrying your luggage out the door with them. 

What was this trip doing to you?

Once you’re on route to the cottage resort and the GPS is set, the car is blissfully quiet, each and every one of you surprisingly at peace. Jittery excitement still lays deep in your daughters' minds as you overhear them talk about what they want to do first once they arrive. 

Hongjoong’s 2000s soft rock and ballad playlist is playing quietly throughout the speakers right now, relishing in the music as luscious, green trees flash by you from the passenger window. 

While Byeol and Eunseo distract each other on their own, Hongjoong turns to talk to you. 

“I’m not going to lie, it’s been forever since I’ve been on a road trip” he smiles.

You copy him, feeling good in the moment. “Same, I don’t remember the last time I went to one.” you confessed, thinking only of all the times you had in the past when you were a child and as a teenager. 

Even back to when you were a young college student, wide eyed and so innocent to the chaos of your first college retreat with Hongjoong. That was the summer you two began dating, and boy were you fools in love. You cautiously look to your husband driving, bringing up past memories.

“Do you remember that one college retreat we went on during second year?” 

The corners of Hongjoong’s lips are already grinning upwards, smiling as he reciprocates your expression. 

“Right, like I could forget that summer” he replies sarcastically, gripping the steering wheel. 

It’s an easy memory to digest. A time when you were both so young, filled with nothing but dreams and passionate love for one another. Love so deep, that you remember the nights you’d spend locked up with Hongjoong under the sweaty bed sheets inside your cabin, blissfully making love until the sun would rise and he would finally kiss you to sleep. Perhaps, it was that summer when you realized you were going to marry and be with Kim Hongjoong forever someday. 

Though it’s too bad, someday already passed. 

“Do you remember when Seonghwa got so drunk he ended up confessing to Jieun in front of all the girl’s sleeping cabins?” Hongjoong snickers, relishing in the embarrassing memory his friend always hates him for bringing up. You laugh out loud, remembering the memory. “Oh my god, yes!” You turned to face him, shaking your head. “In nothing but his underwear, right?” 

Hongjoong nodded, smiling with one hand on the steering wheel as he drove.

“Didn’t he end up jumping into the lake afterwards? With you having to go in and save him as well?” You share your laughter with one another, catching up on past memories as your twin daughters listened attentively in the back, reliving them with you together.

That's what makes the hour and half drive from the city into the wilderness feel so short, finally pulling into the graveled parking lot of the vast cottage resort. White suburban cottages lined along one another, a good amount of distance in between each for every family staying. 

As Hongjoong parked the car, the view outside was so glorious you had to hold your breath. Glistening clear blue waves in the lake reflect the bright sunshine from above. A light breeze is present today with the way the willow and oak trees swayed gently. 

“It’s beautiful” you gasped from as far as you got out of the car, stretching your upper body with eyes closed as you inhaled the fresh air. 

Hongjoong stills his movements, shutting the door before replying with his gaze caught at your backside.

“Yeah, it is” he smiles.

Both of you turn around at a loud voice coming from behind. “We’re gonna explore the campsites and souvenir shops first!” Eunbyeol shouts as she runs away with her sister's hand in hers, towards the wooden cabin that's settled further away. 

“What about lunch?” you call to them. 

“We’re not hungry!”

Hongjoong tells them to be safe, and to stick around nearby. You smirked, helping him unload the trunk as you told him. “They’ll be fine. They’re probably too excited to even think right now” you giggled, bumping shoulders with him. 

You feel the tension that was once so strong between you two fade slowly, walking up the wooden steps of your lodge and exchanging conversation with each other.

“Hey, I just want my babies to be safe” he admits, a grin on his face as he holds the cooler in his hands. You chuckle, shaking your head at his protectiveness. 

“Here it is!” he exclaims, setting the suitcases in the front foyer as he opens the door. “Lodge number 1117”

The two story cottage is larger than it appears from the outside, having a modern yet rustic interior that you and Hongjoong admired. It had everything you would need, from a well designed kitchen area to a cozy living room space.

“It’s perfect, the kids will love it” you beam, looking at the hanging hammock chair in the corner of the living room and the gray stone fireplace. It fit perfectly for your family. 

Hongjoong smiles, sunglasses perched on top of his head as he sets the luggage down near the kitchen. Walking up beside him, you help him unload the cooler and ice boxes first, settling into your new home for the next few days. 

“I’m guessing you still drink?” you ask, looking in his direction as you unloaded the case of beer you saw him bring from the trunk.

He gestured to the booze. “C’mon, it wouldn’t be a vacation without it, would it?” 

You wholeheartedly agreed, placing a few in the fridge before you shut it closed. 

“Hopefully, this time we won’t end up shit faced like we did back in college” you laugh, turning to face him. 

“I can already picture that time we got so drunk from that bottle of tequila my friend brought, we snuck out of the campsite and went to the forest and got lost.” you spoke, the memory a little foggy but nonetheless fresh in your mind. 

Hongjoong smiles, listening as you speak.  

“There wasn’t anything but trees and bushes in that forest!” You exclaimed, shaking your head. “What did we even do there?” 

Hongjoong replies nonchalantly, folding the cardboard box in his hands.

“I’m pretty sure we fucked.”

You momentarily freeze at his words, before letting out a soft awkward laugh, causing him to look up. 

“No we didn’t, Hongjoong” you immediately deny, not believing his words. But your brows began furrowing at the foggy memory, starting to realize you really couldn’t trust your alcohol tolerance, now as an adult and even back when you were a college student. Did you guys have sex? In a forest out of all places?

Hongjoong leans against the kitchen counter, across from you as he crosses his arms in front of his chest and smirks smugly. 

“Nope, I distinctly remember it” he recalls, taking a step closer so he was now in your space. 

“I held your hand in mind as we walked up that trail by the cliff. And gosh, were we horny that night, because I remember you complaining about all that dirt you got on your knees from giving me the greatest head i've ever experienced in my entire life-” 

Slapping your hands over his mouth to stop him from going on, you blushed as you glared at him. 

“Jesus christ,” you mumbled, rolling your eyes before confessing.

“I get it, we fucked.”

Suddenly, you and Hongjoong break out into giggles like varsity sweethearts again at the story. Though embarrassed and cringing internally from the way you acted as young adults, it was nice to share them together now. At the proximity in which you’re standing in, you can't help but stare at each other softly. A hand wraps around your waist, making your breath hitch as he pulls you closer. 

“What are you doing?” you grin, watching him.

He looms over you, able to tell that something sits right at the tip of his tongue that he hesitantly decides to say. “I’m pretty sure,” he mutters, staring at your face and cautiously grazing the skin under your blouse. You feel your breathing speed up. 

“I also held you like this in my arms as you were leaning against that tree” his grip gentle and immediately transporting you back to the scenery that night. His sharp tone contrasts his touch. 

“Yknow, the one we fucked against?” he teases to you one more time.

The scent of burning campfire. A cold, midnight breeze. The feeling of the rough cedar tree against your back as Hongjoong thrusted inside you with every delirious snap of his hips, holding you close while he fucked you to oblivion with only the forest animals standing witness to your sinful actions. The film replays like a cheesy R-rated romance movie in your mind. 

“Did you, now?” You gulp, looking up at him as you adjust to the foreign feeling of his touch on your hips. 

“Yeah. I remember it all” he states, smirking down at you with an intense gaze.

The memory dies down when you catch yourself staring at his lips, arms finding their way around his neck as he dives down to whisper softly to you.

“Do you remember too?” He asks.

How he held you in his arms. How he whispered in your ear while you came around his cock, drool and traces of cum littering the corners of your mouth while Hongjoong didn’t care if you were stretching his flannel from how hard you were tugging at the material.

You nod. “I do,” you muttered, lashes fluttering as you felt as though your heart wouldn’t stop beating. “I remember you kissed me on the lips,” you confessed. 

Perhaps you wanted him to do it again right now. 

He looks in your eyes, searching for your approval that you desperately give, breath hitting each other's faces as he slowly leaned down to try and connect your lips. His chest is pressed against yours, and you begin to realize you haven’t shared the same breath like that in so long. You were so close to kissing right then and there.

If only you leaned in closer…

“We’re back!”

You push Hongjoong across the kitchen, shoving his hip painfully into the marble counter and ignoring his high-pitched groan of agony as you immediately look away to avoid suspicion, continuing to grab the beer from the icebox in front of you.

“Girls!” you exclaimed, voice wavering. 

Of course, Eunbyeol and Eunseo walk in with matching postcards and goodies from the souvenir shop in their hands, their sunglasses perched on their heads as their eyes lit up with excitement. They were still oblivious to the fact that they almost caught their parents about to make out in the kitchen.

“Dad, this place is amazing!” Eunbyeol deadpans, telling her father. “They even have jet skiing on the other side of the lake! We gotta go now!”

Hongjoong clutches his hip, pursing his lips as he hides his expression of pain and surprise. 

“Really? That's great sweetie”

Eunseo however, is quick to catch on.

“What were you guys doing?” she looks at you suspiciously. Her words hang in the air for a moment. 

“Were you guys about to kis-”

Hongjoong and you frantically scurry to find a plausible excuse, shuffling awkwardly. 

“I was helping your dad unload the cooler” 

“I was helping your mom get something out of her eye”

Both girls stare at you meekly. Eunbyeol scrunches her nose. “Huh?”

Plastering on a fake smile, you briskly leaped over the luggage nearby, ushering them upstairs before they had the chance to ask anymore questions.

“I think it’s time to unpack your things.” you watched their eyebrows quirk at the way you pushed them out the kitchen.

“We can do it on our own, mom! It’s really no big d-”

You clamp Eunbyeol’s mouth shut with your hand, blushing profusely as you walk away with them. 

Hongjoong stands there alone in the kitchen, rubbing his hip and wondering what the hell just almost happened.

The next few days, you and Hongjoong don’t discuss the incident between you two. Rather, the beginning of the trip after that event has become a painful performance trying your best to be eerily polite yet distant to each other in front of your children, as if that would make you forget the fact that you two almost kissed in the kitchen.

“Could you pass the sunscreen, honey?” Hongjoong would say awkwardly, turning his back to flash you a cheery smile on the lake deck as Eunbyeol and Eunseo watched you interact while floating in the cool, summer waters. 

You passed the bottle to your ex-husband while maintaining awkward distance. “Of course, darling!” 

“Thanks honey!”

“No problem sweetheart!”

This resulted in Eunbyeol and Eunseo looking at their parents in horror, the youngest twin muttering under her breath as they discussed an urgent change of plans.

“We have to get them to stop being weird.”

Apart from that, the ‘family bonding time’ promise to your daughters was maintained, and each day was an adventure for all of you in terms of what you would do together next. An accumulation of forest trekking, water-skiing and outdoors barbeques on the patio of your cottage made everyday feel more and more special for your girls, seeing how they relished in having both their parents with them at the same place and time. It became moments of peace and resolution that eventually became special for you and Hongjoong too. 

“I hope we stay here forever,” Eunseo blurted out one evening after a blissful day near the lakeshore, watching as the sun began to go down. She was busy licking the sticky sides of her melting ice cream cone in one hand, the other one held in yours. 

Hongjoong and Eunbyeol were a few feet ahead, laughing loudly and holding hands as they compared their fruit popsicles with one another to see whose was bigger. 

“You and Byeol would eventually get sick of going to the lake all the time” You smiled, the corners of your mouth turning up before her next words made the strings of your heart tug. 

“Sure, but at least you and dad could be together with us too.”

You watched as she ran up to her sister and dad, joining in on their fun as she began boasting that her ice cream was better than theirs. Hongjoong’s smile is the biggest you’ve ever seen it to be, looking down at his girls with a golden tan from the past few days spent outside, and hair slightly damp from swimming. 

Any person could tell the love in his eyes was as pure a father’s love for his girls could be. 

Her words stuck with you until that very night, where after dinner, board games, and much pacing back and forth in your own room before getting into bed, you decided to cautiously approach Hongjoong’s room on the opposite side of the second floor.

Bare feet padded across the wooden floors as you peeked through the sliver of the open door.

He's wearing an oversized sleep tee and blue pajama pants, getting in some nighttime reading before bed. His glasses are perched on his nose, intently reading his paperback novel. He looks as domestic as a husband gets. 

At the sound of your steps though, he sits up from his relaxed state on his bed, one arm that was supporting his head coming out as the other hand settles the book down on his abdomen. He looks surprised to see you. 

“Hi” he states, looking at you. 

“Hey”

Hongjoong’s expression immediately softened at your figure, watching as you shuffled awkwardly in front of him. The room is quiet. 

“Can I come in?”

“Of course,” He nods, setting his bookmark in the spine of the cover and turning his attention to you, offering you to take a seat on his linen covers. You see his polaroid camera with photos taken of Eunbyeol and Eunseo perched on a desk nearby. 

You don’t see the ones he secretly took of you, as those are in his drawers. 

“Don’t tell me you can’t sleep by yourself” he gently teases before watching as your smile doesn't reach the ends of your eyes. You wrap your silk robe closer to your body, feeling sort of vulnerable. 

“How do you like the resort so far?” He asks, watching as you played with your fingers absentmindedly. “Is the room okay?”

“It’s wonderful Hongjoong, better than I could ever have hoped for.” You spoke up, telling the truth.

It’s hard to arrange your thoughts in your head when it’s just the two of you in his room. The kids were already fast asleep. Now was your chance to just tell him how you felt. Why were you hesitating so much?

“Hey, look at me.” Hongjoong’s soft voice calls out to you, a protective hand coming out to caress the back of your head in habit. He can tell you want to say something, and the gesture makes you emotional, remembering how he always used to do that to ease your nerves when you were younger. 

“What’s wrong? Am I making things uncomfortable on the trip?” he worries about the boundaries you established with him at the beginning, watching as your lip begins to quiver and the emotions suddenly overcome you. 

“I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry.” you sniffled, tears forming near the brim of your eyes as you looked up at the father of your children. 

Hongjoong’s eyes widened, shifting through the covers over to you. “Woah, hey, shh that’s alright I got you” he coos, immediately going into dad mode and embracing you in his arms, letting your head rest against his chest. 

The action is natural, no longer foreign or weird, and you silently thank him for leaving reassuring circles on your back. Husband or not, Hongjoong would always be your best friend first. You had forgotten how much you missed this comforting side to him.  

“Tell me what you’re sorry about” he states, chest tightening at your wet cheeks before he slowly raises your chin to look him in the eyes. 

“For being mean to you for so long” you sniffle, a weakened state of emotional guilt eating away at you. You let him watch you carefully.

“I’ve been thinking about how happy the girls have been during this trip. A-And it kills me that we’ve been fighting for the past seven years, and that they’ve grown up seeing such bad parts of ourselves, of my own self” you ramble, confessing how you felt. 

You look up. “They’re happy because we’re together Joong. Because we’re not fighting or avoiding each other like we used to do before.”

He watches as you look up at him with tears forming in your eyes. 

“You’re such a good dad. And I realized you deserve to hear that.”

At the sounds of more sniffles, Hongjoong finally speaks, smiling as he brushes stray hair from your face. 

“I wouldn’t want anyone else but you to be the mother of our children, I hope you know that”

His truthfulness throws you off guard.

“I’m sorry too” he sighs, letting you sit up straight and look him in the eyes properly. “I haven’t been the best partner either, baby. We were both mean to each other.” he says, brushing a tear away from your face.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve thrown a hair dryer at me once before as well” he attempts to make you laugh, affection blooming in his chest when he sees he succeeds, wiping your tears. 

“But I already knew how you felt, sweetheart. I always know” he smiles, eyes mirroring a weak ache in his heart.  

“Married or not, we were once friends. And now we’re family” His voice turns deep, strong and dependable like the father he’s become.

“We can start over” you tell him, smiling as he folds his hands over your palm. “We can always do better from now and going forward. For ourselves, and for Eunseo and Eunbyeol.” 

Hongjoong nods, hesitantly for a split second before he leans over to press a soft kiss to your cheek, showing a gesture of affection that you longed for so long.

You shut your eyes, the kiss making your heart flutter. 

“Friends again?” He whispers, though silently wanting something more. 

You sighed, pulling him in closer to embrace in a hug. “Friends” you nodded while inhaling his comforting scent. 

The next morning, and for the rest of the remaining trip onwards, you and Hongjoong’s relationship dynamics did the equivalent of a 180 degree turn. 

It’s hard to believe you two really just wanted to be ‘friends’

Eunbyeol and Eunseo could tell by the way you talked to each other more, noticing you share more secret glances and fleeting touches that were innocent to the eye, but concealing a longing that you both tried to hide. You knew you couldn’t get carried away. You and Hongjoong were simply resolving a rough patch in your parenting. Not getting back together in a relationship. 

But after spending more time together while Eunbyeol and Eunseo became occupied on their own, it was hard keeping the interactions to a justified amount. Long walks in the forest, evenings spent cooking together, even cuddling together on the couch during family movie night. Thinking your kids were too busy watching the vintage Disney movie play on screen, when in fact, the real love story they were more invested in was happening right in front of their eyes, watching their parents falling in love again.

This led to the last event in their plan that they hoped would finally seal the deal. 

On Saturday night, the last night of your trip before you had to go back to the city, you and Hongjoong are surprised to find mini invitations left on your beds, scribbled in glitter pen and cursive handwriting reading out the following:

Gourmet Dinner Date for 2

Time: 7:30 pm

Location: Outdoor patio 

Dress code: Formal and Classy

You and your husband chuckled at the cards left on your beds, suddenly finding a twin each by your side and ushering you to get ready. 

“Do you and your sister even know how to cook dinner, Eunbyeol?” You questioned as your daughter rushed to push you into your walk-in closet, forcing you to get ready. 

She huffs, placing her hands on her hips looking offended. 

“At least my cooking skills don’t take after Dad’s, mom.” She mumbled, choosing your shoes for you. “Have some trust in a girl!”

Meanwhile, Hongjoong gets pampered by Eunseo in the other room, though in reality, her blunt critiques on her dads fashion are bruising his pride at the moment. 

“Dad, you have many normal clothes to wear. You have to chill with the ripped baggy jeans.” she demands, trudging through his closet to find something formal for him to wear. 

He begins to protest but his daughter shakes her head. “You’re supposed to look good for mom!” she huffs, searching on her own. At Eunseo’s words, the man starts to slightly worry, scratching the back of his head. 

“You and Byeol are gonna join too, right?”

She stops for a second, looking back to her father as she avoids the question and instead retorts back. 

“It’s just a date, Dad. Relax”

Back to what was happening in the other room at the end of the hallway, you huffed in frustration when you walked back into your closet after Byeol rejected another one of your outfits for the dinner date. 

“I have nothing else to wear, sweetie, these are all the clothes I have.” you came to terms with a hand coming to your forehead after having searched in despair. 

The ten year old shakes her head before pushing you out of the way and digging deep into your suitcase. She reveals a delicate piece of material you didn’t even realize you packed. 

“We got some help from Aunt Sophie and Uncle Hwa to pack you guys clothes that you could wear for a special occasion.” she wiggles her eyebrows, a smug grin on her face as you gap in shock. 

You inspect the dress, lips parting in disbelief as you feel the material. 

“I haven’t worn this since I was in college.” You uttered softly to yourself. 

At one longing look of the short dress, you shake your head, walking back into the closet to find something else. “I-I can’t wear this Byeol, what would your dad think?“ you asked nervously.

“Dad said he thinks your boobs looked hot in this dress so Aunt Sophie and I picked it specially” she looks up at you, proud of what she just said.  

You whip your head around, mouth hanging open in shock.

“Byeol! Where did you hear that from?” 

She sighs. “Dad had one too many drinks this one time and started talking about you guys back in college” she explained before shoving the infamous black dress in your hands. 

“Talked a lot about how pretty you were,” she draws out her words in a teasing voice. You curse your husband for his mistake.

You bite your lip as you stare down at the fabric in your hands. 

It was undeniable. You knew you looked amazing in this dress. You could testify from the amount of times Hongjoong ripped it off of you after countless night out’s filled with sexual tension and playful flirting. For god's sake, Eunbyeol and Eunseo could’ve almost had another sibling thanks to that dress.

“Fine.” you muttered bashfully, turning away as you walked into the closet to change. 

“But I’m just gonna try it on.”

Thirty minutes, one mental breakdown and too many outfit changes to count later, you walk down the stairs wearing the dress Eunbyeol had successfully persuaded you to wear. 

What do you know, the kid was right. Your boobs looked amazing in that dress. 

Not just your boobs, your whole body looked incredible with its strong curves and the beautiful fill it gave to the dress, making it slightly tighter than when you wore it as a twenty year old, but still all the more mature and sophisticated. You really did look hot.

Eunbyeol rushes down the stairs before you, catching up with her sister to inspect her job on their fathers preparation. 

“Well?” She says expectedly, looking at her dad. “Let’s take a look!”

He sports a simple yet timeless white collar dress shirt, the first few buttons undone as he wears a form fitting black dress-vest that accentuates his waist, dress pants paired to go along with it. Though simple, his silver rings pulled the outfit together, making him just as good looking and sophisticated as you were. 

Hongjoong’s back faces towards your front, watching as the man nervously shuffles his hands in his pockets.

“How do I look guys?” He gulps, adjusting his collar and sweeping his blond hair back. 

Eunseo rolls her eyes, a grin on her proud little face. “Do you even have to ask, dad?” She’s more than confident in the outfit she and Seonghwa coordinated together. 

He chuckles, shaking his head as he nervously tells them. 

“I want to look good for your mom, you know what I mean? She's a difficult woman to impress sometimes.”

“I’m difficult?” You tease, walking down the last few steps of the stairs. 

The man turns his head around, losing his breath at the sight of you standing there in front of him, wearing that dress that he hadn’t seen you wear for so long, looking breathtaking in every possible way. 

“Hi” you grinned softly, feeling sort of shy.

The way you fit in that dress made an insatiable hunger fuel inside Hongjoongs chest, eyes gazing at the way you strutted over in the black, lace covered material with your hair tied back and glossed lips turned upwards as your dimples showed. He breaks from his admiration when you quirk a brow at him, making the man almost fall to his knees and stutter uncontrollably. 

“I-I No I didn’t mean that-“

You giggle as you bravely take Hongjoongs hands in your own, shutting him up as you turn to your daughters standing in front of you, starstruck at your aura. 

“Outside, right?” you winked at them. 

“Right this way!” Eunseo enthusiastically leads you out back to the outdoor patio, a perfect view of the garden and lakeside coming into effect. Hongjoong slips his hand from yours, and slides it across your waist, pulling you into his side. 

“My parents are too cool” Eunbyeol sighs under her breath, watching from behind in awe.

Your ex-husband makes you swoon when he leans in to whisper softly. “You look breathtaking, sweetheart.” feeling an immense sense of pride at how lucky he was to make you the mother of his children. 

You blush, turning to him to whisper playfully back. 

“Not bad yourself.” 

You both look forward when you come to a stop at the patio steps, sheer amazement at the full preparation your daughters did for this event. Fairy lights were hung around the area, a table with two chairs on either side placed with a white table cloth and a bouquet of freshly hand picked flowers from the forest, battery powered candles that were sold at the souvenir shop lit in the middle and glowing softly. 

Eunbyeol dashes to the door when it rings, making you and Hongjoong furrow your brows. 

“Is someone here?” he asks, watching Eunseo fold a napkin over her arm like the pro waiter she was. The other one walks out, an oily fast food paper bag in her hands as she smiles. “Dinner is served!” 

“Turns out that diner 15 minutes away also delivers!” She chuckled, helping her sister plate the two cheeseburgers, fries, and vanilla and strawberry milkshakes. 

You and Hongjoong continue to watch in stunned amazement as the girls prepare the not exactly gourmet(?) but still impressive meal in front of you, their small hands working swiftly. 

“You guys prepared all of this?” You asked, getting a little emotional. They grin proudly, nodding their heads. “We called the place earlier and planned it all by ourselves!”

You pressed a kiss to each of their soft cheeks, thanking them both as Hongjoong did the same. 

“What did I do to get so lucky with my girls?” he smiles, ruffling their heads. 

“What about you guys?” You asked, watching as they slowly backed away to give you two some privacy. 

“Natalie and her mom invited us over for dinner and a sleepover tonight at her cottage,” Eunbyeol smiles. At the mention of their newly made friend that they had gotten close to over the week, Hongjoong looks at you then back at them. 

“What? But- ”

She cuts him off, rolling her eyes. “Her mom said it’s totally fine with her. She’s only two cottages down, and she’ll make sure we’re back in time again for tomorrow when we leave!” 

The two girls smile in excitement, though the both of you have your parental instincts kick in. 

“Please?” they begged, wanting you to let them go so that they could do this for you guys as much as they wanted to do it for themselves. “She’s waiting for us now!”

Hongjoong feels guilty. “C’mon, you guys should still join us!”

Eunseo immediately shakes her head, declining the offer. 

“Tonight is all about you guys. We don’t want to intrude” she chuckles, bumping shoulders with her sister who chips in.

“We’ll text you guys in the middle to let you know everything’s good of course” 

You and Hongjoong smile, a feeling of immense proudness overwhelming you from seeing your daughters act so grown up. There wasn’t anything else you felt grateful for more. 

“Thank you girls.” you muttered softly, watching as they flashed you a wink before hurrying out through the backyard door. 

“Don’t get all kissy in the backyard!” Eunbyeol teases, making cheesy smooching sounds with the back of her hand as her sister rolls her eyes and shoves her out. 

Before you know it, you’re left standing with just the sound of smooth jazz playing on the patio speakers and the buzzing of the summer cicadas. 

“She takes after you, I hope you know that” You told Hongjoong softly.  

He chuckles, “Not as much as you.” He gestures to the table. “Shall we?” 

And that’s how the next few hours seem to pass by without even realizing. 

You see, there was a reason why you fell in love with the man sitting in front of you, and you’re just beginning to remember it now. Being with Hongjoong felt as if the moment was everlasting, and you could testify that from the amount of laughter and deep conversation that was shared over dinner, bringing you to sit on that patio until the sun had set. Every so often you’d smile again at the thought of the twins preparing this all for you. 

“I don’t remember the last time I’ve been on a date like this” You blurted out after laughing about something, taking a sip of your strawberry milkshake through a straw. 

“Oh, so we’re going on dates now, are we?” Hongjoong grins, making you roll your eyes at him. 

You lean forward on the table cloth, watching as a glimmer passes through your husband’s eyes while he sits back in his chair, cocking his head to the side as he clears his voice. 

“But you’ve gone on dates after we split, haven’t you?” he asks, leaning forward in interest now, letting his chin rest on his palm. 

You shook your head slowly.

“Nope. Not since signing those papers” you revealed. 

Hongjoong furrows his brows in surprise. “And why’s that?” 

You suddenly didn’t have an answer. “I-I don’t know, I just…” You began, watching how he looked at you with an unreadable expression. You smiled, looking down and suddenly feeling embarrassed. 

“I guess I was too focused on running the bridal shop, I couldn’t find the time to.” You use as a cliche excuse. 

“Bullshit” he retorts back immediately. 

“It’s true!” You protested, throwing a fry at him that he dodges, landing on his finished plate. 

“You always did say back when we were younger that you wanted to be a designer. And look at you now” he admires, letting the candle lights shine a youthful glow to your face. 

“You always said you wanted to become a music producer and write your own songs.” you reciprocated, smiling as you soaked in the presence of one another. “And here you are now.” 

You think for a moment before asking the same question. 

“How about you?” 

Hongjoong silently shakes his head as his answer, though silently thinking about something else. The music changes to some old Billy Joel song in the back. You don’t realize it, but Hongjoong smiles to himself when he realizes the girls added it to the playlist. Of course they had to, it was one of the songs you played at your wedding. 

“What were we thinking when we got married like that?” You asked out loud, looking at how far you’d both come. You definitely skipped some of the order of the stages of a normal relationship. 

“I mean, we had no money, no prospects. Hell, we didn’t even have a car, Hongjoong!” you realized.

Your husband laughs, sitting straight and letting some skin show through his unbuttoned collar. 

“We were young” he justifies. 

“Yeah, and stupid too,” you pointed out, feeling the summer breeze pass by. It felt good to sit here like this with him.

You wondered, could sitting here like this with Hongjoong be a regular thing? After this trip, would you be able to walk back into each other’s lives again like this? 

As both parents and lovers?

Hongjoong brings up something you wouldn’t have expected him to. 

“Do you remember when we first found out about Eunseo and Eunbyeol?” he questioned softly, looking at you. 

You blink, taken aback. Suddenly you’re back in your college dorm washroom, sobs wracking through your body as Hongjoong who had only just sent his first few mixtapes to recording stations and companies nearby, pulled you close into his chest, eyeing the two lines left on the counter while he caressed your back. Only twenty years old and figuring out what you wanted to do with your lives, you were suddenly stuck in a sudden situation that had made you feel like your dreams would have been given up on completely. 

“I do,” you told him, pulling yourself from the memory. 

“I remember because in that moment I felt like the whole world was caving in”. You laughed, though it wasn’t fully cheerful.

“I don’t regret it, though” Hongjoong replies after some thought, gazing at you with truth in his eyes. 

You shook your head. “Of course. Neither do I.” 

It was a blessing to have two beautiful daughters as the product of your love.

“I don’t regret you either.” Hongjoong states.

You lock gazes, unable to take your eyes off of his face. 

“I loved you when I first met you and I still loved you when we divorced,” he says all at once, making your breath hitch and heart waver. 

“Don’t say that.” you tell him, looking away and suddenly reminding yourself you’re still divorced from the man sitting in front of you. 

How could he still love you after all this time? How could you feel the same about him?

Hongjoong continues, shaking his head as he bites back the lodge in his throat and makes up his mind. He has to tell you. 

“Truthfully, I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you.” 

Don’t do this to me you begged silently.

“I’ve hurt you just as much as you’ve hurt me.” He swallows, thinking back to the times you already knew he was referring to. The times where you fought to the point where there wasn’t even anything worth fighting for anymore. 

“But you have given me the greatest gifts of my life.” He smiles, holding his tears back.

“And for that I will always love you.”

You push your seat from the table, suddenly feeling overwhelmed and wanting to avoid him.

“I can’t do this anymore.” you dejected, walking away from the patio and from Hongjoong.

There wasn’t anything else you could fake anymore. You couldn’t bear to hear the man you once loved, possibly even still love, say these things like he had a dagger lodged in his heart. Didn’t he know he was only going to do the same to you?

Hongjoong is quick to catch up, holding onto your wrist and turning you around, that your back collides with the nearest wall inside, pressing your fronts together and closing the distance.

“Why do you always run away from me? From the possibility of us?” He exclaimed, voice breaking. His heart crushed at the way you turned your head, hot tears already clouding your vision. 

“Because ‘us’ can’t happen again, Hongjoong!” You cried, staring up at the man you once promised your life to.

“Don’t you get it? Us going on this trip isn’t a sign to get back together. What would we do seven years after breaking up?”

“We could do it” He states firmly, staring you down, both your chests heaving.

You bite your tears back again. “No we couldn’t, honey. We would be pretending to think we solved our marriage. What would we do about our daughters? After putting them through our constant fighting— ”

He slams his lips to your own, shutting you up as you painfully resist his touch. Your hands came up to push him away, but at the sudden gesture, you’re already giving in and sobbing softly, letting him hold you for just one last time. 

Your lips mold so perfectly, it almost hurts how much you missed this feeling. To have him slot his arms around your waist, pull you in close, and cherish you. You almost forgot this feeling. 

He pulls away softly, watching your lashes flutter, pleading to you for a chance as he leans closer, making your breath hitch. 

“We could be together as a family again,” he states firmly, your name leaving his lips in a desperate plea. “We never know if we try—”

You drown out his words, looking up with tears falling as you cut him off. 

“Seven years ago I gave you those papers to sign, thinking that you would’ve chased after me,” 

Hongjoong holds his breath, watching as the next words stumble from your mouth. 

“I realize now, how stupid I was to think that.”

“I didn’t know you wanted me to chase you”

Shoving his chest away while mustering the last of your strength you uttered. “Of course I wanted you to chase me.” You let go of his hands. “It’s too late either way”, walking away from the defeated man.

Hongjoong stands alone near the patio entrance, watching his tears fall to the wooden floorboards. Holding the ring he had kept hidden in his trouser pocket, he plays with it in his fingers, silently wishing he had given it to you sooner. 

It rains the next morning on your departure back to the city. Perfect, considering it reflects the sudden storm of utter depression that falls upon your family. Long gone are the cheerful giggles and longing stares that were shared between you and Hongjoong during the ride to the cottage. 

There was no room for that, not after last night.

Eunbyeol and Eunseo sat slumped in the backseat, rain hitting the roof of the car as they mindlessly played on their cell phones. Really, they were peeking from behind every so often and watching their parents sit in the front seat with tension so thick, you could’ve cut it with a knife. 

What had they done wrong? They planned the trip, the activities, the dinner— it was all perfect. And yet why were you still fighting with each other? 

These questions racked in their brains, baffled to have witnessed the sight of their parents refusing to talk to each other after walking back from their friends' sleepover. 

Eunbyeol and Eunseo felt as useful as matchmakers without a couple, feeling their efforts all gone down the drain. 

At the sudden ring of your cell phone, you pick up, answering at the voice of your assistant. 

“I’m driving back up right now”

Hongjoong continues focusing on the road, the occasional wiping of rain from the windshield wipers on the front window. 

“Yes. That’s okay, I'll take care of it.” You muttered, glancing at the rear view mirror for a moment. Your twin daughters immediately sigh, having an idea of what to expect when you say those familiar words. 

“Thanks for letting me know.” 

You hang up the phone, 

“One of us isn’t going with you, are we?” Eunseo asks, making you look back at her with a sigh. 

“No, you’re not” You confess, apologetic. ‘I’m sorry honey. I really am.”

You look back facing the front, swallowing as you told Hongjoong. 

“You’ll have to drop me off at the studio. Some things aren’t working out with the client so they need me to come in and take care of it.”

He nods, unphased as he continues to look straight. 

“Will you be fine with the girls?” You asked carefully, watching them as they were slumped in the backseat.

Hongjoong grips the wheel before turning to you. 

“I‘ll be fine. Don’t worry about it” sending a small smile, though it doesn’t fully reach his eyes. 

The twins thank god that at least neither of them had to choose to go back home with either parent. 

They would’ve hated that more. 

After barely being able to depart and say goodbye to your daughters in front of your studio, holding them close for a warm embrace and thanking them for an unforgettable weekend, Hongjoong drives off with his daughters, an empty feeling cascading his thoughts. He puts on a smile still, trying to cheer up his girls. 

“What do you want to do first when we go home? Want to unpack and then eat? We can eat and then unpack. Or we could- ”

Eunseo crosses her arms, having been fed up for far too long.

“Dad, you must be out of your mind.” 

Hongjoong stills, furrowing his brows and peeking at the first born who crosses her arms, holding an attitude. 

“Eunseo, what are you- ” 

“You’re telling me you and Mom just spent a whole entire week together at the cottage, had the best time of your lives since separating with one another, and now you’re just going to go back to not speaking or talking to each other again?”

Hongjoong blinks at his daughter’s sudden outburst, already making a turn into the driveway of his house.  

Eunbyeol now reciprocates her twin, looking at her dad as she slouches beside him, coming near the front seat area. 

“She’s got a point dad. Do you really just not love mom anymore?” She worries, looking up at him genuinely concerned. 

Hongjoong doesn’t know how to answer these sudden questions right now, stuttering to reply.

“Me and your mother are fine!” He lies, trying to reassure them. “That trip wasn’t just for us, it was also for you two to enjoy— ”

Eunseo asks the million dollar question. 

“If you still love Mom, why are you letting her go a second time?” 

With the engine turned off, it's gone silent. Two pairs of eyes staring at their father, awaiting his response. 

“Well? Are you going to chase after her or not?!” Eunbyeol groans, her fathers lack of response making her pull her hair. 

They were right. How could he have made the same stupid mistake twice?

Hongjoong struggles to put the keys back in the engine, telling them to put their seat belts back on. Their eyes begin to glow with hope.

“Do you girls mind staying at your uncle’s for a bit?” He asks hurriedly, punching into his cell phone to call his brother for a favor as he pulls out of the driveway. Eunbyeol squeals, hands clamping over her mouth as her sister speaks on behalf of them both. 

“Dad, if you don’t drop us off and get your butt over to mom’s right away, I’m gonna report you to child services.” she threatens, watching as he steps on the accelerator, heart pumping so fast as he smiles through the rear view mirror.

You sighed, holding up your cellphone to your ear. 

“Call me once she approves the design then,” you told your assistant through the receiver, one hand looking over the sheets of paper, highlighting the changes to the new blueprint. 

“Alright then, bye.” 

After hanging up the phone, you rubbed your temples, head pounding as you tucked the files back into the folder. 

The clock in your studio showed the hands about to reach seven pm. A few hours had already passed since coming back from your trip to the cottage, trying to forget everything by burying your focus into the new dress prints a client of yours requested, remodeling them after the original was rejected. 

Fingers worked away swiftly, comparing textiles and fabrics as you looked at the piles of papers and messy sticky notes in front of you. But yet the gears in your mind seemed to churn achingly slow, sighing as you repeatedly told yourself the same thing. 

Just focus on the dress, focus on the dress, focus on the dress.

Don’t think about him. 

The task is impossible. Your mind can’t help but slip back to what your relationship has become with Hongjoong, and what you were going to do now that those seven days were over. For so long you had deprived yourself from indulging in your love life, prioritizing taking care of Eunseo and Eunbyeol while juggling your job as a designer. Had you been doing it all wrong? 

Hongjoong’s words repeat in your head like a broken record player. 

I will always love you

Lies. That promise couldn’t be kept. Your divorce was a clear outcome of it. You and Hongjoong were two people not meant for one another. You were too different, all you would do is hurt one another, make life an unbearable living hell—

And yet you missed him. You missed Hongjoong so much. 

What was fucking keeping you from loving him? Was it your stubbornness? Was it really the fact that he didn’t chase after you? Or was it none of that and just your own self being stupid?

The front door of the studio opens, pulling you from your thoughts as you got back to the sketches. You called up from your desk as you worked quietly. 

“The studios closed for the- ”

Heavy breathing. The man who just walked in catches his breath from dashing out of his car and up the three flights of stairs, driving through almost an hour of traffic in pouring rain to be here in this moment with you.

“Hongjoong?”

He’s drenched, making a mess on the floor of the studio as the droplets fall softly one by one. 

Suddenly he's striding over to where you’re sitting in long steps before slamming his lips against yours. The kiss throws you off guard, the shock of his cold hands cradling your face makes you close the gap unknowingly. 

Linking your arms around his neck while kissing back passionately, you let your hands rest on his shoulders, pulling back for air as you panted heavily, catching your breaths and looking at each other with pure love and lust. 

“Why are you here?” you asked, feeling dumb because your heart already knew the answer. His hands wrap around your waist, desperate as if you would leave him again. 

But he’s just so fucking tired of that now. He just wants to love you now.

“I lost you once.” He breathes, eyes watering.

“I’m not going to lose you again”. 

Suddenly, everything that kept you from being with each other is thrown away. 

That hate, that fear, everything is gone because you realize you still needed each other. You’re still the same twenty year old couple standing in that dorm washroom, holding each other close and knowing it’ll be okay because at least you had each other. 

You grasp onto his damp shirt, pulling him down with such force that your lips meet again, taking charge as you finally allowed him to have you. 

“You’re a fucking idiot” you whined between kisses, curses escaping your lips when he softly bites the flesh of your neck to test the waters. “I hope you know that”

He agrees wholeheartedly, nodding as if he was already getting pussydrunk.

“I’m an idiot” he mumbles to himself, letting it escape his lips like a mantra. Well, he was stupid enough to only chase after you this late, so if his wife told him he was an idiot, then so he was.

“Let me prove how much I love you,” a hand comes to graze near the collar of your shirt. 

You gasped, watching as Hongjoong lifted you from your seat and rutted his hips against your core pathetically, your ass digging into the edge of the table.

“Here?” Your eyes widened, watching his expression turn dark. He presses kisses on your collarbone, making your hands grasp the wood for support. “Hongjoong wait,” you exhaled in a deep breath, heart beating against your chest.

But he doesn’t give a shit. He’s tired of waiting. 

“It’s been too fucking long” he protests, ripping your top off. You’re dizzy from how abruptly he’s stripping you, latching onto his shoulders for support as you wobble from him unzipping your jeans and pushing them down, exposing you in nothing but your underwear and bra. 

And like the good little whore you are, you immediately spread your legs, letting Hongjoong get a view of the embarrassingly wet patch leaking through your panties as he’s crouched down to let you step out of the denim near your ankles.

Holy fucking shit

You stand bashfully, toes curling from how exposed and vulnerable you were being the only one naked. 

“Please?” you asked nicely, letting your foot rest on his shoulder as your pussy was now on full display for him.

You don’t have time to even finish the last word before Hongjoong dives in, lapping at your soaking cunt and humming in pure ecstasy at the taste. The muffled vibrations make you throw your head back, tugging on his locks to shove his face further. 

Hongjoong’s hands press into your thighs that cage his head in, leaving a grip that you guarantee with littering the flesh with red splotchy bruises. Did you mind? Not at all.

When his tongue pokes at the gummy flesh of your walls, you let out a full moan, echoing throughout the studio as the air begins to smell like sex. 

“Right there, yes” you urged him, leg beginning to shake from how weak it was getting. 

He's so invested, you fear he might suffocate any longer if he doesn’t pull back for air. So you grasp his head, pushing him away from his meal while you both gasped lightly.

You watch him wipe his slick covered chin with the back of his hand, not breaking eye contact as he stares. 

“You were just begging to be fucked for all these years, weren’t you sweetheart?” He teases. 

Though you wanted him to lap at your juices until you came, you knew you needed to still feel his cock inside after so long. 

Your fingers played with the hem of your underwear, smiling back at your husband. 

“And you were just begging to get a taste of this pussy, weren’t you, Joong?” wiping that smug grin off his face.

”Lay down for me” he demands, getting up so that one hand finds its way to the back of your bra to unclasp it. The other clears half your desk covered in wedding dress blueprints and sketches, making sure nothing would make you uncomfortable before he fucked you on that mahogany surface so all you’d remember would be his name. 

And people said romance was dead. 

When the bra slides off and your bare back hits your desk, you suddenly realize what Hongjoong’s intention was when he ordered you to do that. 

Soft mounds spill out as your breasts take their natural form, giving Hongjoong the perfect view of your tits. Pervert. 

He immediately latches his tongue on a nipple, taking his hand and playing with the other, twisting painfully. 

A cry escapes your lips, parting them open as you let him play with them as much as he wanted to. He smiles against the motherfuckers, knowing that shut you up perfectly. 

“Are you ready for me to fuck you now?”

“Please, Joong, I need you” you whined, submitting yourself to your husband. He already knows you’re in need of one last kiss, coming up to give his wife what she wants by slotting his lips against yours again, this time much harsher. 

“Tell me so that I treat you good, baby” he mumbles, pulling back and making you clench your thighs together. He undoes his shirt in the meantime, unbuckling his belt and pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek when you sobbed. 

“Fuck me, please” 

His fingers slide your panties to the side to press his aching tip to your wet core. 

“Like this?” He teases.

“Inside, Hongjoong” you emphasized, meaning what you said with the way your nails dug into a pile of papers nearby. Biting your lip from how sensitive and needy your cunt was. 

“I know, I know,” he murmured, smiling to himself after messing with you. 

“I just missed this pretty cunt” before in one strong thrust, Hongjoong’s bulging tip enters inside your walls, giving you a stretch you forgot how much you loved. You whined softly. 

“Shit” he curses, relishing how the buildup finally led to this moment. 

The man is ravenous, but he’s genuinely trying his best to ease the painful stretch as you adjust to his thickness, nipping your neck in a trail of hickeys and love bites posessively.

With every thrust he makes, you arch your back, pencils and papers shuffling near by you. 

“Fucking look at my wife” he admires proudly, watching the woman he loves bounce her tits at every thrust of his cock. 

“S’too much” you caved in, shaking your head at the stimulation. 

You claw at his arms, head turning to the side as your eyes roll back from pleasure. 

“I know, mama, I know” 

He grabs a tit in his left hand, the right one coming down to play with your clit, pressing slow circles near where you were connected. 

“Fuck, I missed these” He rasps, savouring the feeling of your soft flesh in his hand, making you throw your head back. 

“Missed how they looked when you were pregnant” he says, thinking of how ethereal you looked when you were knocked up with his kids. 

“God, at this point I’m gonna get you fucking pregnant again” Hongjoong grunts, snapping his hips deliriously back and forth. He envisions you round and full, fulfilling his inner fantasy. 

“Shut up.” You spat, breaking the mood as you bit your lip to suppress a moan. He almost laughs when you then crane your hips back to give him easier access to keep penetrating you. The desk shuffles. 

“Your mouth is saying one thing, honey, but your body is saying something else” 

After hearing his words, you suck him in further, both of you now getting close. 

“M’close. M’so close!” you whimpered, sitting up so that now Hongjoong could hold you in his arms, caging your body so his cock could stuff you better. 

Your mouth hangs open in silent bliss, hands scratching his back. You leaned into his ear, making the final chord inside him snap. 

“Make me cum, daddy” 

And just like that, you’re clenching around Hongjoong’s massive cock as a creamy white ring begins to form. Hot ropes fill you up inside, tangled in a sweaty mess as he purrs, caressing the back of your head again in habit. 

“So fucking good, sweetheart. You did so good for me”

The sounds of your breathing fill the studio, a pencil or two rolling quietly away on the ground from being shoved off the desk. He shakes his head when you try to pull your sweaty bodies away, hair sticking to your neck but feeling the way he refuses. 

“Just let me love you,” he mumbles into your shoulder, dick softening inside you. “Just for a moment.”

You’re too tired to say anything back, so you finally give in. 

Seven years passed by you two without even realizing how much you still loved each other. Though you wouldn’t be able to get that time back, for once, there was something that you and Hongjoong agreed upon. 

You had no intention of wasting that time any more. 

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄:

Months later, and it still takes everything in Eunbyeol and Eunseo hearts to not scream at the sight of their parents when they walk hand in hand, smiling happily in public as they pick their daughters up from the first day of school. 

The girls jump into their parent’s embrace, eying the two silver rings they now wore proudly together. 

“How was school, darlings?” Hongjoong asks, pressing a kiss to Eunseo and Eunbyeol. 

“It was fun! We watched a documentary about lovebirds” she smiled, looking back up. You laughed softly.

“Which reminded me to tell you,” she grins, watching as you, her sister, and father all looked at her. 

“I hope you know that getting you and dad back together was my plan from the start.” she confesses, smirking at Eunbyeol who scoffs, crossing her arms. 

“Nuh uh, this was my idea first!” 

Before her sister could yell at her twin, you jumped in. 

“Plan? What plan?” You asked quizzically, both you and Hongjoong standing there confused.

“To get you guys to fall back in love again, of course!” Eunseo smiles, both her and her sister now giggling softly together.  

“How am I just finding out that there was a plan?” Hongjoong mutters, scratching his neck in confusion. You turned to the two girls, stopping in your tracks on your way to the car

“When did you two even think of all this?” grinning in astonishment as you felt Hongjoong slot his hand and intertwine it with yours. It felt natural now.

“Yeah, I'm curious too” he states, leaning close and becoming intrigued.

Your daughters look at each other before smiling. 

“It’s a long story.”

But at last, time is something you finally now have as a reunited family of four, walking back to your car, holding hands with a twin on each side.

Listening carefully, as your daughters start from the very beginning.

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all I wanted (M)

PAIRING: Jaehyun (NCT) + reader (female)

GENRE: the heartbreakers; gird your loins; smut

SUMMARY: A year has passed since you last saw your best friend, Jaehyun, but the man who returns is not the boy you once knew and loved. Jaehyun will barely speak to you and you don’t know why, but you both may be exactly what the other needs to mend your broken hearts.

WARNINGS: frequent cursing; alcohol and cigarette use; some slut shaming; mentions of bullying; explicit sexual content

NOTES: 17k words; listening to all I wanted by paramore

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elevator pitch | ml

pairing: frat boy! mark lee x f! reader genre: college! au, frat! au, fluff, angst word count: 9.1k summary: you hardly talk to any of the members of nu kappa tau until you go to one party and now, all of a sudden, they’re all so eager to chat with you and tell you all about their “brother,” mark lee. (alternatively: four times mark’s friends tell you about him and one time you ask them about him). warning(s): alcohol use and underage drinking, cursing, backstabbing, sort of but not really love triangle author’s note: the handful of frat parties that i’ve gone to inspired this but unfortunately, no cute frat boys like the ones here. also this is not proofread so please forgive any mistakes  playlist: crash landing by nct 127 • nonsense by sabrina carpenter • disaster by conan gray •  be by my side by crush

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KISS U RIGHT NOW (L.MK)

pairing. mark lee x fem!reader genre. some fluff, smut word count. 6.9k contents. kissing, breast play, fingering (receiving), oral (giving), unprotected sex

summary. in which mark just really wants to kiss you. alternative summary. five times mark wanted to kiss you and one time he actually does.

notes. happy (belated) birthday @najaemarkl !! this fic is based off the song ‘kiss u right now’ by duckwrth 🥰

saturday.

Mark thinks he might be going insane.

Mark is standing in the middle of this party on a Saturday night, red Solo cup in his hand, surrounded by dancing bodies, among which there are undoubtedly several girls who would go for him.

Mark is standing in the middle of this party, and all he can think about is how badly he wants to kiss you, his best friend. 

monday.

It started as an inkling these past couple of weeks, but it got a little stronger on Monday, a persistent nagging feeling as he watched you in the back of your shared Linguistics class. You’d knocked your dangly earring out in your hurry to raise your hand and answer a question your professor had asked, and were currently preoccupied with lightly dragging the point of the earring hook against your lobe in an attempt to find the piercing hole.

There’s something about the soft tilt of your head, the focused look on your face as you devote your attention to putting your earring back in, and the way the tip of your tongue peeks out in concentration that has Mark seeing you in a light getting further and further from platonic by the day. 

He wants to feel your tongue against his lips, wants to caress that space of your neck you’re thoughtlessly exposing to him with his hand, feel the soft skin under his fingertips, tilt your chin towards him and lean forward to connect your lips. You’re nibbling at your bottom lip now as you write something down in your notes, and Mark bets you wore that lip balm he’s always loved the smell of, unbeknownst to you due to his never mentioning it, and he wishes he could just lean over and see how it tastes—

“Mark!” You whisper, placing your hand on his thigh just a centimeter above his knee, and Mark jolts out of his stupor, meeting your gaze with a sheepish tint to his cheeks and ears that he prays you don’t notice or ignore. “I asked if you have correction tape? I made a mistake.” You frown and Mark almost spirals all over again at the sight of your bottom lip jutting out in a pout that he just wants to kiss over and over until it goes away in favor of a smile. 

“Uh, yeah—I definitely do,” He stumbles over his words as he roots through his pencil case and finds it, passing it to you. Your hands touch, fingers brushing the other’s palm, as you take it from him with a grateful smile, and Mark knows you definitely don’t think much of it, but he’s thinking about how soft your hand is, how warm, how he wishes he could just reach over and hold it for no reason other than the fact that he wants to.

Mark’s not sure if this wave of wanting to kiss you is going away anytime soon, but he hopes it does—for his sake.

tuesday.

Mark’s inkling, his persistent nagging feeling, turns into a whisper on Tuesday, accompanied with a phantom tugging sensation that he fears might literally pull him towards you for more than comfort when he comes over to your dorm, as requested, to see a very sad and teary-eyed you sitting on your rug dejectedly. He almost drops the takeout bag he carefully carried from your favorite Chinese food restaurant to your dorm, and he cannot afford such a financial loss, so he clutches onto it protectively.

The glossy look in your eyes, lashes, now wet with tears, clumping together, your pouty bottom lip—that damn lip—trembling slightly with the weight of unshed tears, and the occasional sniffles you let out almost make Mark drop the damn takeout bag, the male floored by how pretty someone can look when they cry. He approaches you carefully, settling down on the rug beside you and folding his limbs in somewhat clumsily. When you look over at his struggle, a small chuckle escapes you, and Mark’s heart clenches at the sound, eyes sweeping over your frame to assess any physical injuries you might have. Finding none, Mark sighs in relief and slumps back, his head resting against the side of your covered mattress.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Mark asks softly. You hadn’t specified what was wrong in your distress signal text; you only sent “SOS,” your and Mark’s Best Friend Code for “come over and bring comfort food,” and Mark readily complied as soon as he caught sight of the notification banner; he’s not sure if this is a symptom of being hopelessly whipped for you or just a testament to the strength of your friendship.

He’s pretty sure it’s the former, as another glance at your tear-streaked cheeks sends his poor heart lurching again, but Mark really hopes for his sake that it’s the latter.

“No,” You mumble, sniffling twice before meeting his gaze with wide, shining eyes that, to Mark, are just screaming for him to lean forward and capture your lips with his. “Just need you here.”

“I’m here,” Mark promises, and sets about opening the takeout containers and laying everything out as nicely as he can, even using some textbooks from his backpack and your desk as a makeshift table. “I got your favorite.” He says hopefully, spearing a piece of chicken and bringing it to your lips expectantly. You laugh softly, the sound fond, your cheeks lifting into a smile as you lean forward, accept the forkful, and chew, relief taking over your body as Mark watches you visibly relax.

You slump against Mark’s arm, resting your head against his shoulder, and Mark prays you can’t hear the pounding of his heartbeat which sounds out loud and clear in his own ears. Mark drapes an arm around your shoulders and tries not to stiffen when you turn yourself inwards, tucking yourself into his side and humming softly, tries not to let his desires take over and give in to the tugging feeling that urges him to nudge your head up with his own and slot your lips together.

Mark really isn’t sure if he can hold out much longer.

wednesday.

Wednesday almost has Mark caving when you two lie on his bed, watching movies on his laptop. You’re so close, the side of your thigh pressed up against his, hips brushing, shoulders touching, and Mark knows it’d be so easy to turn and press his lips to yours. 

To make matters worse, Mark’s eyes keep trailing down to your chest, which moves every time you laugh, and by the time you’re engrossed in the film, Mark’s lost interest entirely, instead opting to study your features and reactions. Try as he might, Mark’s eyes continue to wander down to your breasts, shamefully gazing as if looking hard enough would grant him the feeling of what it’d be like to touch you.

Mark’s finally coming to accept that he wants to do more than kiss you; far more, actually. He wants to touch you, hold you, be intimately familiar with the taste and feel of you—

More than anything, though, Mark wants to love you. If you’d let him. He wants to make you smile, laugh, understand the meaning of love songs—he wants to spin you around in the rain and leave kiss after kiss against your lips and trailing down your neck to your collarbones. He wants to buy you thoughtful gifts and watch your eyes light up; he wants to be the one to wipe your tears and kiss everything all better.

He wants, firstly, however, to know if you even want that from him. He hopes you do. Overwhelmed by his thoughts and unshakable desires, Mark reaches up and fitfully runs his fingers through his hair, no doubt messing it up. He mumbles a quick apology when his sudden movement causes you to jolt in surprise, looking over at him. To his confusion, you don’t look away yet, observing him for another moment before leaning towards him.

Is this it? Is this the moment Mark’s been dreaming about for ages? He can barely contain his excitement, reflexively nibbling his bottom lip out of nervous habit, and he tries to remember to breathe, to relax, there’s no good in kissing someone who’s stiff as a board—

“You messed your hair up,” You murmur distractedly, reaching up and ruffling his hair, adjusting it until he looks presentable. “All better,” You say sweetly with a soft smile, and Mark wants nothing more than to cup your face and kiss you over and over and over until your smile is so wide he can’t kiss you anymore.

Do you have any idea what you’re doing to him? Mark hopes you don’t, because that would be uncharacteristically cruel of you.

“Thanks,” He forces out a small chuckle, and your brows furrow instantly, of course they do, you know each other like the back of your hand.

“You okay?” You ask curiously, a tinge of worry in your voice, and Mark nods reassuringly. “You sure? You can talk to me about anything, you know.”

As Mark successfully de-escalates the situation and redirects your attention to the movie, he can’t help but think that there are, unfortunately, some things he might be better off keeping to himself.

thursday.

By Thursday, Mark doesn’t know how much longer he can hold his feelings in. He’s driving down the road, endlessly pursuing the night if it means staying by your side, and you’re sitting right next to him, content as can be.

“Were we supposed to be turning soon?” Mark asks, and you look over at him, shrugging.

“I dunno.” 

“You’re riding shotgun,” Mark chuckles, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel and looking over at you. “You’re in charge of directions.”

“Nuh-uh,” You counter, furrowing your brows—very cutely, Mark thinks to himself—and turning slightly to face him better. “I’m a passenger princess.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mark snickers, and you nod firmly, settling back into your seat.

“Yep,” You reply, popping your lips on the “p.” “I’m in charge of looking pretty and maintaining the good vibes.”

“Well, in that case, you’re doing an excellent job,” Mark replies with a laugh, barely registering his words until they’ve settled in the now thick air between you two.

“…Did you just call me pretty, Mark?” You tease, reaching over and tugging at his pinking ear.

“Don’t distract the driver!”

“Answer my question!”

“Maybe I did.” He admits, and you smile widely, flipping down the mirror and checking your reflection. Mark steals a glance while you do, studying the slope of your nose, the curl of your lashes, and the faint pucker of your lips as you reapply your lip balm, the faint but pleasant scent of cherry Chapstick wafting past Mark’s nose.

He’s never been one for cherries, but he can honestly say he’s never wanted to taste them so badly in his life.

“Why, thank you, Mark.” You don’t yet look at him, fixing your hair in the mirror before flipping it back up, and Mark’s eyes rove over your face with an almost hunger, drinking in your beauty as you sit beside him, entirely unaware. When you turn to look at him, he shifts his gaze back to the road as if he’d never been looking, and you hum thoughtfully, picking up your phone and connecting it to the Bluetooth speakers in his car. “Any requests?”

“Nah, play what you want,” Mark offers. “I trust your taste in music.”

“Mark, you’re just killing it with the compliments tonight.” You say gleefully, stretching your legs out before you cross one leg over the other. Mark can see the faint line of muscle in the side of your thigh, and he wants so desperately to run his fingers along it, press his lips to the indentation, leave kisses lower and lower and back up until his mouth grazes your inner thighs— “Who are you practicing on me for?”

“I’d never use you as practice,” Mark replies indignantly, offended that you’d even suggest such a thing. 

“Sorry,” You stress the word with a playful lilt as you raise your hands defensively. “Was just asking.” The car falls into a comfortable silence between you two as the song you picked plays in the car speakers. ‘Crush’ by DUCKWRTH sounds throughout the car, and Mark can barely hold back his chuckle at just how apt your song choice is. 

He’s crushing, and he’s crushing bad. 

He can’t help but steal glances at your bare legs as he drives, eyes gravitating towards that damn muscle, and he’s moving before he knows it, reaching over to you with his closest hand. He wants to stop, pretend it never happened, but he’s more than halfway to you and to stop now would mean an awkward retreat of his hand back to his lap, and he doesn’t think his pride could handle that.

He swallows hard and pushes past his worries—literally—and pats your knee comfortingly, his hand almost trembling under the feeling of your warm, soft skin under his palm.

“I wouldn’t do that to you.” Mark echoes his sentiment from earlier. “Use you as, like, flirting target practice or something.” He hopes he sounds sincere because he means every word. 

You have no idea that you’re the main event to Mark. 

You smile at him, eyes bright, and place one hand on top of his, patting it gently and leaving it there. Mark’s over the moon, floating on cloud nine, and it’s a miracle he can stay focused on the road and not swerve off from how frazzled his thoughts have become. 

“Passenger princess?” He calls to you, and you hum in acknowledgement, half-turning to look at him. “Can you go above and beyond your job description and look up the directions, please?” 

“Mm,” You hum thoughtfully, tapping your chin with your index finger of the hand holding your phone. “I guess I can do that.” You answer finally, shooting him a teasing grin before unlocking your phone and devoting your attention to it.

To be honest, Mark could drive for hours aimlessly if it meant getting to keep his hand on your leg and you by his side.

friday.

By the time you two get your food, eat it in Mark’s car, and drive somewhere to relax, it’s well past midnight and officially Friday, the night enveloping you two in its cool embrace. As soon as he puts the car in park, you’re leaping out of the passenger side door and making your way to the front of the vehicle.

Mark can’t help but chuckle as he gets out of the car and heads over to where you’re standing at the precipice of the overlook, all the city lights twinkling in the night.

“It’s so pretty,” You sigh dreamily, the lights reflecting in your eyes, and Mark can’t help but agree, his gaze only on you. You’re practically bouncing on your heels with excitement, bounding back over to his car and carefully sitting on the hood, crossing your legs at the ankles.

“It really is,” Mark echoes, but he’s still watching you, mentally hyping himself up for his next move. Swallowing thickly, he throws caution to the wind and walks over to where you sit, standing so your knees push against his hips. 

Mark’s not sure what he expected, but it certainly wasn’t for you to uncross your ankles and hook them behind his legs to pull him closer to you. You release him almost immediately, the moment fleeting, but the mischievous grin on your face sends Mark’s heart lurching as he wants nothing more than to cup your face and press his lips to yours. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask curiously, and Mark blinks out of his daze.

“Nothing?” He winces inwardly at how defensive he sounds, and by the unconvinced look on your face, you’ve picked up on it too.

“You’re biting your lip like you do when you get all…in your head.” You point out, tapping his chin lightly, and he swallows before releasing his poor bottom lip. “Let me in there, Mark.” You say softly, reaching up to trace light circles on his forehead. “What are you thinking?”

I want to kiss you. I want to kiss you so bad that it hurts, Mark groans internally, but says nothing yet. In an act of boldness he’ll surely regret later, he loops his fingers around your wrist and brings your hand down to your lap, slowly slipping his digits between yours. You smile down at your linked hands fondly, squeezing his hand comfortingly, and Mark thinks for one hopeful moment that you want him too. 

Mark looks up from your hands, pushing away the thoughts of how nicely they fit together, to see that you two are much closer than he thought; your eyelashes are close enough to count, and he can smell that fucking lip balm that drives him insane. A shaky breath leaves him before he can stop it, a breath of anticipation, of hope, of—

“Mark!” You laugh incredulously, and he jolts, sheepishly refocusing his gaze on you. “You disappeared again.” You murmur fondly, releasing his hand and trailing your fingers up his arm to tickle the back of his neck lightly. 

“Sorry,” Mark mumbles, nerves sitting tight in his throat, a lump he can’t seem to swallow, and you shake your head dismissively, smiling up at him.

“Will you take me with you next time?” You joke softly, and he nods before he knows he’s doing it, his body so tuned into you that he’d give you anything you want without a second thought. “Good.” You sigh, content, and Mark makes another bold move, acting on his desires for the second time tonight—third if you count his touching your leg in the car—and stepping closer until his knees hit the bumper, placing his hands on the car on either side of your body to tentatively trap you in. 

Your bright eyes look up at him curiously and, if he’s allowing himself to indulge in his thoughts, challengingly, as if daring him to take the step he so desperately wants to. His chest swells with anticipation, his eyes slowly dropping down to your lips, and he thinks for a moment about leaning in and biting the bullet. 

But flashes of your panicked, nervous, even disgusted possible reaction to him have Mark popping the balloon of hope suddenly, an awkward laugh forcing itself out instead as he leans back from you slightly, freeing you from his embrace.

“You’re welcome anywhere I go,” Mark assures you. 

Your responding smile almost soothes the ghostly chill of rejection Mark imagined.

Almost.

saturday. (again.)

A cracking noise startles Mark out of his thoughts, with him quickly coming to realize that his grip on his cup has tightened considerably, denting the cup. He’s about to go and toss the cup, having lost his taste for the drink inside, when he hears his name being called from behind him.

“Hey, you.” Your voice cuts through the sounds of the party with ease, and Mark turns his head as your arms wrap around him in a tight backhug. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothin’, really.” Mark answers, shrugging casually.

“I ask because you love this song, and yet you were just standing in the middle of the floor like a statue.” You snicker, and he balks, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. 

“Oh, nothing, for real; just thinking about school.”

“Thinking about school on a Saturday night? Don’t we come here to do the exact opposite of that?” You tease, and he chuckles, nodding in agreement. “Come with me to the bathroom? I need you to stand guard.” You grin widely in an attempt to convince him, and Mark fights back the urge to chuckle. 

You have no idea that he’d do damn near anything for you.

“C’mon.” He murmurs, jerking his head in the direction of the stairs, and you follow just a step behind him, Mark’s hand ghosting along the small of your back as he guides you through the many bodies. For a brief second, Mark loses you, the feel of your back slipping away startling him into turning around to see you a couple of feet back stuck behind a kissing couple. 

He moves back towards you, hand returning to your back as you graciously lean into him, and continues making his way through the crowd, keeping you closer to him than before. Your hand grips the hem of his shirt—Mark guesses it’s so you two don’t get separated again—and Mark’s hand accidentally dips under the hem of your shirt, fingertips briefly grazing the bare skin of your waist. His mind reeling, Mark moves his fingers and, if you notice, you say nothing, readily following him upstairs to the bathroom.

When you two reach the door, the last thing Mark expects is for you to pull him into the bathroom with you, the sound of the door clicking shut finally letting the situation sink in. 

“Are you sure you want me in here—”

“I’m not actually using the bathroom, Mark.” You laugh, leaning up against the sink and inspecting your reflection. Mark watches as you pull your lip balm from your pocket and apply it to your lips, and he can’t help but wonder if you’re doing this on purpose. “I missed you, y’know.” You hum thoughtfully, and Mark makes a surprised sort of sound.

“Yeah?” He asks, trying and failing to hide his incredulity. 

“Yep,” You confirm. You turn to face him with a (very cute) frown. “Did you not miss me?”

“No—I mean yes, of course I did—”

“Then why wouldn’t I miss you?” You counter, and he presses a hand over his face, laughing despite his building nerves.

“You just love messing with me, don’t you?” He chuckles, and you shrug, lips curling into a beguiling smile.

“I like pulling you out of your head, Mark.” You say. “I like knowing what you’re thinking.”

Mark thinks that it’s basically now or never; when else is he going to get the opportunity to tell you how he feels?

“You know, lately, I’ve been thinking about—” Mark starts off boldly, but he cuts himself off at the last minute, still unsure if he wants to take that forward step and possibly ruin your relationship.

“Mark, you’re always so in your head.” You chuckle fondly, leaning in towards him. “Thinking about what?”

“Thinking about…kissing you.” Mark finishes slowly, and the look in his eyes when he looks up from his shoes to meet your gaze is a look you’ve never seen from him before. He steps towards you, your feet inch back reflexively, and this continues as he slowly backs you up against the countertop, his hands coming to rest by your hips on the sink, carefully closing you in.

“Oh, yeah?” You hum, blinking slowly at him, and your lips curl into a small grin.

“Yeah.” Mark’s serious—more serious than you’ve seen him in a while—and the intensity in his gaze has arousal stirring in your lower abdomen as you watch him intently.

“And how long have you been thinking about this?” You ask softly, voice low and curious. Mark chuckles finally, looking away from you for a moment before answering you.

“A while.”

“How long is a while?” You press.

“Couple weeks.” He answers, knowing he’s severely lowballing it, and you roll your eyes, nudging his thigh with your knee.

“And you never thought to tell me this because…?” You question, and he shrugs dismissively.

“Didn’t think you were interested.” He replies, and you nod thoughtfully.

“Ah.” You say. “That’s stupid.” 

Mark lets out a small chuckle as he leans even closer to you, his face closer to yours than it’s ever been. “Don’t make me laugh right now.”

“Why not?” You tease, gently poking his stomach and trying to mask your surprise when you feel firm muscle as opposed to the squishiness you expected. “You can kiss me, you know.”

“Stop talking,” Mark groans, his brows furrowing, and you grin at him mischievously.

“Or what?” You’re lifting up onto your tiptoes, leaning in closer to him and stopping just before your lips connect. “What if I don’t?”

“I’ll make you.” His words thrill your mind and the warmth of his breath fanning over your lips thrills your body, your blood starting to buzz in anticipation.

“Mm, is that a threat or a promise?” You know Mark well enough to know he needs to be goaded into boldness, and you’re just the right person for the job.

“Whichever you want.” His voice is throatier, huskier, and almost unbearably attractive.

“I want you to shut up and kiss me already.” You lightly bump the tip of your nose against his, a wide, excited smile growing on your lips.

“I can do that.” He breathes, one hand coming up to cup the back of your neck as he pulls you in and finally connects your lips. The kiss isn’t an explosive fire right away, but a slow, warm one that builds steadily to an inferno as you two get used to the feeling and taste of each other. 

Mark’s mind is reeling, finally getting to taste your lip balm, which is almost as delicious as the unique taste that’s just you, and he thinks for a moment that he could probably stay there forever with you.

Before you can even process it, Mark’s kissing has morphed from cautious and hesitant to heated and passionate, and his hips press against you, pushing you against the countertop of the sink more insistently. His fingers on the back of your neck slip into the hair on your nape, tugging not-so-gently at the locks. When you softly gasp in surprise, he pulls back as if you’d shocked him, eyes wide and apologetic.

“Is this okay?” He asks worriedly, and you scoff, leaning into his embrace.

“Yes, Mark. Didn’t I say something along the lines of ‘less talking, more kissing?’” You huff, and he grins, pulling you back against him to slot your lips together once more. “You don’t have to be gentle, Mark—I can take it.”

“God, you’re gonna drive me insane.” He groans under his breath, sounding strained as he obliges and presses you against the countertop roughly, hands flying to your hips to lift you, guiding you on top of the sink. His lips detach from yours and start descending down your neck, sucking and licking, his fingers digging into your hips as he moans against your skin. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He grunts, nuzzling into your neck and breathing in your sweet scent as he presses his lips to your skin over and over. 

“That feels so good, Mark,” You hum, content with the feeling of Mark’s mouth working away at your neck.

“Can I—?” He starts, but you cut him off.

“You don’t need to ask about everything, Mark,” You chuckle fondly, pulling your neck away from his lips in favor of running your fingers through his hair and tugging gently. “If I don’t like it, I’ll tell you.” 

“Promise?” Mark mumbles worriedly.

You nod. “When have I ever missed out on an opportunity to complain about something?” You say playfully, and Mark relaxes visibly as he laughs and nods in agreement.

“Good point.” He murmurs, and you smile sweetly as you pull him in for another kiss. “In that case,” Mark says in a low tone, lips pressed to yours, “I’m gonna indulge for a bit.”

Before you can ask what he means by that, he’s yanking your shirt up and over your head and discarding it thoughtlessly on the floor, his hands finding your waist and slowly gliding up to your chest, where he cups your breasts and squeezes, kneading them and tugging gently at your nipples through your bra.

Without his having to ask, you reach back and unclip your bra, shrugging the straps off and letting the garment fall off of you. It lands between you and Mark on the floor and Mark looks down at it, up at you, down at your bare breasts with wide eyes, then back up at you in awe.

“Damn, you’re incredible,” He groans, his hands eagerly massaging and caressing your breasts as you arch your back in pleasure, pushing your chest towards him. His lips attach to your neck, kissing and nipping his way down to your chest, where he takes a nipple into his mouth. You moan lowly and tip your head back, hissing when his teeth catch your sensitive bud, tugging and releasing before swirling the tip of his tongue around it and sucking. He cups both of your breasts in his hands, pressing them together, before rolling his tongue over your nipples, moving from one to the other eagerly and punctuating his surprisingly skillful swirls with gentle nips. 

“Feels good, Mark,” You sigh dazedly, a lazy but content smile curling your lips, and he groans, the sound low in his throat, in response, sucking at your nipples with more fervor. He bathes your chest in wet kisses, groaning louder when you whine plaintively. 

His hand leaves your breast to snake between your bodies and unbutton your jeans, pushing into your underwear and stroking along your folds, parting them until he reaches the fleshy pearl of your clit. Your hips jolt at the touch, Mark releasing your nipple from the warmth of his mouth and moving up to kiss you as you rock down on his fingers.

His fingers, thicker than you expected, push past your entrance, two digits curling inside of you and eliciting a pleased hum from you. He slowly fucks his fingers into you, your walls slick and tight around them, and he can’t help but think about how tight you’re going to feel when he’s finally inside of you.

“Right there—” You whimper when he hits a spot that has your toes curling, and he chuckles, diligently thrusting his fingers into you repeatedly as your hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin and making him hiss. “Sorry,” You pant and he kisses the corner of your mouth sweetly, an unspoken acceptance of your apology. You turn his face to yours and kiss him full on, Mark moaning against your lips as your core flexes around him. 

You’re practically riding his fingers at this point, breathy whimpers escaping you as he strokes along your inner walls, your orgasm rapidly approaching. 

“Mark, ‘m gonna—” You moan, and he nods, flicking his tongue into your mouth and kissing you through your climax, the liplock turning sloppy and clumsy as your lips part to moan his name and a string of swears. 

As soon as the aftershock trembles disappear, you’re pushing him back gently, creating enough space between you two for you to slip off the sink and sink to your knees.

Mark thinks he could faint at the sight of you looking up at him, opening his pants with one hand. His cock aches at the prospect of your mouth wrapped around it, and he tilts your chin up to look at you better.

“You don’t have to, you know.” Mark assures you, and you roll your eyes.

“I know that, Mark.” Your hand wraps around the base of his cock and he hisses. “I want to.” Your mouth is around the head of his cock without a moment to prepare himself, and Mark swears—loudly—his head tipping back and thumping against the wall behind him. Mark whimpers, both in pain and from pleasure, and your giggle tickles his ears as you pull off of him and pump his length up and down, positioning yourself above his length to drip a trail of spit down onto his tip, working your fist over it to lubricate your movements. 

Mark blinks down at you in awe, shuddering when you take his length as far into your mouth as it’ll go, the tip of your nose pressed against his stomach as you swallow around him.

He whimpers when you start bobbing your head slowly, dragging your tongue along the underside of his cock with every movement. His breaths are ragged, chest heaving, blunt nails scratching uselessly at the wall behind him, and he curses when his hips buck up of their own accord, sending his length further into your mouth. There’s a moment of bliss when he’s smoothly sliding into your mouth only to be topped by a second of ecstasy when he hits the back of your throat, which flexes around him and drags out a groan of delight from deep in his chest.

“Sorry—” Mark whispers, poorly restraining the urge to thrust into your mouth. You pull off slowly, swiping your tongue over your lips to break the string of saliva connecting your bottom lip to his tip, and when you speak, your voice has a slight rasp to it that has Mark’s eyes practically rolling back into his head.

“Do you wanna fuck my mouth, Mark?” You ask with a beguiling smile, your hand slowly stroking his length, and it’s all he can do to stop his knees from buckling right now. 

“I’m not gonna last if I do,” He warns you in a choked voice, and you frown.

“But I want you to finish inside of me.” You huff petulantly, and he groans, gripping your wrist to stop your movements.

“You can’t say that or I’ll cum right now.” He complains, and you roll your eyes. 

“Then I’ll finish that later.” You decide, and Mark successfully contains his surprise at the prospect of doing this again with you. You stand back up and Mark’s hands move to your hips, the gesture almost second nature, before he’s gently pushing you back so you’re pressed up against the sink countertop. He nudges himself between your legs and brings the thick head of his cock to your entrance, gliding it up and down through your slick folds to collect your arousal. “Mark, we don’t exactly have the luxury of time.” You chuckle, and he narrows his eyes at you.

“Well, sorry for wanting to take my time with you.” He mumbles, and a fondness spreads through your body, your lips curling up into a sweet smile. He pushes into you slowly, and you hiss at the stretch, your best friend being more well-endowed than you expected. “Told you I should slow down.” Mark wants to gloat, but his heart seizes with concern at the look of discomfort on your face.

“I’m fine,” You answer stubbornly. “Just—give me a minute.” Mark nods and rubs comforting circles into your hips, bringing his lips to your neck to press sweet kisses from your ear to your shoulder and back up again. 

“Tell me what you want me to do.” Mark urges against your skin, brushing his parted lips along the spot behind your ear, and you sigh blissfully.

“You can move,” You murmur, and he thanks the powers that be as he pushes forward into you, bottoming out and feeling the tight wet warmth of your walls wrapped around him. Both of you let out a moan, your head falling forward to rest on his shoulder, and he pulls out before starting to thrust into you, deep strokes reaching every spot inside of you that makes your mind go blank. “Shit, Mark,” You cry out as he fucks into you with all the desperation and desire he’s been restraining for the past weeks.

“You like that?” He chuckles breathlessly, pulling back slightly to reach between you two and massage your clit, and you nod with a whimper, rolling your hips against his. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“Me too,” You breathe, and he’s so surprised he almost fucks up his rhythm, sending you shifting back on the sink with a particularly powerful thrust. “Fuck—”

“Sorry, I’m—I can’t,” He moans, pressing his fingers against your clit harder and angling his hips so he can drive his cock into the spot that makes you roll your eyes into the back of your head.

“Mark, please, I’m gonna—” You gasp, and he nods, kissing you again to silence your moans as you both climax, your walls tightening around his length almost painfully as he pumps spurt after spurt of cum into you. He presses kiss after kiss to your lips, the corners of your mouth, your cheeks—anywhere he can reasonably reach.

He pulls out of you carefully, his chest heaving as he catches his breath and tucks himself back into his clothing. The air is thick and silent as Mark starts to spiral; are you coming to your senses? Experiencing some sort of post-nut clarity? Are you about to tell him you two can never be together and that he’s ruined everything—

“Wanna get food and watch a movie at my place?” You ask, turning around to face him. You’ve adjusted your top back into place and are in the process of zipping and buttoning your jeans.

“Y-Yeah.” Mark mumbles, half-dazed, half-relieved.

“Great! C’mon.” You say with a smile, washing your hands and leaning against the door as he does the same. When he’s finished, you take his hand and open the bathroom door, ignoring the stares you two garner as you leave. As you lead Mark through the party, he can’t help but hope things stay this comfortable even in the morning. 

sunday.

When Mark wakes up on Sunday, his mouth is drier than he ever remembers it being, his head feels like someone’s drumming on his temples, and he can barely get his wits about him quickly enough to take in his surroundings. All Mark knows right now is that there’s sunlight streaming in from the window beside the bed he’s lying in, he is not in his bed, and the person lying beside him is still asleep—

Hold on.

Mark turns his head carefully, lifting off of the pillow to look beside him so he doesn’t make any noise at all, and—it’s you.

At the sight of your sleeping frame, your back to him, Mark feels himself go limp with relief—well—almost everything on him goes limp, but one thing remains very, very…stiff.

Mark is now trying to piece together everything that happened last night, and the realization of what exactly went down hits him like a freight train, damn near knocking the wind out of his lungs in an involuntarily sucked-in breath.

Flashes of the night before start to run through his mind; his hands on your cheeks, your waist, your breasts, grabbing at your hips, his lips following the trail blazed by his lustful fingertips, the way your mouth felt wrapped around him—his cock—nestled deep in your folds—how tight you were, the pretty sounds you made—

Mark remembers damn near everything, but he can’t remember how it ended. Did you hate him for taking that forward step? Did he fuck up the relationship between you two? Did his lust get the best of him and potentially cost him his best friend?

“You really are so in your head, Mark.” Your sleepy voice remarks softly, fondness and amusement audible even past your just-woken croakiness, and hope fills Mark’s chest as he turns his head towards you. You’re now facing him—Mark wonders when you did that without him hearing, but figures he was so distracted by his thoughts that he must not have noticed—and smiling sweetly, tired eyes twinkling nevertheless, and Mark thinks it’s insane that you’re every bit as lovely when you’ve just woken up as you always are—maybe even more so. “Good morning,” You greet with a small chuckle.

“Morning,” Mark mumbles, his thoughts still racing. “Did—last night, did I—was that a bad idea—?”

“I’m happy,” You cut him off pointedly with a wider smile than before as you stretch your limbs, a small groan escaping you as you relax again. You look over at Mark and raise your eyebrows in question. “Are you happy?”

“I’m fuckin’ thrilled.” Mark rushes to get the words out, feeling like he can’t reassure you quickly enough, and your eyes scan his face before you laugh, and the sound is so free, so void of worry, stress, concern—

You’re not stressed in the slightest, so maybe Mark doesn’t have anything to worry about.

“I like you here with me like this,” You muse lightly, looking over at Mark with warm eyes. He’s about to speak, but you continue, “in my bed.”

“Yeah?” Mark can barely get the word out alongside his exhale of immense relief, but you hear it, as you always do.

“Mm, yeah,” You hum, and he nods, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You know what else?”

“What else?” Mark’s relaxed considerably, smile morphing to a small smirk as he parrots your cadence back at you playfully. You don’t say anything for a moment, and he looks over at you curiously to see that you’ve propped your head up on your hand, elbow resting on the mattress. There’s a playful glint in your eyes, mischievous, even, and Mark’s a little bit lost, but your happiness is infectious.

“I really want to kiss you right now.”

It’s Sunday morning—or afternoon…Mark hasn’t figured that part out—and Mark feels like something’s clicked into place, and, when he looks at you, he knows you feel the same way.

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NERVOUSLY IN LOVE || mark lee

PAIRING: mark x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 5.2k

GENRE(S): smut, fluff, established relationship

SUMMARY: despite his very obvious sexual attraction towards you, your boyfriend keeps holding himself back from sleeping with you. OR the three times you want to fuck mark lee and the one time you do.

WARNINGS: SMUT [unprotected sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), praise, big dick mark, a little dumbification] mark is down bad

happy birthday @mrkis i hope you like this small gift <3 i love you so much bestie

You and Mark Lee are in love with each other.

That much is obvious to everyone around you. Ever since you started dating a few months back, you’ve been all over one another — holding hands, hugging and, on some occasions, even making out behind the university building in broad daylight. 

This suits you just fine. You love seeing Mark’s cheeks tint pink when your hand wanders under his shirt, or when you’re all alone in his apartment and he has to bite his lip to not let out a moan as you reposition yourself in his lap. 

Just like you’re doing right now. 

“Y/N…” Mark’s voice is slightly strained as he grips your waist tighter, head falling back onto the couch. You’ve been sitting in his lap, with your thighs on either side of him, for at least half an hour now — first just hugging him, then kissing his jaw as he played with your hair, and now moving onto something more fun. Namely wriggling around in his lap under the disguise of having to readjust yourself. 

“Mmm?” you hum absentmindedly, letting your lips fan over his neck. He shivers and you smile to yourself at the goosebumps forming on his skin. 

He opens his mouth to say something, but you kiss him instead, swallowing up the moan he lets out when you not-so-subtly roll your hips against his. You and him have gone this far multiple times – made out and rubbed against each other until your panties are ruined and his cock is painfully hard – but you’ve never done anything past that. But with the way he’s growing hard from underneath you, you think that maybe today is the day. 

You pull away from the kiss to bury your face in his neck and palm him through his jeans. He groans at that, hips bucking up involuntarily. The sound causes more wetness to pool between your legs and you rub against him – at least until you hear him say your name again, this time more seriously. You look up at his face, his lip pulled between his teeth and the slight panic in his eyes. 

“Donghyuck and Renjun…” he finally says, tapping his fingers against your thigh. “They’re coming home soon.”

You tilt your head to the side, brows furrowing. “I know.” 

“No, like, seriously, they’ll be here soon.” 

Mark’s shaky voice catches you off guard, because he seems genuinely stressed. His cheeks are flushed, and he’s gripping your thighs like his life depends on it. A big contrast to the way his hard cock is poking your thigh. 

“You said they’re coming eight,” you pout down on him, fiddling with the drawstrings of his sweatpants. “It’s only seven.” 

“Yeah, but like, sometimes they come earlier and I don’t want them to see us like this, ’cause, you know–”

“Alright,” You raise an eyebrow at the way he swallows hard, eyes looking everywhere but at you, but listen to him nevertheless. “Okay.”

He sighs in what sounds like relief as you climb off his lap and plop onto the couch by his side. It’s weird, how he’s acting, you think, but if he’s really just scared of being caught then you suppose it won’t kill you to wait a little longer to have him. You’ve already waited four months, after all. 

“Wanna watch a movie?” He asks, a spark of guilt in his eyes. You nod, cuddling into his side with a soft smile. 

“Sure.”

Still, his bobbing thigh makes you wonder whether there’s something more to this whole thing than he lets on. 

—

The second time you try fucking Mark Lee is a week later. 

It’s not like you’re obsessed or anything, but the makeout sessions that keep getting longer and longer are driving you absolutely insane, and so it’s only natural that when you come home to find him sprawled out on the couch, looking so irresistible, you really want him to fuck you. Even if he’s all sweaty from the dance practice he attended earlier. Or maybe especially if he’s sweaty from that practice. 

“Hey,” you greet him upon entering the living room. “Did you just get back?”

He looks up at you, corners of his eyes creasing as he grins. His eyes seem a little tired, but they light up in excitement nevertheless. “Yeah, they let me off earlier today.”

“That’s nice,” you say. “You always come home so tired. You should rest more.”

“And you should come cuddle me, I’m cold.” 

You smile at his grabby hands, taking off your coat to go join him on the couch. His hair is littered with sweat, so there’s no way he’s actually cold, but you enjoy the feeling of his arms wrapping around your middle as he pulls you close, so you let it slide. Especially since you’ve been dying to see him all day, too. 

He nuzzles into your neck when you thread your fingers through his hair, a soft sigh meeting the skin of your throat as he leans into your touch. You like being this close to him — one of his thighs between your legs and his hands resting on your waist, playing with the hem of your shirt. Unsure of whether or not to slip under the fabric and touch your bare skin. You wish he’d do that, but he’s shy — always has been — and so you wait patiently, gently massaging his scalp with your fingers. 

“I missed you today,” he sighs as you tug at his hair softly. “I always miss you.” 

“I missed you, too, Markie.” 

He smiles and presses his lips against your neck in a featherlight kiss that forms goosebumps on your skin. You don’t pull away, and so he kisses you again — this time fully resting his mouth on your skin, tongue swiping over it and teeth scraping against it. It makes your eyes flutter shut, head instinctively leaning back to grant him better access. 

He takes his time and you let him, feeling pressure build up in your lower stomach as you wonder whether this will result in him dragging you to the bedroom. You hope it will, and so does the throb forming between your legs. 

Mark leaves a trail of kisses down your neck, hands slowly making their way under your shirt, causing you to smile. Subconsciously, you lift your hips off the couch so your clothed pussy can rub against the slowly growing bulge in his pants, and a small whine escapes past your lips. Mark groans at that, the sound turning into a soft moan when you tug at his hair. Breathing heavily, he ruts against you, fingers digging into the flesh on your hips. 

“Mark…” you moan into his ear. 

The way he bites down on your shoulder to muffle the noises coming out of his mouth makes you smile hazily. This is it, you think, there’s no way he’ll walk away without getting his dick wet now. You know him well enough to understand just from the way he’s breathing onto your neck that he’s about to completely lose control. 

And you want him to. So badly that you rub your soaked panties over his thigh to get some friction and urge him back into action. 

And it works for a while — his moans mixed with yours as he grabs at your thighs and rubs against you frantically. You meet him halfway, strengthening the groans leaving his mouth. It feels good, so good you swear you could’ve cum from just this, but you want him – all of him – and so you halt your needy movements so you can bring your hands to the waistband of his pants. 

But before you can even do anything, Mark’s hand grabs your wrist, making you look up in surprise. 

“You know what, I actually have an assignment I need to finish.”

You blink once, then twice, and a couple more times until you register his words. “What?

“I just remembered, sorry.” He looks to the left, nibbling on his bottom lip. You can tell he’s lying, but why? You furrow your brows, but Mark still looks somewhere else than your face, like he’s afraid to meet your gaze. “It’s due tomorrow, so I really should finish it.”

He finally looks at you, hesitation in his eyes as he untangles himself from you and rises up from his seat. The bulge in his pants is still more than obvious, hair a mess, and eyes wide. Still, he runs a hand through the locks to fix them a little and clears his throat, as if to signalize he’s about to leave. 

“But what about…” you trail off, eyes moving down to look at his dick poking through his sweats and then trailing back up again. “Don’t you want me to help you out?”

“It’s fine, I’ll just… Take care of it myself.”

“Are you sure?” 

He gulps, nodding, and you let him leave with a small smile sent his way, even though you’re confused and aroused to no end. 

Once he’s gone to his room, you fall back onto the couch, sighing. None of this makes any sense. He’s obviously horny, and the two of you have been dating for months already, showing intimacy in so many ways. So why is he so hesitant when it comes to fucking you? 

Is he insecure? No way. You’ve showered with him and there’s absolutely nothing about him he should be ashamed of. If anything, he should be dying to show off ever since you told him you think his cock is big. 

It’s obvious he wants this just as much as you do, so what the fuck is going on? 

—

Twenty three hours and seventeen minutes later, you decide it’s time to finally get to the bottom of this. 

It’s Saturday, and only a few hours ago Renjun and Hyuck went on some sort of trip together, announcing they’ll be away the whole weekend. Which grants you an amazing opportunity to talk to Mark. (And preferably fuck him, too, but that comes second. That’s what you repeat in your head as you walk into his room, finding him sprawled out on the bed. Looking really fuckable, you think, but that’s just a simple observation). 

“Renjun and Hyuck just left,” you tell him, closing the door behind you as you walk over to the bed. 

He grins, putting his arm around you and pulling you close. “Finally.”

You have to say you agree — though you’re not so sure whether the reasons for your contentments are the same. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter when you lie your head on Mark’s shoulder and he puts on one of those romance movies you once told him you wanted to watch. He smells like he’s fresh out the shower and his arms are warm around your waist, fingers circling the skin on your hip slowly. 

The movie is good, and soon, you forget all about your plans of talking to Mark. To your defense, he is really distracting. With his soft laugh that resonates through the room whenever something funny comes up on the screen, and his intoxicating scent, it’s easy to lose all sense of reality. You cuddle into his side and your fingers tap against his thigh — first to the tune of the movie, later just because you like feeling his skin under your fingertips. 

It’s not before your fingers mindlessly squeeze his thigh when you jump at some point during the movie that Mark gives a sign of discomfort, groaning quietly.

“You okay?” you ask immediately, worried.

He nods. “Yeah, just a little stale from practice.” 

You frown. When is this boy not overworked? Biting your lip, you rise from your spot on the bed, earning a confused look from Mark. You don’t say anything, just climb to sit on your knees behind him and place your hands on his shoulders. He turns his head to look at you, lips adorably pressed out in a pout. 

“What are you doing?”

“Giving you a massage. Just relax.”

He is, in fact, very tense, so it takes you some time to figure out where to press to relieve him of the tension, but once you do, he leans into your touch, groaning in satisfaction. You smile a little to yourself when he turns his head back to the TV, letting you do yours. It’s not like you’re a professional or anything, but the soft groans and whines he lets out when you dig your fingers into his muscles make you believe you might actually be pretty good at this. 

“Does it feel good?” 

Mark hums in agreement, and in return, you press a little harder on his shoulders. He groans and throws his head back to rest on your chest, something turning in your stomach when you feel his weight on your tits. Suddenly you’re very aware of him and his presence, and maybe it translates to your movements, because it has Mark turning around to face you. 

“What are you thinking about?”

“You,” you tell him truthfully. “You look really handsome today.”

“Only today?”

You roll your eyes as he pulls you into his lap, pouting. 

“Always,” you admit finally, giving him a short kiss.

Or, at least it’s supposed to be a short kiss, but Mark decides to grab your cheeks and pull you flush against him. His lips are soft against your own, his warm tongue slipping inside your mouth when you open it to let out a small moan. He smiles into the kiss, hands caressing your waist, and so do you.

You try your best to ignore the slowly growing bulge in his pants when you reposition yourself in his lap, you really do, but when you move your leg just a little and he moans into your mouth, you can’t. And so you pull away from the kiss, heart thumping in your chest at the sight of his lips swollen and cheeks warm. 

“You know, I was thinking,” you draw small circles on his shoulder. “Since Hyuck and Renjun are away and we have the apartment to ourselves…”

You trail off, a little embarrassed, and watch his face intently. His gaze drops down to your body resting on his — first your legs, bare where your shorts have slid up, then up to your cleavage where it rests for a little longer than usual. 

He clears his throat. “Uh, actually, I have this paper–”

It doesn’t sound convincing at all, and so you cut him off.

“Mark.” you say and he responds with a small yeah? that has you sighing. “We need to talk about this.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but decides against it, instead resting his head against the headboard on his bed, looking up at you in defeat. 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” 

You wonder whether you should get off his lap, but his hands don’t move from their spot on your waist, so you stay. Your fingers rest on his shoulders, just barely grazing his neck as you look at him.

“Why are you acting like this?” you ask, a little hesitantly. Maybe you shouldn’t be bringing this up? But from the way Mark’s urging you to continue talking with his gaze, you decide it’s better to just spit it out. “Do you not… Do you not wanna sleep with me?”

His expression changes momentarily — brows furrowing and mouth falling open. 

“What? No! I mean, yes,” he groans at the way he’s stumbling over his words, one of his hands leaving your skin so he can rub the back of his neck nervously. “I mean, I want to fuck you.”

Your breath catches in your throat at his words. It’s not like Mark’s a saint or anything, but you’ve never heard him saying something like that so directly. Something stirs up in your stomach and stays there no matter how much you wish it’d disappear. And you do wish it would dissappear because right now you’re supposed to be having a serious conversation with Mark, not getting turned on by him saying he wants to fuck you. 

“Jesus christ, that sounded so bad,” Mark groans and you giggle. 

“I don’t think it did,” you tell him, purposefully leaving out the part about his words having an embarrassingly strong effect on you. “But if that’s not the problem, then what is?” 

“It’s just like,” he sighs, looking for the right words, and his hands squeeze your waist a little tighter. 

You wish he wouldn’t be so focused on what he’s about to say, because in that concentration, he pays no attention to his own fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt, lifting it up an inch or two so he can touch your bare skin. Which again is making you lose focus. 

Thankfully, he brings you back to reality five seconds later as he clears his throat, looking to the side. 

“I just… You’re so perfect and hot and I’m scared that if I do fuck you, I’m gonna like, fucking lose it. And just screw everything up.”

You stay silent for a moment, gazing down on him as his fingers move higher up your shirt. You’re not sure whether he’s doing it on purpose or not, but it’s distracting nevertheless. 

“So what you’re saying is…” you furrow your brows. “You’re scared that you’ll shoot your load too quickly?”

“When you put it like that, it sounds embarrassing,” Mark groans, burying his head in the crook of your neck. His breath tickles your skin and you giggle softly, leaning into his touch. “But yes.”

You breathe out in something resembling relief. Thank god this is it. You were so worried something serious was going on, all the while he was stressing about cumming too fast. Why he’d even think you care about that, you don’t know. It’s so ridiculous you start laughing, earning yourself a slap on the thigh by Mark. 

“What are you laughing at?”

“You,” you poke his reddening cheeks. “You seriously think I care about how long you last?”

He thinks for a while, then tries, “Yeah?”

You shake your head with a smile. 

“Well, I don’t. It’s kind of mean to deprive me of seeing your dick just because of that, don’t you think?” 

You watch as heat flows to Mark’s cheeks, his hands grabbing your thighs tightly. “I-it is?”

“Mhm,” you lean forward to press your lips against his neck ever so slightly. “Very mean.” 

Mark feels himself twitch in his pants and he hopes to god you don’t feel it from where you’re seated in his lap. Maybe it’s a stupid wish, because he doubts anything can go unnoticed when two people are at such a close proximity, but he decides to ignore it, instead pulling you even closer, hands pushing your shorts up to reveal your upper thighs. He bites his lip, squeezing your legs so you rub against him when he rolls his hips into yours. 

“I guess I’ll have to make it up to you, then,” his voice is hoarse in your ear and you clench around nothing, walls fluttering in excitement. 

You nod eagerly and he smiles, hands finding their way to your waist again so he can pull your shirt over your head. The rest of your clothes quickly follow, leaving you completely naked in his lap, goosebumps forming on your skin as his eyes rake over your body. 

He tongues his cheek subconsciously, hands sliding up your body painfully slowly — first running over your thighs, then hips and stomach, until they reach your tits. You hold back a moan when he runs his thumb over your nipple before pinching it softly, watching as your legs rub together at the sensation. Desperately, you push your chest out against his hand, letting out a satisfied sigh when he wraps his hand around your breast, squeezing it. 

“Fuck, Mark,” you say as one of his hands push down on your hips, pressing your leaking pussy down on his clothed cock. “Please do something.”

“So needy,” he muses, and you whimper when he grabs your waist and lies you down on the bed so your back is pressed against the mattress. 

He’s still fully clothed, you realize, but you don’t really get to do anything about it before he ruts his hips against you, his sweats rubbing against your cunt and spreading your arousal across it. You hear him groan softly, and then you feel his finger graze your clit ever so slightly, making your whole body jolt in surprise. He chuckles, spreading your legs and watching as your breath turns uneven when he rubs your clit and runs his fingers through your folds leisurely. 

“So fucking wet,” he clicks his tongue. “Is it all for me, baby?”

“Yes, just for you,” you breathe out, bucking your hips up into his hand. “Please touch me, Markie, please.”

He groans, and has to close his eyes not to cum right then and there, from the sight of you sprawled out on the bed, begging him for more. This is going to be a lot harder than he thought. But he’s got something to prove, and to do that, he can’t exactly cum in his pants. So he takes a deep breath and opens his eyes again.

You buck your hips again, and this time, he listens to you, starting to rub his finger against your clit. He smiles, using his other hands to play with your tits, squeezing them as he pleases. You feel so vulnerable, so on display, but the way he’s playing with you only serves to intensify the throb between your legs. A small whimper leaves your mouth when he moves his fingers from your clit to slip inside of you with ease, your walls stretching around them. 

“Feel nice?” he asks, and you only nod, spreading your legs wider. 

He pushes his fingers in and out of you like it’s something he’s done a million times before, lewd sounds of his movements filling the room. You can only try to muffle your moans and fail miserably, letting whimpers of his name leave your mouth. 

Mark must like that, because not even a moment later, he’s leaning down between your legs and using the hands that were fondling with your tits to hold you down against the mattress. You almost feel like crying when his tongue touches your clit, his digits rubbing all the right places inside of you. He sucks and licks your pussy, fingers curling to hit that one spot that makes you grab at his hair and tug. 

Your reaction only makes him groan into your pussy, the vibrations making your legs try to close around his head. But he keeps them wide open, sucking on your clit, repeatedly hitting the right spots. 

“Yeah? You like this?” he pulls away to ask you after a particularly loud moan of his name. 

“Y-yes,” you whimper out, tears pricking your eyes at how he’s no longer touching you. “Don’t stop, Markie, please.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he mumbles into your cunt before diving back in, finding the spot that makes your toes curl immediately. 

The tension in your lower stomach is building up, the whimpers that leave your lips sounding more and more broken. Mark senses you’re close from the way your hips stutter in their way to buck up into his face, and adds a third finger to fill you up. You clench around him as the knot inside you comes untied, your legs shaking as he licks and sucks on your sensitive clit, fucking you through the orgasm with his fingers deep in your pussy.

You can only whimper as you come down from your high, tears streaming down your cheeks when Mark licks off all your arousal. Smile on his face and cock poking through his sweats, he sits up and takes you into his arms, letting you climb onto his lap again.

“Was it good, baby?” he asks you when you’re seated, like he doesn’t see the way your thighs are shaking. 

“Yes,” you tell him and press your lips against his. 

He kisses you back right away, pulling you flush against his chest. You can taste yourself on his tongue, but you don’t really mind, instead focusing on keeping him as close as possible. Your hips roll into his on their own, your cunt throbbing in need for him again the moment you feel his hard cock pressed against you. He sighs into your mouth at the slight relief, and you slide your hand down to palm him through his sweats.

You’re both content with that for a while — making out with your hand pressing against his cock. But after a while, when the throb between your legs is starting to become unbearable, you pull away from the kiss to untie his sweatpants and slide them down along with his boxers to pool down by his ankles. He exhales at that, cock standing proudly against his stomach when you wrap your hand around it. 

“Can I…” you look at him, squeezing your fingers around him so hips buck upwards and he lets out a soft moan. “Can I ride you?”

His mouth falls slightly open, but he closes it again as fast as he can gather his thoughts. It’s admittedly a little hard with your hand wrapped around his cock, but he manages to look a little less flustered and gather the courage to press the palm of his hand to your clit. 

“Baby wants to ride my cock?”

You can only manage a mewl and a nod of your head, but thankfully Mark doesn’t ask for a verbal response. He lifts your hips a little, positioning the tip of his cock at your entrance and you whine at him when he spends too much time coating his dick with your slick. He only smiles apologetically at you, squeezing your hip as he pushes you down on his cock.

He’s only halfway in when you grip his shoulders, whimpering.

“You okay?” he asks worriedly, stopping to check on you.

“S-so big…”

You feel him twitch from where he’s halfway buried in your cunt, and it makes your walls flutter around him. It’s good, but you need more, and so you wiggle your hips, try to readjust yourself to fit all of him inside. Mark’s patient with you, hands busy fiddling with your tits, fingertips ghosting over your nipples and eyelids heavy. 

You have to bite your lip to muffle the cry threatening to escape your mouth when you finally sink down on his cock fully. He’s big — so big it makes your head spin, pussy clenching around him and your nails digging into his arms. 

“Fuck,” Mark groans, leaning his head against the headboard. “I’m so in love with you, you know that?”

“I’m in love with you, too,” you giggle, but your laughter turns into a moan when Mark thrusts up into your cunt without warning.

He looks at you expectantly and so you tighten your grip on his shoulders, lifting your hips before sinking down on him again. It feels so good, and so you do it again and again, until you’re bouncing on his cock with your tits in his face. He starts pressing kisses against your nipples, and it only spurs you on further, your thighs lifting you off of him then letting you slam your hips against his. 

You feel so full, fucking yourself on his cock like this, and soon all you can do is push your chest out against his lips and moan his name. God, you’re glad Renjun and Donghyuck aren’t here, because you wouldn’t have been able to keep quiet even if you wanted with the way Mark’s dick is hitting all the right spots with every bounce of your hips. 

But even if you love how it feels, your legs were already shaking after your first orgasm, and now that you feel your second one approaching, the burn in your thighs is much more apparent. You try your best, you really do, but no matter how hungry you are for his cock, you’re forced to slow down when your thighs threaten to give out from underneath you. 

“Come on, you wanted to ride me, right?” Mark coos at your whines, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Where did your eagerness go, baby?”

“But I’m tired, Markie,” you whimper, feeling so upset you almost want to cry. “Please. Need your cock.” 

And who is he to deny you what you want when you’re asking so nicely? 

You outright scream his name when he grabs your hips and rolls them into his own. He starts off slow, but even when he’s careful, his cock reaches places deep inside you and makes your eyes roll to the back of your head from the fullness. Mark doesn’t seem to mind, though, his dick twitching inside of you when he makes the mistake of looking at your fucked out expression. Proving to you that he can last long is being pushed further and further to the back of his mind, though, because with how well you’re taking him, he doesn’t think he can hold up much longer. 

“Markie,” your head falls to the crook of his neck when he starts thrusting into you from below, your cries muffled by his skin. “Feels so good, Markie.”

“I know, baby, I know.”

His thrusts are deep and calculated, and you swear you can feel him in your stomach at some point. It’s so good you wish he’d never stop, but the coil in your stomach is tightening, a sense of rapture approaching, and so all you can do is cling onto him for dear life as he fucks you on his cock. He’s close too, twitching inside of you while he brings his fingers to rub sloppy circles on your puffy clit. 

Desperate to reach your high, you start bouncing up and down again, your slick forming a ring of white around the base of his cock as your cunt clenches around him repeatedly. 

You cum first, with his fingers on your clit and his lips sucking marks into your neck, your whole body shaking as he fucks you through it only reach his high a few seconds later. He groans against your throat, a soft whine of your name, and then he’s shooting his cum deep inside of you as his hands tremble around your waist.

It takes a moment for both of you to regain your steady breathing, and when you do, Mark pulls out of you and helps you lie down on the mattress. You pull him in for a hug, which he reciprocates, wrapping his arms around you, allowing you to bathe in his scent. 

For a while, you just lie there quietly, wrapped up in each other’s limbs. It’s comfortable, just like it always is with Mark. 

“You were wrong,” you say finally, breaking the silence. 

He furrows his brows, looking down on you. “Wrong about what?”

“About not lasting long enough,” you poke his chest. “I’m pretty sure it was long enough if my whole body is sore.”

You see Mark’s cheeks tint pink for a moment before he nuzzles his head into the crook of your neck, hiding. 

“Aw, are you shy?” you laugh and he pulls away to send you a stern look. 

“Shut up, Y/N.”

And then he pulls you in for a kiss. 

THANK YOU TO @wuahae FOR THE IDEA FOR THIS FIC ILY

FIVE PLUS ONE | JAEHYUN

SYNOPSIS. Five times world-renowned chef Jeong Jaehyun tried to end your journey to be a chef  because you weren’t ‘qualified enough to be a chef’ and that one time you proved him wrong. 

—or: your villain story quite literally 

PAIRING. jaehyun x fem!reader

GENRE. fluff | angst | enemies to lovers!au | chef!jaehyun | aspiring chef!reader

WORD COUNT. 28.8k+ words (is this my new record? omg)

author’s note. i posted a long time ago about how i must write a chef!jae fic and now, here she is. i’m so sorry for such a long wait (and all those postponements oop) but i’m glad that she’s finally done and posted for you to enjoy reading! i hope you enjoy this fic as much as i enjoyed writing it :-) also pls reading the author’s note at the end for all my thoughts about writing this fic! happy reading~

Keep reading

comfort cuisine

🌙 starring. Johnny Suh x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. You’ve never felt a feral need like this before, but it’s not necessarily the primal type of drive. Instead, it’s a feeling of wanting to be close to this man- who you’ve been next to for so many years, but unable to touch. Except, he’s touching you now, and you want more.

tw/cw. unprotected sex, breast worship/massaging, big dick Johnny, fingering, pussy stretching prep, 'it's finger licking good,' praise, dirty talk, masturbation, multiple reader orgasms, cumming together, creampie, soft sex, longing, fluff, etc… I pet names: (hers) honey.

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 10.8k

🍭 aus. aged up/widower dad!John, best friends to lovers, Chef!John, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I'm so happy that people loved Line Chef Mark in my fic Real Talk, I received so many messages about giving Head Chef John his own love story, and this is what I came up with in the past four months :) it's a little different from what I normally do, but I wanted to continue with that 'slice of life' theme and venture into a plot line I've never tried before with widower/single dad John :)

Prologue

“I’m so sorry about this,” Johnny’s voice distracts you from the breakfast you’re making, and you turn around from the bacon to look at your friend. “I really wish I didn’t have to keep calling you and asking for favours like this-”

“Johnny,” you shut his rambling up with a pointed expression, “stop, it’s okay.”

“It’s not-”

“John,” you repeat, “seriously, we’re good. Given… the circumstances, I honestly don’t mind.”

The circumstances… neither of you can bring yourselves to say it. You know that if you say it… if you say ‘I don’t mind helping out since the death of your wife’ Johnny will just about break down, and he doesn’t have time to do that, not when he’s got to be at work for seven am, prepping the kitchen and getting ready for the day.

Even by calling this situation a ‘circumstance,’ you can see a half glazed expression overtake Johnny’s face. He’s frozen for a moment, and you take the time to study him.

You think it’s safe to say neither of you expected any of this to happen. 

You’d met him in culinary school- he’d been a young guy, a new dad who’d had a daughter at nineteen, with dreams of opening his own sandwich food truck, ‘like Subway, but gourmet,’ he’d always explained. 

Now, he’s a twenty four year old wreck, doing his best to climb the ladder in the food service industry, mourning the loss of his late wife, struggling to take care of his daughter, his dreams of a food truck long since forgotten in favour of chasing a head chef status to earn him enough of a salary to pay for everything in a one income household-

“Seriously,” your words snap the single dad back from his zone out, “we’re good. I’m making breakfast for Soonbok, I’ve got her lunch packed, I’ll take her to kindergarten, pick her up after- you just have to remember I have a night shift, gotta be at my own restaurant by five at the latest.”

“Five, yeah,” Johnny nods, swallowing thickly and toying with his daughters small pink backpack. “One day, I’ll be higher up on the food chain, and I’ll have better hours- I promise this isn’t a forever thing.”

“It’s an ‘as long as it needs to happen’ thing, okay? Don’t sweat it,” you assure him. “Here,” you take some of the crispy bacon out of the pan, putting it onto a scrambled egg bagel you’d prepared, “you need breakfast too.”

Johnny just about melts looking at the food. “You’re so good to me.”

You offer him a smile. “That’s what friends are for.”

One

Johnny swears his age is catching up to him. It’s not even four oclock and he’s feeling tired, letting out a groan as he says goodbye to the nightshift guys and heads to change out of his head chef attire in the staff bathroom. He’d turned thirty this year, and as he looks at his face in the mirror, he thinks he’s starting to see it.

On his way out of the back door, Johnny bumps into one of his line cooks. Mark Lee is pressed to the wall where people usually lean to smoke, his girlfriend closing him in with her hands on either side of his head. Back when she was expo, everyone used to call her Sunshine, but in her dealings with Mark Lee, Johnny’s come to realize that he’s the angel, not her. 

“Aren’t you two on the clock?” Johnny jokes as he walks past.

Sunshine pulls away from Mark, offering the head chef a grin. “We’re on a vape break.”

“Sure you are,” Johnny laughs, shaking his head.  “See you two back in there, better only be five more minutes.”

“Aren’t you done for the day?” Mark asks, confusion written on his face, along with lipstick marks that he’s hurrying to wipe off.

“Grabbing happy hour with a friend, but be careful Mark Lee, I’m always watching. Just because I’m sitting at the bar doesn’t mean I’m not judging you.”

Johnny can hear Mark mutter something under his breath, and Sunshine is quick to try to calm him down, but as Johnny turns the corner to head to the front entrance of the restaurant, he hears the back door open and close, signaling the end of the little ‘vape break.’

When Johnny joins you at the bar, you’re chatting with Jeno, and the sight makes an unexplainable emotion tingle up his spine. Out of all the front of house staff here, Jeno might just be the biggest manwhore, and he’s had a thing for cougars for a while, although there’s only a handful of years difference between the two of you-

“What are you guys talking about?” John asks, taking a seat on the dark green leather hightop stools surrounding the bar.

“Which virgin drinks are the best,” you respond casually. “I was going to get an iced tea, but Jeno convinced me to try one of your new virgin lemon ginger fizzes.”

“That’s called upselling, honey, you should know that, seeing as you’re in the industry,” Johnny grins.

“Yeah, well, you’re the one who invited me here, so I figured you’d be paying.” You take a sip of your straw, looking at Johnny with a smirk, a playful glint in your eyes. 

“Are we getting food?” Johnny asks. “I might as well take care of that for you too.”

“I’ve got time,” you respond casually. “Don’t work for an hour, lets get our ‘nosh’ on.”

Johnny can only laugh at your antics, turning to Jeno, who’s watching with an amused grin. Everyone here knows you and Johnny are close, you come here often enough to see him, the two of you catching each other for a half an hour here or there between his day shifts and your night commitments. 

Johnny orders three appetizers off the happy hour menu, two things he knows you like, and one that’s more up his alley. “Make sure Yuta isn’t back there slacking off,” Johnny warns Jeno, knowing that two of the items will be coming from the ‘bottom end’ of the expo line, which is where Yuta runs the show after Johnny’s off.

“I’m sure he’ll pull out all the stops for our MVP,” Jeno grins, typing the order into an ipad. “Do you want a beer? We’ve got new rotators.”

“Don’t bother trying to upsell me,” Johnny scoffs. “House Lager, and don’t fuck around with the foam.”

“You run a tight ship here, captain,” you tease, bumping Johnny’s elbow.

“Speaking of-”

“Don’t try to recruit me to work here again,” you’re quick to warn.

“Damn it,” Johnny shakes his head, pretending to be quite upset about your rejection. He does feel it- he does think you’d be a great member of the team, and he’d love to offer you a dual head chef position, but it’s not in his power to do so, and that fact haunts him every day. Working for a company limits what he’s able to do, and sometimes, even at age thirty, Johnny still thinks about his dream to open a food truck, with you by his side. “No, in all seriousness, I wanted to talk to you about Soonie’s birthday.”

“Right, she’s turning eleven soon, that’s quite the milestone,” you grin, playing with your straw.

“I asked Doyoung if I could open early for her birthday, it’s a Sunday, I was thinking some of her friends and their parents could come in for a brunch an hour before we’re open for the public.”

“That’s a great idea!”

“Here’s the catch, Soonie was raised on your breakfast food. As much as I try to make things for her, and I hate to admit this, by the way, she always says your cooking is better. So I was thinking… maybe you’d want to come in that day and help me out with all of this. With your skills, I wouldn’t need Hyuck and Mark, it could be just us, and I’m sure we could make a birthday breakfast Soonbok would never forget. It would be like old times, like back when we were in culinary school.”

He loves the way you’re smiling at him, giving him space to rant. 

When he’s done, you cock your head to the side, only wasting one beat before you say, “I’ll do it.”

“Really? I don’t have to bribe you with money or anything?”

“Jeeze, have I ever asked you for money, John?” You smack at his arm, clearly slightly offended. “I’m doing this for Soonie… and maybe a little for you too.”

“Don’t go soft on me, killer,” Johnny teases. “Everyone around here’s too soft these days.”

“Says the softest dad I know,” you roll your eyes. 

“Shh,” he warns, “don’t say that loud enough for Jeno to hear.”

“As if everyone doesn’t already know.”

The two of you continue to chat and joke, a short while later, the head manager, Doyoung, shows up carrying food. It’s funny for Johnny to see Doyoung balancing two items on one arm, the third in the palm of his hand, but he supposes Doyoung started somewhere too, the same way John had. 

“VIP happy hour appetizers,” Doyoung sighs, setting the food down. 

“As opposed to regular happy hour appetizers?” you grin, immediately reaching for a fry.

“These are special,” Doyoung insists, “pretty sure Yuta spit in them.”

Doyoung is a pretty regal man, he’s not one to joke around- but for some reason, when Doyoung is in your vicinity, he loosens up a little. Everyone loosens up around you, you radiate a safe space kind of energy, the kind of energy that makes Johnny’s tense shoulders relax, his smile softening.

“Then I’ll be sure to eat all of this,” you respond. “Tell Yuta more spit.”

Doyoung shakes his head at you. “I’m sure Johnny’s tried to poach you already, but if you ever want a job, you can have his.”

“Hey!” Johnny laughs.

“I’ll consider it,” you grin.

“And I expect a plate of food for this brunch thing,” Doyoung continues. “I’ve heard nothing beats your breakfasts, even though you work nights.”

“Someone has been talking about me again,” you muse, eyes shifting to John.

“What can I say?” He holds his hands up in defense. “I speak only the truth.”

“Your reputation precedes you,” Doyoung insists. “Anyways, have fun you two, I’ve got food to run, our new expo girl isn’t filling Sunshine’s shoes too well.”

There’s a glint in Doyoung’s eye before he scurries away, and Johnny turns to watch the new expo girl practically short circuiting with take out orders on the line. 

“Poor girl,” you sigh. “It takes a certain kind of person to work in a restaurant.”

And an even more specific type to do what the two of you do as chefs.

Two

You’ve been on a few first dates this year, and this one is definitely a bottom three. You’ve had one drink, and you already feel like finding a way to slip out early. 

Initially, you’d been intrigued by dating a man in finance, but it’s clear now that you’re in two completely different worlds- and to make matters worse, he mostly talks about himself. He’s oozing this obnoxious confidence that makes you grimace every time you sip your drink, and not from the alcohol.

Your date is in the bathroom when Johnny calls.

“Hello?”

“Hey, you!” His voice warms your heart. “So Soonie is at a sleep over tonight, and I was thinking about making a Soonbok style menu for her birthday, all Soonie style names for food and such, planning a menu just for her- are you up to anything? Can I go through it with you?”

“Actually…” your gaze shifts to the bathrooms, “I’m on a date.”

“Oh.”

“It’s going so bad, and planning Soonie’s birthday would be such a better use of my evening. Listen, can you come pick me up? I’ll text you the address, you can come and call me when you’re outside, pretend it’s a family emergency or something-”

“You got it, I’ll be there right away.”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re hopping into Johnny’s car, letting out a deep sigh of relief.

“That bad, huh?” he asks.

“I don’t even want to talk about it right now,” you groan. 

“Here, distract yourself,” Johnny hands you a piece of paper, and you realize it’s a mock up menu for Soonbok’s birthday. “This is just a prototype, I was messing around with styles on some fucking site called Canva-”

“I didn’t know you were good at this sort of thing,” you gasp, taking in the intricate fonts and colouring.

“The site did all the work, trust me,” Johnny scoffs, pulling out into traffic. “Read it over and let me know what you think.”

You begin to scan the menu. There’s Soonie Side Up Eggs, and Boken Avocado Bennies, Soonbok Style Slapjacks and Suh Family Breakfast Sammies. 

“I’m shocked you came up with this many names related to Soonie and Suh,” you say.

“I spent my entire shift thinking about them in the back of my mind while I worked,” Johnny admits. “They’re not cheesy or anything, right?”

“They’re definitely cheesy,” you confirm, “but Soonie is going to love them. You’ve always been cheesy, John, and she adores you for it.”

You notice Johnny’s skin turning a little red, and it’s not just from the reflection of the traffic light illuminating the inside of his car while you wait for it to go green. 

You continue to study the menu, thinking hard the entire way back to Johnny’s house.

He’s got a modest three bedroom townhouse, with his and Soonbok’s rooms on the top floor, and the guest bedroom on the main floor with the kitchen and living room. The kitchen is, without a doubt, the heart of the home, and the two of you make your way there as soon as you’re past the threshold.

“I have some thoughts,” you admit, setting the menu down and pointing at one of the items. “Soonbok toast,” you announce, a twist on french toast, “it says here that it comes with a berry compote. I can tell that this is one of the dishes more geared toward others, because if this was really for Soonie, you’d know that your daughter doesn't even touch berry or apple crisps. She picks at the oat brown sugar on top, but doesn’t like cooked berries or fruits.”

“Yeah…” Johnny leans next to you, scratching the back of his neck. “That was the only one I wasn’t sure on, but for brunch, you have to have a french toast option, right?”

“We can still do french toast, but I think every menu item should be something she’d actually love, don’t you agree?”

“A hundred percent.” 

“What if, instead of berry compote, we do an brown sugar glaze type sauce?”

“That could be doable,” Johnny admits. “Should we try to make one now?”

“Can we do it in the morning?” you ask. “Honestly, I had one drink at the bar, I’m tired after a long shift, and I’m ready to have a few more drinks then pass out.”

“Drinks are a good idea,” Johnny grins, already heading to the fridge. “It will give me more time to think about how to make the brown sugar glaze, and I’ll get on top of that in the morning.”

“Exactly. Chef hours are over, we can just relax,” you insist, heading to collapse on his couch.

“Chef hours are never over,” Johnny reminds you, cracking open a beer and approaching so he can hand it to you.

“It’s one of the reasons dating is so hard in our profession,” you sigh, taking a swig of your drink.

“The hours make it tough,” Johnny nods. 

“So does the mentality,” you remind him. “We just… we think a little differently than others. We’re all a little too committed to our work.”

“That’s not always a bad thing, you’ve just gotta find someone you’re compatible with, someone who will appreciate that about you.” 

“Says one single chef to the other,” you laugh.

Johnny clinks his bottle against your own before taking a large gulp. “Touche.”

Three

Johnny is doing his best to work quietly, aware that the guest bedroom is just a short distance from the kitchen as he whips up eggs for the french toast batter. 

He manages to get all the way through to the cooking before you sleepily putter into the kitchen, adorned in one of his spare shirts for when you sleep over unexpectedly. You look adorable, but Johnny can’t bring himself to focus on you as he perfects the brown sugar glaze, careful not to burn it.

“Almost done,” he calls over his shoulder, “take a seat then try this with me?”

“It smells good,” you tell him, pulling out a chair at the island kitchen counter. 

“Thanks, honey, I was up last night thinking about it- had to wake up early to try it out.” He lifts the french toast onto a plate, dipping a spoon into the glaze to coat the breakfast. “I hope I didn’t wake you up?”

“The smell did,” you muse, grinning as he brings the french toast toward you, setting it down and opening a drawer to retrieve two sets of utensils.

The two of you cut into the toast, and you lift your fork. “Cheers,” you grin, and Johnny touches his food to your own before you both go in for a bite. 

The french toast is cooked to perfection, and although the brown sugar glaze is a little sweet for his liking, Johnny knows Soonie’s sweettooth will appreciate this adjustment to the recipe.

But when Johnny lifts his gaze to you, he sees apprehension in your eyes. “Did you like it?” he enquires.

“It’s really good, don’t get me wrong,” you assure him quickly, “I just think… maybe it’s missing one or two things.”

“Like what?”

“Mmm…” you cock your head to the side, “we both know Soonbok is a fan of nuts, peanut butter is her usual go to but she likes others too- what if we finely chop some pecan or walnut and add that in somehow?”

“That could work,” Johnny nods. 

“Do you mind if I take a crack at it?” you ask. 

Johnny laughs. There are very few people he’ll allow to use his kitchen, and luckily you’re the one at the top. You’ve been cooking here for so many years that he doesn’t have to guide you to anything, you stand up and immediately go in search of details to make your french toast masterpiece come to life, and Johnny happily takes a back seat while he finishes his own creation.

You go for a bag of pecans, dumping a small amount onto a cutting board before you begin to finally chop, leaving an array of different sizes of chunks. Soonie has always been a texture specific child, and Johnny loves how you incorporate all the little quirks of his daughter into your cooking like this.

In a pan with some butter, you begin to toast the nuts, getting prepped on your bread by using the already made batter he’d created earlier. As you put the toast into the pan and check the nuts, you cock your head to the side again, an endearing trait you do when you’re thinking.

“What about oats?” you suggest. 

“Do whatever you think is best,” Johnny encourages you, heading to the fridge to grab some orange juice and a nearly empty bottle of prosecco he’d opened for a recipe two nights ago.

Johnny watches you add oats to the browning pecans while he makes mimosas, and in no time at all, you’re plating the french toast, with a spoonful of the newly toasted additions, and a few spoonfuls of brown sugar glaze.

“There,” you announce, bringing the food to the table. “I added a bit of cinnamon and brown sugar to the buttered nuts and oats while you were making drinks.”

“Cheers,” Johnny grins, lifting a forkful of your creation to gently touch it to your own.

As soon as he bites into it, Johnny knows that this is a winner. The crunch of the nuts, and the oats- the added fats of the butter- the slight taste of cinnamon on the toppings- 

“Wow,” he breathes, leaning back in his chair. “Soonie really wasn’t joking when she said you’re the best breakfast chef in town.”

“Stop it,” you laugh. “You made the glaze! We did this together!”

Johnny goes for a second bite. “This is the stuff that will stick to your ribs,” he muses, not caring that the calorie content was just inflated by the addition of butter and nuts, “Good ol’ comfort food.”

“No, John, you’re a head chef now, this is comfort cuisine,” you correct him with a grin. 

Johnny swears your eyes are sparkling as you smile at him, and it makes his heart skip a beat in his chest. It’s times like these that he realizes just how smitten he is with you. You’ve been there for him, through thick and thin. There’s no way he’d be where he is now without you, and he’s not even sure if you know the full extent of it.

But at the same time, because you’re his rock, Johnny doesn’t want to overstep. He can’t lose you, not now, not ever. Soonie lost her mom to a car crash when she was three, and there’s no way in hell Johnny’s going to do something that could potentially make her lose you too.

Four

“Hey, you,” you grin, finishing pouring your glass of wine while you put your favourite chef on speaker.

“Hey, yourself,” Johnny responds, and you can practically hear the smile in his own voice. “Listen, uh, I need to ask you for a favour.”

“Shoot.”

“Two of my line chefs called in today before dinner- pretty sure they’re both hungover or something. Anyways, I’m staying, and it’s a busier night than projected- Soonie is done Girl Guides at seven, and I know it’s your night off, so if you’re busy I can find someone else, but-”

“I’ve got you,” you interrupt him. “Girls night with my favourite girl is a better plan than I had.”

“Really? You sure?”

“A hundred percent.”

“I’d say I owe you one, but at this point, I probably owe you more like a thousand.”

“And don’t you forget it,” you laugh, pouring your wine back into the bottle. “Take care of work, and I’ll take care of our girl.”

A couple hours later, you’re in Johnny’s familiar kitchen, making spiced popcorn and virgin cocktails. Soonie wants to be a chef, just like her dad, and she’s getting better every day. You love giving her soft instructions and lending a helping hand on bigger jugs of juice that her tiny fingers can’t quite hold.

Soonbok has a love for all things disney and music, and although this is probably the third time you’re watching it with her, the two of you settle in for the live action Ariel.

While Johnny is primarily a chef, back when you were in culinary school, he used to sing to himself when he was working. He was always quiet, but loud enough for you to listen to his beautiful voice. Like her father, Soonbok has a way with music, and you adore watching the eleven year old belt out Ariel songs.

She’s tuckered out from Girl Guides however, and about halfway into the movie she cuddles up next to you, her eyelids beginning to droop.

When Johnny comes home as the film is ending, Soonie is fast asleep, and you quickly motion at him to be quiet as he steps through the door.

Johnny is careful as he sets his keys and bag down, kicking off his shoes and putting away his jacket. He tiptoes toward the two of you. “How long has she been out?” he whispers.

“Half an hour or so,” you respond in a hushed tone. “How was work?”

He lets out a sigh. “Could have been better, but I’m home now. Should I get this little one to bed?”

You nod, watching the way Johnny bends down to gently lift his daughter off the couch. She stirs in his arms. “Daddy?”

“Hi, Soonie,” he beams down at her. “Did you have a good girls night?”

“Can y/n stay longer?”

Johnny’s eyes shift to you, and a smile forms on your lips. “I guess I can’t say no to Soonie, can I?”

“Here’s the deal, Soonie, y/n can stay longer, but I’ve gotta put you to bed. You had a long day, didn’t you, sweet girl?”

“Uh huh.” Soonie yawns, cuddling closer to Johnny’s chest, and the sight makes you melt.

Johnny carries her out of the living room and up to the second level. He takes some time tucking her in, and then he comes back down to join you, holding two beers in his hands. 

“So two line chefs called in, huh?” you prompt, tucking your legs up and making room for the large man on the sofa.

“I expected it from Haechan, but Mark’s generally pretty reliable. His girlfriend was on shift today, so I know he wasn’t skipping to be with her- I’m guessing they got pretty messed up last night.”

“They’re young,” you point out, accepting a beer from him. “We used to be young.”

“Used to be,” Johnny laughs, taking a swig of his drink. 

Looking at this man- this father, you realize maybe he never really got the chance to be young. At twenty five, he had a six year old, he wasn't running around blacking out and getting hung over, he was working his way up the employment ladder, dreaming about a better future for his daughter.

“You mentioned Mark has a girlfriend, I think I’ve heard about her a few times now, it’s interesting that she was in and he wasn’t.”

“I’m going to be honest, I love Mark, he’s a great kid- but, he can sometimes be peer pressured into things. Haechan has a hold on Mark unlike any I’ve seen, they bring out… interesting sides of each other.”

You laugh at the description, and it’s clear there’s more on Johnny’s mind, so you wait for him to continue. 

“It’s nice that Mark is young and in love, I can understand that- but at the same time, I just hope he doesn’t make the same mistakes I did. Not that Soonbok is a mistake, of course- I just mean that… life is fragile. You think you’re going to be with someone forever, and then you’re reminded of how frail things can be.”

You frown at his words. Even after all of these years, Johnny still holds so much pain about his lost wife. You want to do your best to help Johnny in every aspect of his life, especially emotional, but this is a topic you never know how to approach. He’s right for grieving, his ex was his first love, his true love- how is there anything you could ever say to make him feel better about her passing?

You open your mouth, only to close it, and Johnny watches you intently. Sometimes he looks at you, the way he’s looking at you right now, and you wonder if he feels the same level of connection with you that you feel with him. You wonder if he wants you to kiss him, if a kiss would make him feel better, if it would - if even for a moment - help him forget about the pains he’s faced in his life.

But it’s because of the pains he’s faced that neither of you can close the distance, you’d like to think about it that way at least. Even after all these years, it’s still too early, so you simply reach out and gently squeeze his hand.

Johnny offers you a smile, and you’re glad that in some small way, maybe you’ve helped him.

Five

It’s a pretty slow day after the lunch rush, so Johnny is sitting in the back office with Doyoung while they pick at their food. They often eat together once things settle down, and today is no different. 

What is different, however, is the topic of conversation Doyoung brings up. “How’s y/n doing?” he asks, taking a bite of his salad.

“She’s good. She helped me lock in a french toast recipe for Soonie’s birthday, so that was pretty helpful.”

“That’s nice,” Doyoung nods, “but I’m more interested in what’s going on between the two of you.”

“What do you mean?” Johnny asks, looking up from his schezwan beef noodle bowl. 

“I mean, you two have been friends for a long time. There’s a lot of history there.”

Johnny’s shocked that Doyoung is bringing this up. Out of all of the chef’s coworkers, he had not pegged Doyoung as being the man to bring up relationship gossip, and the whole thing takes him off guard for a moment. 

“We’re good friends,” Johnny says finally.

“I know that,” Doyoung rolls his eyes. “What’s holding you back from being more? It’s clear how much you two care about each other.”

Johnny looks down at his food, using his chopsticks to play around with a red pepper. “We do care about each other,” he confirms. “She was there for me with Soonie when no one else was, and I’ll always be grateful for that.”

“So why don’t you tell her how you really feel about her?” Doyoung presses. “It’s obvious in the way you look at each other- a smart woman like y/n, I’m shocked she hasn’t figured it out for herself by now.”

“I think, because of our history, there’s this… invisible line,” Johnny tries to explain. “Things are good the way they are now, if I try to mess with that… I could lose everything. And I wouldn’t just be losing it for myself, I’d be losing it for Soonie too.”

Doyoung lets out a breath, turning to face Johnny. “I get that it’s hard, but, you’ve got two paths ahead of you. If you give it a try, it could either end well, or badly. But if you keep yourself in this weird middle friend zone place, it’s like you’ve created a house at the crossroads, and that will never lead you anywhere.”

“When did you become so wise about love?” Johnny scoffs.

“Sumi has helped me with it,” Doyoung admits. “I met her here, we started off as friends. I’m her manager, so I had my own reasons for never taking the leap. I had my own house at the crossroads.”

“What made you finally give it a try?”

“She was there for me when my dad died,” Doyoung frowns. “Anyone can be there for you when things go badly, but when a woman truly gives her all to making things easier on you- it’s not something that should be ignored. After everything you and y/n have been through, you both deserve to give it a try.”

“How are you so sure she’d want to give it a try?”

“Because she looks at you the way you look at her.”

Six

Cooking with Johnny might just be the easiest thing in the world. You’d thought that, due to it being Soonie’s birthday, maybe tensions would be high, but as the two of you collaborate in the kitchen, bumping hips and easily communicating, things feel as they always have: easy. 

Within fifteen minutes, the two of you have seamlessly cooked thirteen breakfasts for yourselves, Soonie, her four friends, and six adults… well, seven, if you include the Boken Avocado Bennies you’d whipped up for Doyoung.

While there are a number of staff puttering around doing pre-opening tasks, it’s Doyoung who takes the time to help you and Johnny bring all the food to the table. You love watching the stoic manager announce the Soonie-inspired brunch food names, and it’s clear that Soonbok is also enamoured by the shift in Doyoung’s countenance. 

Before everyone begins to eat, you take a group picture on Johnny’s phone, loving the massive smile on Soonie’s face.

As you’re about to sit down, Johnny asks one of the other moms to take a picture of just you, him and Soonie. With the two of you on either side of the birthday girl, you can’t help but think that this feels like a family picture. 

In a way, Johnny and Soonie are your family- but in the same breath, you’re cognisant of the fact that - had circumstances been different - it would be Soonbok’s mom in this picture right now, and not you. These are shoes that can simply never be filled, no matter how much you wish you could.

The thought isn’t one you like to hold on to, and it’s a thought that’s popped into your head innumerable times throughout the years. Taking your seat next to the birthday girl, you watch her try the french toast, her eyes lighting up.

On top of her own food, Soonie picks at yours and Johnny’s. Both of you are more than happy to share so she can taste more than just one of the special items Johnny had concocted for her. 

Brunch is full of laughter and girlish giggles that light up the deserted restaurant. It’s clear how important Johnny has made Soonie feel today, and that brings you more joy than you could ever express out loud. 

As things wind down, you and Johnny begin clearing plates to the dishpit. The two of you are shoulder to shoulder, and you’re overwhelmed by an odd sense of longing that you can’t quite describe.

Johnny turns to you, mouth opening as if he’s about to say something- but as servers pass behind you, it’s clear that there’s no room for him to say whatever it is that he wanted to say to you.

You clear your throat, watching a line chef pop up next to Johnny to stack the dishes for dishwasher prep. “You should go back to Soonie,” you tell him, “I’ll finish up with the cleanup.”

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Of course, it’s Soonie’s day, go be with her.” You offer him a smile, and Johnny reacts by reaching out to squeeze your hand.

Without another word, he leaves you to your thoughts, and the feeling of need that’s growing steadier and steadier in your chest.

Seven

Johnny doesn’t know quite what to do with himself. Soonie’s birthday was yesterday, and today's day shift had been quite slow. He’s feeling restless with Soonie over at a friend’s place tonight, and he tries to drown himself in liquor- whether it be to chase away the loneliness or to gain courage, he’s not sure, but by nine oclock, Johnny finds himself dialing up your number.

“Hey, you,” you answer.

“Hey, yourself,” he grins. “Watcha up to?”

There’s a pause, and Johnny can hear people in the background. “I’m out actually.”

“Oh?” Johnny’s spirits dampen. “Out on another hot date?”

“Not so hot actually.”

Johnny bites at his lip. “I’ll let you go anyways.”

“It’s alright, I stepped out when you called. Do you need something?”

“I guess…” Johnny takes a breath. “I got into the liquor-”

“Say no more, I’ll be right over.”

Eight

“So…” Johnny grins as the two of you head into his kitchen, “how did the date go?”

You scoff, watching him pour a glass of wine. “How do you think it went? I’m here with you, aren’t I?”

“I mean… I am pretty hard to compete with,” Johnny flashes you a sexy grin… and proceeds to knock over the glass of wine. “Shit- fuck!”

“Listen, you go take a seat, and I’ll clean this up,” you laugh, watching him lumber toward the sofa. You make quick work of the mess, and when you’re done, you approach him in the living room.

“Come sit,” he prompts, patting the spot right next to him.

“Someone’s feeling awfully cuddly today,” you giggle when he grabs your hand to pull you down where he wants you, leaving no space between the two of you.

“What can I say? I’m a cuddly drunk.” 

“I can see that,” you note, assessing him.

His gaze dips to your lips, and your skin tingles. 

“Thank you for yesterday,” he says quietly.

“I told you, I was happy to help for Soonie’s special day.”

“It’s not just that,” he insists, “you’re always happy to help. I seriously-” he swallows thickly, “I seriously couldn’t have done anything I’ve done without you.”

“Don’t be so self deprecating,” you warn him, gently pushing his shoulder. “You’d have gotten anywhere you wanted, with or without me.”

“I still don’t have a food truck,” Johnny pouts.

You’d thought maybe he’d given up on that dream- although you’ve held onto hope for Johnny, more than he knows. “Now that you mention it, actually,” you say, pulling out your phone, “I’ve been looking at food trucks for sale online for a minute, and-”

Johnny’s gaze softens. “You’ve been researching for me?”

“Just a little,” you brush it off, trying to find the listing that you’d saved three days ago. “I found this decent looking one at a good price-”

“I think I love you.”

“Huh?” you freeze.

“I didn’t mean it,” Johnny says immediately, and your heart sinks. “I don’t think I love you, I know I do.”

“John, please, that’s the liquor talking.”

“Drunk words are sober thoughts,” he insists. “Look, you’ve always been there for me. We work together- and not just because we’re both chefs. Something about this,” Johnny gestures between the two of you, “it just works, and I know I’m not the only one who sees it.”

“Yeah?” You decide to play a little coy, seeing as this confession is coming from a drunk man. “And who else sees it?”

“Doyoung, for one.”

“Doyoung?” You let out a laugh. “Have you been gossiping about me with him?”

“I swear I didn’t bring it up,” Johnny defends himself. “Doyoung said I look at you with love, and that… that you look at me the same way.”

“Well… maybe Doyoung needs to get his eyes checked?”

“Don’t play with me,” Johnny begs, pulling you closer. “There’s always been a line between us, one we’ve both been too scared to cross… but, I think-”

“Now you’re crossing it,” you finish for him. “What made you want to do that?”

“Soonie’s birthday,” Johnny admits. “Our little family picture.”

“Our family picture,” you repeat, melting inside at the fact that he’d viewed the photo in the same light you had.

“Yeah.” Johnny nods. “Our family. Mine, and yours.” 

His hand finds your thigh, and you can’t help but reach out to cup his cheek, stroking your thumb across his angular bones. “I’m not sure what to say,” you admit.

“We don’t have to say anything,” Johnny assures you. “Just kiss me, and we can forget about the world for a minute.”

Your heart is racing in your chest as you hesitantly close the distance between your lips. It’s a gentle first kiss, but it soon grows hungry, and you’re not sure if that’s due to his appetite or your own.

His tongue swipes across your lip, and you open your mouth for him, letting out a soft sigh as you get lost in the feeling of the man who’s been your best friend for years.

His hand on your thigh squeezes, and before you know it, he’s pulling you onto his lap. Your knees dig into the sofa on either side of him, and you’re hesitant to fully sit down- a kiss is a kiss, but grinding on Johnny is something else entirely.

“Johnny,” you whisper, throwing your head back to look at the ceiling, wondering how you got into this situation.

“Yes, honey?” He presses kisses along your throat that have tingles shooting up your spine.

“You’re drunk,” you say finally.

“If I’d known you liked me too, I would have done this ages ago.”

“It’s not about that,” you laugh. “It’s about the fact that you’re drunk, and I want you sober when we do this.”

“Do what?” he teases, squeezing your hips, his tongue grazing over your jugular.

“You know what,” you retort with a huff. “Look, you’re right about the line neither of us wanted to cross.”

Johnny pulls away from your throat, looking up at you. “Huh?”

“The line. The unspoken line. All these years, something has been there, between us- but, we both respect your wife, we respect Soonie- I think… I think the time is right for this now, well, not right now, but, once you’re sober again.”

“You’re right,” Johnny concedes. 

“How about we watch a movie, then we can go to sleep.”

“You’ll stay over?” There’s a boyish excitement in his voice and it makes you melt.

“Uh huh.”

“Will you stay in my bed with me?”

“Just for cuddles, but only if you promise to drink a bunch of water before we sleep, I don’t want you hung over in the morning.”

Johnny grins. “You got it, honey.”

Nine

Johnny wakes up next to a warm body, and it’s the first time in years. Your presence is the only thing that proves to him that last night wasn’t a dream, some twisted fantasy- No, you’re real, and you’re here, and you’d kissed him back-

He stays cuddled with you for a while, basking in the glow of being in love, truly in love, and finally able to admit it to himself. It’s been so long since his wife, and part of him had forgotten the feeling- maybe that’s why it had taken years for him to realize how much he adores you.

After a while, Johnny decides he needs some water- and he wants to make breakfast for you. He wants to spoil you the way you spoil him.

Johnny is careful as he exits the bed, taking one last look at your peaceful face before heading down to the kitchen.

It’s easy for Johnny to get lost in the act of cooking, focusing on bacon at first before switching to eggs. As it was a few days ago, the smell of food wakes you up, and soon you’re joining him by the stove.

“Watcha making?” you ask, wrapping your body around his.

God, the feeling of you is- fuck, he can’t even describe how good it is.

“Wanted to make you breakfast,” he tells you, plating your food first. Once he has you settled and sitting, he quickly throws together a breakfast sandwich for himself.

“You and your sandwiches,” you laugh, digging into your bacon and eggs.

“How did you sleep?” he asks, coming to join you.

“So well,” you tell him, bumping your knee against his own, “even if someone snores.” 

Johnny can only laugh, he’s dealt with Soonbok complaining about his loud snoring for years. “How are the eggs?”

“Good!” 

You’re so chipper this morning, and he loves it. Johnny takes a bite of his sandwich- you’d cooked the eggs at the brunch birthday two days ago, and he realizes Soonie was right. “Your eggs are better,” he muses.  

“I’d planned on making breakfast for you, but you jumped the gun, big guy.”

“I wanted to pamper you for a change.”

“Cooking is my love language,” you tell him. “I’m excited to make you breakfast more often.”

“I like the sound of that,” he smiles.

“When’s Soonie come home?”

Johnny checks the clock on the stove. “In an hour or so.”

“As much as I’d love to see her, I think maybe it’s better if I’m not here when she gets home,” you say thoughtfully. “She’s a smart girl, I bet she’d be able to tell that something is up.”

“She definitely would,” Johnny confirms. “I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands off of you that much if you stick around.”

You giggle, reaching over to squeeze his knee.

“How are you feeling about last night?” Johnny asks.

“I’m feeling good, how about you? Still remember all of it?”

“In perfect detail,” he breathes. “Although… a little reminder wouldn’t hurt.”

“Oh, it wouldn’t?” you tease as he leans in, cupping your face so he can press his lips to your own. 

God, you’re such a good kisser. It just works. It’s hard for him to even pull away, but he doesn’t want to overwhelm you.

“Take me out on a date,” you say.

“Hmm?”

“A date,” you repeat. “Just because we’ve known each other for years doesn’t mean we can skip steps.”

“I respect that,” Johnny nods. “I’ve got a busy week, and it will have to be a night where Soonie is out, but… we’ll make it work.”

Johnny’s so certain it will work, because things between you have always worked, and he can’t wait to see where this takes you. 

Ten

It’s been a week, but finally Johnny found time for that date night. Soonie is out with friends again, so it’s the perfect opportunity to get some alone time with the man who’s been on your mind constantly.

He picks you up in his old Dodge truck, compliments your outfit, and refuses to tell you where you’re going or what the plan is.

When you arrive back at his place, you’re honestly not even surprised. “Let me guess, you took me to the best chef in town?”

“You know all my lines, honey,” he grins. 

“So, chef, what’s on the menu?”

“I thought maybe you’d take a seat and let me cook for you.”

“As if I’d take a back seat,” you scoff. “What are we making?”

Johnny had made hand made fettucini before he’d come to pick you up. You let him take lead in making a white wine, garlic cream sauce with button mushrooms, spinach and crispy prosciutto, but you insist on being his sous chef and taking care of the chicken.

The smell is heavenly, and as he finishes it all off with fresh herbs, you think you start to drool a little.

“For a guy who claims to specialize in sandwiches of all things, you’re pretty good with italian,” you muse as you take your first bite and nearly moan.

“I’m pretty good with a lot of things,” Johnny laughs. 

“Look at you being all cocky.”

“You love it.”

He’s so right.

The two of you chat and laugh together while eating. It’s one of the best meals you’ve had in a very long time. When dinner is over, Johnny suggests a movie. As the two of you settle on the couch, he prompts you to come closer, and soon, the two of you are cuddled together as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He’s so warm and comforting- you find yourself dozing off a little, although, maybe it’s something of a food coma from all the pasta.

Johnny brings his lips to your ear, and you shiver when he asks, “Should I carry you to bed, honey?” 

Part of you wants to tell him you’re not Soonie and you won’t be calling him daddy any time soon- but another part of you wants to lean into this. It’s been so long since you felt like you could be babied, and if anyone is going to bring out that side of you, it’s going to be Johnny.

“Won’t I be too heavy?” you ask, cognizant of the stairs he’ll have to climb.

“Have you seen my arms? I won’t drop you, honey, I promise.”

You allow him to scoop you up, and you feel like a giggling school girl again as he takes you up to his room. “Do you have a shirt I could wear to sleep?” 

“Choose anything,” he tells you. “When you’re changed, you can join me in the bathroom, I went and got a toothbrush for you.”

Before you know it, you’re cuddled in Johnny’s bed, wearing panties and one of his big shirts. He’s pressed to your back, his mint tinged breath warm on the nape of your neck. There’s no pressure for sex, no pressure for anything other than the situation at hand, and you can tell you’re both very content with it. 

Soon, you’re drifting off to sleep in the arms of a man who’s been a cornerstone of your life.

It’s a deep, dreamless sleep, and it passes in the blink of an eye. You awaken to light beaming through his window, a warm body behind you, and something hard pressed against your ass.

You laugh to yourself- morning wood isn’t something men can help. Even so, you stir a little, adjusting to get more comfortable.

Johnny releases a sleepy groan.

You stay still, not wanting to wake him, but it feels like the damage is already done when he wraps you tighter in his embrace. “Morning,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Hi,” you respond lightly.

Now it’s Johnny’s turn to shift, and you feel his body tense when he does so. “Fuck,” he goes to pull away, “sorry, I uh-”

“It’s okay,” you assure him, grabbing his forearm so he can’t move away, “keep cuddling me.”

Johnny returns, flush against your back, his hard cock pressing even more firmly to your ass.

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?” he asks.

“More than okay with it.”

“Yeah?” He leans forward, pressing his lips to your throat. “Are you okay with this, too?” Johnny mumbles, his hot breath fanning across your skin.

“Uh huh,” you sigh, wiggling your bum back against him and arching your neck to give him better access.

His hand finds your hip, gently squeezing you through the shirt you’re wearing. His lips are soft against you, but there’s a need in his motions too, and he begins to grind against your ass.

You let out a groan when he finds the sweet spot just below your ear, and he licks at it, making you moan louder.

“Are we going to do this?” he asks, nipping at your earlobe.

“Fuck it, yes.” You can’t hold back anymore, you turn in his embrace, quickly mounting him and smashing your lips to his own.

Johnny grins into the kiss, holding your hips while you settle on top of him, grinding down against his clothed cock while your tongues begin to clash.

His kisses have you seeing stars, your mind going blank except for him.

Soon, his hands slip under your shirt, slowly grazing up your sides. “Can I take this off of you?” he asks.

You open your eyes to look down at him, studying his pretty lips and his chocolate eyes. 

Instead of responding, you sit up, grabbing the hem of the oversized T and lifting it over your head, tossing it to the side and baring yourself to your best friend for the first time.

“Fuck,” Johnny groans, gaze falling to your tits. His hands stay at a respectable location on your hips, and you grab one to lift it to your breast, adding pressure so he knows he’s allowed to give you a test squeeze.

Johnny begins to massage you, and you throw your head back, releasing a groan, swiveling your hips against him.

His thumb brushes over your hardened nipple and you mewl loudly, core throbbing from the stimulus.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, propping himself up so he can take your nipple into his mouth.

You cup the back of his head, keeping him on your chest while he worships you. His other hand finds your neglected breast, gently pinching and massaging while he sucks on your sensitive bud.

“John-” You don’t even know what to say, you’re entirely wrapped up in him. 

You’ve never felt a feral need like this before, but it’s not necessarily the primal type of drive. Instead, it’s a feeling of wanting to be close to this man- who you’ve been next to for so many years, but unable to touch. 

Except, he’s touching you now, and you want more. 

Johnny pulls away from your breasts, cupping the back of your head and drawing your lips to his again. “We should take our clothes off,” he suggests.

“That’s the best idea you’ve had all week,” you laugh. 

He helps you off of him, and you lay next to each other for a moment, both fumbling to get naked. As soon as you’re fully nude, Johnny rolls on top of you, slotting between your thighs. His lips find yours again, and his free hand trails down your body, teasing through your pussy lips.

“You’re already so wet,” he muses.

“I’ve wanted this for a long time,” you admit.

“Me too,” he assures you, capturing your mouth with his own while he teases a finger into your hole. You push your hips up, wanting more, and you latch onto his strong shoulders, moaning into the kiss.

Johnny’s a big man, and his finger is enough to have you wriggling below him. “Easy, honey,” he grins, looking down at you with eyes full of adoration. “Gotta stretch you open.”

“Fuck,” you groan- does this man read erotica in his spare time? How is a thirty year old, single dad, this well versed in dirty talk even though you’re pretty sure he hasn’t been laid in forever?

He adds a second finger, curling them to find your gspot. As he pumps his hand, lips pressed to yours in a mad frenzy, you can hear your wetness with each motion. 

It feels unreal- have fingers alone ever done a number like this on you?

Johnny twists his hand a little, knuckles dragging along your sensitive inner walls. It’s like he’s trying to carve out a space for his cock, although, you know now that this won’t be enough. He’s thick and throbbing on your hip, his length so large you think he might just blow your entire back out when he slips it into you.

Even though you’re eager to be - for lack of a better word - impaled on him, Johnny takes his time kissing you, his fingers continuing their motions. “Wanna rub your clit for me?” he asks, moving his mouth to your neck. “I want to watch you cum.”

Your toes curl at his words, and you bring your hand to your pussy, drawing circles on the sensitive bud while he continues to stroke your inner walls.

Your core throbs around him, whimpers of pleasure escaping you. 

“You’re being so good for me, honey,” Johnny tells you, making your insides flutter even more from the sincere words of praise.

Cumming hasn’t always been the easiest thing in the world for you. There are many partners you’ve had who never had the wherewithal to get you there- but somehow, Johnny just knows you. Or maybe, it’s because he knows you- because you feel safe with him, that you feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

It also helps that it’s your own fingers on your clit, you know exactly what you like, what pressure, what motions- the digits working you open are just an added bonus that have you seeing stars as you make your way to your peak.

“John,” you gasp, tits pushing up toward his chest when your back arches. “I’m gonna-”

“Let it out for me,” he encourages you softly. “You deserve it.”

“I deserve your cock,” you whine, shocked at your own blatant neediness.

Johnny only laughs. “After,” he assures you, “I promise.”

A few more circles of your clit has the cord in your stomach snapping, your orgasm washing over your like warm summer waves. Your entire body tingles with delight, gasps leaving you as your pussy fully throbs around his fingers, your clit pulsing with desire.

“So pretty,” he whispers, bringing his lips to yours.

From the way he smiles against your mouth, you can tell he doesn’t care that you’re moaning so much he can hardly kiss you.

It’s a closeness you’ve never felt before, and he helps you through your orgasm until you’re pulling your hand away in favour of grabbing his shoulders.

Johnny takes his fingers out of your core, and you watch under hooded eyelids as he brings them to his lips, sucking them clean and releasing a groan. “Everything you do tastes better than what I bring to the table.”

You laugh. He’s such a fucking chef.

“Some might even say it’s…” you stifle a giggle, “Finger licking good.” 

Johnny lets out a laugh, eyes lighting up. God, you love this soft, laughter infused sex- you’ve never experienced anything like it.

You grab the back of his neck, drawing his mouth to your own. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and there’s something so erotic about it. He moans loudly, rubbing his cock between your wet pussy lips.

The tip of his cock is stimulating your clit and it sends jitters through you. You can feel how soaked you are, and you wouldn’t be surprised if this ended with a wet patch on his bed from how turned on you’ve been throughout this whole experience.

Johnny seems intent with grinding against you, but you’re lacking patience today, and you reach between your bodies to grab his cock.

Johnny breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours and looking down at where you’re gripping him. He doesn’t say anything, his gaze shifting back to your own. There’s a question in his eyes, and you’re both aware that this is the final line. Once you cross this, there’s no going back.

You bring his cock to your wet hole, and with very little effort, you help guide the head of his cock inside of you.

“Fuck,” Johnny groans immediately, fists bunching at the pillow on either side of your head. “You’re so tight- are you sure you’re good with this?”

“You’re just- fuck,” you whimper as another inch sinks into you, “you’re just big!”

“Maybe you’ll have to get used to it,” he grins, pushing deeper.

You moan loudly, clawing at his shoulders. “Maybe I will,” you gasp. 

He brings his mouth close to your own, until your lips are just brushing, eyes meeting when he says, “I’m looking forward to it.”

As he kisses you, he pushes fully into your warm, wet, throbbing core. His hips are flush to your own, and you swear no one’s ever been this deep inside of you.

Your legs shake on either side of his hips, body suspended in this odd purgatory-like place between extreme pleasure, and an uncomfortable feeling of being stretched more than you’ve ever been stretched before.

“Are you good?” he asks, lips moving to your cheek while you struggle to aclimatize to his cock.

“Yeah,” you nod quickly. “Just- fuck me, it will be easier.”

“If you say so, honey.”

The first thrust has your toes curling, eyes clenching shut with pleasure. A sound that’s never come from you before leaves your lips- a sound you’ve heard in porn, but always thought was an overexpression.

Your fingers dig into Johnny’s shoulders, and he holds you close, mouth finding your neck while he begins to fuck you.

Although, would this be called fucking?

The fluidity of his motions- the way you’re clinging to each other- it feels more like making love, and your skin tingles with the realization.

“Johnny?” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Tell me you love me again, like you did when you were drunk.”

“I love you,” he says immediately, holding you even tighter. “I love you so much that sometimes it hurts.”

Your entire body both relaxes and is set on fire by his words, your core throbbing desperately around his massive cock. 

“Johnny-” you whimper.

“Tell me you love me too,” he pleads.

“I love you too,” you whisper, threading your fingers through his hair and bringing his face close to yours so you can look up into his eyes. “I love you too.” 

Johnny’s hand finds your thigh, hiking it higher on his hip. Somehow, he hits even deeper now, and you wriggle below him, more sounds of pleasure escaping you and filling the room.

“You sound so good, honey- I won’t last if you keep squeezing me and moaning-”

“Then don’t last,” you gasp. “Want you to cum.”

“Where should I cum?”

“Inside- I’m on birth control, just- fuck, Johnny, cum inside.”

He groans, pressing his mouth firmly to your own, his tongue dancing along yours as his motions get even faster.

You’re clinging to him for dear life at this point, and when he slips a hand between your bodies to rub your clit, you nearly begin to cry from how good it feels.

“Love the way your pussy sucks me in when we play with your clit,” he tells you. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck-

“Do you think you can cum for me again? I don’t want to be the only one cumming.”

“Yeah, yeah- fuck, yeah, I can cum again,” you whimper desperately.

“Let me know when,” he instructs, adjusting his motions ever so slightly so each thrust has his cock dragging against your gspot.

You let out a squeal of delight, your thighs shaking around his hips, stomach muscles clenching almost painfully-

“Fuck, John, I’m there- shit, fuck-”

Johnny shuts you up with his lips against your own, and for a second time, your orgasm hits you.

Your core clamps down incredibly hard on his cock, and Johnny groans deeply above you, fingers twitching on your clit. He keeps his pace, and a moment later, you feel his cum filling you up, coating your walls with warmth.

The feeling of his large length throbbing in your own oversensitive hole has your entire mind going fuzzy, and you kiss him like a woman lost, like a woman so completely in love that nothing else matters.

You ride out your orgasms together, until you’re both shaking. Only then does Johnny come to a stop on top of you, kisses turning to a more gentle nature as he holds you close. 

“I love you,” he tells you again.

You smile, blinking up at your best friend. “And I love you.”

Epilogue

The two of you are in the kitchen cooking brunch. Johnny is pressed to your back, watching intently, asking all sorts of questions about how you cook eggs to make them so delicious and superior to his own.

“The secret ingredient is love,” you tease.

Johnny can only laugh, holding you tighter.

He’s so lost in you, that he loses track of time, and as the two of you are sitting down to eat, Soonbok walks through the front door. She stops in her tracks when she sees you, letting her little overnight bag slip to the ground.

“Oh, hi, baby,” Johnny stands up immediately.

“Hi, daddy,” Soonie says, allowing her dad to pick her up for a hug while her eyes shift to you.

“Did Sabrina’s mom drop you off?” Johnny asks, looking out the door to wave at Soonie’s friend’s mom as she drives away.

“As always, daddy,” Soonie laughs. “I didn’t know y/n was coming over.”

“Surprise,” you grin, also standing so that when Johnny sets his daughter to the ground, she can run to give you a hug of your own.

Once Soonie is done squeezing you as tight as her little arms can muster, she looks between you and Johnny. For some reason, Johnny feels his heart beginning to race, there’s a knowing in his daughters eyes.

“What’s going on?” Soonie asks finally.

“Y/N and I just had a little sleep over,” Johnny tries to explain, and the concept isn’t a new one, you sleep over frequently… in the guest bedroom.

“So…” a wicked grin appears on Soonbok’s face, “Does this mean you’ll stop trying to get me to call her auntie now?”

“What?” Johnny lets out a surprised laugh.

“You heard me, daddy,” Soonbok’s smile widens. “Does this… does this mean we’ll be a real family now?”

Johnny lets out a shuddery breath. In the years you’ve been helping raise Soonbok, Johnny has broached the idea of her calling you Auntie Y/N, as a respect thing, and his daughter has always refused. Had she seen the connection this whole time? Has this been something Soonbok has wanted ever since she was a five year old with an inquisitive mind and an even more discerning eye?

Johnny’s gaze shifts to you, and you flash him a warm smile.

“Yeah, baby,” Johnny picks up his daughter. “We can be a real family now.”

☀️ mlist + an. Thank you so much for reading! This was such a fun project for me, thank you so much to everyone who encouraged me to write for Chef John, he deserved his happy ending :)

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🔮 preview. The man ordering can’t see you lying on the floor of the food truck. He has no idea what’s going on- and you feel like tempting fate a little. You bring your hand to your pussy, beginning to rub yourself through your pants, adjusting the vibrator ever so slightly as it buzzes inside you. Johnny nearly drops the tomato he’s holding, quickly tearing his gaze from yours. You’ve never seen him trying to focus this hard- and failing. What had been your torture initially, has just become his own, and you kind of love it.

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, exhibitionism (fucking in a food truck), use of vibrator while helping a customer, vibrator as a makeshift gag ball, breast worship, fucking with half your clothes on, fingering, multiple reader orgasms, big dick Johnny, pussy stretching, dirty talk, praise, breeding kink, etc…   I petnames. (hers) honey

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.1k I teaser wc. 230

🌙 starring. Johnny x afab!Reader

bonus

You love working with Johnny. Sure, it had been rough at first, getting his food truck on its feet, but it’s been two years, and with some insanely good marketing, you’re now running one of the top trucks in the city.

It’s a joy to watch Johnny fulfill his dreams every day- his odd obsession with sandwiches of all things has only added to your connection. Watching him smile and charm guests makes your heart swell with joy, and on the rare occasion Soonie comes to do the register and take orders, it feels like you’re just one happy family.

Today, however, is a weather disaster. The forcast had mentioned light sprinkles, but cuddled next to Johnny looking out at the torrential downpour, you both feel a little bamboozled.

“You know what would make this more fun?” Johnny asks.

“Customers?” you suggest.

“Yes, but also… I got you something.” The chef flashes you a sly smirk, and you pull away from his shoulder to asses him.

“Am I going to like where this is going?” you ask.

He was single for so long- and there’d been so many sexual things he’d missed out on during that time, but the two of you are making up for it every moment you have alone. You suppose this is a moment alone, so you’re not really shocked that his mind is in the gutter.

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