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lovely lovely yes good

modern!leto atreides- bittersweet

Summary: Under pressure from his family, Leto feels like he has to marry you. Not wanting to be a burden, or duty, you break up with him. You and Leto, though, can’t really stay apart. (~4.4k)

Contents: 18+, fem!reader, shorter than Leto, fighting, breaking up, reconciling, fingering, oral sex, the ducal ring is a sex toy now (don’t look at me like that and IRL- make sure any jewelry is clean and retrievable if you put it in… places)

:: Part 1- Sweet Like // Part 2- Sweeter With You ::

-----

You’re standing in the bedroom, waiting for Leto to get home. His board meeting went late. 

Not Atreides Industries and not the Foundation. The family board meeting.

It’s rare for all of them to get together. Mostly because they don’t get along.

Leto’s cousins are vicious know-it-alls, led around by the family teat (which Leto controls). A handful of aunts and uncles are lazy and jealous.

Leto’s parents had split up years ago. Their divorce had almost sunk the entire empire and then Paulus had died a few years afterward.

Rumor was, Helena had Paulus killed in car racing accident.

There'd been a savage power struggle afterward, but no one had fucked with Leto since he took the helm of everything. They knew he'd bury anyone who tried to so much as smudge Paulus' legacy.

Still, Helena insisted on calling Leto, ‘Duke,’ because she resented losing her titles after she divorced Paulus to marry some jackwad she’d only known for 2 weeks.

As far as you knew, Leto's father had been the only one in the family that was worth a damn. His death still haunted Leto.

It had given him the strength he needed, though, to keep them all in line. Even Paulus hadn't been able to keep the Atreides name scandal-free and running smoothly all the time.

From the outside, it looks like Leto rules with a velvet touch. Those closest to him know it’s just velvet over diamond-hard stone.

They think the only thing he loves is duty. But, he’d do anything to protect his family. He just doesn’t have any patience for their antics. He only has patience for yours.

As a treat, you’d put on something very high-class escort service. Black and green straps criss-cross your body and over your shoulders, along your back. Thin mesh ran across your breasts and a microscopic triangle between your legs. Your ass was out completely. The whole thing was held together by a knot at your lower back that you looked forward to Leto undoing with his teeth.

The heels were starting to hurt, though. Five inch stilettos on hard wood for, you check your watch, an hour and a half.

Finally, you hear the purr of Leto’s car outside. Mentally, you watch him go through his routine.

Handing his coat and keys to the staff, asking how their day was, asking where you were. Being informed that you’re upstairs, and the house is going to be empty in five minutes.

That look he’ll get in his eyes as he looks up the stairs. From tired to predatory in half a second. He'll know what you're up to, and he's oh-so happy to play along.

You hear him walking up. You stay with your back to the door so he can take in the view when he comes in, knowing you're framed by the big window in the bedroom that overlooks the lush, darkening forest.

Leto sighs appreciatively. “My God, you’re gorgeous.”

You turn coyly to look at him. “You really think so?”

He undoes the buttons on his shirt cuffs, walking over to you. His dark eyes are guarded, lids half-lowered, a holdover from his work. It always takes him awhile to actually relax.

“Why don’t you reach into my pocket and find out?” He asks.

You lean in to kiss him, holding onto the salt and pepper of his beard. His tongue lightly tastes along your strawberry lip gloss.

Your hand winds its way down his body and into his pocket. Instead of what you usually find, there’s something else. Warm from Leto’s skin. You take it out.

A ring. A huge fucking diamond.

Your seductive smile disappears.

“I already have a ring,” you say, meaning the one Leto had given you months ago. One he’d help design himself. It's not just a piece of jewelry. It means a lot to both of you.

This diamond looks as big as a Fiat. Too big to fit in the palm of your hand, where it currently rests.

“This is an heirloom,” you say, recognizing it.

“My mother was the last one to own it, yes. Don’t let that put you off,” Leto kisses your neck, letting his facial hair scrape your skin. “It’ll look much better on you.”

You study the cold stone.

The rock of Gibraltar, Leto's cousins called it, because anyone who'd ever worn it was secure for an eternity. Secured to the Atreides name and money.

“You’re a charmer,” you say quietly, thoughtfully. “Most eligible bachelor in the world, every year, since the day you turned eighteen.”

His arms catch you off guard, wrapping around you, his hands cupping your ass cheeks. Your hand closes around the rock to keep it from dropping.

“As I’ve said, I’m not eligible anymore. You’re taking me off the market. Officially,” he says, resting his forehead against yours.

“You wish, Atreides.” You try to keep it playful, try to twist away, but not too hard. You don’t actually want to escape.

He holds you firmly, his body steady until you give up your faux escape attempt. You scratch your fingers through his beard.

“I’m serious,” he says. “I spoke with my family today. I’m asking you to marry me.”

Your stomach tenses with nerves. “They’d never agree. We’ve talked about this. They think I’m way beneath you, and shallow, and eye candy. They don't like how I tease you.”

“It was their idea actually,” Leto says.

His tone though, is a little stressed, withholding. Something else is going on. You can feel it. 

You hold the ring up between you, in both of your eye-lines.

“What’s going on?” You ask Leto.

His hands sweep down your body, catching on the thin fabric of your lingerie, lingering over it. “They think it’s time for me to secure the Atreides legacy. They’d rather we were married.”

“They’d rather I sign legal documents, you mean.” You slip the ring back into the pockets of his suit pants.

Leto takes a deep breath, his face drawn. He loops his fingers in the elastic around your hips. “It wouldn’t change anything between us-“

“That’s bullshit, and you know it. Marriage isn’t nothing, especially to you,” you say, stubbornly refusing to put your arms around him.

His eyebrows draw together in a dark, worried line. “It isn’t that I don’t want to marry you. I would. If it were my choice.”

“Your family can’t make you marry me, Leto.”

“Yes, they can. You have no idea what they’re capable of.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” you say, losing patience. “They can’t make you marry me, if I don’t agree to it.”

Leto goes still, his gaze sharpens. “You know what us being married would do for you. You’re turning me down?”

“Is that really surprising? Given your hissy fit about the whole thing.”

He looks offended.

Good.

Let him be.

Let him feel as bad as you do, for making you feel like a chore. Like something controllable by his money and power. Gifts were one thing, but he only gave them to you because he loved you. And you love him.

You’d go along with anything Leto wanted, because usually, all either of you wants is for the other to be happy.

It’s not the first time his family has stolen his happiness, but you’ve never let it affect you. You’re always there to lift him back up. This time, Leto’s letting himself be dragged down, and he's not letting you help him. He's already decided.

Leto’s face is stern. “You really won’t do this for me? It’s one signature, baby.”

“I’m not your puppet. And your family can fuck straight off.” You grab your purse and look around for a jacket or a shirt. Anything to cover this ridiculous, stupid, lingerie that you want to burn in a bonfire and never see again.

“Sweetheart,” Leto says, sounding tired. “Where’re you going to go this time of night? Just sleep in one of the other rooms. We can talk in the morning.”

You swipe at the tears running down your face, watery mascara on your fingertips. “You don’t get it, Leto. There’s nothing to talk about anymore. I’m breaking up with you.”

His face goes tight, slightly annoyed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You can’t fix this.” You face him. For once, you’re ten steps ahead of him. You know exactly how this plays out, and there aren’t any good outcomes. “If we do get married, you resent it. If we don’t, I’ll resent that you hated the thought of it so much. We always said, the day this relationship becomes an obligation, it's over.”

He thinks it over, his shoulders slumped under the weight of your words. “Us breaking up is exactly what they want.”

The realization is bitter in your mouth. He’s right.

But you are too.

You’re not even angry anymore. You’re starting to go numb.

“Being with me is the first time in your whole life you didn’t do what was expected of you,” you say. “I guess this is where it gets you.”

You find one of Leto’s oversized button-ups. Your heart breaks as you put it on, folding it over yourself before you leave the room.

“Please, let Duncan drive you where you want to go,” Leto says, watchful, but making no move to stop you.

You have to shut your eyes to keep from looking at him one, last time. “He can take me to the end of the driveway. I’ll text someone to pick me up.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll tell me where you’re going,” he says quietly.

“No, I won’t.”

*****

As Duncan drives you down the long driveway, you sit in the back of the car; to start putting distance between yourself and anything to do with Leto Atreides.

But you look back at the house. The big, modern wood and glass structure that’s been the most important home of your life, because of the man inside.

A man you’re sure, right now, is still sitting on the end of his bed where you’d left him. As heartbroken as you are, probably. You hope, somehow, he’ll get over you faster than you’ll get over him. Not that you ever will.

You know how lonely Leto had been before you. Nothing but work and duty, the occasional fling to take the edge off.

Duncan opens your car door for you, hands you your backpack, the only thing you’d packed when you left.

He pats you on the shoulder. “Keep my number. If you need anything. I won’t tell the boss, if you don’t want me to. Gurney and Thurfir’d say the same.”

“Thanks,” you say, waving to your friend, who’s pulling up in her own car. You look up at Duncan. “Don’t let him marry just anyone.”

He gives you a quizzical look.

“Just, make sure whoever he marries, really loves him, okay?” You say, scuffing your sneaker into the dirt.

“If that’s what you want, then I guess you’d better come back soon.”

*****

Auto-pilot, a positive attitude, and your friends.

The only things that could get you through breaking up with Leto Atreides.

Your friends can’t even bash him, can’t shit talk him. He’s just that fucking perfect.

Once or twice a day, one of them will text you: you thought of anything yet?

As in, have you thought of something about Leto that we can all hate on, and make it easier for you?

You realize how dumb it sounds on paper.

One of the richest, most handsome men on the planet asked you to marry him and you said no.

His money to sex appeal ratio is billions:billions. That’s never happened ever before, in the history of this or any other planet.

Worse, you miss him like crazy.

You try, again, to think of something you hate about him. Nada.

Your phone notification chimes.

Leto: It’s been a week. Can I ask you out yet?

Your phone slides out of your hand and onto the carpeted floor of your friend’s living room.

You cover your face with your hands and lay back on the couch.

When you and Leto had met, you’d thought it was a one-time thing with a hot guy because you’d both been bored at the same party. He'd had a limo for privacy, and that was all you'd cared about.

Leto had wanted to take you to dinner afterward. You’d told him you’d think about it, and to text you in a week. You’d google’d him, realized his last name was Atreides, and fully expected to never hear from him again.

But a week later, he’d texted you. He hadn’t waited for a response. A few minutes after he’d sent it-

Your phone starts ringing.

Your resolve isn’t strong enough to talk to him. You shove your phone between the couch cushions.

It stops ringing.

The notification chimes.

Because you’re weak, you dig it back out and look at the screen.

Leto: Open the door

Knock, knock, knock

Leto has on a long coat against the cold Seattle night. His hair is a little wet, curling out of control, from the mist in the air. He’s taking off his black leather gloves as you invite him in. His eyes look you over, a concert tee and bare feet. At least you have on underwear.

He licks his bottom lip and walks inside. He looks ridiculous in a studio apartment. You know for a fact his coat cost almost seven grand, because you’d bought it.

He runs a hand through his wet curls. One eye on you, he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket. On his pinkie finger, not even fitting down all the way, is your ring, the one he’d had made for you. The complicated swirls of metal and stones shine even in the low light.

“You said you’d never give any of it back,” he says, looking at the ring.

“If you broke up with me, I wouldn’t have. But I did the breaking-up. Lucky you.”

“Lucky me,” he says quietly, with the deep sense of irony he seems to have been born with.

He slips the ring off of his finger and into the palm of his hand. He holds it out to you.

“I’m not taking that,” you fold your arms.

The corner of his mouth twitches, but his eyes stay serious and dark. “It’s yours. The house in Joshua Tree is yours. Your car, your clothes. You picked out most of the art at all the houses. Don’t make me bring your jewelry over because I’m pretty sure your friend’s rental insurance won’t cover six million dollars.”

His gaze sweeps over the room with a raised eyebrow.

“Baby, no offense to your friend, but you don’t belong here,” he says.

“No one’s too rich for an Ikea couch,” you say primly.

Leto’s eyes shut, like he needs a moment to process. “Please tell me you’re not sleeping on a couch. I can’t picture it.”

“I wasn’t born with a silver mine up my ass like you were,” you say.

“As you’ve told me,” he says curtly. “It’s not my fault I was born who I was. You’ve never held it against me before.”

“Because you never tried to use it against me.”

“I wanted to marry you. Most women would consider that a compliment.”

“The reason you love me is because I’m not most women.”

“You’ve got me there,” Leto says, straightening his coat, calming down. He looks at the hem of your long t-shirt. “Anything interesting on under that shirt?”

You tug down the fabric.

He looks at you from under his brows. “I tried money. I tried sex. I’m all out of ideas.” His brown eyes sparkle at you. “I could explain how I feel, but I’m sure you’re not interested.”

You try very hard not to pout.

Leto takes a step closer and you turn your head away from him. You can smell his cologne. In your bare feet, he's inches taller than you.

You can tell from his shoes that he's still wearing his suit from work. He'll have a few mints in his left pants pocket, and a huge wad of cash in the other.

Sometimes, if you're good, he lets you fuck yourself on his thigh, over his suit, right at his desk while he works. He doesn't even lock the door.

All things that shouldn't make you wet, but when it comes to Leto, everything does.

And the way he takes care of you afterward... that's the real magic.

“I miss your impractical outfits. Your skin, your light,” he says, stalking you even though you’re not walking away. “How needy you get in the middle of the night. You making me laugh. How I have to practically push you out of bed in the morning to get up. I love you.”

He rests a hand on your face. “Not a single minute has gone by this week that I don’t think about you.”

His other hand finds yours, lifts it to his lips. He kisses your ring finger, the right one, where your ring had been. He brushes his mustache over it.

“You can’t leave me. Just like I could never leave you,” he says. “You know that, right?”

Leto slowly lowers himself onto one knee. He holds your ring out to you, diamonds and emeralds winking.

“Please, come home,” he says, looking up at you with big, brown eyes.

This is the only time you’ve ever seen him not completely sure of himself. He might be nervous.

As much as you’d like to let him suffer, you can’t put off the inevitable. You belong together.

“I really meant it when I broke up with you,” you say, trying to make it clear.

The hesitation on his face dissolves. He gives you a small, relieved smile. “I know, sweetheart. Believe me. I know.”

“And I think we need to go somewhere, just the two of us for like, a couple of weeks at least. Reunion vacation,” you say.

“Whatever you want,” Leto says, still on one knee, but back to his old self. Amused, patient, and fully willing to entertain whatever whim you have.

You hold out your right hand and he slides the ring back onto your finger. You smile, looking at it. Then, you squat down in front of him, let your weight push you over so you can get Leto on his back on the floor, you straddling his lap.

He lets out an oof and a loud laugh.

“Back where you belong.” You say, playing with the curls of his hair.

His hands rest on your hips as he looks up at you. “I’m going to say this one more time and I’ll never bring it up again: do you want to get married?”

You think about it for a moment, winding his hair around your finger. “What would your family say if we didn’t?”

“If we never got married it would absolutely chap their asses to no end.”

“Let’s do that, then. Fuck ‘em.”

“No, baby, fuck me,” Leto says, pulling you down to kiss him.

You moan, tongues already tangling together as his hands lift your shirt to massage your ass. You kiss his face, hips rocking over his as he help you take off your underwear.

“You want to move to the couch?” You ask him. “My friend’s out for the whole night.”

Leto wants to argue. You see it on his face. He really wants to sweep you out of this perfectly acceptable, but very small, apartment and to somewhere more his style.

He lets loose a little sigh. “Sure. No one’s too rich for an Ikea couch, right?”

“That’s the spirit,” you smile as you kiss him.

“The things I do for you,” he mutters, a pleased look on his face.

“Since you’re in such a giving mood,” you say, kissing his neck and ear, “if you really want me to wear your ring, why don’t you give me the one that matters.”

His hands cup your face so he can look at you. “Always making mischief. Only Duke Atreides can wear the ducal signet.”

“It’d make a nice pendant. That’s all I’m saying.”

“I’ll have the engagement ring made into a necklace.” He licks along your pulse, making you moan. “It’ll look perfect swinging back and forth when I fuck you from behind.”

“Touch me,” you beg him.

He reaches behind you, slipping two fingers along your wet slit. You try to ride them, but he goes straight for your clit. You throw back your head, shaking.

“I’m going to spoil the shit out of you,” Leto pants, his teeth nipping the crook of your neck. “You’re going to come so many times, I’m going to carry you home passed out.”

He pushes his thick fingers into you, and you come from that alone. The rough pads of his fingers along your hot, sensitive skin. You feel your cunt clench hard. He fingers you deeper and you whimper, the cold of his heavy, metal ring pushing inside of you.

You buck against him, warming the metal, holding onto his fingers with your muscles and fucking them in and out of yourself.

“You’re going to take it off my finger if you keep doing that,” Leto growls.

“You can get it back out with your tongue,” you say.

He pulls his fingers away and you’re about to complain, but he flips you onto your back. He’d been a Greco-Roman wrestler in college and you’ve never stopped thanking him for it.

He holds up his hand, fingers and ring shiny and wet from you.

Leto parts his lips and slides it all into his mouth. His finger is naked when he pulls back out. He takes off his coat impatiently, bunching it up and shoving it under your hips so he can lay on the floor between your legs, eye-level with his goal.

You pull them up, already aching for his mouth.

“You want the ring?” He says, his words heavy and sluggish around the metal in his mouth. “I’ll give it to you, sweetheart.”

His mouth invades your cunt, licking shallowly at first, then deeper. His mustache and beard scrape your skin and you squirm. You’d missed that feeling so fucking much.

Your back arches when you feel the heavy circle of metal on the tip of Leto’s tongue. He thrusts it into your core, his tongue pushing it deep into your cunt before he laps gently at your clit.

“You feel that? The weight of the fucking world,” he looks down at your pussy, dragging his fingers through the dripping wetness, “but I think she can handle it. Fuck. I've never seen a prettier pussy.”

His fingers play with the ring inside of you as his mouth suctions to your clit. 

He teases you, torments and over-stimulates you, until you’re a pile of what used to be a human woman on the floor. The mess of liquids has completely ruined his expensive coat. At some point, he’d fished his big ring out and put it back on his finger. He’d helped you to the couch. You’d helped yourself to sucking his cock.

You could tell he hadn’t come in at least few days. He’d been on a hair-trigger and you’d swallowed what felt like a gallon of cum, nose pressed to the neat hair above his cock, humming and gagging around him.

You nuzzle his thigh afterward, feeling like you want to purr, just from being near him again.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Leto says, one hand stroking your hair while he looks down at you. “Couch isn’t so bad after all. We’ll have to send your friend new furniture to thank her for letting us use hers.”

You sit back up on the couch, close to Leto, your legs over his lap. “She’d rather have dresses. She loves the fabrics from your company in Florence.”

He nods. “Okay. Dresses it is.”

You stretch your arms over your head. “Speaking of clothes, I really missed mine.”

Leto gives you a look. “They’re waiting for you. Every night I walked past your dressing room and I could hear them crying your name.”

“Ha ha,” you roll your eyes.

“Or maybe that was me crying,” he says dryly, unfolding the hem of your t-shirt so it lays flat.

Your heart twists inside your chest. “Oh, Leto.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve never handled anything so badly in my entire life. That you would think, that I think, you’re a puppet or a plaything.” His beard twitches, his jaw sets hard.

“I know you don’t,” you say firmly. “Everything got all mixed up. It always does when your family gets involved.”

Leto kisses you, sucking on your lips, massaging them with his tongue. It’s intensely sweet, leaves your mouth a little sore and sensitive.

“From now on,” he says, knuckles brushing against your jaw lovingly, “anyone who says a word about you is cut off. They won’t cross me.”

“And what if I cross you?” You tease him.

“Your punishment is very, very different,” he says, biting your lip lightly. “But you’re never leaving me again.”

“Never,” you agree.

He rubs the ring on your right hand. “I’ve never seen a marriage that worked. Hell, never even a good relationship between two people. I don’t give a fuck about a wedding, but this ring means you’re everything to me.”

“I want to get you a ring too,” you say impulsively. “You can wear it on a chain around your neck.”

“I’m not much of a jewelry guy, baby,” Leto says reluctantly.

You clear your throat and tap his gigantic signet ring.

“Point taken,” he concedes.

Part of you is scared of his reaction, but your heart tells you what you're about to say is the right thing. "Do you still have your father's wedding ring? That's a family heirloom too, right? If you don't mind wearing it, I think I'd like that."

Leto rubs a hand over his beard. A cloud passes over his eyes and for a second, you think you've fucked everything up.

But his eyes, sometimes hard to decipher, are full of love and emotion. "That'd be perfect. I'd be honored to wear it."

You flop back on the couch with a contented sigh, the tension draining out of the air. “Good to know I still have the touch for making you do whatever I want.”

“A power you abuse regularly,” he says with a smirk. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way. I know you like to say I rule the family with an iron fist, but I think the truth is that you’ve had me under your thumb the entire time.”

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gone too long

Pairing: Steven Grant x F!Reader

Prompt: Masturbation

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, some angst (im sorry), masturbation, pillow humping, panty sniffing, piv, unprotected sex (lmk if I forgot anything)

WC: 3.2k

A/N: probably too long and emotional for kinktober but its my first time so bear with me please

You’ve been away for almost a week now. Steven tried to be good, he tried but it’s been so hard without you. He goes to bed alone, hard, surrounded by your scent and wakes up the same way.

He spends hours in the night writhing around in bed. He can’t sleep anymore, you always used to get him off after he came home from work and again before bed to help him sleep but now he just spends his time missing you, squeezing his throbbing cock, and crying for you as he palms himself to the edge of orgasm, unallowed to get himself over the edge.

He wakes up in more pain than when he went to sleep. His dreams are all about you, some sexual, some domestic, but they all make him hard. He cries for you some more before starting a painfully cold shower and setting off for the day. 

 If you were coming home tomorrow it’d be a different story. Steven would’ve stayed good, he would’ve waited for you, but he’s had a particularly hard day today, and amid all the commotion he forgot that you wouldn’t be there to comfort him. He’s thinking about you the entire bus ride home but it never clicks. He thinks about how he’ll stop you from cooking and order takeout, he’ll ask you to ride him as you guys wait, he’ll make sure you take it slow, savoring the way you guys feel together, how your bodies mold into one another perfectly. 

He fattens up in his pants as he unlocks the front door, he swears he can hear the TV on inside. He thinks about how you’ll tell him all about whatever new show you’ve found while he undresses you. 

He’s met with the most hollow feeling when he opens his door and reality stabs straight into his heart. 

Tears well in his eyes as he takes deep breaths, trying to calm himself. He keeps breathing slowly as he takes his shoes off, and as he puts his coat up. He starts breathing out through his mouth when the hollow feeling doesn’t leave, he keeps it up as he unpacks his bag, setting everything back in its proper place for the weekend, and he starts up a pot of tea. It’s all futile though, because his tears come pouring out the moment he sits on the bed, your faint scent gets pushed out of the cushioning and the hollow feeling becomes part of his bones. 

He can’t even function for the rest of the night, he turns the stove off through his watery gaze and buries himself in the blankets. Surrounding himself in your scent as he cries himself to sleep. 

He’s soft and sensitive when he wakes up, a state you know how to handle perfectly. But you’re not home. He has his usual morning delirium as he reaches out for you, reality slapping him as he feels your cold side of the bed. 

He rolls over onto his stomach, burying his face in your pillow- the only thing on the bed that still smells like you. 

Three more days. 

His cock is already twitching against the mattress as he huffs your scent, he whines at the stimulation. He wants to be a good boy. You asked him to wait for you, you said he could touch himself but you wanted his balls full for you. But you must not have understood how hard this would be for him. His hips are already grinding into the mattress. 

She won’t find out. Can’t. She’s not here.

He reaches out blindly for your side dresser, knowing you keep spare underwear in there. He feels something a bit hard and his head raises quickly to see what it is. His cock spasms at the sight. 

His mind flashes back to two weeks ago. One night, you and Marc were a little too drunk and way too needy. He pulled your panties to the side, fucked you, and let you soak it in your juices as he came over your stomach. He was too tired to clean you up so Steven took over after Marc fell asleep. You were sleeping so in an attempt to cause less of a commotion he just threw your panties in this drawer. He must’ve forgotten to get rid of it. 

Fuck. 

His hand is shaking as he brings it up to his face. There are dried white streaks of your arousal running all over the crotch, a small circle of it from where your pussy cried for him. He can’t help but moan at the sight and brings the fabric to his nose. It still smells like you, like her. His tongue is darting out to taste it before his brain has even finished processing your smell. His cock spurts out loads of pre-cum into his briefs as he starts to thrust against the bed again. He pushes your pillow down to his crotch with one hand as the other holds your old, dried panties to his face.

He feels so dirty as he does this, almost disgusted with himself but pleasure clouds his mind over as he feels the softness of your pillow on his pulsing dick. It’s comparable to how your pussy feels to him, not as warm and nowhere near as wet but just as soft.

He’s face first on the bed, your panties directly over his face the way your pussy would be, his tongue prodding at where your pretty little hole should be. He’s groaning out your name in half sobs, wishing you were here, wishing you were the one touching him because as good as this all feels… you still feel so much better. 

He feels the molten pleasure work its way up his spine, he feels his balls begin to throb with the load they’ve prepared. He feels it coming, he can feel how much there’ll be and a pang of guilt that he’s not saving it for you. He knows how much you love when he fills you up, how whiny you get when you’re packed full of his load, how you mutter his name on repeat, begging him to fill you up. 

But the thought just works him further to the edge, he can feel his muscles tighten as his dick starts to pulse, he feels relief just out of reach, and a small guilty smile spreads over his face at how good this is going to feel. His mind races through scenes of you, unable to choose one to cum to, your name rests on the tip of his tongue as his hips stutter into the pillow one last time before

nothing happens.

He can feel his orgasm at the tip of his cock, right there and he wants you. He forms scene after scene in his head of how many different ways you’ll touch him when you get back. He thinks about how many times you’ll make him cum, how you’ll coo over his overfilled, swollen balls, how you’ll apologize to him as you fuck him into oblivion but nothing gets close to how he feels when your hands are on him. He needs you.

The realization is accompanied by a teary whimper of your name into the pillow.

The teary whimper is followed by an angelic sound of “Steven?”

His head snaps up and he’s scrambling out of bed before he can rationalize the fact that you’re not supposed to be home for another four days. 

But you’re actually here. 

You’re smiling at him as you place your coat on the rack, your boots already off and eyebrows raised as you wait for him to make his way over to you. He’s standing in the doorway frozen. He thinks he’s lost it, that he was right, all these days without you did drive him insane. 

I told her this would happen. 

His eyes well with tears as he tries to will himself to see the truth. His fists are bunching at his sides, angry at the hope he felt when he thought he heard you calling his name, having already been riled up at his futile attempt at relief. 

You’re growing concerned under his indecipherable stare. “Steven?” He gasps and his eyes widen. You approach him slowly and cautiously, worried at this odd reaction. He takes a hesitant step toward you and gasps at the small amused smile that blooms on your lips. 

“Are you okay, Stevie? I wanted to surprise you but you seem-” You pause to look him up and down, finally taking him all in and noticing the bulge and wet patch in his pants. Your expression changes from shock to sultry disappointment. “You seem like you’ve been bad.”

His eyes are still wide and watery. “Are you really here?”

Your mask drops with a sad smile. “Of course I am, baby. Did you miss me that much?” He envelopes you in a hug, burying his face in your neck, inhaling your scent with a shaky groan. 

“I m-missed you so much. I’ve been good.” He’s already got that distant, airy, aroused tone as he speaks. “I didn’t cum. I- ” He’s started to grind against you already, his bulge pressing itself into your thigh over and over as he grips your shoulders. He’s moved to the top of your head, inhaling the scent of your conditioner. “I wanted to- I tried.” 

His voice breaks at the end and you can’t stand it anymore. You grab the hair on the back of his head and roughly work him to your lips, relishing in the loud moan that breaks from his throat as your lips meet his. He’s trying to lick into your mouth immediately and you let him, you’ve missed the way he tastes. Only, when his tongue presses into yours, he tastes different… something familiar but it’s not him. You pull away confused and Steven’s lips chase yours with a whine. You have to hold his face away from yours to get his attention. 

“Steven, what is that?” He’s too delirious to understand what you’re asking, he just tilts his head like a puppy. You try not to let your endearment show through, attempting to be stern. “What’s that taste?” You can see his recognition flash over his face as he realizes what you’re asking but he starts shaking his head slowly and pulling you back in. “It’s just you, darling.”

You let him kiss you as you process, his words paired with the vaguely familiar taste let it click. You’re moaning into his mouth and pressing your thigh back into his weeping cock, earning a grateful moan from him. 

You walk him back to the bedroom desperately. You’ve been yearning for him as much as he has for you. You spent nights rolling around in bed, clit pulsing for him, unsatisfied with your ministrations. You tried fingering yourself but your fingers were nowhere near as long or as thick as his, you couldn’t hit the same spots he could. You tried. You push him onto the bed with a grunt and notice a pair of undies where your pillow should be. Confusion flies over your face before you look back at Steven, noticing his red face.

‘I tried’ 

The memory of what Steven said earlier finally makes sense to you. It also explained his desperate, disheveled state, why he was leaking and yearning for you. 

Arousal shoots between your legs like a jolt of electricity as you picture the scene; Steven grinding against- your pillow it seems- as he sniffed and licked at your panties. 

That’s why my taste was on his tongue…

Steven’s face is still burning red, looking anywhere but at you, as his hips uncontrollably twitch up for you, it brings a fond smile to your face. You take off your pants, matching him in your bottoms, and place yourself on his clothed bulge with a moan. You meant to tease him but it was already affecting you more than you anticipated. His hips are already thrusting into yours, his hands on your hips to hold you- press you down into him. He’s moaning out for you, whining about how good you feel but still trying to hide his face in his shoulder.

You give in and swivel your hips against him, earning a whole new level of volume from Steven. His hands aren’t just resting on your hips, they’re running all over your body wildly, grabbing and groping anything he comes across. You lean down to his ear and begin your questioning.

“So what are m- shit. What are my panties d-doing over here, S-Steven?” His name accidentally comes out as a moan as he drags your clit right over the tip of his dick. He’s not even looking at you, his eyes are fixed on where he’s rubbing you against himself, the way his tip dips into your soft skin and leaves streaks of his pre all along the fabric. His jaw is dropped open and little pants make their way past his wet lips. 

You can see this feral look in his eyes that you’ve never witnessed. He’s told you drunkenly how badly he craves you but you’ve never actually seen it, you’ve never really believed him. Like this, though? You can see what he was talking about. You can tell that he’s zeroed in on how good you’re making him feel, you don’t think he even heard you, too entranced with how he’s moving you along his cock. 

Your pussy clenches at the thought and he can feel it. He falls back against the bed with a groan before propping himself up on his elbows to pull you both back against the headboard. He whimpers at the momentary loss of friction but smiles once he can collapse onto the board while still staring at you. His hands come back to grip your hips, upset that you’ve stopped moving your hips without his help but you stop him. You lean forward on him, pressing most of your weight on his tip, he gasps and grips your arms with a moan. “Please! Oh Gods-”

You silence him with a short kiss, pulling away before he’s satisfied. He starts to mumble pleas to you again but your finger is pressed into his lips, he licks them, tasting your finger in the process and moaning at the taste of your skin. “Stevie…” You pause and he sighs at the sound of his name on your lips. “Did you use my underwear to get off?”

His eyes widen and dart to where they lay, exposed on the bed. You feel his cock twitch under you and you have to bite your lip to hold in a whine at the way it rubbed over your clit. He’s embarrased but turned on at the fact that he thought you’d never find out but you still did. The way that he could never hide anything from you, the way you don’t seem upset at the fact you caught him.

“I needed you so b- bad an’ you- an’ everything smells like you. I- I’m sorry.” He drops his head onto your shoulder as his hips slowly grind into you. “ ‘M sorry, alrigh’?” His accent gets heavier as he grinds into you more deliberately. “I just- I jus’ -oh I needed you so b-bad.” He whimpers into your neck, trying to muffle himself in there. You’re lost in the feeling, in his words as he humps his cock into you. He’s kissing along your neck, sometimes just licking at your sweat and moaning at the taste. His hips were starting to twitch and stutter into yours, his moans pitched up and his hands began to bruise into your skin. “I’m-”

You lift off of him. “No- Wh-y? P-please.” You ignore his plea and pull your shirt and underwear off as he scrambles to do the same. “Are we gonna-?” You smile at him softly and prepare for your confession. 

“I couldn’t get off without you, Steven.” You shift your weight nervously as he just stares at you. “I- My fingers aren’t enough anymore.” You whine at him and his cock jumps, leaking onto the sheets as he reaches out for you. He pulls you into a kiss and fumbles to take your bra off. He lets you climb over him again and moans into your mouth as you line him up with your soaked hole. “Put it in. Put it in- shit. P- put- ” He’s cut off by both your moans as you sink onto him. 

“Fuck I can t-tell your- fuck.” He whines out as you as you squeeze around him. “Your little fingers aren’t enough t’properly stretch you f’me hm?” His eyes roll back and his eyebrows draw inward as you grind onto his cock. You try to keep a steady pace but his tip is slamming right into your G-Spot, pressing into it no matter what he does, no matter how you move. Your legs give out halfway through a thrust and your body slams down onto him. He groans your name and hugs your body close, planting his feet on the mattress and fucking into you slowly.

“S’it too much?” You moan his name into his ear and his cock jumps inside you. “Fuck I’m-mm” His words get drawn into a whine as his thrusts slowly lose rhythm. Your pussy begins to clench on him, arousal coiling in your stomach at the telltale signs that he’s gonna cum. Steven’s hand comes to cradle your head into his neck, stoking your hair softly and whispering soft assurances and begs for you to cum around him. 

“‘M right here. I’ll take care of ‘ye, keep you nice an’ safe. C’mon. Give it t-to me.” Your orgasm explodes inside you like a solar flare. It bursts in your stomach and ripples throughout your whole body, moans are shoved from your mouth, almost deafening Steven with their volume and pitch but they only push him over the edge. His cock twitches violently inside you before releasing a torrent of cum. He tries to stay semi-calm as his orgasm crashes over him, his stomach won’t stop tensing under you and his mouth can’t shut. He can’t hold any of his moans in as his balls empty themselves inside you. 

He feels like it’ll never end, he’s at his peak for what feels like years. He can hear you distantly whining about how full you feel, about how much he’s filling you up. His hips have a mind of their own as he ruts into you pathetically, doing anything he can to prolong his euphoric high. He feels tears spring to his eyes, unable to believe that you could make him feel so good. He feels your lips over his mouth that’s propped open on a silent moan. He’s panting out whines down your throat as you whisper praises to him.

“W- It won’t stop. It- f-feels so go-od” He’s gasping at you as he speaks, his entire body shaking as his cock spurts out more ropes into you. You’re leaking all over his thighs, unable to hold all the cum he’s pumping into you. He moans out your name one last time before his body goes limp, and his cock finally stops spitting into you. He’s incoherent for quite some time, fading in and out of consciousness. 

He always whines out for you when he wakes up, sniffing and huffing until some part of you comes in contact with him. Once it does he’s pulling you into a crushing hug and doesn’t let go for at least another hour.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, here's the rest of my Kinktober Works, and be sure to check out my Main Masterlist!!

“The entire idea of rereading implies just such a likeable and progressive assumption about life, one that’s meant to keep us interested in living it: namely, that as you get further along, you find out more valuable stuff; familiarity doesn’t always give way to dreary staleness, but often in fact to celestial understandings; that life and literature both are layered affairs you can work down through. […] Rereading a treasured and well-used book is a very different enterprise from reading a book the first time. It’s not that you don’t enter the same river twice. You actually do. It’s just not the same you who does the entering. By the time you get to the second go-round, you probably know—and know more about—what you don’t know, and are possibly more comfortable with that, at least in theory. And you come to a book the second or third time with a different hunger, a more settled sense about how far off the previously-mentioned great horizon really is for you, and what you do and don’t have time for, and what you might reasonably hope to gain from a later look.”

— Richard Ford on rereading. Lest we forget, Nabokov put it best: “A good reader, a major reader, an active and creative reader is a rereader.” (via explore-blog)

hi, everyone! i'm rereading poppy war (i know, crazy) and i still can't picture out how sinegard academy looks like, including its grounds and stuff (as in the whole campus). can someone drop a fanart or at least a place that kind of looks like it. thank you huhu😭

only fools fall for you | hyunjin sm au

synopsis:

you’re excited to finally get a new start at university, majoring in the thing you love the most; dancing, and you’re positive that absolutely nothing can ruin the quintessential college experience for you.

that is, until you run into your lifelong rival, hwang hyunjin and to make things worse…you can’t seem to get rid of him.

pairing: dancer! hyunjin x dancer! reader

fic type: social media au + written parts

genre: college au, angst, enemies to lovers, smut, mature content, friends with benefits, some fluff, slowburn (!)

status: complete

if you’d like to support me and my writing, you can buy me a coffee here! thank you so much.

masterlist:

playlist

yns squad

hyunjins squad

1. a fresh start

2. not a cat, minho

3. i need new friends

4. number one fan

5. a hopefully hot boy

6. bane of my existence

7. i blame felix

8. a beautiful dancer

9. did you just defend hyunjin

10. be more passionate

11. the enemy you know

12. should i be offended

13. is this even legal

14. the bar is so low

15. not a bad kisser

16. ready, ready baby

17. the morning after

18. what happened last night

19. showstopping

20. being sick

21. im gonna kill him

22. a pretty face

23. dramatic entrance

24. distracted

25. communication can help

26. the world would be a better place

27. get back at him

28. what i want

29. nothing to hide

30. you’ve matured

31. beautiful face but a terrible personality

32. one and done

33. you sound whipped

34. i want you to

35. does this make up for it

36. don’t say no

37. play with fire

38. weather forecast, wet

39. more important than ramen

40. you up?

41. not fighting anymore

42. english lit can wait

43. am i allowed to kiss you

44. red lights

45. the view

46. corn dogs

47. chaeprincess

48. i hate people

49. looking out for hyunjin

50. talk to yeji

51. how can you be sure ?

52. happy birthday han

53. everything okay ?

54. what happened in high school

55. happy for you

56. safe space

57. what’s kkami

58. yeji knows

59. moving on

60. you need to get out

61. unforgettable night

62. daisy

63. hatred is a strong word

64. not afraid to show it

65. hopeless romantic

66. not your business

67. have faith

68. little star

69. epilogue part 1 : the world is a better place

70. epilogue part 2: look where that got us

For the Kids

I believe you used to be 🤍 nonnie, I remember seeing that emoji around~ I'm glad you're back! There won't be much mention of medical stuff because I'm nowhere close to being a nurse, but I hope this is what you were looking for, nonnie! ❣ Summary: This visit was for the kids, so why did Chris find himself vying for a Pediatric nurse's attention? ❣  ❣ Word Count: 1.9k ❣ Warnings: No medical terms, Idol! AU, Pediatric Nurse! Reader, fluff, slight humor, flirting, open ended ❣  ❣ Female! Reader | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: Chan is referred to as Mr. Bang, Chris, and Christopher, Reader is referred to as Beautiful, lightly edited ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

“I’ll let the nurse guiding you know that you've arrived, please wait here.” 

Chris nodded enthusiastically as the nurse working behind the front desk turned away to grab a phone, turning his attention to listen to his manager and a few Skijigi discussing the schedule for the day.

 This event was something the members had looked forward to ever since they were allowed to add one more Stay-centered event to their log of the year; the day they ventured out to meet hospitalized children Stays to give them an experience they wouldn't get to see naturally. 

He'd decided to show up early in hopes of getting to meet the kids who weren’t able to make the time bracket due to an appointment or operation - the rest of the members scheduled to show up within the next hour and a half, according to his manager.

“Mr. Bang?”

He turned toward the unfamiliar voice, and the equally unfamiliar use of his last name, only to feel as if his world had gone into slow motion.

Walking up to him was a nurse, a fair assessment judging by the scrubs you wore, with a smile that made his heart skip a beat - part of him wondered if he’d have to check himself into a hospital based on his reaction alone; and when you introduced yourself he swore he heard bells ringing, your name suddenly becoming his favorite sound.

“Welcome to Seoul Mercy Hospital, I’ll be one of the nurses working with you guys today.”

“Hi,” smiling in earnest, he cleared his throat, his posture straightening ever so slightly,  “and just Chris is fine, ‘Mr. Bang’ feels too formal, you know?”

Your smile grew, a small laugh floating through you, “Is ‘Chan’ too formal, too?”

“No, no, Chan is perfectly fine, too - you can call me whatever you’d like.”

Chris tried his best to ignore how suggestive the sentence sounded, but judging from the way you pressed your lips together, you’d already caught the unintentional double entendre.

“Okay, Chris,” a glimmer of humor sparkled in your eyes, teasing and warm - comfortable, “if you’ll follow me, I can give you a quick tour of the area you’ll be using today before we go see the kids.”

The tour was short, yet fulfilling; the brisk walk of the hall bringing him to the play room booked for them to use decorated in Skzoo memorabilia with the life size standees wearing makeshift doctor outfits - there was even a table that stretched along a wall filled with Skzoo plushies and gift bags undoubtedly prepared by Skijigi.

“They’re so cute!” He squealed happily, petting WolfChan- Doctor WolfChan’s head as if he were a real dog, “Do the kids have any idea of what’s happening?”

“Well, of course they know that Stray Kids are coming to the hospital, but we haven’t told them how the whole afternoon will go just yet - we’d like to keep some things a secret, you know?” You gently caressed the soft fur of the Dwaekki standee, gazing at the decorated room with a fondness in your eyes, “This really means the world to them, and we tried our best to make it as grand as possible.”

A warm feeling settled in Chris’s chest, and he had to take a quick breath to dispel the heat from warming the rest of his body in turn. “If that’s the case, I hope that we can help make their day just a little bit brighter - and, hopefully, the nurses’ day too.”

You smiled, catching his eyes, “Trust me, you’re way ahead on that goal.”

It wasn’t long until the rest of the members began to show up, everyone slowly filling the break room specifically reserved for their visit while managers and nurses coordinated bringing the kids into the Skzoo Hospital before revealing their bigger surprise.

Being one of the lead pediatric nurses on duty, you did your part in ushering the line of children from their rooms and into the playroom - catching a glance of a certain leader as he sneakily peeked through the crack of the break room’s door, watching as the little kids spoke excitedly amongst themselves.

Soon the room was filled with children excitedly taking in the decorations and standees, and after a brief moment of gathering and pep-talking from your coworkers, the grand reveal commenced - the eight idols entering the room to excited cheers and applause. Managers ensured the small recording crew caught every reaction and the surprise performance the boys had prepared, before your shift lead announced that the members would be splitting into groups to play and spend time with the kids in Skzoo Hospital.

From small tables arranged for arts and crafts to a controlled space for duck, duck, goose, the activities were enough to keep both the children and the kids irrevocably entertained.

Chris was having a riveting conversation with one of the children at the art station about the best color to draw with when he felt a tug at his shirt, turning his head to see a little girl - who’d happily introduced herself as Narae - holding a sheet of paper with a smile as bright as the sun.

“Wanna see my drawing?”

He smiled at her small, excited little bounces and nodded, “Of course! What is it?”

Turning her paper around, tiny fingers pointed to the colorful figures on the page, “This is me and Leebit picking flowers, I have a yellow flower because it’s my favorite color, and over here is PuppyM wearing a flower crown- Oh, and here is Nurse Y/n having a picnic with WolfChan! She’s my favorite nurse, and he’s her favorite Skzoo, so I drew them together!”

The innocent mention of his representative plush being your favorite sent his heart rate skyrocketing, and he could feel a sheepish blush beginning to take over his ears as he studied the drawing.

“She says he has a cute tail, but I think Leebit’s tail is cuter because it’s fluffy like a bunny,” Narae mumbled, turning her paper around as if inspecting it. “My friend says Bbokari has a cuter tail, but chickens don’t have tails! They have chicken butts!”

Stifling a laugh, he grinned, “You know what? You should go ask Felix if Bbokari has a tail or a chicken butt, he knows all about him.”

She gave him a quick nod before rushing off toward the dancer, determined to get her point proven, leaving Chris to grapple with this newfound knowledge; picking up a crayon and a piece of paper to draw with the children around him.

Eventually the little meet and greet came to an end, the boys handing out the small gift bags to the children who were able to make the event while some of the kids gifted their drawings to the members in return.

With a chorus of ‘thank you’s and well wishes, you led the idol group back to the break room while your coworkers busied themselves with organizing the children to be ushered back into their rooms for the evening.

“I’m never going to let you live down the fact that you actually lost at duck, duck, goose to a kid, Felix,” Seungmin laughed mockingly, the blond’s demise putting a glittering smile on his face.

“Hey! Dohyeon is really fast for his age, okay? I wasn’t going to try to beat a child at a silly little game!”

“I would,” Minho hummed as he passed by the duo, grabbing a bottle of water from the small refreshments table, “teach them early - life isn’t fair.”

“Hyung!”

Chris let out a heavy sigh as the chaos of his members slowly grew, though his anguish was quickly curbed by the sound of your laughter, poorly hidden behind your hand.

Making his way over to you, he nodded his head toward his friends, “I’m sorry about them.”

You waved his apology off with your hand, shaking your head, “Don’t be, that just means you guys had fun - I’m sure the children did too, I haven’t seen their faces light up like that in a while.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m glad we were able to make their day a bit more special.”

His voice was soft, earnest with a sparkle in his eyes and you felt a small flutter float through you as you hummed in affirmation. 

“And a few of the nurses, too, it’s not often that we get visitors like you guys who have the time to come by and do little things like this, it means a lot to us.”

“You know,” he hummed, leaning his shoulder against the wall, “I learned something interesting while talking to one of the kids today.”

Raising an eyebrow, you couldn’t help the fleeting sense of worry tug at your psyche from his curious tone. “Did you? And what would that be, Chris?”

“Well, let’s just say, if you want anything WolfChan themed, I’d be more than happy to get it for you.” A smug smirk began to tug at his lips, his voice lowering to a volume only you could catch, “And, if he were real, I think you’d be his favorite, too.”

Your eyes widened a fraction as a wave of embarrassment washed over you, though you recovered with narrowed eyes, “Which one of those rascals told you that?”

“Hey - my lips are sealed!” He chuckled, holding his hands up in moc defense, though the playful shine in his eyes remained. “I’m just the messenger here.”

Nodding slowly, you pursed your lips in thought, “Alright, then what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Well, since you’re real and WolfChan isn’t,” your voice trailed off as you tilted your head inquisitively, “am I your favorite?”

You weren’t sure where the sudden burst of confidence came from, but he’d started the teasing act first, so it was only fair that you played with him at his own game.

Chris bristled at the sudden question, his posture straightening just a bit as his eyes searched yours for any sign of encouragement, a warmth setting over him as the corner of your lip ticked up in challenge.

“My favorite, hm?” He pondered for a moment, tapping his chin before glancing at you with a sparkle that had your heart fluttering, “I’d say there’s no contest, but I’d rather have more time to really figure it out, you know?”

“Is that a proposition, Christopher?”

“It’s a promise, if you’d let me.”

Stepping forward just an inch, you couldn’t fight the smile working its way onto your lips, “I would, but I don’t like when people can’t fulfill their promises.”

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t plan on breaking this one.” He murmured as he leaned forward the same amount, though his entire being begged to close the distance to feel your lips on his. “How about it then, beautiful?”

“Chan hyung! We’ve gotta go soon!”

Your heart sunk at the warning call, looking at him before giving a firm nod, “It’s a deal, but-”

“Don’t worry,” digging into his pocket, he pulled out a neatly folded piece of paper before slyly sliding it into your hand, “we’ll figure out the details, yeah? Patient-nurse confidentiality, and all that.”

Giggling, you tried to ignore the way his hand felt in yours, melting at the warmth he radiated, “Of course, completely confidential.”

He grinned, letting his hand slip from yours he ducked his head in a silent goodbye, “See you later?”

“See you soon.” You reassured him with a glittering smile, watching as he reunited with the rest of his members and management team and joining them in whatever discussion they were wrapping up with.

Taking the chance to unfold the paper he gave to you, your eyes quickly read the numbers neatly scribbled in blue crayon, followed by a cute doodle of WolfChan’s face and a short message.

‘P.S. I think you have a cute butt, too - Chris’

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @nightimescapes , @caitlyn98s , @ch4nn13luv , @ihrtlix , @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997 , @maximumkillshot , @y-ur--i , @acker-night , @dreamescapeswriting , @specialstay , @s00buwu , @tinyelfperson , @jj-stay , @katsukis1wife , @inlovewithmusician , @keen-li , @armystay89 , @main-character0 , @vampcharxter , @ddyskz , @prettymiye0n , @bbgnyx , @bahng-chrizz , @milknhoneyracha , @hann1bee , @palindrome969 , @newhope8 , @luminouskalopsia , @kpopsstuffs , @starquokka , @wolfs-howling , @laylasbunbunny , @zaethefangirl, @chxnb97, @4-chan-inpadella , @butterflydemons ,

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I started writing Twist ten years ago, it was the third or so story I’d ever written and basically I didnt know what I was doing. Twist started as a one-shot, me pondering what Harry would’ve felt if realized he was gay after 4th year and not sure how to come to terms with that fact along with everything else that wasgoing on in his life. I wanted Harry to have a friend to talk to and Cedric, one of the great undeveloped characters in the series, seemed a natural person to help Harry. After I posted the one-shot I started wondering if I could write a hp/dm and still follow canon. And Twist was born.

However! I still didnt know what the heck I was doing and had no beta. So I just wrote and posted it, and gradually got a little better at writing as I went along (with 300k there is a lot of opportunity to improve). About halfway through I read Faithwood’s wonderful Fic writing 101 and learned that epithets were a no-no. Oops.

Tl/dr: in honor of Twist’s tenth anniversary I am working with Omi_ohmy and editing the entire thing. We just finished the first five chapters (well, prologue + chapters 1-4) and I’ve posted the updated chapters on AO3, the version on ff will remain the original.

Twist factoid: I added the prologue to Twist after writing and posting the first four chapters because I realized the thing was presenting as all fun and fluff and I knew what was coming and wanted to give some forewarning.

TWTHH Spinoff: Stitched Hearts [1]

Pairing: dressmaker!Hongjoong x noblewoman!reader

AU: historical au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 6.5k

Summary: Throughout his entire career, Hongjoong has received nothing but praise for his work. Never once had anyone suggested his dresses were anything short of perfection. That is, until he met the youngest daughter of the Baek household—the family's black sheep, an enigmatic spinster whom he found utterly confounding.

A/N: As stated in the title, this is a spinoff. If you have yet to check out the main story, it's probably better to read that before starting this.

Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist | Part 2

"Father, mother, we're back!" called out Haeun, your eldest sister who had been married for years now, returning home with her husband and children to celebrate the birth of your middle brother's first child.

"You're home, our dear daughter!" Your parents enthusiastically rose from their seats to greet her, showering her with praise for leading such a successful life, whatever that meant; it was a concept you still struggled to comprehend to this day.

After exchanging pleasantries with your parents, she made a beeline for your brother, completely disregarding your timid presence in the corner of the room, "Hajoon-ah, congratulations, my brother! It's high time you joined the parent club!"

Your brother-in-law, displaying a touch more consideration than his wife, offered you a warm smile before joining 'the adults' in conversation, leaving you to quietly observe your nieces and nephews playing joyfully in the courtyard. At times, you were envious of the simplicity of children's lives—so carefree, with no expectations weighing them down. Unlike them, you felt constantly burdened by the expectations placed upon you.

This had been the pattern for as long as you could recall—living in the shadows of your successful sister and brother, both excelling in nearly every aspect of life. Haeun, intelligent and outgoing, had swiftly found a suitable match upon reaching marriageable age, becoming the epitome of a perfect daughter in your parents' eyes. Hajoon wasn't far behind, securing a position in the local government and dutifully marrying the girl your parents had chosen for him.

And then there was you.

The black sheep of the Baek household, the peculiar one, always kept to yourself, showing little interest in feminine pursuits such as cooking, gardening, embroidering, or any similar activities. Your days were spent predominantly at home, frequenting your father's extensive library and immersing yourself in the countless storybooks it housed, often seeking solace in the realms of fantasy they offered. Your lack of enthusiasm for conventional interests rendered you an enigma even to your parents.

You maintained scant friendships, lacking any love interests or potential marriage prospects. Unlike other young women, you harboured no desire to adorn yourself or enhance your appearance; you appeared strangely content in your plain white hanboks and minimal hair accessories. Your demeanour led most people to forget the existence of a third daughter in the Baek family altogether. Those who did recall you were hesitant to consider you as a potential match for their sons, and the young men themselves showed no interest.

While your parents had initially held onto hope that you would eventually find your own path to settling down, their concerns began to mount as you surpassed the ideal age for marriage. Beyond mere age considerations, most young women your age were already married with children, leaving you perpetually single.

Though you concealed it well, you weren't oblivious to the whispers and rumours circulating about you already being labelled a spinster. The servants of your family estate often used you as a topic for gossip and entertainment, speculating whether you would ever find a spouse and placing bets on your marital prospects.

Finally deciding to acknowledge your presence, Haeun heaved a sigh before addressing you, "And how have you been, maknae? Will I be hearing news of you getting hitched any time soon?"

Glancing at her, you simply shrugged and shook your head, "Same old, unnie. And no, I don't think you will."

Hajoon frowned in resignation at your customary bluntness, "With that attitude, definitely not. Do you even have any intention of settling down? What are your plans for the future, hm? Are you going to keep causing our parents to worry like this?"

Your mother shook her head, silently urging him to be gentler with you, a twinge of sympathy stirring within her. In your younger years, her favouritism was evident in the way she showered attention primarily to your sister and brother, especially since your father was often away for work. While your siblings made efforts to bond with him during his brief returns, you showed little interest. Consequently, your relationship with your parents wasn't as close-knit as theirs.

It wasn't until Haeun had married and left home that your mother attempted to show you some affection, though by then, it seemed too late to truly connect with you. Despite her earnest efforts, she struggled to understand you. The rest of the family faced similar difficulties. You remained a mystery to everyone, always lost in your own world.

For once, instead of reacting with anger or responding passive-aggressively out of frustration, your sister nodded slowly, as if making a concerted effort to remain patient with you. Despite her occasional harshness towards you, she hadn't always been unkind. As your only elder sister, she had tried to foster a bond with you throughout your childhood, but your reserved nature made it difficult, and your straightforwardness often unintentionally wounded her.

Deep down, she harboured a hope that her harshness might somehow elicit some sort of response from you. But by now, she had come to realise its futility, as you consistently maintained an unbothered demeanour, regardless of what others would say or do to you. Ultimately, she grew tired of attempting to decipher your mind and heart. The same goes for your brother.

However, despite their frustrations, you were still their youngest sibling, and they sincerely hoped that you would one day settle down, have someone care for you, and perhaps start a family of your own.

"I think I know what might help," Haeun began, capturing everyone's attention before continuing, "I've heard about a renowned dressmaker in town who has worked wonders for countless women. If I'm not mistaken, his craftsmanship has even garnered recognition from the King and Queen. I was just thinking... maybe all our youngest needs is just a little makeover?"

Your father's eyes widened in astonishment, "His work is recognised even by His and Her Majesty, you say?"

Haeun nodded enthusiastically, "Yes, father! I couldn't believe it myself, but it's true. He's the mastermind behind Lady Park's stunning white and gold wedding hanbok!"

"He must be truly exceptional! Well, then, it seems worth a try. Perhaps this is just what our youngest needs to catch the eye of a potential suitor," your mother chimed in, her gaze hopeful as she turned to you, "Are you on board with the idea, dear?"

All eyes swivelled to you, and you once again felt yourself shrinking under their scrutiny—this familiar sensation of never being enough for them. The truth was evident: they were all tired of you. You had been a disappointment your entire life. If all they desired was for you to marry and depart from the household, perhaps it would be best to acquiesce to their wishes. It wouldn't hurt to entertain their request.

With another indifferent shrug, you replied, "Sure, if that's what everyone wants. After all, I don't have much to lose."

For the first time in forever, your family's faces lit up with smiles because of you, cheered by your response. As you retreated to your quarters that night, your sister eagerly taking charge of contacting the renowned dressmaker they had discussed, you pondered whether their enthusiasm stemmed from a desire to see you gone.

In truth, your parents' neglect and blatant favouritism toward your siblings over you during your childhood had moulded you into someone who wore indifference as armour, a coping mechanism to shield yourself from the constant sadness you felt. The weight of constantly letting everyone down had driven you to suppress your emotions, opting instead to feign apathy. Eventually, this façade became your reality; it felt safer to shut yourself off from feeling anything at all.

As you attempted to drift off to sleep that night, thoughts of the acclaimed dressmaker they had been praising occupied your mind. You couldn't help but entertain the idea that, like everyone else, he too would eventually grow weary of you. Surely, upon seeing you, he would deem you a lost cause.

Heh, at least he'll be paid to deal with me.

"Thanks a bunch, hyung. I promise I'll treat you to the finest meal once this is over!" Wooyoung exclaimed, hugging the disguise crafted by the dressmaker at the eleventh hour for his latest case—more like a mission to play knight in shining armour, one that might finally win him the affections of a girl, unlike the silly crush he harboured for Lady Park, leading absolutely nowhere.

With a shake of his head, Hongjoong gave the younger man's shoulder a reassuring pat, "Yeah, you better. Off you go then, you don't want to keep her waiting a moment longer now, do you?"

"Yes, sir!" The private investigator saluted playfully before setting off in pursuit of his new dream girl.

Once he was out of sight, the dressmaker returned to his shop, settling comfortably back into his seat, ready to resume work on his latest batch of orders. His fingers moved with practised ease, guided by the rough design sketch before him. A faint smile lingered on his lips as he worked, a swell of pride warming his chest at his friend's development. It wasn't just Wooyoung; everyone had left the general's estate weeks ago, returning to their own lives. While part of him missed the chaos of their shared moments, he was content to give the newlyweds their well-deserved privacy.

Still chuckling to himself, he reflected on the fact that the once-intimidating Park Seonghwa was now but a lovesick fool. He had once worried about the general's prospects for finding love, but now he realised it had been a needless concern. Who would have thought that General Park would find love before him, or even before the ever-charming Jung Yunho?

As he put the final touches on one of his dresses, he couldn't help but wonder how the couple was doing. It had been weeks since he last saw them, and he shook his head when he recalled how 'excited' his friend had been, even when he was injured. Now that they had all the time in the world together, he imagined Seonghwa would struggle to keep his hands off his wife. He pondered whether he would soon hear news of a new addition to their family.

Before he could become further engrossed in his thoughts, his sharp senses alerted him to the presence of a man and a woman entering his shop. Without hesitation, he plastered on his best business smile—a façade rarely seen by his friends, perhaps except for Lady Park. It was part of his practised persona, an outwardly amiable demeanour he employed to win over customers and potential clients, doing whatever was necessary to secure their business. This isn't to say he wasn't genuinely pleased, but his true passion lay in designing and dressmaking rather than customer service. Unfortunately, the latter was an essential aspect of his job.

Hongjoong had never been naturally a people person, but as he had previously made it clear to the general, he was reluctant to hire assistance for such a simple task. So here he was, stuck with doing his least favourite part of the job: greeting customers.

"Good day, sir and ma'am! Welcome to Kim's Dress Shop. May I inquire what you are searching for today? A hanbok for a special occasion, perhaps? That happens to be one of my specialities. However, if you're seeking an upgrade in everyday attire, I also offer a selection of simpler yet elegant designs," he recited, sticking to his customary script upon each patron's arrival.

The couple glanced around in amazement before eagerly beaming at him. The woman spoke, "Um, are you the renowned dressmaker Kim who crafted Lady Park's famous wedding gown?"

Grinning proudly, the dressmaker was pleased to once again be acknowledged for his recent accomplishments, "Indeed, that would be me," he confirmed. He couldn't deny that his orders had doubled since news of the iconic hanbok he had designed for his friend's wedding had spread. Perhaps he owed Seonghwa a debt of gratitude for hiring him. Without him, Hongjoong might not have achieved the level of success he enjoys today.

Stepping forward, the woman bowed respectfully, "It's truly an honour to meet you, Mr. Kim! You see, we are interested in engaging your services, but it's not for myself—it's for my younger sister."

"Oh? Will she be coming by soon for me to take her measurements and discuss her design preferences?" he inquired, surprised that the intended recipient of his hanboks was not present.

Shaking her head sheepishly, she clarified, "Unfortunately not. Forgive me for not starting with a self-introduction. Good day, Mr. Kim. I am the eldest daughter of the Baek household, and I'm here on behalf of our youngest."

Upon hearing this, Hongjoong immediately grasped the situation. Having worked extensively with noblewomen, he was well-versed in local gossip about nearby noble families. He had heard of the mysterious third daughter of Official Baek from the local Civilian Office, who rarely ventured outside her home—a well-known wallflower who, if he wasn't mistaken, remained unmarried despite being well past the ideal marriageable age.

With a nod, he smiled warmly, "Ah, Miss Baek! Or should I say, Mrs. Heo," the dressmaker corrected with a grin directed at the man beside her, presumably her husband, "It would be my pleasure to create hanboks for the youngest miss of such a prominent family. I assume that means I will need to visit the Baek estate to meet her."

The couple nodded with a slight grimace, "Yes, I'm sure you're aware of her reputation. Whatever rumours you may have heard are true. She remains single, and our entire family is deeply concerned for her. We've heard of the wonderful work you've done for others, and we were hopeful you could work your magic on her. My sister has always been a unique individual. I apologise for the inconvenience of asking you to leave your shop just for her. However, I assure you we will compensate you for any inconvenience."

As he listened to her plea, the dressmaker's mind raced with excitement. That was because no challenge was too daunting for him; he thrived on the opportunity to showcase his talent. The woman was right in what she said; he had indeed helped numerous single young women find matches after they had worn his designs.

This time would be no different.

What truly fueled his enthusiasm was the knowledge that the youngest Miss Baek was known to repel potential suitors, making her a particularly challenging case. If he could help her in finding a match, it would undoubtedly bolster his reputation, adding another significant achievement to his already impressive portfolio.

Moreover, the Baeks were one of the wealthiest noble families in the area. It would be foolish not to accept this job, even if it meant temporarily closing his shop more frequently to visit their estate. He was certain that the compensation he would receive for his services would more than make up for any inconvenience.

With a feigned understanding expression, he nodded, "Oh, please don't worry about it, Mrs. Heo. Nothing brings me greater joy than helping young women gain confidence and find love. Miss Baek clearly needs my assistance. If it means I can help one more woman escape singledom, any inconvenience will be worth it."

The couple cooed at his kindness, profusely thanking him for his selflessness, while he celebrated internally, eager for the opportunity to make that buck. Reassuringly, he welcomed them into his shop, offering them seats and some tea as they made the necessary arrangements for the special job: determining which days he would need to close his shop and visit the Baek estate as well as negotiating the payment. Fortunately for him, they had even provided a down payment to demonstrate their sincerity.

After a lengthy discussion that may or may not have interfered with his current orders, Hongjoong happily bid the couple goodbye. He couldn't care less about any disruptions; his pockets were full, and he was content. With the success of the business that Seonghwa had brought him, he was sure that this would be his next most satisfying endeavour. As he watched the couple leave, a sense of anticipation washed over him, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Thank you, Miss Baek, for this wonderful opportunity. I'm certain we'll get along just fine, you and I. Gosh, I just love it when rich people are gullible, and money is easy to make," he muttered to himself, brimming with excitement for what lay ahead.

Oh, I'm going to have the time of my life.

Perhaps the dressmaker might have spoken too soon, been a tad overconfident in his abilities, and underestimated the true enigmatic nature of the youngest Miss Baek. He would soon discover this the hard way during his very first visit to the family's estate, which was nearly as large as the general's, albeit slightly smaller.

He remained confident and pleased as he was warmly welcomed, not only by the couple he had met at his shop the other day, but also by Official Baek and his wife, Lady Baek, along with their middle son and his new wife—everyone except for the one he was hired to make clothes for. The youngest Miss Baek was nowhere to be seen.

Nevertheless, he refused to let it dampen his spirits. If anything, it only heightened his curiosity about you. He was eager to finally lay eyes on the girl whom so many noble families and men tried to avoid.

The more your family emphasised how hopeless you were and expressed their concern about you remaining a spinster, the more determined he became. His fingers were itching to work another miracle. No ugly duckling could remain ugly forever, especially not if he could help it.

"We're terribly sorry our youngest is not here to greet you, Mr. Kim! We specifically informed her that you would be arriving by this time. She must still be holed up in her father's library. We'll fetch her immediately!" Lady Baek exclaimed, her urgency and embarrassment evident in her tone.

Hongjoong shook his head, waving his hands to signal that it was fine, despite feeling a slight disbelief at your apparent disregard for his presence. He tried his best to play the role of a considerate man, reminding himself that it was your family who wanted him here, not you. He tried to be understanding of how you might be feeling, "It's quite alright. Perhaps I could go meet her in the library if she doesn't want to come outside."

"Oh, is that really alright? You've come all this way, Mr. Kim. The least she could do now is come to you and make your job easier," Official Baek remarked with a slight wince.

"I assure you, it's perfectly fine. My task today is simply to take Miss Baek's measurements and discuss her design preferences. For that to happen smoothly, it's important she feels comfortable. Conducting it in her own space might be the best approach for all of us," he responded.

Your brother nodded, "If you insist, Mr. Kim. We'll have the maids escort you there. Let us know if there's anything you need."

Hongjoong bowed, "Thank you, sir. I will."

"We entrust her to you, Mr. Kim," said your sister, her hands clasped together to show her gratitude and hopefulness.

"Please do not worry, Mrs. Heo. I have a feeling Miss Baek will find love in no time."

"We're counting on it."

As a few maids escorted him towards the library as instructed, the dressmaker's mind buzzed with speculative thoughts. Considering all the talk about Miss Baek's perpetual singleness, he couldn't help but imagine you to be hideous. If that were indeed the case, he surmised it might stem from low self-esteem.

Throughout his career, he has developed a knack for identifying his customers' underlying issues. Just as he had done with Seonghwa's wife, he could often discern precisely what they needed, whether it be a boost in confidence or a transformation in appearance. He was almost certain he'd be able to figure you out in an instant.

Upon arriving at the destination, one of the maids spoke up, "We're here, Mr. Kim. You should be able to find the young miss somewhere inside. Just call out to any of us if you require anything at all."

Hongjoong nodded, expressing his gratitude, "Of course, thank you," he replied before heading inside. His heart quickened for some reason as he stepped into the room, uncertain of what to expect.

Taking a cautious step after gently closing the door behind him, he called out softly, as if afraid of disturbing the tranquil atmosphere of the silent and peaceful library, "Miss Baek...? Sorry for the intrusion, but this is Kim Hongjoong, the dressmaker your family hired to provide you with a new wardrobe. If you would be so kind as to come out, we could proceed with the initial stages of the dressmaking process for you."

Releasing a small sigh at the continued silence, he called out again, "Miss Baek...? If you won't respond, I'll have to enter."

While he understood your potential shyness, he struggled to contain his displeasure at what felt like disrespect towards him. After all, he had made the effort to come all this way and even prioritised your comfort. Yet here you were, still playing hard to get.

"Very well, don't say I didn't warn you."

With that, he began to make his way down the aisle, scanning the spacious room from left to right in search of you. It was only when he was about to pass by a hunched figure between the rows of tall bookshelves that he halted, doing a double take before fixing his gaze squarely on your form. There you were, seated on the ground, completely absorbed in the book you held in your hands.

Whatever he had anticipated, you were none of that. The girl in front of him was nothing like what he had imagined. Bathed in the sunlight streaming through the open window, your delicate and refined features were illuminated, accentuating your natural beauty. In that moment, you appeared almost ethereal. With such looks, finding a match shouldn't be a challenge at all.

Huh, guess I was wrong about her looks.

Yet, it wasn't your appearance that posed the issue. He had expected as much, considering the attractiveness of your family members. However, he could understand why you were often overlooked. The problem lay not in your physical attributes, but rather in that god-awful attire you chose to wear – a plain, white hanbok devoid of any embellishments. Furthermore, you seemed to lack hair accessories and makeup. He dared say that even some of the maids had put more effort into their appearance than you had.

Goodness gracious, you looked like a prisoner in that outfit. In his opinion, you ought to be arrested for donning such a monstrosity. Perhaps you weren't aware yet, but today you would be encountering the fashion police, and he was not pleased with what he saw. It was evident to him that you were in dire need of his assistance.

Kim Hongjoong was here now, and he intended to effect swift change. By the end of his makeover, he was confident you would be fit to enter even a beauty pageant.

"Hello, Miss Baek," he greeted, finally drawing your attention as you glanced up to see him approaching.

"Oh, you're here. Mr. Kim, right?" you responded, acknowledging him with a nod. Folding the edge of the page as a makeshift bookmark, you carefully slid the book back into its place on the shelf before rising from your spot on the ground.

The dressmaker's grip tightened around his bag of tools, a hint of displeasure flickering behind his façade of a smile, "Yes, that's correct, my lady. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard much about you," he attempted to charm you, a tactic that typically worked wonders with his clientele, eliciting blushes and smiles. However, his heart sank as you remained unfazed.

"Did you really? I can't imagine it's anything favourable," you murmured, turning to face him squarely, "And there's no need for pretence. I highly doubt there's anything pleasurable about meeting me. I prefer unvarnished truths to false pleasantries."

What in the world.

Taken aback by your bluntness, he paused briefly to compose himself before clearing his throat, "Ah, I see... If you insist, Miss Baek, I won't sugarcoat my thoughts on your choice of attire. Your family has expressed concerns about your ability to attract suitors, and I can see why. It's pretty clear to me that you struggle with dressing in a way that appeals to others but fear not. I'm here now, and I'll help you enhance your style."

Just when he thought you couldn't possibly surprise him any further, you shrugged in disagreement, "I don't believe I'm struggling at all. I know exactly what I like, and this is it," you gestured to your hanbok, "It's not my fault nobody shares the same opinion."

Baffled by your words, he finally grasped the true extent of your problem. Yes, your fashion style was the main issue, but more crucially, it was your entire character. Throughout his life, the dressmaker had encountered his fair share of eccentric individuals, but you seemed to easily surpass them all in peculiarity.

Your blunt honesty was one thing, but it was your overall lack of emotion or ability to read social cues that truly puzzled him. Perhaps it was simply your indifference. Regardless, one thing became abundantly clear to him: he did not like you. Despite having only just met you, he eagerly anticipated the moment he could leave your presence.

Lord help me, I cannot stand her already.

Blinking rapidly, he struggled to maintain the smile on his face as he responded stiffly, "I... I understand, Miss Baek. Perhaps that's your belief for now. However, I'm confident you'll change your mind once you see my designs. They never disappoint. I've never had a dissatisfied customer, and I fully intend to keep it that way."

Not wanting to dwell on your comments, he quickly clapped his hands together and continued, "Now, without further ado, let's proceed with taking your measurements."

Forget discussing your preferences, you had made your stance clear. But Hongjoong remained determined to impress you with his work. He was eager to unveil his best design, he couldn't wait to see the look on your face when you would realise how stupid you were to prefer prison clothes over his hanboks.

Retrieving his measuring tape and notebook from his bag, he turned to you, making an effort to conceal any hint of displeasure on his face as he approached, "Stay still, my lady. This will only take a moment," he instructed, beginning with your shoulders before proceeding to measure your height, sleeve length, and neck size. His breath caught and his hands trembled as he reached the final step, assessing your waist and chest measurements.

While he typically performed these tasks with ease, it was usually in the familiar surroundings of his shop, with others present. Now, it was just the two of you in the expansive, quiet library. For some reason, the atmosphere felt almost... intimate.

Focus, Kim Hongjoong!

Suppressing the sudden spike of his heartbeat, he maintained a composed expression and directed, "Please raise your arms, my lady. I'll need to measure your chest and waist next."

Flustered, he attributed the fluttering of his heart to the persistent, unabashed curiosity in your gaze throughout the measurement process. That must be it, he reasoned. You didn't possess goddess-like beauty, nor were you sweet as an angel. There was no other reason for him to react that way than sheer embarrassment under your scrutiny.

Little did he know, you experienced similar, if not more intense, emotions than he did. But who could blame you, really? It was the first time a man had ever been in such close proximity to you. The only difference between you was your adeptness at concealing your feelings, contrasting with the subtle shifts in his demeanour and the slight tremor in his hands, which did not evade your perceptive gaze.

He was merely a man, after all. You supposed it was only natural for him to exhibit such reactions in the presence of a woman.

But that didn't mean much.

You could tell he disliked you, a sentiment you had grown used to. Like everyone else you met, it seemed no one genuinely liked you. Your family's acceptance stemmed from obligation, your servants' compliance from their employment, and Hongjoong's engagement from his professional duty. Once that was done, you were certain you would never see him again. Armed with this notion, you maintained your stoic façade.

"Very well, Miss Baek. Thank you for your cooperation. I'll return when the first batch of your hanboks is ready," the dressmaker stated, swiftly gathering his belongings and offering one final bow before hurrying out of the library, pink tinting his cheeks.

"Goodbye, Mr. Kim."

Back at his shop that evening, he struggled to focus on his work. His thoughts kept wandering back to the moment your faces were inches apart, when he had to briefly encircle his arms around your waist to take measurements. Despite the unattractive hanbok you wore, he couldn't deny that you smelled quite pleasant. At the very least, you had good hygiene, he had to give you that.

Get a grip, you fool!

Giving himself a sharp slap on the cheek, he shook off the distraction. He reminded himself of the sheer frustration of being around you. From your perplexing bluntness to your questionable taste in fashion, it was enough to raise his blood pressure. How could someone like you even exist? He realised now that he had vastly underestimated your peculiar nature. Once confident he could see through anyone, he was beginning to have second thoughts.

Nevertheless, one thing remained certain: you would surely admire the designs he had in store for you. His work had always been his stronghold, never failing to impress. If even royalty had been impressed, why wouldn't a mere noblewoman like yourself? You claimed to dislike fashion, but that was only because you hadn't seen his masterpieces, he was sure of it.

No one, no one could ever resist his work.

Determined to swiftly overcome this minor obstacle, he reassured himself that you were just a small hurdle on the path to another remarkable achievement. In the end, when you were basking in the glory of the century's most sensational makeover, all the effort would be worthwhile. He could not wait for you to shed tears of gratitude, thanking him for opening your eyes to the true essence of beauty. With that conviction, he delved into his work, flipping through his sketchbook until he reached the section reserved for his finest designs, carefully curated for an occasion like this.

Pausing at one of his personal favorites, a masterpiece he had been saving for a worthy client, he decided that now was the perfect opportunity to bring it to life.

Oh, you were sure to adore it.

You had to.

But he should have known better than to actually believe that. He was, once again, in for a surprise a few days later when he arrived at the Baek estate with the first hanbok done. Only once he had your green light would he be able to proceed with making more for you. As the maids escorted him to your quarters, they noted his bright demeanour; you had risen late today and were still having breakfast in solitude, "You seem quite cheerful today, Mr. Kim," one remarked, arching an eyebrow.

He smirked confidently, "Indeed, I am. Your young miss will be very impressed with what she is about to see today. With this makeover, she'll surely catch the eye of potential suitors in no time."

The maid hesitated, cautioning, "I'm not sure you should be so certain. The young miss isn't like any other girl you've worked with."

"Ah, I know, but my work speaks for itself," he retorted, "She'd be silly not to like it."

"If you say so, sir," the maid replied, her tone conceding defeat. She knew better than to doubt his skill, but she also understood that you were unlike any other. He would soon discover that firsthand, and she was almost certain he wouldn't leave the estate with the same confidence he arrived with.

"Well, what do you think?" inquired the dressmaker, proudly unveiling his newest masterpiece to his latest customer.

Eyeing the elegantly colourful hanbok, which was a departure from your usual plain white ones, your gaze remained impassive. After what seemed like an eternity, you responded with a slight furrow of your brows, "It uhh... it looks nice, I suppose."

As you watched Hongjoong's reaction falter momentarily, it appeared as though he was experiencing a million emotions per second before settling on a deeply offended expression. With an audible scoff, he clenched his jaw, "Nice, you say? Just... nice? You suppose? Miss Baek, that is utterly outrageous! Throughout my career, I've only ever been praised for delivering perfection."

You stayed silent as he continued to extol his successes, boasting about being the best dressmaker in all of Joseon and citing his most illustrious achievements, such as the wedding dress he crafted for Lady Park, which even impressed Their Majesties. It dawned on you that your simple response had deeply wounded him.

"I-I mean... it's not bad," you interjected, hoping to fix the damage, but your heart sank as he only glared at you, "Not bad...? I'm sorry, was that supposed to console me?" he chuckled incredulously, "You know what? Now I understand why you're still single. At this rate, you'll never find a husband."

Ouch.

The awkward silence that followed was deafening, causing the maids who were waiting in your room to quickly shuffle closer to you, noticing you had finished your meal, "Young miss, we'll just be clearing this up and excusing ourselves."

"Thank you." You nodded curtly, watching emotionlessly as they hastily picked up the table containing the empty plates and bowls and left with a deep bow. Meanwhile, the dressmaker remained in his spot, visibly heaving deep breaths as if trying to calm himself from the outburst, before carefully setting the hanbok down.

After you were left alone, he took a deep breath before apologising, "Gosh, I— I'm so sorry, Miss Baek. That was uncalled for, I—"

Shaking your head, you cut him off, "No, please don't be. You were merely telling the truth. As I've said, I prefer unvarnished truth to false pleasantries. In fact, I believe you are right about that. You are not the first to say that, and you certainly won't be the last."

As he absorbed your words, a wave of discomfort washed over Hongjoong. For some reason, he would have preferred if you had yelled at him or thrown a tantrum rather than accepting his insults like that. Surely, it couldn't feel pleasant to hear such remarks, no matter how unaffected you made yourself appear. It made him feel terrible, and he hated it — hated the guilt that filled him for uttering such words.

Clearing his throat, he sighed, "I... my lady, please don't say that. It's just that... I really need your approval before I make more of these for you. At the end of the day, you are the one who has to wear them." His voice softened, an attempt to make up for his earlier harshness.

You detected the familiar pity in his tone, and you despised it. Raising a brow, you shrugged, "Why does my approval matter? It's my family who's paying you, not me. You owe it to them to make me look perfect, whatever that means. I've made it clear what I like, and if it's not to yours or anyone's taste, so be it. I see no point in consulting me on your designs, Mr. Kim. Just do what you're hired for; it doesn't matter what I like."

It never has.

While that should have brought relief to the dressmaker, knowing he had the freedom to pursue his vision without worrying about your approval, something about your words left him feeling... melancholic. It struck a chord within him, reminding him of his own struggles when he initially embarked on his fashion career. At that time, it was met with disapproval from society, which deemed it an unfitting profession for a man. Despite the opposition, he chose to be himself.

However, seeing you succumb to societal expectations, suppressing your true self to please others, including him, stirred a sense of empathy within him. It mirrored his own past battles with conformity. Unlike him, you were forced to adhere to societal norms, sacrificing your individuality for the sake of others' expectations.

And he didn't like that.

But what he hated even more was how you managed to evoke emotions he hadn't signed up for. Despite his efforts to push thoughts of you aside and concentrate solely on his goal—to craft the finest hanboks in all of Joseon and transform you into a vision of beauty, one you did not desire—the memory of your somewhat disheartening expression, as you dismissed the importance of your preferences, lingered in his mind. It unsettled him, he hated the way it was causing an uncomfortable tightening in his chest.

« Preview of Part 2 »

"I'm telling you, Yunho, she's infuriating!"

The physician, busy tidying his clinic counter, rolled his eyes, "How could I not know, hyung? You've been talking about her since my lunch break. We're almost at closing time; are you finished?"

Hongjoong crossed his arms, scoffing, "What, do you have somewhere else to be? Don't think I haven't noticed you've been going to that apothecary more often lately."

Yunho stilled, a faint pink dusting across his cheeks as he cleared his throat, "What do you mean? I've always gone there for herbs."

"Yes, but not as frequently as you do now. Ever since you met a certain herbalist," Hongjoong teased, wiggling his brows.

"If you have nothing important to say, please leave," the physician grumbled, tired of the older man's rambling.

Uncrossing his arms, the dressmaker said, "W-wait! Look, you're the most rational one among us. I just... wanted to know your thoughts on the matter."

Sighing, Yunho softened, "You know, she's right. You're hired by her family, your job is simple, and you know what you have to do. The only reason you're so affected by this is probably because you care."

"I do not care about her—"

"Sure, if you say so. Then go on ahead and complete your job. You'll receive your payment and all the benefits that come with it anyway. So, what's really bothering you?"

Oh my gosh, thank you so much for 1.6k followers! Same as Wooyoung's spinoff, the next part will be the second and final part. I've decided to standardise the format, so all the spinoffs will be two-shots.

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

Tag list (1/7): @itstheghostofmypast @huachengsbestie01 @minghaoslatina @weedforthoughtz @minkiflwr @cheolliehugs @the-kpop-simp @writingwieny @stayatinykatsy @skzline @green-agent @stayinhellevator @vampzity @tinyteezer @evidive @vantediary @superbbananananana @kimyeolchan @chocolate-scoups @decadentstrangernacho @vic0921 @foxinnie8 @marievllr-abg @sunnyhokyu @seungmin-in-thebuilding @heyitsmetonid @sansaurora9904 @darkestacademiamindsx12-blog @pay13 @kpop17 @professormingisglasses @newworldwritings @chicken-fifi @thunderous-wolf @shythinggiver @madnpan @yandere-stories @anxiousskylar @frobin4ever @starssongs98 @kamabokogonpachro @dollce-exe @jan-l @lovelyred2 @haven-cove @watermelon2319 @dreamingofyeo @akimkim @scuzmunkie @satsuri3su @mismatchfluffysocks @borntoshineateez @st4rhwa @ddaeing @tropicalsstuff @bts-army380 @skteezcursed @beauty143 @naps-over-degree @idfkeddieishot @sis-101 @lemon-sage17 @jcalicocatj

All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

Fight for You (01) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: bodyguard!jk x heiress!reader; angst, smut (18+)

Series Warnings: foul language; alcohol consumption; unrequited feelings; mentions of past kidnapping, postpartum depression, child neglect, drug use (not the MCs); infidelity (just a small part); toxic parents; attempted abduction, attempted sexual assault; violence, weapons, JK gets shot; explicit sexual content (18+)

Chapter Warnings: foul language; alcohol consumption; mentions of past kidnapping, postpartum depression, child neglect; infidelity (just a small part); toxic parents; making out, heavy petting

Chapter Word count: 8.2k

Series Summary: Working at a private security agency has its perks. The downside? Being the personal bodyguard of spoiled, rich heiresses like you. But there are things that Jungkook didn’t expect, like rejecting you, falling for you, and realizing what he’d been missing all along. 

A/N: Huge thank you to Ash @jimilter​ for this wonderful banner! 💞

Series Masterlist || Next

Keep reading

I've crumbled to the urge to reread Gone

It's both kind of nice and kind of sad that apparently I've always been obsessed with awful, misogynistic, murderous men<3

This month was the month....I joined a dead fandom...😞😞

Where is the school for good and evil (BOOK) fandom??

LEASH

SUMMARY: Fucking both of them is pure bliss but what if one of them is in relationship and still fucking you ?

PAIRINGS: FWB? (Mingyu X Reader X Jungkook)please be aware Mingyu cheats on his girlfriend with reader ⚠️

WORD COUNT:1.5 K

SMUT WARNINGS: Grinding, male masturbation, sex with cloths on, teasing over panties, oral (m,f), fingering,loads of kisses , cream pie, doggy style, unprotected sex (don’t do it y’all) , cum eating . Lmk if I miss anything

a/n: This pure filthy smut. CHEATING THEMES ARE INVOLVED , SCROLL IF YOU DO NOT LIKE ⚠️ ⚠️ALSO THIS IS WORK OF PURE FICTION I DO NOT SUPPORT CHEATING IRL Mingyu be looking extra hot these days. HAERIN is gyu 's girlfriend. enjoy sweet pies <3.

Loud music is the only thing you the three of you can hear your back pressed against Mingyu, while Jungkook is in front of kissing and grinding on each other, wet kisses are shared between Jungkook and you. “Mph baby” muffled moans slipped from your mouth, Mingyu kissing your neck his hands massaging your waist, your hands tapping Jungkook’s shoulder “Let’s take this to the dorm?” You asked gasping for air, looking back at Mingyu while he nodded.

You were dressed in a short white skirt and pink crop top while both of them were dressed in all black. “Gyu bring her where I parked my car, I’ll be heading first” Jungkook said searching for his car keys in his pockets, while you and Mingyu told your friends you would be heading first.

Mingyu held your soft hands dragging you through the crowd, Jungkook had been waiting for you both in the parking, Mingyu opened the door sitting first and then making you sit on his lap you turned sideways to kiss Jungkook on his lips, “Let’s get home soon yeah baby? sit like a good girl” Jungkook said already speeding through the parking lot.

While you turned around to kiss Mingyu his hands were all over your ass palming it and groping them “Speed up kook pretty little thing keeps grinding on me can feel her pussy getting wet” Your lace panties must be wet from the constant grinding.

You soon reached your dorm when Mingyu had you in his arms your legs wrapped around his waist. Jungkook had your house keys opening them the three of you entered the room while Mingyu and you continued to kiss each other “Yah Mingyu get her down now” Jungkook groaned when you both wouldn’t stop. Mingyu placed you on your bed while giggling looking at Jungkook's pissed of face, undressing himself while Jungkook had already sunk to his knees at the end of the bed where you were sitting.

Ready to remove your clothes Jungkook stopped you “Wait wanna fuck with your clothes on you look so fucking pretty in those small skirts” Mingyu sat there on the chair right in front of the bed palming himself through his boxers “Keep going kook wanna see her pussy” he said chuckling.

“Lay down baby,” Jungkook said in a hushed voice “Kook I’m so wet do something " you moaned when you felt his fingers brushing over your lace panties softly teasing your clit and wetting them by spitting on your clothed pussy “Ah…Jungkook” moans slipped from your lips grabbing his hands to keep on licking you sucking your pussy over the lace.

Moving them aside he was greeted with your wet pussy clenching “fuck Gyu she is so wet bet we can slide inside her without a prep” Jungkook turned behind to give him a look “fuck really? could feel her getting wet the movement she started grinding on me” Mingyu said digging his hard cock out of his boxers.

You went without a bra today, you could feel your nipples getting hard at the site of Mingyu jerking off while Jungkook played with your pussy, grabbing your boobs over your top you massaged them while whispering Jungkook’s name.

Jungkook sucked the hell out of your clit while you begged him to stop telling him you might come soon “Yeah baby you gonna come?” He teased you knowing damn well you were near the edge. Easing his finger inside you he slowly fastened his pace when his finger touched your g spot “Right there Jungkook…... right there baby” Soon Cumming you rested there panting heavily “ wanna fuck her Gyu?” Jungkook undressed and soon climbed on the bed settling beside you, “fuck yeah I’ll go first” Your hand grabbed onto his length “fuck y/n” Jungkook hissed when you started palming him, caging your hands over his cock he guided you, while Mingyu teased his fingers over your whole “want you inside me gyu” you said shyly gazing into his eyes “yeah baby? Spread wider” he said pushing your legs further decreasing the space between your pussy and his leaking cock he eased inside you slowly. “What a sight kook …. She clenches so hard kook when you kiss her, “Mingyu said moaning above you, curses left your mouth “Gyu you are so good and so big” you whimpered your hands leaving Jungkook’s cock and coming to grip over Mingyu's shoulder. “I know baby can you be a little bit louder?” He said while his fingers started rubbing your clit, Jungkook and Mingyu talked you through your orgasm while Jungkook palmed himself through the three of you coming in the moment. “Fuck gyu got me messy,” you peeped, “love making you messy baby” Mingyu kissed your cheeks sucking in a few hickeys around your neck while he backed away from your body.

Turning to face Jungkook he was already looking at you, your hands gripped onto his sensitive cock while he hissed “ mmhm sensitive y/n” Humming you climbed on top of him, yours and Mingyu’s cum dripping down your pussy and making a mess between you and Jungkook, grabbing the mess between you two you swiftly moved your fingers through your pussy lips gathering the slick and bringing it to Jungkook’s mouth so that he can suck on them “mm sweet” Jungkook winked looking at Gyu who was on the bed settled on the end of the bed.

“Fuck me from behind kook wanna suck him off too,” you said already getting on your position, Mingyu getting up too. Jungkook loves doggy style, seeing your ass bounce back from his fast pace made him cum fast.

“Baby lift your ass a bit … mm perfect go ahead suck him good yeah?” Teasing his tip near your hole you murmured “Need it, baby” you begged palming Mingyu who sat in front of you. Easing inside you he moaned “fuck so tight even after Mingyu fucked you hard you are still so tight” Chuckling at you “Such a pretty slut for us right Gyu?” He asked his hands on your pretty waist just above your skirt to hold you in place. “Yeah man almost came when she first clenched around me.”

Gagging around Mingyu's cock you massaged his balls moaning when Jungkook hit your spot. Pure bliss from the pleasure you sucked him arrays of gasps, heaves, and rasps left your mouths. “ Gonna cum baby,” Mingyu said pushing your head so you can choke on him better “Yeah gyu cum for me” your words left in a hurry motion because of how fast Jungkook was fucking you. “ Gonna cum too kook”. You warned Jungkook while Mingyu filled your mouth with his salty release sone of it dripping on your crop top. “Fuck y/n gonna cum so hard baby, pussy made for us, gonna make you leave your pussy filled with our cum” Jungkook said in his deep voice.

Soon Cumming you were left with your pussy covered in damp and creamy releases. “Fuck you both tire me out” you said lifting up yourself and facing Jungkook inching closer to kiss him. “mph Koo” moaning when he slightly pinched your hard nipples. You were soon in between the both of them cuddling them you had finally removed your messy cloths, while you hugged Jungkook while Mingyu hugged you from behind telling you did great today for both of them. Sleep soon overcame you three.

Haerin: hey, I’ll be dropping by tomorrow to give your books back . Will be there by 10 am . See you ☺️

Next morning

You’ve been rustling for a few minutes now, “baby lemme sleep” Jungkook murmured “yeah sorry” you reach up to get your phone seeing the time “hm 9:47” you opened your chat seeing Haerin’s text gasping you wake Mingyu up in instant. “Gyu wake up haerin will be here in few” he groaned when you abruptly woke him up.

“Fuck really shit I need to leave before she come” wearing his yesterday night’s clothes he went to wash his face in the his face , coming back soon after he grabbed his things and went ahead on kissing you lips “ thanks for the night baby I’ll text you soon , tell kook I’ll be at the basketball court if he needs me” hugging you one last time he exists the door .

“Fuck I just hope I don’t run into her now” Mingyu whispered closing the door from outside when haerin walks “Gyu what are you doing here also at 10 am in the morning?” She asks not expecting her boyfriend to be here this early. That’s when Mingyu knows he fucked up really bad.

TAGLIST : @babybella337 , @jungk97kwife

PART 2

DRABBLE 1

DRABBLE 2

SEX/LIFE

SUMMARY: having sex with your dad's best friend is one of the dumbest ideas but what if the sex is too good to be true? and now who cares about world when you both are in love?

PARINGS: Jungkook (39) X reader (27) (both are in relationship.)

WORD COUNT:1.2K

WARNINGS: This is an age gap fic please scroll pass through it if you don't like it.Dilf JK has my fucking heart. at the end they do future planning and it's a bit rush. Hyun is readers dad name.

SMUT WARNINGS: TEASING he loves to tease her, grinding for like few seconds, she wore a lace panty, so many kisses, fingering over panties, cream pie, Jungkook suggests condom, but reader wants it RAW. he loves her nipples, he calls her love and baby mama once, Aftercare.

a/n: sry for the rough ending i hope you like this one I tried really hard to not make it uncomfortable, Tumblr works on reblog system please reblog !! Also a simple “it good or it’s great”can make my entire day 💞

Jungkook: hey I’ll be there in a few, I guess the party will finish in a few or else I’ll just sneak out.

Y/N: it’s fine kook, I’ll be home.

Keeping your phone aside you get back to studying, your exams have been coming up. Jungkook is your dad’s best friend and your boyfriend of three years, you both met a few years ago when he was 36 while you were 24 you initiated the kiss first but Jungkook backed off when the kiss deepened, unfortunately, your dad saw you initiating the kiss and you were grounded, you had lost his phone number when your dad took away your phone, Jungkook had already apologized to your dad while your dad accepted it sliding that topic off, three years later when you still liked him one night he had confessed about his feelings when he met you at a party. You both were very careful around your dad sneaking in and out became your thing. But now you thought it was time anyway You are now 27and he is 39 you both need to settle down.

There is a knocking heard in a few minutes. “Hey baby” Jungkook greets you with open arms “Hey Kook, how was the party,” you asked slightly giggling you know it sucked but just to tease him you asked him while kissing his clothed chest and inhaling his scent.

“It did suck but it’s fine Hyun was there with me the whole time, so it was good,” he said hugging you back “Want to have dinner together? I made chicken stew and rice" you asked batting your eyelashes at him. “Yeah, baby sure I’ll change and come back in a few,” he said removing his blazer and dumping it in the laundry room.

After a few minutes, he changed wearing the spare clothes he had at your place. “Fuck this tastes so good, thanks baby” he groans taking the first bite “Welcome kook, you wanna stay over for tonight?” You asked eating your rice “Yeah baby I’ll stay over” he says finishing his food in a few.

Jungkook offered to wash up the dishes while you chose a series to watch. “Kook listen yuna suggested we should watch Sex/life,” you said scrolling through your Netflix account “Yeah baby sounds good, I’ll join you in a few,” he said shrieking.

Five minutes into the series you both started making out like nothing in the world could stop you both. “Mph”moans were exchanged when Jungkook’s tongue made its way into your mouth. Straddling his lap he starts to leave wet kisses all over your neck. Grinding on his already hard cock he groans in your mouth. “Let’s take this your bed yeah baby?” Lifting you in his arms you gasped “Kook I’m heavy drop me down” you giggled clinging to his waist “You weigh nothing, baby” Reaching your bedroom he carefully sat you on your bed undressing you and leaving you only in your panties, you chose to wear his favorite lace panties. “Fuck baby this piece leaves nothing to my imagination”he chuckled finding your lace panties appealing.

Hovering above you he kisses your lips pulling on your lower lip to tease you, your hands make way to grip his broad sexy shoulder. He slowly kisses your neck and slides down, hands grabbing your boobs and squeezing one of them and sucking one another. “Kook kiss me need you on my lips” you breathed out humming he kissed you again and again till you were breathless his fingers slid down towards your clothed core, and your body twitched when he caressed your clit “Stay still y/n” he growled when moved in the sheets “can’t Kook missed you these days” you cried. Slowly inserting his fingers in your panties, he rubbed his fingers, you whimpered and cried “Come on sit up yeah baby” he removed his fingers helping you sit, and he sat behind you.

His fingers find your core again his palm now rubbing your pussy and teasing you “Want it babe? Want me to finger you? Do you deserve them?” He asks waiting for your answer like he has all-time in the world “Hm baby want them” Wetting his fingers he brings them to your core still teasing your core “Get naked Jungkook wanna see you” he gladly removes his clothes Now hard cock is pressed against your back.

“Fuck baby love this pussy so much “Kissing you again “Beg for it, baby, if you want more” Jungkook, is a very big tease when it comes to fingering you “Please kook want your fingers” you panted begging for his fingers easing one in your hole “yeah baby you're so perfect, got fucking lucky” fastening the pace of his fingers he talked through your orgasm soon Cumming wetting your sheets.

Kissing him he now positioned himself above you hovering and kissing your lips “Ready love?” He asked teasing his tip on your panty-clad core, lapping at your nipples he swiftly moved the lace panties aside “Beg for it baby come on” he grumbled “Want it kook has been wanting since you came in my house”you moaned. “Gonna give you now be a good girl yeah,” he said ready to open the drawer to grab a condom “No kook want it raw, wanna see my pussy getting messy”you said grabbing his shoulders “Want to get your pussy messy? You sure y/n?” Nodding at him he pushed your panties to the side welcomed by your swollen pink pussy he eased himself inside you “fuck so warm and tight” he hissed.

His breathy moans and your whimpers filled the room the night sky light illuminating his face “Do you deserve my cock baby?” He asks slowing down his thrusts “Yeah kook want it deserve it, baby” you said in a low monotonous voice grabbing his neck to kiss him your pussy made sloppy noises tears dripped down your cheeks “gonna cum kook” screamed “Yeah baby me too shall I cum in you make you my baby mama?” He asks teasing your new-found impregnating kink “Mm want it kook, make me a mama” you said clutching his shoulder “Yeah beg for it baby tell me again you need it” he thrusts roughly when you tell him what you need “fuck I’m Cumming”you said slowly rubbing your clit, “yeah come gonna fill you up my pretty baby” he slowly backs away for a bit seeing the white ring now formed in the base of his cock and slamming back again and then Cumming, he stills for a bit collapsing on top of you.

Resting on your body he hides in the crook of your neck , moaning giving you a last thrust before backing away completely and securing his cum by placing your panties back on in their position “Keep my cum baby, you gonna need it for tomorrow”he laughs while you hit his chest “Shut up kook” you giggled. Aftercare with him is always the best he would help you bathe and kiss you every-time telling he loves you.

Laying the bed staring at the ceiling he turned to face you while you lied in his chest tracing his heart making silly figures “you sure about what you want?” He asks about you being his baby mama “yes kook we are both finally settled I’ll soon be soon 28 and if we start trying to conceive now it’s not that easy you will be 40 soon think about it but before that we need tell my dad”you said looking at his starry eyes Humming you he says he is ready to have one “ yes baby we need to tell about our relationship soon” smile vanishing from your face but its truth you both need to come out clean someday but who knew what your fate will bring you both and it doesn’t go as you planned ?

TAGLIST : @kimmingyuswifee , @jungk97kwife , @httpjeonlicious , @raineo , @realovesworld7 , @hannahmae18 , @lovingkoalaface , @yomommacyno69 , @borednia , @jk-hoe97, @kimseokjinsmirror1233

Requests are open !

SUMMARY: In which you are about to give birth, but Jungkook won't stop panicking.

PAIRINGS: Husband Jungkook X Wife Reader

WORD COUNT: 1.4k

WARNINGS: Childbirth, Screaming, fluff, crying,SO MANY kisses. Dad kook >>>

A/N: Hello all I hope you all are doing good. I thought of releasing the first part as 600+ followers here :0. Also, I'm sry to say @ahgasegotarmy116 won't be collaborating on this series anymore and I'll try to post the drabbles from now. Thank you for the cutest banner @ahgasegotarmy116 and I hope you like the first part of series please like, comment and reblog. <3 ❤️

Sitting in front of the TV and watching your favorite show you start to feel a few cramps here and there. Being nine months pregnant can sometimes be concerning but you had called your doctor a few times to make sure that experiencing things like this was normal he said that you shouldn’t worry too much since they never lasted more than a minute or two. At this point, all they’ve really suggested is that you sit there and wait it out for a few more days until your baby girl decides it’s time to come out. 

Jungkook being the ever-doting yet mildly nervous husband is always ready to drop everything to help you. He massages your feet, helps you take a bath and even helps you shave if you want him to. Even after he’s had a long day at the office. He never complains, he just wants to make sure you and the baby are always okay. 

While he was in the kitchen grabbing you some snacks and making you your favorite chamomile tea you started to feel the baby start moving around but it seemed pretty normal, so you thought nothing of it. Soon though you started to feel a really rough contraction running through what felt like your whole body and leaving your back aching and you letting out a huge groan in response. 

“Shit are you okay? Jungkook asks, running up to you panicking and hands you a glass of water, trying to think of something that might help. You let out another groan in pain and he starts to realize that it might be time. “I think the baby is coming,” I say, trying to stay calm and ride the wave as the next contraction starts. 

I’ll go get your hospital bag and we’ll leave as soon as possible. I’m here okay don’t worry” he says in a hushed tone, doing his best to help me stay calm before he starts running all over the house and makes sure that we have everything that we need. He packs a bag for himself quickly throwing random things he thinks would be helpful and rushes back over and helps me walk out the door. 

“Okay let me help you stand up. One, two, three-” Jungkook says "it's okay I’m not helpless so please stop worrying so much. Let’s just make it there as soon as we can” he nods in acknowledgement and makes sure to help me nonetheless as he walks me over to the elevator that takes us down into the lobby so we can head outside to where our car is parked. He helps you sit down in the passenger seat and closes the door for you before opening the door to the backseat quickly and packing everything into the car as quickly and carefully as he can so we can get on the road. 

He runs back into the apartment to grab a few more things and while he’s gone you let out a few tears just thinking about the fact that the next time you come back here you’ll be bringing your beautiful baby girl home. 

He rushes back to the car a few minutes later with the last few things he had forgotten including your Favorite wool sweater and your warm winter coat. “We’ll be there in a few minutes love, don’t worry everything's gonna be okay” he says leaning over and giving you a quick kiss before sitting back and putting his seatbelt on. “Everything is gonna be okay,” he says more to himself starts the car pulls out of the parking lot and rushes to the hospital. 

Once you reach the hospital that you’ve been going to for all of these months you meet with the nurses take you back to your room and have your husband fill out the forms to check you in. He’s hesitant to leave you but they’re able to complete everything quickly and he runs to the room they’ve put you in immediately and helps you change into the hospital gown they’ve given you before helping you lay down. 

AFTER SOME TIME 

The doctors suggested taking an epidural to ease the pain and your a few cms away from getting dilated. Jungkook sat beside the hospital bed holding your hand and gave soft kisses on the back of your hand whispering I love you and you going to be okay. But deep down Jungkook was afraid and just prayed for a safe delivery. 

Yours and Jungkook's talking resounded in the hospital room when you feel a sharp contraction and you groan in pain clutching his hand Jungkook hurries up calling the doctor and they tell you are ready to push.

"JEON JUNGKOOK GET THIS BABY OUT OF ME RIGHT NOW " you scream your lungs out and grab onto his collar your mouth just some inches away as the doctor and your husband try calming you down. "Baby calm down and just push... we will soon have our baby girl in our arms" Jungkook said drying the sweat forming on your forehead. 

Jungkook tries not passing out and staying with you the entire time while he panics himself and helps you push while the doctor in between your leg tells you she can see the head and tells you to let out more pushes while hardly clutching on your husband's hand and squeezing the life outta him. 

Soon enough soft cry resounds in the room, and you have a breath and collapse on the hospital bed... tears leave your eyes staining your now red cheek "Daddy wants to cut the umbilical cord?" The doctor asks snapping Jungkook out of his thoughts to lost when he sees his baby the nurses hand him a pair of scissors and he cuts it.

Making some space Jungkook removes some of your hospital gowns to allow some skin-to-skin to contact the doctor happily lays down your baby girl while you coo to make her stop crying, Jungkook giggles looking at her and smooths his fingers on her face and bows down towards your forehead and leave a kiss "you did so good baby" Jungkook speaks in between chuckles. 

A few minutes pass by while your baby opens her eyes and coos out the softest voice you have ever heard and you lay a kiss on her cheek "Hi baby" You speak to and she smiles up as if she understands what you are saying "Jungkook here you wanna hold her?" you ask your voice a bit raspy from all the screaming to get this baby girl out, nodding he removes his black t-shirt so he can have skin to skin contact with her and sanitizes his hands, and you pass her to your husband.

"Hi baby, it's me your dad" Jungkook introduced himself while the baby just whined and cuddled herself in his embrace chuckling, after a few kisses and talking to her in a baby voice he handed the baby to the nurses so they could take the baby so they could clean her and get her wrapped in a baby cloth.

In the meantime, the nurses bring in a birth certificate and you both name her Na-Eun the name you both decided after the gender reveal party and get it written on the birth certificate.

Na-Eun arrives in a purple swaddling which makes her look like a sweet potato smiling at the nurse she hands her to you and Jungkook lands a kiss on your face and tells you he will leave for a few minutes and call your parents.

You smile and nod at him and shift a bit so you can keep your daughter beside you, looking closely you notice her soft features resembling Jungkook so much a mole under her lip and a mole on her neck make her more beautiful you tear up a bit. 

“Oh my god…...” A small gasp is imitated by your mom as she stands there with some gifts in her hand and a bouquet in another, chuckling at you she kisses your forehead “You did great baby…. oh and look at this cutie right here” she says softly her own eyes tearing up and your dad stands beside you kissing your cheek. 

Na- Eun is held by her grandmother and grandfather who wouldn’t stop sweet-talking to her and you just wish you could stay in this moment forever and you can’t wait to bring your baby bean home.

A/N: Thank you so much if you made it till the end ill soon post the second part which is them bringing their baby home and how the first night goes :)

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If you see this you’re legally obligated to reblog and tag with the book you’re currently reading

Whatever I've done...

I did it for love.

"His business is my business."

"I'm here."

-He Tian

Writing Tips Pt. 14 - Keep Notes and Reread

Two important details about writing I think a lot of beginners forget is that you should be keeping notes on what you're writing, and you should reread as you go along.

Keeping notes is important so you can reference things you've established in your story. You don't want your readers jarred out of the story because Alice's hair color changed partway through simply because you couldn't remember what color you'd made it and didn't feel like double-checking. If Bob's eye color keeps changing every scene he's in, it should be for in-story reasons and not because of authorial laziness. Other things you might track with note-keeping include which spells you've given your mage character, or who a character's family members are (and whether or not they have siblings). Even professional writers keep notes on the things they'll need to reference again.

I'm partial to keeping documents in a folder on my computer on different subjects, such as character backstories, family trees, magic systems, even something as silly as where everyone sleeps in their home base. Other authors may use index cards tacked up to the wall, or establish a wiki to help them link important things together, or have a series of notebooks they can pull off the shelf to flip through. There are different ways to do this, so find one that works for you.

And make sure you reread, unless you're writing your whole story in one marathon session. Each time you go to add a new installment to the story, whether it be a new chapter to an ongoing piece or a sequel to a previous work of yours, reread the older stuff first, especially if you don't keep regular and extensive notes. You will almost invariably forget important details if you don't do this, and it's quite immersion-breaking if your story loses internal continuity because you didn't review what you'd already written.

For example, if your hero has run afoul of one of the villain's machinations, it breaks immersion if your villain's motivation for the plot changes from chapter to chapter. If he was actively trying to kill the hero, but then later claims to have just wanted to scare him, but then goes back to wanting to kill him, then was just testing a contraption and it's the hero's own fault that he got injured and now the villain doesn't know what to do without the hero, you aren't creating good drama, you're just hurting your own story's continuity. What is your villain's motivation?

Yes, I have seen this before.

So at the very least, skim over what you wrote previously to make sure you aren't breaking continuity or introducing contradictions into your story.

I frequently write stories by hand in a notebook during moments of free time. Rereading also helps me remember what I was working on when I last had to pause so I can make sure I keep the story flowing properly, rather than suddenly cutting to a different scene because I forgot where I was, or having a random character show up because I didn't remember they were supposed to be elsewhere. I've even caught a few times when I went to write a turn of phrase and thought it seemed familiar, and sure enough, I'd used it just two pages prior.

So keep notes, and make sure you reread. Your continuity will thank you.

love in the making.

grant gustin x male reader.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. the talk of the town is the production of a new picture starring hollywood's elite star, grant gustin and his co-star, you! as the chemistry between you and grant escalates, so do the tabloids, and the executives aren't happy. what will happen to your relationship with grant when the studio takes matters into their own hands?

𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓. one-shot [ 13.6k ].

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. male reader 〳 mid 1950s!au 〳 coworkers!au 〳 movie star!grant 〳 up and coming actor!reader 〳 smoking 〳 yearning 〳 slow-burn(?) 〳 gossip columns 〳 soap opera type of drama 〳 sexual content: top!grant, bottom!reader, anal penetration, breeding, kissing, spitting, blowjob (r!giving), praising, body worship, snowballing.

The leathery smell of cigar permeated the room. Grant added to the thickness in the air with several puffs, then suddenly modulated his breath when he realized it was his turn to run through his lines.

“Pardon me, Katharine. Your voice was so mesmerizing, I nearly fell to a slumber. Where were you when my mother ran out of bedtime stories to tell?” Grant cleared his throat, fulfilled by the laughter scattering from one person to the next while Katharine Scott, the leading lady of the picture, turned scarlet.

He began reading his dialogue.

It was half of the truth. Grant just didn’t bother mentioning that you’d been on his mind since the minute you walked in and introduced yourself -- that would’ve garnered a peculiar reaction. Aside from the screenplay, Grant’s eyes often meandered to you when they needed a break. The words on the script were beginning to scramble like alphabet blocks.

Before the tables were pushed together for the read-through, he noticed how your feet were crossed at the ankles, toes tapping to a rhythm he never noticed. In moments where the writer consulted with the director about the wooden dialogue, Grant could hear your muted taps speed up. Were you nervous? You had to be; you only had your foot in the industry for barely more than a year -- which was apparent.

You still had that humility in your smile.

Maybe it was frustration? Grant chewed on a pen he was holding as he attempted to decipher those pursed lips of yours. It was the color of flesh -- as it should be -- but why did he find them so… entrancing? It wasn’t just the color that got to him, but also the texture. They looked soft, really soft, as you ran through your lines with Katharine. Soft like your voice when you said your name for the first time. Soft like the grip of your handshake, which Grant knew you were well-aware of because you suddenly tensed your fingers at his fingers, nails into his palm, to compensate for your lack of callous. Soft like the ham and cheese bagel he had this morning, you would bite your own lip from how indistinguishable the bread roll and your mouth were from one other.

He chewed harder at the thought. Why does Grant want to see that happen?

“Grant? It’s your line.”

When Grant’s vision focused harder on your lips, he realized your mouth was aiming directly at him. Separating and closing, all for him. He immediately perked up.

“What—oh. Right. Where were we…” Grant felt warmth creeping up his neck, rubbing at it to ward off the heat. He only made it worse as it climbed to his chin and mouth, the taste of heat almost perceptible when he fought it off with a lick of his lips. “Gross, what the hell is—“

Metallic, acidic, and bitter on his tongue -- it was a taste that made him fully alert to the blue stain on his script. Then quickly after, the peculiar heat dripping off the corner of his mouth.

“Grant, you have—“ He watched you conceal a gasp when he turned to you, but your eyes -- everyone’s eyes -- made it perfectly clear that he needed to break this habit of chewing pens.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you will excuse me…”

He should’ve listened to his mother when he was little.

“Just my luck…”

Grant was bent over the sink, scrubbing away at his face with a soapy hand. He was dressed down to his undershirt, figuring he’d address the stain on his dress shirt later in the evening.

It was almost like there was an invisible force field around his chin because the ink stain was refusing to wash out. Grant was certainly in a better position than before, but he could still make out that splotch of grey-blue, muted from his unrelenting efforts to look somewhat presentable again.

“Grant, you all right? I’m coming in,” He recognized your voice immediately and perked up at the prospect of seeing you again, even if he really ought to know better than to be happy to see someone in this predicament.

Especially a handsome one.

“I think it’s coming off, you think? Could be my flesh that I’m tearing away at, but if it works…”

It was natural to glance at someone when they enter the bathroom. Humans are naturally inquisitive people. Innovation and evolution weren’t the result of keeping to oneself. What wasn’t natural was staring, particularly when it came to a man’s face, which seemed to have been exasperated from adrenaline.

You were panting and heaving as you made your way to counter. Grant took notice of your necktie, swinging from side to side with every step you took. You must’ve forgotten a tie clip. If not, then it must’ve fallen sometime between the moment he left the room and you entering the bathroom.

He had to admit, you looked—

“Keep at it and you’ll find the city of Atlantis,” you stifled a chuckle when Grant washed off the soap suds again, only to reveal what many would presume to be a rather strange five o’clock shadow.

Well, half of one.

“Speaking of finds,” he grabbed a handful of paper towels to dry his face, then nodded towards the paper bag that you had set on the counter. “What’s the loot?” Grant asked, partly because he wanted to distract you from watching him any longer and because he was simply curious.

Once again, inquisitive people drove evolution. In this context, Grant would like to get to know you more -- for the sake of the motion picture, of course.

“Went to the general store and thought you might need these,” you began unpacking the bag one by one.

A package of bar soap, a tin of cold cream, and a modest bag of assorted fruit chews. “Soap? We have soap right here.” Grant recognized the logo on the bag, there was a candy store west of the studio lot. He wondered where you went first. Did you get hungry during your brisk shopping trip, or was the general goods store on the way and you needed to kill time?

“Yes, well, that’s hand soap. You need Ivory soap, which is hydrating and better for your face. Hand soap will dry you out.”

He also wondered why you were helping him out. Not that people don’t go out of their way to help a celebrity of his status, but often, he could tell when someone was contriving flattery.

“What about the tin?” Grant asked. With one hand, he picked up the tin and analyzed the engraved packaging against the light.

You began rummaging through your bag of fruit chews. “Cold cream. It’s what my mother uses to remove her makeup. Use that before you wash your face. It should help melt the stain,” Pink wrapper, it was a strawberry chew. Grant deduced that it also must have been your favorite flavor since you searched high and low for it, flicking past the greens, blues, oranges, and yellows.

Replaying it back in his mind made him chuckle. He had been inside the candy store before, usually spending a few cents on chocolates for his dates. Still, the store was a marquee for locals who wanted to self-serve their candy bags and that hadn’t gone unnoticed. A buffet of confectionery to put it persuasively, which made Grant laugh again at the thought of you picking out the strawberry chews.

You could’ve avoided the trouble by not packing the other flavors at all.

“It’s for women… ‘She’s engaged, she’s lovely, she uses cold cream,’” The irony of the tagline shared a brief fit of laughter between you and Grant.

It felt good to hear you laugh, even if it was quite apparent that you were restraining yourself to lower the chances of choking on a fruit chew. Death was inevitable as much as it was arbitrary, and Grant was not letting a handsome man like yourself be the first case of ‘death by candy, and a badly timed joke.’

Besides the point, you were benign. Your knowledge in women’s beauty products caused a case of interest, and that made Grant want to excavate your formality even more.

“You look like you belong in the Looney Tunes, Gustin. That should be the least of your worries,” he watched you primp yourself in front of the mirror, minor adjustments to your hair where the gel had fallen loose. “Anyway, I’ll get us some lunch. They said we’ll resume in a bit. You like salami? I know a place that makes a great Italian sandwich. Good fries too.”

With autumn approaching, the weather was only getting windier. By dint of the way a strand of hair fell delicately over your forehead like the stem of a cherry, Grant figured he should make amends with the upcoming season if it meant he would be seeing more of you fixing your tousled hair.

“Actually—wait for me, yeah? I prefer dining in for lunch, can’t stand soggy fries,” Grant opened the tin of cold cream and was instantly hit with a whiff of nostalgia -- something of gardenia and vanilla all at once. He must have smelled this at his mother’s vanity at some point in his life.

“Well, you must hurry because I had nothing but double the allotment of caffeine. I feel like Lucy in that one run where all she had for dinner were mints,” you were referencing an episode of I Love Lucy, adjusting your tie in between glances.

He slathered on the white paste and rubbed at the stain on his chin. Grant wouldn’t have guessed this was part of a woman’s nightly routine. If he ignored the floral notes, the product resembled shaving cream for the most part.

“‘There’s nothing quite like a good after-dinner mint,’” Grant quoted a line from the same episode you had mentioned. In retrospect, he was glad he shelled out a couple hundred bucks for the hottest commodity of the decade. He had never seen someone’s eyes light up the way yours did.

If the building was set on fire and everyone had to be evacuated, Grant wouldn’t have known by virtue of your radiant smile -- it was disorienting. Whether or not he would’ve made it out in time… the matter of the fact was that his fate was entirely dependent on you, and Grant was surprisingly at ease with that proposition.

You cleared your throat when it registered that the stare shared between the two of you had stopped you in your tracks, Grant in his. The silence was almost tangible. Grant wasn’t sure how long he’d been staring at your eyes, then your nose, and then your lips again. That information served no purpose, only to embarrass him with the strong chance that it might’ve been too long.

Much too long for him, he began noticing your delightful cologne and not the smell of floral and vanilla. If he took a step closer, maybe he could—

“You can wash it off now. I’m curious to see if it works.”

For now, Grant was content on watching you at arm’s length, eating your favorite piece of candy and laughing as you tidied yourself.

It seemed like he was only beginning to scratch the surface.

It had only been a little more than a week of principal photography, but Grant was quick to inform himself of the director’s social cues. Sucking in his bottom lip meant that something regarding the scene was off -- whether it be the lighting, the wrinkle in a shirt, the fumble of dialogue, or the stiff movement of the actors. He was a meticulous man, stopping a take when Grant’s hair wasn’t as slicked back as he had envisioned. Imposing at times, but the general kindness kept the set rather freeing.

Today, Grant received a firm nod behind the camera.

“You got a light?” Grant asked with a cigarette between his lips, patting his pockets only to leave with empty hands. He pulled a chair next to where you had been studiously scribbling notes on your script. He couldn’t have read it if he tried -- and he had tried once -- chicken scratch hadn’t left your fine motor skills anytime soon.

“Uh-huh. Every apartment has one if you find the right landlord,” you said dryly, flashing a cheeky grin and continuing to annotate the script in your hand.

“Cute,” he snickered while you fished a lighter out of your pant pocket. It wasn’t your scheduled smoke break yet, it was often reserved right before lunch. You figured that you mind as well get one out of the way since the clock was nearing lunch time anyhow.

Lighting up your cigarette, you drew in a breath of tobacco and felt it cloud over your brain after, tempering the stress signals with warmth. “Here,” your thumb remained on the flint wheel while your free hand hovered over the flame to block the desk fan. The wick of fire bridged the distance between you and Grant as you both leant forward to ignite his cigarette.

His hand rested on yours, gently bringing the lighter closer to the end of his cigarette stick, and stabilized itself until the tobacco was lit.

It shouldn’t have felt intimate. It was probably from the smoke, wasn’t it? The type of buzz that made Grant hallucinate all and everything around him -- black crows if he was in a troubled sate. In this case, it was the tremble of your hand when Grant held it, unsteady like the lighter’s flame before you had capped it. It was the look you gave him, aggravated if it was from most men, but almost imploring on your end. It was the silence that bestowed between the two of you, the type where Grant knew you could tell he was staring at you now, because you began scribbling arbitrary patterns on the margins of your script.

He should probably tell you that the scribbles were merging with your annotations, but Grant had to be careful. Otherwise, he was going to open his mouth and give you an earful of lunacy, starting with “Your hands are cold” and ending with “Can I hold them for longer?”

“So, what’s for lunch today?” You asked, stretching your arms overhead. Grant watched your fingers closely as they fanned out and held nothing but air.

“I could go for a hamburger. You?”

“Something light for me… think I’m coming down with a bug. My stomach suddenly hurts.”

Grant regretted letting go now.

“We missed you at shooting today. And yesterday. And the day before that. Mainly Wilder though—he likes how you can get scenes done in one take.”

You were caught off-guard hearing Grant’s voice through the handset. Even if he was calling from the other side of town, there was something about his presence that made you sit up and spruce up your surroundings, not forgetting your own appearance, of course.

“Well, that’s comforting. I’m sorry—how exactly did you get my telephone, Grant? Where are you calling from?” It must have been the hoarse sound of your voice that made Grant laugh into the handset. You could see it now, his smile.

“Don’t worry about that—and from my hotel. What you should be worrying about is your health. Why are you still up?” Grant started out lighthearted at first, but then muttered, like the weight of his concern strung his voice along.

Really, you ought to sleep. The positive of being sick meant that you could leisure all day and not feel guilty about watching television, even if you had outdone your daily average by a margin. The negative? Your senses were heightened by tenfold, which was ironic because your sinuses were blocked. That didn’t matter whatsoever. What did matter was that you kept waking multiple times throughout the night because your bed was either too warm, too cold, too soft, or too hard.

Now, sleep was as elusive as seeing Grant. It had only been a couple of days, yet you began to feel off -- which could be another symptom of the flu in hindsight.

“It’s wash day. I’m soaking my clothes as we speak,” you flicked off the television to hear Grant better. The rain was pouring down hard on your window.

“You do your own laundry?” Grant asked. He sounded genuinely astonished.

Picturing his expression alongside, you couldn’t contain your laughter any longer. “I am an adult, Grant.” Your toes said otherwise as they wiggled in your socks in complete bliss.

Hearing Grant’s voice was a much-needed energy boost -- way more effective than the oranges you had been eating, but not on par with the programs you had been watching. He’ll get there soon.

“I usually have my housekeeper do it for me,” he confessed.

It was no surprise. You read all about it in the papers before, how the wealthy hires a live-in help, or a nanny if the household contained a family with more than enough kids. They were all cut from the same cloth either way.

“And have you noticed any silk ties going missing?” You asked in jest.

“Now that you mentioned it—“ Before Grant could finish, you laughed, picturing his expression screw into realization that he hadn’t worn his red necktie in a bit.

Objectively, it made sense. The last thing you would want to do is clean the bathroom after coming home from work. It was a luxury you would like to have the option to afford one day, but for now, having a housekeeper was merely that—an option.

You had a much more ambitious goal in mind, and that was making an impact on Hollywood. “Case adjourned.”

Grant’s laugh suggested defeat, and you were all too familiar of the long silence that would come after. If he was here face-to-face, you both would sit in the sound of white noise, or the beating rain in this case, and simply stare at each other.

You weren’t sure when or how it came to fruition, and in the end that didn’t matter—because it was nice.

It was nice to be free from all things interfering with Grant.

“What was for dinner?” He asked, instantly reminding you of the emptiness in your stomach.

“I overslept—well, as overslept as one could be when all they have on their agenda for the day is to die in bed while watching re-runs.”

“Dying to one of Lucille Ball’s shenanigans doesn’t sound too bad. If you time it right, the audience can laugh when you exhale your very last breath,” you laughed at Grant’s morbid mind. “I’ll come over then.”

“You don’t know where I live, Grant. And no, I might pass the bug to you. You’re the production’s biggest asset. We can’t afford any more delays if you fall sick too.”

“I do, actually. The apartment with the orange accents. It’s all everyone talks about because it’s so bright. And I’ll be fine, (M/N). I shot quite a bit of my scenes already. I know you’re a rising star, but the whole world doesn’t stop for you, sweetheart.”

Hearing Grant call you ‘sweetheart’, even if it was said in jest, had you thinking of several different situations in which he would say it again -- preferably in earnest.

“It should. All the take-out places in my neighborhood closed early. What I would do if I had the world in my palm…” From the couch, you looked solemnly out your window, watching blocks of buildings sleep in the shadow of the moon. Your stomach growled as the rain poured harder.

“Even as a dictator, you wouldn’t be able to stop me from coming over. I’ll be there in a split.”

“But it’s raining—“

The line ended with a buzz.

“You know, you don’t have to keep checking up on me, or even bring me food for the matter. I stocked up on some ‘TV Dinner,’” you took a whiff at the steaming bowl of lobster bisque, putting your sinuses to the test. Still nothing. Giving up, you took a sip.

“No wonder you’ve been complaining about your throat! At least buy the meatloaf one,” Grant poured you a cup of orange juice before putting the jug back, rummaging through your freezer after. “And since we’re on the subject… I’ll try one of these bad boys out.”

It was strange seeing someone in your kitchen, let alone your apartment. As unfamiliar was it was, you couldn’t lie and say that you hated it. It was easier to talk to Grant, on the couch and eating a meal together, than it was with a bunch of people interrupting their conversation for either one of them, sometimes both, to do another take.

“Have you ever been offered the chance of being a mystery guest?” After finishing dinner, you curled up on one end of the sofa while Grant sat on the other, arms sprawled over the back and feet cushioned separately by a foot stool.

You and Grant were watching a late night re-run of ‘What’s My Line?’ Four panelists had to question contestants to determine their line of work with only yes-no questions. Toward the last round of every episode, there would be a celebrity mystery guest in which the panelists sought to determine the identity of while blindfolded. For tonight’s episode, the panelists were still stumped on the first contestant’s ‘occupation’—which hardly seemed fair because it was then revealed that she was a victim of a knife-throwing accident.

They let anyone participate these days.

“I have. I wanted to partake in it, but the studio rejected the idea.”

“Why’s that?” You asked, aghast.

Frankly, if you were in Grant’s shoes, you wouldn’t have take ‘no’ for an answer. Anyone who was anyone guested on that show. And if you were Grant’s manager, somehow scarcely able to believe you would even have the energy to be in meetings all day, you would have made his dreams come true. All of them, no matter how absurd they could be.

“They thought I’d be confused at the questions given to me,” Grant sounded aggrieved. You looked over. In the guise of his smile, you could tell those words still affected him. “I think I’m capable. I just lose my train of thought in front of a crowd sometimes.”

Which made the passing thought of being Grant’s manager only a fantasy as the guilt suddenly festered -- you believed those horde of headlines insulting his intellect once. Luckily, it had since dissipated once befriending him.

“Well, when the day comes, I don’t want you to tell me,” you confessed. “Leave the surprise to the broadcast.”

Though, it wasn’t like you thought lowly of him or made any disparaging remarks on his character because of those articles. Rather, you simply pitied. You weren’t going to tell him that, however. He doesn’t need to know how deep your affection for his films and personages go. That he gave you the kick you needed to pursue this strange, yet fulling path -- you could taste the accolades right around the corner, even if you were still living in a dingy apartment.

The awful truth was that Grant also didn’t need to know that you had fallen harder for him -- the real him -- than any other roles he had played. Maybe it was his gorgeous looks that projectors couldn’t do justice. Or the clumsy nature that strangely fit his otherworldly persona -- something had to humble him. Or how he was doing this, bringing you soup every day and making himself comfortable in your own home, like it was his as well.

Or how he was looking at you right now, curled up on the other end of the sofa, his foot accidentally brushing over yours in midst of finding a comfortable spot.

You stretched your legs out when you suddenly felt tense in the body, turning away from the television set to face your body to the ceiling, your chin to your chest to keep your eyes on Grant, who began mirroring your position. It was like you two discovered telepathy for the first time; your leg occupying the gap between his thighs, Grant between yours. He turned the TV off like you had been wanting, filling the living space with complete darkness, and blindly skimmed his sock over your own.

Feeling his sock rub against your ankle stirred something inside of you, and it wasn’t reassuring that this urge only bloomed when Grant did it again. Once at your ankle, two at your calf. Whether this was his idea of a sick joke, you didn’t want that to be answered. Your senses were already heightened from the flu, the stillness in the room deafening, but the intertwined pairs of feet -- the sound of cotton caressing cotton -- alerting. Enticing.

It was an urge that seemed confined to Grant, you realized that when your body responded out of instinct and nudged his ankle and calf in retaliation. Not to get him to stop, but to silently convince him to resist -- because you were frightened you couldn’t any longer.

After a few more cycles of this—whatever activity you two were engaging in—Grant straightened his legs by your hips, seemingly complacent in this exchange by the sound of his chuckle.

“I’ll leave by dawn.”

“Good night, Grant.”

For the past couple of days, you had gotten into the habit of looking forward to Grant’s daily delivery of soups from a restaurant not too far from where he lived—three meals for breakfast, lunch, and dinner respectively. You had to admit, as delicious as they were, you were beginning to exhaust your taste buds of anything broth related. Substance was much needed, especially for a bite of the sandwiches that Grant had graciously introduced you to a couple weeks back.

However, you were feeling better, and that was the most important part—actually, scratch that.

The most important part was who was helping you recover from this aggravating bug. Sipping on the last spoonful of tomato soup, in hopes that your next meal would involve using your teeth, you were itching to resume filming.

At least you thought you did before you flipped through the daily paper. It was a still shot of Grant—blurry, walking down a sidewalk, hand in one pocket while the other was carrying a bag. That was normal, you had seen many of those in your lifetime.

What wasn’t normal was that you recognized the restaurant logo on the bag, the row of evergreens surrounding the perimeter, the distinct branding of the entrance of the building he was near.

Even if the photograph was in black and white, you could tell the handles and windows were painted with a shade darker than white. It made for a rather intriguing backdrop if you could choose to ignore the tightening feeling in your chest.

You started to panic as it became more apparent.

Orange.

“Shit.”

You braced yourself and read the headline.

HOLLYWOOD PLAYBOY STRIKES AGAIN: GRANT GUSTIN SPOTTED AT NEW ALLEGED LOVER’S RESIDENCE!

At first Grant thought he must have misunderstood. When he picked up today’s daily, he was half-expecting a gossip column regarding another one of his romantic adventures with a former co-star, the other half wishing the paper had focused on someone else for a change.

Last month’s column produced a rather in-depth, and slightly creepy, overview of his dinner with Miss Patton. He knew he had good reason to feel peculiar about the waiter serving them. If it hadn’t been for Miss Patton’s desperate plea to get a meal in her stomach as soon as possible, Grant would’ve demanded a switcheroo, effective immediately. The lanky, young man lingered far too long and asked too many questions for his liking, his presence alone made Grant’s Negroni Spritz go flat.

Did Grant’s reputation need to take another hit after finally recovering from those multitudes of fender benders a year and a half ago? Probably not -- Grant didn’t need to endure another hour-long chastising session about how his actions could damage the movie studio. It was all bluff anyway. Grant and the studio head both knew that scandals ushered in huge numbers, record-breaking attendances when it came to his most recent pictures.

Either way, had he known his private conversation with Miss Patton would become… well, not so private, Grant would’ve committed arson to the studio the night of. At least the executives could file an insurance claim based on the physical damage. Grant doubted there would be much validity to the claim if the reason provided was his inability to hold his tongue.

Luckily, Grant had since stopped pursuing after risks. It was what made a dent to his once speck-less Mercedes-Benz in the first place.

Dear God… my sweet Iris, what have I done to you?!

What he wasn’t expecting was—

“‘The Gustin Effect! Hollywood Heartthrob Grant Gustin Helps Local Restaurant Sell Out… Soups?,’” Grant repeated to himself. He was sweating as his eyes went over the large serif font for the nth time like skates on ice. He had to give it to The Daily Spring -- it wasn’t exactly an intriguing headline, but it made his heart race knowing the context. Regardless, it wasn’t exactly how he wanted to start off his day.

He suddenly felt compelled to pour another packet of sugar into his coffee.

“Keep reading, it’s a rather heart-warming article,” Grant’s manager said through the handset with a peculiar enthusiasm, as if the man wasn’t scolding him a few days ago for wandering about without telling him first. “Looks like we’re back on track, don’t you think?”

“As my manager, you’re supposed to be—I don’t know—warding off any worries that I might have. Not unsettle me any more than I already am…” Grant frowned, tucking the handset between his shoulder and ear before briefing into the rest of the gossip piece.

“What are you talking about? This is great news!”

“‘Local restaurant ‘The Cloud Room’ saw an unexpected surge in business after a photograph was published in the newspaper, showing movie star Grant Gustin holding a bag of the restaurant’s soups while en route to a secret rendezvous.

The image caught the attention of the public, leading to a wave of curious customers eager to try the same dish, dubbing the star’s powerful influence as ‘The Gustin Effect.’

With lines stretching down the block for the past three days, the possibility of the effect faltering anytime soon seems slim to none. The owners are considering expanding their hours to accommodate the growing number of customers drawn by the star's casual endorsement.’”

There were several more paragraphs, but Grant couldn’t be bothered to read any more of it. A sudden migraine had been festering the moment he laid eyes on the headline.

“Christ, Kid. You’re on a roll these days. I’d have to use both of my hands to count the number of articles written about you this past week. It’s impressive. If we play it right, then the upcoming picture could be your biggest hit yet. I know you’ve been clamoring for this moment, Kid.”

“Listen, I think I should—“ he groaned, rubbing at his temples.

“Oh, Grant. It’s just your typical fling, wasn’t it? Usually you sweeten a lady up with chocolates, but I guess… soup has its merit too. Nothing to worry about.”

Throbbing -- Grant’s head was throbbing now. He didn’t have the freedom to be indifferent to other people’s opinions. In fact, his career relied on it—on the public, on his manager, on his manager’s manager.

“No, the thing is—“

Now his hands were clamming up. He could feel the handset in his palm slipping, but he tightened his hold—because that was what people in his line of work did, right? If he was on the game show you and Grant were watching the other day, one of the questions would have been:

“Do you portray yourself as who you really are in your line of work?” “Are you free to express yourself however you wished in your occupation?” “Would people like the real person behind this persona of yours? Your parents, perhaps? Grandparents?” “Would you risk the comfort of your career for love?”

“I’ll run it by with the studio. Thank God for your little lady’s soup obsession because they were on my neck for letting you off my leash.”

Maybe his manager was correct in inducing this fear of the press, of anything that provided a space for a cluster of inquisitive people who sought for a piece of his life to sell.

Grant braced himself and exhaled, “It’s not a lady.”

Because Grant would answer all those questions with a resounding ‘No.’

“What, your brother in town? Do you even have a brother? Oh, it must’ve been your father then! Well, that will certainly fare better with the heads—”

All except one.

“It was (M/N).”

All the things Grant wasn’t saying sat heavy in his mouth. He wasn’t used to holding his tongue like this. Under normal circumstances, Grant would ramble non-stop about his favorite pastimes, like going up to Colorado to challenge the steepest ski run, or modestly luxuriating near the poolside at his mansion. It always got the conversation to a flying start with you.

Now, all of his efforts of building some kind of relationship with you seemed to be in vain.

Since Grant had revealed to his manager about his frequent visits to your apartment, there had been a constant stream of articles, propagated by the studio, about his love life, about his philanthropic efforts, about his wishes to build a family with a loving wife and four kids; all in the effort to bury his truth had it ever leak.

They brought his past flings back to the spotlight, even if he hadn’t communicated with these women in months. They brazenly brought you into the picture, gossip columnists regurgitating all types of bogus stories such as: your ego-trip when you demanded filming to stop because of your illness, your tantrum on set when Grant forgot his lines, your need to berate your assistant when she was as little of a second too late in fetching your coffee.

‘Inside sources,’ they’d call it—when really, these were excerpts manufactured from the publicity agent’s fictitious and unpublished novel, later trashed somewhere in the building to start a new one -- to find a new story for so-called ‘journalists’ would hound you with.

Articles about the alleged feud between you and Grant had only gotten more vicious and scathing on your end, and all Grant could do was watch in agony as the studio lot became a media circus, increasing day by day, week by week, with more photographers and reporters desperate to encounter these alleged incivilities. As a newcomer in the industry, it certainly raised your profile, but it was also to the detriment of your reputation -- a fact that everyone was content with considering the amount of coverage the film was receiving.

He had held onto your presence as a small comfort throughout the past bleak month, but even that necessity was taken away from him. More executives began coming onto set under the guise of quality assurance as shooting headed for its last week. Their intention became very much apparent whenever Grant would be inconvenienced with another obligation of shooting for more publicity stills.

Upon realizing you had done all your promotional material in solitude, there was nothing Grant had wanted more than to join you by your side. More so, when in a cursory attempt to blend in with your surroundings, you helped yourself to the catering service and tried to become interested in the employees. Grant knew you didn’t have enough energy in you to exchange more than a “How are you?” and some complimentary words about the food.

You didn’t stay much longer for the wrap party.

Nor were you even welcomed.

He was rarely in a situation where he could physically harm someone, but seeing the headlines the past month, how ostracized you had become during the last few weeks of filming, maybe the circumstances of his life would issue a free pass to do such heinous crimes out of the goodness of their heart -- especially since it pertained to you.

“You shouldn’t be here, Grant. Christ—someone could see you! How did you get here without someone following you?”

Before Grant was being sharply pulled into your apartment, he was contemplating on whether he should greet you with a reasonable “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you,” a pleading “It’s all my fault, please forgive me,” or a simple “Hi.”

The door clicked shut, and Grant mentally slapped himself out of his thoughts. Instead, it was none of that.

“Everyone got wasted by nine,” Grant revealed lightly; there was some apprehension that any louder, he would break you based on your meek appearance. “Your eyes are red.”

You made a dismissive noise, brushing Grant off as you passed him on your way to the bedroom. “It’s only been a month and you’re already forgetting the color of my eyes, Grant? I’ve been telling you to go to the doctor.

Grant followed. By simply watching your back, Grant noticed your walk had changed. “Stop. Stop that.” You walked too fast for your own good at times, missing shops because you had tunnel-visioned toward the front, but Grant easily caught up to grab your arm and stop you in your tracks.

Or maybe he was just getting accustomed to your pace before shit hit the fan.

“Stop what?” You turned, facing him as you leaned against your bedroom door with crossed arms. At your lower eyelids, Grant caught sight of tears forming along the waterline. He shouldn’t think that crying looked lovely on you, so he kept that thought to himself.

But it really did put him in a trance for a moment. During that moment of attraction, it couldn’t be helped that the open collar of your shirt also led various prospects nearly consume him and all of his being, making him take a step closer. His fingers brushed by the tip of yours, the wattage of the slightest physical touch making you flex your fingers like you were upholstered by secrets.

A month shouldn’t have felt that long, but this was the moment when it all came into fruition -- that Grant hadn’t properly spoken or seen you in a month. He remembered how he felt when you looked at him for the first time, something like a sensation coming painfully back to a numb limb. As torturous as it was, it made Grant feel alive.

“Stop pretending like you’re okay,” Grant swallowed hard, finding himself in a dilemma between wiping your tears for you or giving you the space you clearly needed, even if Grant had involuntarily done enough of that.

You scoffed, using the back of your sleeve to wipe your eyes. “I’m not pretending. I don’t even have stray cats in my balcony like I used to anymore to be okay for.”

“Stray cats would’ve brought you much more comfort than I ever could, I have to admit that,” Grant said, your face assuming an expression that led Grant to plausibly assume you would have disagreed. That, or he was simply toying with his delusions, knowing he couldn’t fathom the tangible truth of the damage his relationship with you had undergone.

He meant it when he didn’t want anything more than to join you by your side. Grant followed you to the sofa and sat next to you, knees and thighs touching. Hands—pairs of hand wishing they could hold you in between the passing silence.

“Why didn’t you call?” Grant didn’t think you mean for the reasonable question to sound as despondent as it did. He also didn’t think he has a lapse of control left, because you looked so fragile and nebulous—that despite his best efforts, Grant eventually slipped a hand into your palm because he was afraid acknowledging your existence would make you disappear.

He held you tighter.

“My hotel was under supervision… it’s not an excuse, I know. I should’ve tried to find a loophole. I couldn’t even write to you without the possibility of being caught. And when I was, they released more of those horrid articles about you. They were breathing down my neck, (M/N). I swear. I didn’t know what to do other than to… be complicit. I’m sorry. Truly. I’m a coward.”

“You’re not,” you sighed with eyes fixated on Grant’s hand in yours. “You have a lot more to lose than I do. I get it.”

He caressed his thumb over your palm, sparking some kind of will to exist by which he had the gentle squeeze of your hand to judge by. “Doesn’t mean it’s right, though. I don’t know, it all happened so fast. If I would’ve shut my damn mouth, none of this would have happened. I just—panicked. For God’s sake, it’s not like we’re…”

Lovers. Grant doesn’t think it was his imagination that something in you seemed to have unwound after the implication. If Grant hadn’t mentioned that he wasn’t great at comforting people, which he was confident that he had never told you, it counted for something when he was struck by the relief in your shoulders and hand, your palm seemingly sinking—but you didn’t have to fret, because Grant was there to catch you.

He was more capable at this than he had thought.

You chuckled over Grant’s reservation to even say the unspoken word, so you left him be. “My manager told me to lay low for the time-being and wait for the storm to pass. It’s nice to know I’m not fired or anything, they know it’s all deceptive.”

There was something so comforting in the ability to be physically touching you, in knowing that from here on out, Grant could simply take you by the hand, shut the door between the two of you and the rest of the world, and share your thoughts.

Maybe if all went swell, hand-holding wouldn’t be confined to a sad set of affairs. In Grant’s ideal world, holding your hand would also be the preface of something more, a bridge that allows him to cross his way over to you and explore all facets negative and positive, intimately so.

“We’re all pawns to the studio anyway. Vehicles that put in an extra floor to the building. Bad publicity is good publicity. It’s free marketing for the film. Scandals make stars, and you’re halfway there.”

Grant was sure of it. He had seen many other actors and actresses recover their careers with far worse rumors. The main priority was money, and as long as it didn’t stop the audience from filling up the theaters, there was no reason to drop a talent.

You brought your legs onto the sofa and crossed your legs facing Grant. “Is that supposed to be comfort me, Mister Fender Bender?”

“That was only three times—and, mind you, no one got hurt.” Grant followed suit. His bent knees pressed against yours. He had your hands opened in his palms as if telling fortune was second nature to him, tracing the lines embedded in your palm with an inquisitive index. “How am I supposed to comfort you, then? Tell me.”

Your hands weren’t much smaller than Grant’s, the fact had been known since the very moment you two had exchanged handshakes for the first time. Still, those beautiful appendages visited his dreams often. It hadn’t meant anything to Grant until one night, he was dreaming about the day he had his hand over yours as you lit his cigarette. The second night, he dreamed of you testing his temperature via the back of your hand to Grant’s forehead. The third night… well, Grant was ashamed to admit that his attraction had breached far into indecent territories by which helped him solve a night of endless tossing and turning in a matter of minutes.

Then multiple nights, because Grant since wholeheartedly accepted that this infatuation for your hands had actually preceded his deep affection for you.

Unless someone brought good reason that Grant should stop playing with your hands and obsessing over them, it wasn’t in his agenda to ever let go.

“You’ve done enough. I guess… I’m a little upset that I splurged on a new suit for nothing. I was going to wear it to the wrap party,” you huffed, idly playing a game of ‘Try To Catch Grant’s Finger.’ No prize money would be offered, just bragging rights—which did have some merit.

So far, you were losing.

Grant smirked as he managed to wriggle a finger out of your grip. Five points for him, two points for you. “Who said there can’t be one with just us two?”

“Cheater! And that’s called a date, Grant.”

“I would’ve stayed then.” Suddenly, the solution to end your pitiful evening slotted in place.

He sprung up from the sofa with a hop, smiling graciously at you. “Come on. On your feet. We’re bringing it to a place I know.”

For Grant to call his residence something as pedestrian and humdrum like ‘a place,’ as if all the great virtues and grandeur of the mansion had been entirely diminished because the construction of expanding his already-massive pool had been halted for whatever reason—you questioned, and was rather frightened to know, about what his idea of a party was. It soon became a momentary thought when Grant began giving you a brief tour around his mansion—and the amenities that came with it.

With its manicured gardens, gold-plated fixtures, towering columns that couldn’t have prepared you for the imposing entryway, Grant’s stately mansion exuded an aura of refinement and exclusivity, and you were in awe by the sense of splendor. You felt out of your element. It was extremely telling as you walked over the imported marble floors like they were made of crystals. Delicately caressed ornate sculptures stoned near every corridor because it would have been irresponsible for you to only observe the complex lines that made their forms so irresistible. It was the epitome of a lifestyle that you would never be able to afford, yet you weren’t jealous at all.

It was a spectacle for sure, but you couldn’t have possibly felt comfortable living with such large quantities of upkeep. Grant mentioned that his bedroom was his favorite, and that was what you could get behind. It wasn’t opulent like the rest of the resident was. It felt lived in, homely, comfortable, even though you were hyper-aware of the fact that his balcony practically contained another living space.

“Get changed in the bathroom. I’ll wait here,” Grant said, sitting on the end of his bed. You had never seen a king-size bed before, but the magazines weren’t lying when one of the print advertisements likened their mattress of that size to a cumulonimbus cloud.

The color of your bespoke formal wear spoke softly; champagne at the blazer and cedar at your slacks. The fabric so light, they almost seemed without substance. The great craftsmanship nearly made you empty a week’s worth of cigarettes in a day, but the tailoring of your suit, alongside the cut and detail, quickly separated you from the past appearance of a boy who had yet outgrown his father’s hand-me-downs to a well-dressed and confident man who paid his bills on time. Once you slicked your hair back for the final touch, you walked out of Grant’s bathroom to reveal yourself.

“I forgot my tie on your bed.”

Grant had opened his mouth to take another gulp of whiskey, but when he turned to look at you, his tongue was seemingly paralyzed in the back of his throat, suddenly coughing up the previous sip he had taken.

You laughed while you made your way to his full length mirror stationed by his closet. He was quick to follow behind, subsiding his raw throat with the last ounce of liquor and grabbing your tie on the way over.

“You look nice. Though, I didn’t take you to be someone who was keen on light colors. You always wore navy,” Grant said, turning you to face him by a gentle hold on your shoulders.

You tipped your head when Grant began to slip the necktie beneath your shirt collar. “Most of my clothes are from my father’s. I will say—as much as it made a dent in my wallet, it was nice buying something for myself for once.”

You tried not to be too obvious about looking at all facets of Grant; the careful attention of his gaze; the veins in his hands as he looped the cloth. In this moment, you came to realize that you wanted Grant in all the ways you were used to ignoring. This was different in the past, different from those peculiar exchanges between the two of you where playing footsie and skimming hands were simply done in the guise of naivety.

He caressed the green cloth in his hand while his gaze focused on yours, utterly complacent about how he compelled you to part your lips with a single look.“Well, you made a great choice. You look terrific. Handsome.” All so alluring, when he stalled further, slowly passing the fibers of silk between inquisitive fingertips. With one firm tug, Grant knotted the tie at your throat, pulling you closer to him in the process. “Beautiful.”

This was different because you knew Grant felt the same way.

“Beautiful?” You repeated for clarification. The word that came out of his mouth littered you goosebumps over your skin. Nobody had ever called you beautiful, you were sure you were the first man in history to be called as such.

You refused to believe this was a serious statement, but then Grant repeated cooly, “Beautiful,” and before you could counter, he pulled on your tie again, nearly closing the small distance between the two of you, and settled his lips on yours.

You collapsed into the kiss, like it was taking all the effort not to kiss Grant, and you were finally giving up. Grant knew that you wanted this, that by any sensible measure desperate for the taste of liquor to come from his mouth and pass into yours with the swap of his tongue. He knew it the way he knew that the Western End had the best suits in the city and that you needed a reservation for almost every restaurant in the district—it was a fact that he didn’t have to think about, and which everybody else knows, too.

You didn’t mean to make that noise come out of your mouth, but after suffering a lapse in Grant’s presence, his lips on yours felt like a whiskey sour on a hard day. It was much needed gift with the past few months you had been having. The softness and care in Grant’s lips made your breath shudder, one would think you had been laved by the cold sea, whereas you were actually melting, in Grant’s arms, gripping his lapel for balance.

“I missed you,” Grant said softly. He circled his arms over your hips, his hands sliding beneath your blazer because he needed to feel every muscle in your body tensing, to pull you impossibly closer to memorize how you fit in his arms.

You supposed you had to credit the liquor for his brazenness.

“I missed you too,” you collapsed into his arms, trusting the warmth of his embrace.

He kissed you in between breaths. “I missed you so much, I couldn’t function properly knowing you were hurting. Guilt was hollowing me from within,” Harder on your mouth, apparently coming to the conclusion that you relished in the roughness of his embrace, in the bruising link between your mouth and his, from the way you gasped and pulled more of him into you. “I shouldn’t have left you alone.” Palm deep against his nape, you pushed his head toward the slant of your jaw because you needed to recover your breath. Quickly, before you would risk the chance of collapsing on behalf of lost time, dispelling your last remaining breath inside Grant’s mouth out of desperation to overcompensate.

“I told you it was fine, Grant—“ You groaned when he began nibbling at the underside of your jaw. By virtue of his unstoppable desire, Grant propelled forward, holding you tight, and you stumbled back into the corner until your back collided with the wall, the impact drawing out a pleasurable hiss from your throat.

“It’s not. It’s absolutely not. You nearly drove me into talking to a shrink about you.” You nearly stopped Grant to have a proper conversation, without all these interruptions. Between his kisses and the gripping, you were an incoherent mess if the tightness in your slacks had something to go by, but you instead followed along, entranced by how Grant could look so stunning when all he was doing was undressing you.

He started with the tie. “But then, that would’ve made matters entirely worse upon the realization that… I was so in love with you,” he whispered over your bare throat after sliding the cloth off. Next, was your shirt. “And that it can’t be fixed. I can’t be fixed. I can’t fix myself now knowing that you feel the same way. You do, don’t you?” Then, your undershirt.

You swallowed hard. “I do. I entirely do, am so much in love with you. Grant—” You struggled to get the words out without giving into Grant’s delirious kisses on your bare body. Maybe if you had stumbled, it would’ve delayed his ravenous appetite for your body a second or so longer—but even then, you weren’t sure if you were capable of witnessing and being at the hands of a man who was so clearly starving.

“Oh, Grant—that’s very…” Good. Erotic. Attractive. At least one of those words you were meant to say, but it would’ve been a relic of a bygone touch. Being mouthed at your perky nubs was as indescribable a feeling could get, but then when Grant began licking over your body, slowly sinking onto his knees as he worked his way down your torso, sucking spots and licking marks you hadn’t had the faintest idea about—you were reduced to the role of a whimpering bystander by which ultimately stripped your brain beyond words.

Grant undressed the lower half of you—all but your brown socks—and you had long accepted the fact that it was inevitable in showing Grant how much you enjoyed giving him free rein to your body. Your erection was strong, a reveal of flesh that made him suck in his lips to keep himself from ravishing you already.

“You’re leaking,” you wanted to hide and crawl in a ditch somewhere. It was embarrassing as Grant marveled over the thick trail of pre-cum that tagged over his fingertip when he curiously dipped a finger over your glans.

“Well, don’t comment on it…”It was like he read your mind, because Grant placed a warm palm on your stomach to prevent you from enacting on your wishes, ultimately trapping you in place by the gentle strokes over your cock. “Fuck…” you watched with bleary eyes, all sorts of feelings stockpiling to feed your endorphins

In turn, you felt your skin blossom with heat, patches on your neck and chest burning, because Grant refused to take his eyes off of you. He stroked your cock ardently while assuming an expression of treacly sentiment, like he couldn’t believe his dreams had become a reality. Watching you writhe over the wall, leak over his twisting fist, bite your moans into your hand; these were the exact amenities you would’ve have wanted had you sought for a mansion of your own. Not the towering stairwells, or the ornate carved fountain, or even a separate room for the live-in housekeeper.

Just Grant, his presence, and his magical touch. That was all you needed.

“Wait, wait. Grant, stop—“ You begged a second too late. Your balls tightened when Grant’s hand was only more relentless upon your desperate pleas. His hand massaged your thighs, lips mouthed at the underside of your sack. The prospect of you returning the favor for Grant—or better, with your mouth, hoarding what had yet to be revealed deep down your throat—made you shudder with a release. “Fuck—”

“It’s okay. I’ve been meaning to taste you…” Upon the violent tremble of your thighs, Grant scooted closer, deftly angling and pumping your cock over his open mouth, and let you shoot. You blinked past tears as you felt yourself spill thick shots in Grant’s mouth, over his tongue as he cradled your seeds like they were precious metals, and at the last second, over his face because you stumbled out of his grasp and caught yourself on the wall, heaving.

It had taken a moment for you to catch your breath, shutting your eyes as the tremor in your body would jolt from out of the blue. It was all too much, the sweet relief courteous by the man you loved. You were embarrassed by how quickly Grant had unraveled you, but that was certainly a testament to your attraction to him, or to his skills.

When you opened your eyes, Grant pulled you by the hips for another kiss. A strong embrace to control the tides in your body. Then, a wet and sloppy kiss to clarify that Grant wasn’t done yet, as he breached your mouth with his tongue and surprised you by passing cum into your mouth. It was an ongoing battle, the thick substance swapping from tongue to another, the bitter notes subsiding as more saliva snowballed into the mixture. Between the lewd exchange, Grant began undressing himself out of anticipation of what would come next.

“Swallow,” Grant broke the kiss with a whisper, resting his forehead on yours to feast his eyes on the very prospect of you fulfilling his demand. It was an immense pull of attraction, the slow cascade of his hand over your spine following along with it, that made you gulp the thick content in your mouth. He seemed satisfied when your throat bobbed, smiling. “Good?”

“I imagine yours would taste better,” you rested a hand over your his head, coming his hair back with your fingers until they reached the back of his neck, offering you leverage for another kiss—sweet and clean on Grant’s lips.

“I wouldn’t mind if you tried me out,” Grant was already down to his briefs, his eyes subtly pleading for the sake of his thickened bulge. Prior to noticing, you had been roaming your hand over his lean body. His bare chest, the well-defined muscles breaking you of your fantasies—because it was better than you could have imagined. Grant looked about two seconds away from forcing you on your knees himself, but lucky for him, you were just as eager.

Sinking onto your knees, you carefully pulled down his briefs. Slowly at first, to compose yourself, but then to test your patience, because the length of Grant’s shaft seemed never-ending. When you fully stripped him of his briefs, you had to take a scoot back in fear that his impressive cock would hit you in the face.

Grant was massive, the weight of his length making it stoop forward and dangle with every step he took. There was one protruding vein that nearly made you drop everything and sucked him off right then and there, until he was fully hard in your mouth and you could feel more veins throbbing—but again, you needed to show him some type of restraint, even though at this point, you doubted that he cared.

“So, the rumors are true, then?” Instantly, you were taken back to a gossip column regarding Grant’s size. Whoever tipped those writers off should win a Pulitzer Prize.

Grant shrugged, apparently nonchalant at the fact that he could practically cover the length of your face with such ease. “Had no idea where that came from, honestly…” Holding his thighs, you briefly trialed the theory out under the guise of kissing the underside of his thick shaft. Between licking the flesh, kissing his balls, and fondling his cock, you were also completely immersed in the smell of his cock. He smelled like pure arousal, a peculiar saltiness in your nostrils as you breathed him in, from unkempt pubic hairs to the leaking tip. Nonetheless, it was gratifying as your cock responded in several twitches.

“I don’t think I can fit you in my mouth,” you said, aware that you were grinning like a fool.

“It’s the effort that matters,” he chuckled, his hand smoothening over your head to rest on your nape, pushing your mouth closer to his hardening cock. With one hand braced on his thigh and the other wrapped around the base of his cock, you felt Grant tense when you cradled the tip into your mouth with your tongue, sucking. “Your mouth is so warm, (M/N)…”

He was as salty as he smelled. The pre-cum coated your tongue nicely, resembling the taste of your cum prior, but somehow ten times more potent, as if you were drinking sex directly from concentrate. What was even nicer was how heavy your mouth felt when you took more of Grant in. It was like the weight of him had its own gravitational pull, separating your mouth wider to accommodate the massive girth like sucking a cock this big came second-hand nature to you. You reckoned that you should become quickly accustomed to it though, because you couldn’t fathom the idea of leaving Grant disappointed.

You and Grant were like this for a couple of minutes; Grant pushing out drips of spit with his mouth to add onto the wetness and you doing the same thing, pushing your saliva out and spreading the thick layer over his shaft with your hand to help ease the slide into your mouth. You could barely fit more than a few inches, your cheeks hallowing for as long as they could before the strain of the stretch had gotten to the nerves.

“Oh, fuck…” Grant moaned, having had enough of your sloppy strokes by robbing you of your recovery once more and greedily pushing his cock back into your warm mouth.

God, the way it looked… a reddened, fat swollen cock straining in the grip of your fist, a drop of pre-cum glistening heavy on the tip, a thick layer of saliva over the thicker size of his staff… the fact that you could see your own fingers struggling to wrap around his cock as you sucked him off—it all felt so very surreal, and so very real.

“You’re so big, Grant. Fuck…” You lifted your gaze and stared into Grant’s nebulous eyes. Somehow, it made the act ten times more obscene upon realizing that you were practically servicing him, on your knees, worshiping all facets of his body. His calves were toned against your lips, thighs sturdier as Grant made an effort to stabilize his stance following your teasing mouth working up his legs with ticklish kisses, then back to the head of his cock, where you began nibbling at the swollen head.

“Christ, (M/N)…”

He was always very expressive, but in the moment, he seemed at a loss for words. Dumbfounded, as you began using two hands to stroke what you couldn’t fit inside of your mouth. Swiveling and twirling his wet cock with your fists, all while you sucked and licked on his swollen tip, feeding into the rush that made his cock throb so hard in your mouth and hands, into the delightful sounds that revived your sensitive cock back with life.

Grant bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from making any sound. What came out were staggered breaths, clear evidence of his indulgence while his hips were moving without his volition. Your plump lips stretched wide around his pistoning cock, sucking and slobbering over the hot ample flesh, eyes wide and disbelieving, as if you couldn’t believe you could fit this much of Grant inside of your mouth.

It was endgame the moment Grant hissed and sunk in his stomach, flexing his abdomen under way—everything was building to the perfect eruption. You had your mouth opened, stroking him over your face to catch him with your tongue as he had done with you. Grant was close—so close that his face could make you spill for the second time of the night on the strength of his twisted expressions.

Your delusions consequently settled you in for a rude awakening when Grant suddenly pulled you up on your feet and kissed you hard, yet almost apologetically on the mouth. You whined against his lips, ultimately kissing him back because you couldn’t get a word in from how relentless he was being by which you couldn’t blame—the agony of being nearly relieved would’ve wrecked havoc on your mental state.

“I need to be inside of you first, please—“ Grant begged hot on your neck. He backed you into his bed until your backside collided with the mattress upon the push of his hand. Then your chest, when Grant took free liberty of your body and bent you over.

The first thing on your mind was that, “God, this mattress was lovely,” but the second you felt something wet spread over your hole, all the compliments you had reserved dissipated and expelled through a shuddering breath. You were blinded by the soft bedding, burying your moans into the sheets, but you could conjure up the holiest image of Grant spreading your asscheeks open and exploring you with eager licks.

“You’re so good at this,“ you sighed, curling your toes into your socks.

“You bring out the best in me, you know…” Grant muttered, squeezing your ass cheeks as a sign of affection when you looked over your shoulder and smiled at him. His mouth was much too busy to verbalize his feelings.

You wondered if Grant was aware of how obscene he had sounded—these wet, slurpy sounds that his mouth made while tasting your insides. His hot breath was beckoning, pushing your hips out by inclination for Grant to give you more. More, more, more. It seemed like he listened to your body because you stiffened immediately, barely suppressing a surprised gasp, when his slicked finger entered you.

You felt like you were in a free fall. Finally. This was exactly what you needed. Your mind went utterly blank, unable to comprehend the single digit curling inside of you. It was thought-annihilating, the way Grant had curled his fingers inside of you—two now, after deciding for himself that you had been clamoring for a bigger fill, that you needed to feel a stretch.

“Please, Grant—that’s enough, please. Need you,” you whimpered, self-conscious at the sound of his wet fingers slipping in and out of you. He liked playing with your body, screwing his fingers deep inside of you, only to yank them out because it made you yelp.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he brought the rest of your body onto the bed, bringing immediate relief to your legs. “One more.”

It made your tight hole beckon for more with a pucker.

With such control, forcefulness, and precision, your mouth fell open in a silent moan and your eyes went wide at the push of Grant’s third finger. You could barely keep your hips still, even with Grant’s efforts to hold you down with a palm on your lower back. It was all too much, your whole world seemed to have narrowed down to your sensitive hole; the sound of his hard fingers pumping in and out of you; the slick sounds obscene and alerting in your ear; the sweet stretch that made the discomfort all the worthwhile—because Grant was just as anguished as you were. You could hear him stroking his slicked cock, the anticipation of the inevitable building as you felt yourself loosened on account of his efforts.

You knew you were well-primed because your body still craved more.

“No more… need you,” you bit out, breathing unsteadily when Grant pulled his fingers out and flipped you onto your back. Your eyes naturally fell to Grant’s cock, and it looked as mouthwatering as it did a few moments ago. Your hole clenched at the likely chance that you’d be feeling the ramifications of taking such a well-endowed man well into the next day, and the day after that. “Please,” you begged once more, reaching low to prevail him with lazy to his erection.

“Other than getting over that nasty cold, I’ve never seen you so desperate for something,” Grant was kneeling on the bed, adjusting your position so your legs were wrapped around his hips, his cock teasing your entrance with careful ruts. You felt the head press ever so gently when he leaned forward and captured your lips for a soft kiss. “I find it really, really, really charming.”

“Mm…” Your fingers, tentative and slow, cupped the edge of Grant’s jaw. This was just the beginning, you realized. A new chapter for you and Grant where the idea of dropping hints of attraction was no longer needed because everything came unraveling, faster than you had anticipated, but nonetheless, it was exciting.

Grant put a free hand on the back of your neck, threading his fingers through your hair, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, securing his place on top of you. When Grant broke the kiss to look into your eyes, it made all the difference between lust and love as he slowly pressed his cock into your hole, unlatching some kind of internal safety mechanism within you until it had clasped over the plump head after getting cold feet.

“Slowly,” you groaned, sweating bullets beneath the shower of his kisses. You built up a strong resistance to Grant’s hips, reluctant, and to put it quite plainly, frightened to take him in stride. But it was Grant’s silent promise to take care of you that took the edge off your apprehension bit-by-bit.

Grant followed a pattern. He pushed deeper, paused, then found a place on your body to distract you from the discomforting stretch, reeled back a bit, then thrusted deeper than before, gradually opening you up. Adding on the pleasing strokes to your hard cock, you felt your muscles relax, the sweat bullets cooling your body.

“More…” you mumbled on his lips, and at times you regretted asking for it, because Grant made your stomach turn. His cock was so deep inside of you, too deep when the stretch nearly became unbearable, yet your cock pulsed and your hole clenched for the exact opposite.

You noticed he liked talking you through it especially, whispering bone-chilling compliments like, “You’re taking my cock so well,” “Look at you, you’re so beautiful…” and your favorite, “You’re driving me crazy. Do you have any idea how hard I’m restraining myself?”

Grant was listening to your body. He knew what it meant when you were clenching so tight around him, panting for him with that wide-eyed look of yours, supplying his broad back with unrelenting scratches. It meant that you weren’t full enough—it meant that you covertly indulged in the stretch he was providing you with.

It was the best and worst feeling in the world, because you knew with suddenly clarity that you wouldn’t be able to live without this. You would crave this feeling always, especially when Grant fully breached your hole with a thrust that filled you to the brim.

You were full. So fucking full.

“Oh, God—“ The cock in you was thick and throbbing, easily brushing your prostate without so much of a motion. You nearly passed out from how intense the sensation was, having your inner walls be massaged from within as Grant finally started moving.

“You took all of my cock, fuck—I knew you could. I know you so well,” Grant grunted against your mouth, pistoning in and out of you with hard thrusts. Your arms had dropped to Grant’s sides, fingers digging into Grant’s toned buttocks, trying to pull him deeper inside of you.

Instead, he reeled himself back.

Your legs dangled in the air as Grant pushed your knees to your chest, leveraging the back of your thighs hard to properly pile-drive his cock into your hole. Your feet sweltered in the confines of your socks, but you didn’t mind because you were getting accustomed to the humidity in the air.

Grant didn’t hesitate anymore. There was wild fury in his face, the imposing strength and passion managing to be its only rival as they equally sought for one purpose and one purpose only, which was to fuck you into oblivion. Grant looked dangerous, delirious, and you feared him as much as you wanted him. In your folded position, you spread your buttocks apart for Grant to see how well he was fucking you. How deep he was stroking your insides with his thick cock, making you gape when he completely pulled out, then making your body shiver—when he screwed himself in with one hard thrust, overfilling your guts.

“You put a smell on me, didn’t you?” His voice sounded spiteful, but what he does to you was pure love. He growled into one of your calves between pants, smooching and grazing his teeth at the toned muscle.

The bed creaked with every thrust of his, loud and heavy enough that you wouldn’t be surprised that the corridors of his mansion were echoing from it.

“F-fuck—if only. You would’ve d-done this sooner,” Tiny tremors and tingles exploded as Grant pummeled deep into your body and brushed over your prostate. You were stroking yourself to the sound of his ravenous moans, to the sound of his heavy balls slapping over your taint, to the sound of his sweaty thighs coming into contact with yours, warning you of a sensation of pin-needles sticking into the area by virtue of the thunderous claps.

Grant couldn’t have looked more beautiful than this. The gel in his hair loosened, letting delicate strands of brown locks to fall over his forehead. Every so often, he would push his fringe back with a careless swoop, and you whimpered at how effortlessly handsome he was at everything.

It lit you up inside, your body bursting with raw energy with the brutal impaling that Grant was feeding you. Your cock throbbed in your fist, and your hole squeezed at the unveiling of untamed passion. Grant must have seen the desire written on your face, because he was triumphant in the smile he had given you, leaning down to wake you from your state of stupor by means of a sloppy kiss.

“G-Grant, I-I’m so, I can’t—“ Grant took over your mind and body. He was everywhere, inside and around you. It was like you existed only for him, and his massive cock. His tongue pushed your lips apart and began cradling the flesh that had held your garbled moans from being remotely coherent.

“I can’t hear you,” Then, he fucked you like he wanted to gut you. Grant reached deep, hammering into your prostate every time his hips collided against yours. “Tell me, what do you want? I’ll give it to you. You know I will.”

Your eyes rolled until Grant could only see the whites of them. Your toes curled into your cotton of your socks at the contrasting affection in his voice. Your hands sprawled and crumpled a spot in the bed sheets, pulling and tugging hard enough for one corner of the satin bedding to untuck.

“Come. I need to come—“ you gasped out, struggling to breathe. Your world had shrunk to one sensation, the spot inside of you that had been gifted the ruthless beating of Grant’s cock. It was like he was chastising you for causing such feelings to stir inside of him. If that was the case, you needed to memorize the recipe, and quickly, because you were desperate to reduce the chances of ever being stripped of this sensation to a selfish zero.

“I’ll help you come,” he seized your body once again, hooked your legs over his shoulders, and pushed his total body weight on top of you. He blatantly disregarded the fact that your limbs had never been stretched this far before, but it was all worthwhile when Grant satisfied your longing by wrapping his warm hand over your cock and pumped. “I’ll make you come.”

“S-shit, Grant!” Each thrust harder than the last, his cockhead repeatedly hitting that golden spot, and your cock ached with desire in the lovely pulling of Grant’s hand. Your entire body seized, writhing as the familiar feeling in your stomach kept building and building without the intention to ever stop. It embarrassingly only took a few more strokes before you would spill thick all over his fist. All over your body, cumshots joining your sweat in layering your moist skin, when Grant kept stroking with the intent to empty your balls until they had tightened into your body.

Only then did Grant slow his thrusts and pull himself out. Did he change his mind about coming inside of you. Over your body? Face? You couldn’t tell what he was planning as you just began recovering from the daze your orgasm had put you into.

“You’re going to like this,” Grant grunted, pecking you on the lips before reaching down to angle himself back at your entrance.

Your gaze was casted with a mixture of utter bliss and wonder, chuckling. “What are you—fuck…“

Your hole felt warm and wet all over again when Grant pushed himself back inside of you with ease. Furthermore, it was a peculiar feeling, like there was an extra weight to his cock, the sound of the sticky substance—

You gasped, suddenly alert and clenching as you felt something viscous leak out of you.

Grant was fucking you with your own cum.

You couldn’t have been more turned on. Grant rolled his hips just right, slow and firm, coating your raw hole over and over with your seed, building back his stamina in the process. His cock pulsated in you. It was apparent that it was feeding into Grant’s satisfaction considering his gaze had been fixated on the translucent sheen of your cum passing back and forth on the girth of his cock and your internal walls.

“So beautiful…” Grant moaned out, clearly overwhelmed with the state of his arousal.

With every thrust, you swallowed him whole, the long glide of his thick, cum-covered shaft, the kiss to your prostate; you gyrated your hips to prolong his orgasm and allow him to recover his strength as Grant freed his hands from your body and tucked them behind his head, giving you free rein on his cock.

You rolled your hips, using your core to swing your ass forward and back on his throbbing cock, drawing out deep and guttural moans from the connection.

“Darling, (M/N), fuck—“ Hissing, he suddenly seized your waist and gripped hard, impaling you onto his cock with a rough pull, and you watched his stomach tighten, wrapping your legs back around his waist in preparation of his orgasm.

You watched in awe as you lost yourself in Grant’s fill. He came hard, gritting his teeth and digging his fingers into your thighs. It was a marvelous ache, both at your flesh and your hole, and you could feel his cock pumping multiple heavy loads deep inside of you and flooding your guts as reparation for your pain.

Even though Grant’s legs gave out, making him topple over your sweaty body, the strain in his thighs didn’t falter the desperate need to sow your insides with his warm seed. It was as if he was marking his territory, moving his hips slow and relaxed because he knew you were bound to him the moment he kissed you. Milking his cock inside of you was just a simple reminder, and you hugged his hard, spilling cock with gratitude.

His lips were slow and gentle, a contradictory to the merciless invasion of your guts. Nonetheless, you rocked on his shaft, blissfully spreading his love from deep within, and savored his shuddering breath.

“You’re heavy,” you groaned out, rubbing your hands from his shoulders to his sweaty back. Despite your complaint, you didn’t make much of an effort—if any at all—to push him away. It was peaceful like this, feeling his heart beat come to a somewhat normal pace while you two were stickily intertwined at the hip. “Some kind of confession…”

The sound of Grant’s muffled laughter into your neck made you smile. It was light and feathery, like the way you had always felt when you were with him.

“First kiss and sex, all on the same night. Who’s doing it like us?”

“No one. Absolutely no one.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

Getting some re-reading in before Thursday!! 🥰

In The Dark: 7

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @mourningbirds1 for her guidance, her help and her support on this one - I am better because of her. Also, thank you to @absurdthirst who once wrote a gagging Ezra fic so good that it’s been infused in my soul - the beginning of this one is for you, Keri. Taglist coming later, thank you for reading!

–

One afternoon, early in his days of getting to know you, Cee had brought you home after school. It was hot – the thick kind of heat that crept into the house and filled the rooms, the kind that made his feet stick to their old hardwood floors and the two of you sat at their kitchen table with your laptops open, sweating glasses of ice water next to your piles of books and pens and notes. 

The window was open to let in any semblance of a breeze, the humidity outside high for the time of year and when he walked into the kitchen to get himself a drink, he stopped at the sight in front of him.

You, eating a popsicle. Your mouth was stained red with it, your pursed lips wrapped around the frozen treat and his mouth watered at the imagined icy sweetness of your tongue meeting his. There was nothing overtly sexual about the way you were eating it — in fact, you had your head bent as you read, not even noticing he was there and he felt like a dirty old man watching you wrap your lips around it and suck — but he couldn’t look away. 

You kept reading, your finger delicately skating along a line of text on an open page and when you unconsciously started to tap the tip of the popsicle against the pout of your lower lip, he had to leave the room. 

It’s not warm anymore, the heat of summer fading away into crisp fall and then into the early days of winter; scarce snowflakes drifting and swirling outside the window of your apartment, the sky a bleak gray. 

Keep reading

Harvey / (Cringefail) Farmer pt. 17

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oh my god they haven't even held hands have they