what about a fic where rookie leon has a crush on y/n, and everyonee at the station knows but her? hed leave notes in her locker, hed stay later after hours just to walk her to her car, or wake up really early to get breakfast for her
┆ - ۫ ׅ I wanna kiss your neck and make you purple all over
Leon is so hopelessly in love with you, and it's so obvious to everybody but you.
𝓛EON KENNEDY :: rookie cop leon
⸝⸝ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤfluff fic - 𝓛eon Kennedy x fem!reader
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤnow playing - Pink Bubblegum by Lavi Kou
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⇆ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ↻
╰┈➤ ｡ content & warning(s) : no smut! Angst mixed with fluff, hopelessly in love!leon, this takes place in RE2, oblivious!reader, Leon bad with confessions, yearning!leon, no y/n, just [name].
word count: 913
summary / synopsis : You recently started working as a secretary at the Raccon police department, catching the attention of a new rookie, Leon, who fell in love with you at a single glimpse of your face and tries to find ways to earn your attention.
It was fairly obvious that Leon had an extensive crush on you. Everybody knew about it! everybody but you, unfortunately. He was your secret admirer, love at first sight, yet you simply thought he was just being a total sweetheart to you. You need help? Leon is always there to help you. You need a drink of water? Leon has an extra water bottle for you
Leon was also so horrible at talking to you, always stuttering over his words; you didn't notice how the other cops teased him relentlessly whenever Leon was an utter mess in front of you. You'd remember the times when he would stay late with you and walk you to your car.
But when you ask? He immediately gets flustered and stutters over his words, making the same excuse about how it wasn't safe for a young lady to walk in the parking lot alone, where creeps could be lurking. Yet of course, you believed his poor excuse every single time.
You would notice small notes in your locker. One time, you even saw a bouquet near your locker with a neat note on the side. The handwriting looked suspiciously similar to Leon's handwriting, but you brushed it off every time.
You wouldn't notice how he would stare at you with those wide, curious eyes of his, how he would be eager as a puppy to get you lunch or breakfast whenever you said you didn't have the time to get some. You mistook him for being kind to you, as he was to everybody else.
But Leon would always linger around you, always staring at you with loving eyes, even if his superior is scolding him. When you walk past them and offer a small smile to Leon, his heart would stop, and he would replay that moment so many times in his head.
It was like one of those corny rom-com movies, and of course, EVERYBODY noticed it. Leon would drop everything for you. One time you didn't show up to the department, he got so worried about you that he considered using his sick time to go see you.
Leon would literally go to work sick just to see your sweet face, to see you fret over him whenever he coughed or sneezed; he loved seeing you worry over him over the simplest things like a cold. Everybody called him a hopeless romantic, always rolling their eyes whenever they saw you two together.
One night, when you were finishing up at your desk, stacking some documents away as you turned off your computer, you heard someone awkwardly clearing their throat, catching your attention immediately as you looked up to see Leon standing there, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his expression somewhere between determined and nervous.
" Hey, uh... c-can I ask you something? " he started, stepping close to your desk where you were. His voice was quieter than usual, as if he was worried about being overheard or something. You slowly put the papers you were holding down on the wooden surface, trying to catch his lowered gaze.
" Yeah, what's up? " you mused, looking at Leon as he nervously chuckled, " I was wondering if... maybe you'd want to get dinner with me? m-maybe sometime? " He shifted on his feet, cheeks flushed as he avoided your gaze. You paused at his words as you considered them for a moment.
" Like.. work-related? " you asked, your head tilted to the side as he quickly looked up and shook his head, " n-no! no.. uh- I was thinking just us.. I know a few good spots.. just, you know, the two of us... " Leon nervously corrected. He was getting more awkward by the minute.
" Are you trying to ask me out on a date, Leon? " you gently asked, your words made him go flustered, his blue eyes uncertain yet hopeful. " I- no?- well.. ye-yeah.. I was wondering if you would.. like to go on a date with me.. I- I get it if you're too busy!.. but I thought I'd ask.. " Leon nervously ranted, letting out a sigh as he looked down, ashamed to even look at you.
You thought it was cute, an odd way to ask someone out on a date. Leon looked like a nervous puppy in that moment; the poor guy couldn't even look you in the eye, his gaze focused down on the floor as if he wanted it to swallow him whole right now, and he was fidgeting with anything his fingers grabbed onto.
" ..sure, I'd like to go out on a date with you. " You smiled softly. Your words shocked him, but he quickly recovered with a few quick nods, excited that you agreed to go on a date with him. All of that previous nervousness drifted away in his body, replaced with excitement.
" r-really? I mean.. okay! y-yeah.. Can I pick you up after work? " Leon quickly offered with a timid smile, his eyes locking onto yours for just a moment longer than usual before he quickly looked away, afraid that you would say no, " yeah! I wouldn't mind that. " You chuckled, picking up the papers on your desk as you neatly sorted them out.
" okay- okay.. after work then.. I-I'll see you!.. " Leon tried his best to sound confident as he nodded, walking away from your desk as he stumbled into a wall, earning a soft laugh from you before he quickly rushed away, not wanting to embarrass himself any further.
. ౿ Where to? ── masterlist , rulebook , see me .✦
After accidentally cutting your hand, you visit urgent care—only to find your ex, Jake Sim, is the attending doctor. What starts as a check-up turns into a messy, heated reunion neither of you expected… or seem ready to let go of.
nsfw warning: (MDNI 18+) Includes explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, rough sex, oral sex (fem rec), dirty talk, overstimulation, choking (light), spanking, explicit language, penetration dominance/submission dynamics, and public/semi-professional setting (doctor/patient).
word count: 4,698.
paring: ex!doctor!jake x fem!reader (exs to lovers?)
author note: pretty sure this is my 3rd fic, and I’m actually really happy about this one. I would say this is a little angsty at first but not really. I’m gonna start a masterlist soon, stay tune for that. Comments, reblogs, likes and feedback is very appreciated!
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
You let out a sharp hiss as the sting shoots through your palm. You drop the dish rag and stare at the thin but deep cut that now paints your hand a bright red.
“Great,” you mutter, trying to rinse it under cold water. But the bleeding doesn’t stop. Ten minutes later, you’re in an Uber on the way to the urgent care clinic, hand wrapped in a half-wet kitchen towel, mentally cursing your decision to wash that stupid wine glass so aggressively.
The waiting room is quiet, save for the occasional cough and the soft music playing from a wall-mounted speaker. You fill out a form one-handed, trying to ignore how much your hand is throbbing.
“Y/N L/N?” a nurse finally calls.
You get up, clutching your hand, and follow her through the hallway. “Dr. Sim will be with you in just a moment,” she says, smiling as she leaves you alone in the exam room.
You freeze. Dr. Sim? There’s no way. That name—no, that can’t be him. Could it?
You try to shake the thought, but your gut already knows.
When the door opens a few minutes later, all your worst (and best?) suspicions are confirmed.
“Y/N?” he says, surprise flooding his face.
Your stomach flips.
Jake.
Jake Sim.
Your ex. The one you haven’t seen in forever. The breakup was quiet, civil—“just not the right time”—but it didn’t make it hurt any less. And now here he is, in a white coat, looking annoyingly good, with slightly longer hair, sharper features, and that same soft voice that once talked you through your worst nights.
“Wow,” you say, blinking. “You’re a doctor now?”
He lets out a breathy laugh. “Yeah. Crazy, right? Never thought we’d run into each other like this.”
“Definitely not like this,” you say, holding up your wrapped hand.
Jake walks closer, eyes scanning your hand. “What happened?”
“Glass broke while I was washing dishes. Cut through pretty deep.”
“Can I take a look?”
You nod slowly, watching as he gently unwraps the towel. His fingers brush your wrist, and your skin burns where he touches. It’s quiet—almost too quiet—as he examines the cut, brows furrowed in focus.
“I’ll need to clean it up first,” he says softly, almost to himself. “You might need stitches, but that will be another appointment, I’ll just clean it up and wrap it around a bandage.”
You watch him grab gloves and supplies from the cabinet. There’s something strange about seeing him like this—same Jake, but also… not. More composed, more serious. But his hands are still the same. Careful. Warm. Familiar.
He kneels slightly so he’s eye level with your hand, and when his eyes flick up to yours, everything else feels far away.
“You doing okay?” he asks, his voice low.
You nod, but your breath catches when he presses the gauze against your palm. The sting makes you flinch, but it’s not just the alcohol—it’s him. His hands. His voice. Being this close again.
“You’re still dramatic about pain,” he says softly, almost teasing.
You look at him. “You’re still annoyingly gentle.”
His lips curve just slightly. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
You don’t answer.
The air is thick between you now, the kind of silence that feels louder than words. You can feel the heat radiating off his skin, your knees barely inches from his. You hate that your body still remembers him. You hate that part of you wants to lean in.
His hands pause for a second, still wrapped around your wrist. “I didn’t think I’d see you again,” he says suddenly, voice quieter now.
“Me neither,” you reply. “Especially not like this. Bleeding in your exam room.”
His eyes lift to meet yours.
“Still stubborn,” he murmurs. “Still beautiful.”
That one word knocks the air out of your lungs. Beautiful. Like he used to say when you were lying in his bed, bare-faced, laughing too hard at something stupid.
You should look away. You want to look away.
But you don’t.
Not when his face is this close. Not when his fingers are still brushing your skin like he doesn’t know where to let go. Not when the room feels like it’s about to burn down with everything you’re both not saying.
He looks too good in that uniform. Too polished. Too in control. You hate it. You hate that your breath stutters when he leans closer. You hate that your heart hasn’t figured out how to move on. And most of all—you hate how pretty he looks while fixing up your hand.
The white coat suits him way too well, rolled sleeves revealing strong forearms, the stethoscope hanging around his neck like a stupid accessory he doesn’t even need right now. His hair’s messier than you expected, but in a way that looks intentional—like he ran his fingers through it after a long day. His lips are slightly parted, brows pulled in quiet focus, and when he glances up at you through those lashes—You squeeze your thighs together on the exam bed, and look away too fast.
But Jake notices, like he always did.
“Still can’t hold eye contact,” he murmurs.
You scoff, eyes snapping back to him. “Still arrogant.”
Jake just smiles—slow and knowing—like he can read the heat behind your voice.
“I’m not arrogant. I’m just right,” he says, gently pressing gauze against the wound again. “This is gonna sting.”
“You already do,” you mutter under your breath.
But he hears it.
His hand freezes for half a second, while wrapping your hand in the bandage.
Then, slowly, he looks up. His eyes are darker now. Something unspoken passing between you, lingering in the air. Heat, thick and heavy.
“You think I don’t feel it too?” he says, barely above a whisper.
Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
Because you do feel it.
You never stopped.
And judging by the way he’s still holding your hand like it’s more than just a bandage job, like he’s remembering, too—His thumb grazes along the inside of your wrist, slow enough that you know it’s not by accident.
Your pulse betrays you. Quick. Loud. Obvious.
And he feels it.
He doesn’t say anything—but you can see it in his eyes. That quiet smirk at the corner of his mouth. That shift in his posture as he leans in just a little closer, like gravity is pulling him toward you and he’s getting tired of fighting it.
“You’re staring,” he murmurs.
You glare at him. “You’re distracting.”
His smile deepens, but his eyes are still serious. Still locked on you like he’s trying to memorize the way you look under these fluorescent lights, with your cheeks flushed and your jaw tight and your hand still in his.
“I used to love when you looked at me like that,” he says suddenly, voice lower now. “Like you hated how much you wanted me.”
Your stomach tightens.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you manage to say, but your voice is weaker than you want it to be.
“I’m not,” he says, eyes flicking down to your lips for just a second—barely a breath—but you feel it. “You’re doing it right now.”
You yank your hand back, too fast, too defensive. The sudden lack of contact feels colder than it should.
Jake watches you, quiet, reading you like a book he already knows too well. And maybe he does. Maybe that’s the worst part.
You get off the exam bed, not looking at him this time.
He doesn’t stop you.
But just as you reach for the door, he speaks again—quiet, like he’s trying not to say it but can’t help himself.
“You think we ended too soon?”
Your hand freezes on the doorknob.
And just like that, your whole chest feels like it’s caving in.
“W-What?” you breathe, turning around slowly, eyes wide, chest tight.
Jake doesn’t answer right away—he just steps forward, slow and steady, until your back hits the door and he’s standing so close you can feel the heat radiating off him. His gaze doesn’t waver.
“You heard me,” he murmurs. “Don’t pretend you didn’t.”
Your heartbeat is pounding in your ears. He’s close. Too close. And yet… not close enough.
“I don’t—” you start to say, but your words die when his hand comes up, fingers brushing lightly against your jaw.
“You do,” he says softly, eyes searching yours. “I can see it all over your face.”
His fingers trail down, just enough to ghost along the side of your neck, his thumb grazing your cheek like he’s asking permission without words. Your breath hitches.
And then… something snaps.
He leans in—slow but sure—and you meet him halfway.
The kiss crashes into you like a wave you’ve been trying to outrun.
Warm. Familiar. Desperate.
His lips move against yours like he’s been waiting, like he never forgot, like this kiss has been living in the back of his throat since the moment things ended.
You fist your good hand in the fabric of his coat, pulling him closer—closer than you should, closer than is safe—but you don’t care. You can’t care.
Because this isn’t careful. This isn’t polite.
This is everything you tried to bury rising back up all at once.
His other hand rests against the door beside your head, caging you in—not to trap you, but to keep himself from falling all the way in. But it’s a losing battle. He kisses you like he’s falling anyway.
And you let him.
But suddenly, he pulls back.
His forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing hard, lips still brushing like he doesn’t want to let go—like he can’t, but he knows he should.
His eyes meet yours, dark and clouded with everything he’s holding back.
“Fuck, Y/N,” he breathes out.
He takes your hand—your unbandaged one—and presses it gently against the front of his pants, eyes still locked on yours.
“See what you do to me?” he says, voice low and wrecked.
You feel him—hard and straining beneath the fabric—and your breath catches again, your body burning at the contact, at the sheer need of it all.
It’s not just lust.
It’s the way his jaw tightens when he looks at you. The way his thumb brushes your skin like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. The way he’s holding back like touching you again will undo him completely.
“Tell me you don’t feel this,” he says, eyes searching yours. “Tell me you forgot. Lie to me.”
He’s daring you.
Daring you to break this moment.
But your silence says more than words ever could.
You don’t answer him.
You can’t.
Because the moment your hand presses against him, everything else fades—logic, distance, all the reasons you two didn’t work the first time.
All that’s left is this heat. This ache. This impossible tension that’s finally snapped.
Jake watches your reaction, his chest rising and falling as you feel how hard he is for you—how easily he still wants you.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been trying to forget,” he murmurs, lips brushing your cheek, then your jaw, moving lower, slower, like he’s memorizing you again. “And then you show up… in that damn mini skirt, bleeding, cursing, rolling your eyes at me like no time passed.”
His hands slide to your waist, gripping tighter now—pulling you flush against him. You can feel every inch of him through the thin fabric, your thighs clenching at the pressure, your breath catching in your throat.
He kisses you again, but this time it’s different.
Rougher. Hungrier.
Like he’s been holding back for too long and finally let the leash slip.
You kiss him back just as hard, hands tangling in his hair, his coat, anything you can grip. You don’t care that you’re in an exam room. That you’re supposed to be a patient. That this is so, so wrong.
It feels too good.
His hands slip under your shirt, fingers trailing over your skin like he’s relearning every dip and curve—every place he used to touch like it was his.
“You still react the same,” he murmurs against your neck, tongue flicking out to taste the spot just below your ear. “Still melt for me.”
“Shut up,” you whisper, gasping when his teeth graze your skin.
“You don’t want me to,” he growls, one hand sliding down to grip your thigh, lifting it around his waist. “You want me to ruin you all over again.”
“Then ruin me… Jake,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear.
The second the words leave your lips, something shifts in him.
His hands tighten on your waist. His eyes darken like a storm rolling in, pupils blown wide, jaw clenched like he’s holding onto the last thread of restraint—and you just cut it.
“Say it again,” he breathes, voice low and wrecked.
You lean up, lips brushing his ear, barely touching as you whisper, “Ruin me.”
And that’s all it takes.
He crashes into you with a kiss that’s pure fire—no hesitation, no pretending. Just months, maybe years of built-up want finally spilling out. His hands roam under your shirt, up your sides, gripping like he needs to feel every part of you to believe you’re real. He groans into your mouth when your body arches into him, like he’s the one unraveling now.
His lips trail down your neck, your collarbone, warm breath sending goosebumps down your skin. “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he mutters against your skin. “I’ll break every rule for you right now.”
“Then break them.”
He lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist like instinct. He presses you harder against the door, hips grinding into yours just enough to make your head fall back with a whimper. The friction alone makes you dizzy—makes you desperate.
Jake leans in, lips hovering over yours again.
“You still want this?” he asks, voice rough, chest heaving against yours.
You don’t hesitate.
“I never stopped.”
Before you can say another word, your back is pressing against the cold metal edge of the exam bed.
“Up,” he growls, voice low and strained—like he’s barely keeping it together.
You don’t question it. You climb onto the bed, heart pounding, breath shallow, your body reacting faster than your mind can keep up.
But Jake’s not soft now.
His hands are rougher—impatient—as he grabs your hips and flips you, bending you forward over the edge. The paper crinkles under your hands as you brace yourself, head spinning from the heat rolling off your skin.
You glance over your shoulder, breath catching as you see him standing behind you, flushed, eyes full of hunger.
“You have no idea,” he rasps, leaning in so his chest presses against your back, lips brushing the shell of your ear, “how many times I’ve thought about having you like this again.”
His hands slide up your thighs, fingers digging into your skin, firm and possessive.
“You shouldn’t say that,” you whisper, voice shaky—though not from fear.
He smirks against your neck. “Why? Afraid I’ll mean it?”
One hand slides up your side, under your shirt, grazing skin like a threat. The other presses flat against your lower back, holding you in place. His lips trail along your jaw, your shoulder, your spine.
“I’ve waited long enough,” he mutters, his voice sending heat straight through you.
You press back against him without thinking, and his low groan vibrates through you.
You feel him shift behind you—his hands leave your hips for just a second, and you hear the soft rustle of denim as he reaches down, lifting himself slightly to slide his jeans off.
Your breath catches at the sound alone.
You can’t help yourself—you glance over your shoulder.
And what you see makes your entire body tighten with heat.
Jake’s shirt is slightly unbuttoned now, collar open just enough to show a sliver of the chest you remember all too well. His jaw is clenched, his brows drawn together in that same focused, wrecked expression he used to wear when he was trying not to lose himself too fast.
But your eyes fall lower—and he’s hard, straining against his boxers, the outline enough to make your lips part and your breath stutter.
He catches you looking.
Of course he does.
And he smirks—dark, dangerous, and way too confident.
“See something you like?” he murmurs, stepping back in close, letting the fabric brush against the back of your thigh as his fingers trail up your spine again.
You don’t answer.
You don’t need to.
Because your body already has—and he knows it.
“Tell me,” he breathes against your ear, voice lower now. “Tell me you missed this. Missed me.”
Your lips part, a soft sound escaping you—but whether it’s a yes or a plea or just his name, you’re not even sure.
“Please, Jake…” you whimper, voice cracking under the pressure building in your chest. “I missed this— I miss you.”
You hear him suck in a sharp breath, like your words hit something deep in him he wasn’t ready for.
Then—smack.
His hand lands hard on your ass, the sting blooming across your skin in the same breath that he growls against your neck:
“Good fucking girl.”
His voice is low, wrecked, full of heat and something more—something possessive.
He presses into you again, chest against your back, hand gripping your hip like he’s never letting you go again.
“You have no idea what you just started,” he mutters, lips ghosting along your ear. “And I’m not stopping until you forget everything but me.”
Jake pushes your skirt up instead of taking it off, eyes dark as they settle between your thighs. “Cute panties,” he murmurs—pink with white lace. He tugs them to the side, exposing your soaked folds, then positions himself right in front of your pussy.
“So fucking wet,” he growls, running two fingers slowly through your slick. You jolt at the touch.
“J-Jake!” you whimper, already breathless. “Please…”
He lifts his gaze, eyes locking with yours, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips. “Please what, princess? Use your words.”
You look down at him, cheeks flushed, legs shaking. His smirk deepens as he watches you struggle to find the right words.
“Please… don’t stop. I need you so bad,” you finally breathe out.
That’s all he needs.
He dives in like he’s starved, licking into you with hunger, his tongue sliding inside you with a groan. “Miss tasting your pussy,” he murmurs against your folds, the vibration making your knees nearly buckle. Your hands immediately find his hair, fingers tangling as you press him closer.
His tongue flicks in and out of your entrance while his thumb circles your clit, fast and deliberate. Your moans spill out uncontrollably, echoing in the small room.
But then—he stops.
“J-Jake… I was almost there,” you whine, frustrated.
He looks up at you, voice low, teasing. “I’m not gonna let you cum if you don’t shut that pretty mouth. Everyone’s gonna hear you.” His smirk returns. “Don’t wanna get me fired, right?”
You shake your head quickly. “N-No… mm, sorry!”
“Be good and be quiet for me.”
He slides two of his long fingers inside you, immediately curling them just right, hitting places your own hands never could. His tongue returns to your clit, drawing slow, deliberate 8s as his fingers fuck into you at a fast, punishing pace.
You slap a hand over your mouth, trying to hold the sounds in, but your body’s betraying you. “Mmmph!!”
Jake groans low in his throat when he feels you clench around his fingers. “That’s it. Cum for me,” he hums against your clit.
Your hand slips from your mouth as your back arches, fingers gripping the crinkling paper on the exam bed. “J-Jake!” you cry out, cumming hard against his mouth.
He doesn’t stop until he’s licked you clean, not wasting a single drop.
He pulls you up without warning, bending you over the bed. “Need to be inside you right the fuck now,” he growls, voice low and desperate. Jake tugs your panties down slowly, letting them pool around your ankles before gripping his cock, pumping it a few times as he lines himself up. He rubs the tip against your entrance, teasing you.
“Fuck, Jake—just fuck me already,” you whine, breath shaky.
He lets out a breathy laugh. “Be patient,” he mutters, dragging the head of his cock along your thigh, “or I won’t fuck you at all.”
“Mm—fuck!” you gasp at the sensation.
“Didn’t I say be quiet?” he snaps, voice rough. “So fucking sensitive.”
He pushes in just the tip, and you let out another moan the moment he does.
“I can’t help it, Jake… I need you so bad,” you plead, voice trembling.
And as much as Jake wants to keep teasing, the need in his gut wins. He groans and slams into you in one hard thrust.
“Shit—holy fuck,” he groans, stunned. “You’re so fucking tight.”
You cry out into the mattress, your voice muffled, your body trembling.
“You haven’t had anyone as good as me, huh?” he mutters, snapping his hips into you with force. “Answer me,” his voice turns dangerously low, “or I’ll stop. Right here. Right now.”
“Y-Yes!” you whimper. “Nobody’s as —moan— good as you!”
“Good girl,” he praises, slapping your ass hard, making you jolt. He groans, gripping your hips like he’ll break them, driving into you again and again. “You feel so fucking good, baby.”
You can feel him twitch inside you—and the way your body clenches around him only makes it worse.
“Shit—don’t do that,” he groaned, his voice ragged. “You’re gonna make me cum too early, baby.”
You squeezed around him again, and he cursed under his breath, fingers digging bruises into your hips. “I can’t take—”
But he cut you off, thrusting deeper. “Yes, you fucking can,” he growled, voice low and rough.
His grip tightened. “You just had to walk in here wearing that skirt, huh?” he snapped his hips into you with purpose, each thrust sharper than the last. “What if it had been someone else? You’d let them fuck you like this too?” His pace quickened, punishing, demanding.
“N-no one else.. just you, jake!” your cried out, voice breaking with need.
“Fuck, baby,” he growls, breath hot against your neck as he leans over you, thrusts growing deeper, rougher, more desperate. “You’re gonna make me cum already—shit.”
Your nails scrape at the sheets, trying to ground yourself as his pace turns relentless. Every snap of his hips sends shockwaves through your body. You feel so full, so stretched, it’s almost overwhelming.
“I-I’m close,” you cry out, voice shaky and wrecked.
He pulls you up slightly, chest flush to your back, hand sliding up your torso to grip your throat—not tight, but enough to make you gasp. “You gonna cum for me again?” he whispers in your ear, voice thick with lust.
You nod frantically, tears pricking your lashes from the intensity. “Y-Yes, Jake… please, I’m so close—”
“Then cum,” he orders, slamming into you one last time with force, the sound of skin slapping filling the room. “Let go for me, pretty girl.”
And you do—body shaking, back arching as you unravel completely around him, crying out his name. Your walls squeeze him so tight he can’t hold it anymore either.
“Fuck—fuck, I’m cumming,” he growls, burying himself deep inside you with a broken moan as he spills into you, holding you close as he rides out every last wave.
For a few seconds, it’s just the sound of heavy breathing and your hearts pounding in sync.
Then he presses a kiss to the back of your neck, still inside you, voice soft and low now. “You’re unreal… fuck.”
You’re still catching your breath when Jake pulls out slowly, letting a shaky groan slip from his lips. You think it’s over—until he flips you onto your back, eyes burning into yours.
“One more,” he pants, already stroking himself back to full hardness. “I’m not done with you yet.”
Your legs fall open instinctively, body still trembling, but the need rushes right back.
“Jake—” you start, but he’s already pushing back in, still sensitive, still hard. The stretch is even more intense this time.
“Fuck, you’re still so tight,” he groans, hand gripping the back of your thigh as he starts thrusting into you again, slower but deeper.
Your nails dig into his arms, head tilting back. “I can’t—I’m still so sensitive…”
“I know,” he breathes out, a smirk playing on his lips, “but you’re taking it so well, baby.”
His hips snap forward harder, faster—no teasing this time, just raw need. The sounds of your bodies colliding fill the room again, slick and desperate. You cling to him as another orgasm builds way too fast.
“Jake, I’m—”
“Cum with me,” he groans, burying his face in your neck, his rhythm turning messy, erratic.
And you do—again—body jerking under him as he fucks you through it, chasing his own release.
He follows with a deep, broken moan, collapsing against you as he cums hard, filling you once more.
This time, neither of you move right away—just breathing, holding, clinging like it’s the only thing keeping you from falling apart.
“Fuck…” he whispers. “You’re gonna kill me.”
Jake finally pulls out, both of you hissing at the sensitivity. His cum slowly starts to drip from you, and he lets out a low curse at the sight.
“Messy girl,” he murmurs, brushing a hand down your thigh. You both pause for a second, the quiet hum of the exam room light the only sound aside from your breathing.
He gets dressed quickly before helping you.
He leans over, grabbing the tissue box on the counter. With gentle hands, he starts wiping between your thighs, cleaning you up with surprising care.
“Didn’t think this was how your check-up was gonna go, huh?” he teases, tossing the used tissues into the bin nearby. He uses another to wipe the inside of your thigh, his fingers lingering just a little too long.
You glare at him weakly. “Shut up.”
He grins. “I’m just saying. If I knew you’d show up in that skirt, I would’ve scheduled a full hour.”
Once he’s finished, he grabs one of the disposable cloths from the cabinet, dampening it with warm water from the sink. He comes back, pressing it softly to your skin to clean up anything the tissues missed.
“I’m serious though,” he adds in a softer tone, glancing up at you. “You okay?”
You nod, smiling lazily. “Yeah… I’m good.”
You fix your skirt and shirt, slipping your panties back on as you try to steady your breathing and smooth down your hair.
“Good,” he says, tossing the cloth into the bin and helping you sit up on the exam bed. His hand lingers on your lower back a moment longer than necessary.
You glance at him, trying not to smile. “You always help your patients like this?”
Jake chuckles, grabbing your chart and flipping it closed. “Only the special ones.”
You roll your eyes, hopping off the bed as he straightens his coat and tucks his shirt back in. The exam room suddenly feels smaller again—quiet and clinical, like nothing just happened.
He catches your eye and steps closer, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. “You sure you’re okay?” His voice is softer now.
You nod, cheeks warm. “Yeah. Just… probably won’t be walking straight for a bit.”
He laughs under his breath. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
You glance at the clock on the wall. “I should go before someone realizes I’ve been in here too long.”
“Mm. Might raise some eyebrows.” He opens the door slightly and peeks out, then turns back to you. “Come back in two weeks for a ‘follow-up.’ I’ll make sure your chart says something serious.”
You scoff. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Yet here you are,” he says with a smirk.
You give him one last look, trying not to grin too wide as you slip out the door, heart still racing, body still buzzing from everything that just happened.
in which you’ve always been yunho’s only choice — even if he’s never been yours.
♬ xo (only if you say yes) enhypen
pairing: yunho x f!reader
words: 9.8k
warnings: unrequited feelings (or are they), he’s embarrassingly down bad, angst, jealousy, weed, alcohol, vomit mentions, brief mingi x reader, smut with handjob, fingering, unprotected sex lovemaking, 18+ mdni
notes: this fic is double the length i was intending… i have a big GROSS crush on this man can u tell
YUNHO CUSSES UNDER HIS BREATH, KNEECAP JOLTING WITH PAIN. he hadn’t even realised that for the last ten minutes his leg has been restlessly bouncing as if it was about to run away, not until his knee came into contact with the wooden table and knocked over his forgotten drink — a red plastic cup filled with some bitter motor oil, shoved into his hands by san with a shout that he needed to “lighten the fuck up.”
it’s done nothing to cease the anxiety buzzing under his skin, coiled tight in his chest — matters only made worse by that singular bong rip he did about an hour ago. his mouth still feels dry, throat still hoarse from the embarrassing coughing fit he had in front of the entire circle.
when you pulled him over to the designated smoke corner by the wrist, flashed him that adorable smile of yours, yunho denied the offer only once before that smile fell into a pout — and all of the sudden he was filling his lungs with smoke for the sole purpose of impressing you.
the opposite effect was had, unfortunately.
the party had barely started for either of you — both yet to even greet the birthday boy — and here you were stuck at yunho’s side, patting his back as he wheezed through gulps of water, insisting that you’re ‘right where you want to be’ each time he apologised for ruining the mood.
still, he watched the way you swayed along to the thumping music in your seat, longing to be on the dancefloor instead of sitting here with your weak puss of a best friend. parties have always been more of your scene than his. the only reason he ever comes these days is just to be your plus one. at least, until you find someone else.
someone who can match your energy better. in more ways than just dancing and drinking.
yunho insisted that you leave him to go actually enjoy the party, and it was met with little resistance from you before you’re hopping out of your seat and practically skipping over to the crowd. yunho kept his eyes trained on you, watching as you bump into wooyoung and give him a side-hug before disappearing into the sea of dancing bodies.
wooyoung’s eyes flit across the room, searching knowingly until he lands on yunho, then giving him a thumbs up and a nod — a wordless promise that he’ll keep an eye on you.
see, everyone who knows yunho, knows you. and they also know that he’s been in love with you since the day you first named him a friend.
what they don’t know — or rather, what they can’t wrap their heads around — is why yunho has gone this many years without so much as a word to you regarding his real feelings. he’s watched you make out with strangers at clubs, take his own friends home at parties, been your shoulder to cry on through your breakups with men who aren’t him.
the simple fact is, yunho values your feelings over his own. a million times over, and then some more. if he’s not who you want, who you choose to feel that way towards, then how could he be so selfish as to ruin your friendship by trying to make it something it’s not?
it’ll always be you for yunho. even though, for you, it’s anyone but him.
yunho heaves a sigh. he winces as he rubs his knee, sure to find a bruise there in the morning. grabs his half-spilled drink, downs the rest of it and immediately regrets it as a gag seizes his throat. if he lingers too long on the thought that he wants someone this bad with nothing in return, he’ll make an even bigger idiot of himself here when the tears start to run down his face.
yunho’s phone buzzes in his pocket, a welcome interruption from his racing thoughts.
reading the notification though — the anxious churning in his gut curdles into a sinking pit of nausea.
Wooyoung: might wanna come get your girl, song mingi’s about to be balls deep in her ass
Wooyoung: uh oh! think i just heard a queef 🥹
Yunho: Thanks man.
he mentally cusses his useless friend out, but he quickly reels himself back in with the reminder that he’s got no right feeling jealous over someone that owes nothing to him. besides, wooyoung only ever offers to just watch you, not interfere with any of your…endeavours.
yunho grimaces when he stands, his legs lighting up with pins and needles from how he’s been glued to this stiff fucking chair for an hour. clenching his teeth and pushing through it, yunho shoulders his way through the crowd, peering over all the bobbing heads to find wooyoung.
his eyes quickly hone in on a mess of red hair with roots desperately needing a touch up, tucked into the neck of a taller, much broader man.
“san!” yunho calls out through the thick bass in the air — knowing wooyoung probably won’t hear him with his tongue leeched onto san’s pulse.
wooyoung and san have been friends for as long as you and yunho — except, they quickly established the mutual attraction and have been happily dating since. in comparison to yunho, who…erm, has been warming the cuck chair ever since you lost your virginity to his high school lab partner.
san peers at him through narrow slits, giving yunho the ‘what’s up’ nod men do and patting on his boyfriend’s back. wooyoung raises his head, looking offended over the interruption.
“where is she?” yunho shouts over g-dragon’s voice booming through the speakers telling everyone to get their crayon.
wooyoung tilts his head, pointing with a jut of his chin. “riding mingi.”
the joints in his neck audibly crack when yunho whips his head in the direction — then the world narrows down to just you. your body as it rolls and sways, pressed flush up against a man he can barely register; hypnotised by the grinds where your hips connect, the gropes where your hands fall. wondering how it’d feel on his own skin..
“she’s had too much.” san rudely interrupts, practically roaring over the music into yunho’s ear. “mingi’s been pouring everyone’s drinks. he was supposed to make sure no one got too fucked up but…”
“—got a bit distracted trying to get himself fucked.” wooyoung cuts in with a snicker.
bile burns yunho’s throat, sharp and hot. his entire body tenses. subconsciously he clenches his fists, just from the anger of a man that’s not him thinking of you that way — touching you that way, but the couple behind him notices, trading cautious glances.
“think it’s about time you take her home..” wooyoung claps yunho on the back. “we’ll stick close by. for support.”
san cuts his boyfriend a ‘play nice’ look. wooyoung shrugs, taking a sip of his drink and grimacing at the burn.
with that, yunho bulldoses through the path of people until it’s him, you and mingi all standing in a cramped triangle. you’re both looking the opposite direction, but when you register the new presence at your back and glance over your shoulder, your glossy eyes instantly light up at the sight of your best friend. it breaks his heart just a little bit at how you make no move to detach yourself from mingi, only smiling at yunho while you’re wrapped up in another man’s arms.
“having fun?” you shout at yunho, which also gets mingi’s attention. he gives your best friend a once over, lips slowly dragging down in a scowl.
you’re enjoying yourself so much, it nearly hurts yunho to have to rip you away from the fun and end your night for you. but the burly man you’ve currently found yourself dryhumping on the dancefloor has let you mix far too much alcohol with the weed in your system, and probably won’t relent so long as he can lure you into sharing his bed. if you weren’t so fucked up, yunho wouldn’t have even interfered — wishing you the best like a good friend should, ignoring the pain in his heart as you get off to hands that aren’t his and he gets off alone.
“it’s time to call it a night,” yunho replies to you, tone gentle even as he strains to talk over the music.
“what?!” you shout back, obviously crossfaded and so fucking gone. how does mingi feel okay with trying to fuck you in this state?? yunho gives wicked side-eye to the other man, before realising that mingi’s moving just about as sober as you are..
“you’ve had enough,” yunho tells you, changing his tone to like he’s explaining to a child. “i’m taking you home now, okay?”
even in your half-conscious state, you pout — knowing that it’s a surefire way to bring yunho to a heel. and it’d work, any other time. it almost does this time. but yunho wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he let you go in this state.
he reaches for your arm, just tugging lightly to get you to budge. mingi scoffs loudly, pulling you closer into his stupid perfectly toned chest.
“yah, are you her boyfriend or some shit?” mingi furrows his brows at him, like a shit stain on his white air forces. “it’s over. she wants this now, man.” he adds, gesturing down to his crotch.
if he was standing any closer, yunho’s sure you’d be able to hear the way his confidence falls to his feet, even over the music and mingi’s baritone voice.
he’s so caught up in overwhelming hatred for this guy, he doesn’t register the way you shove mingi a little. yunho’s staring at him, mingi staring straight back.
yunho addresses you by name, holds out his hand. “we’re going.”
mingi groans. “bro, just fuck off.”
you look between the two men, though your gaze is so distant that you probably don’t even understand the language they’re speaking.
mingi gets in his face, walks the slightly taller man down until his back’s bumping into the people dancing behind him.
yunho can’t feel anything other than ringing in his ears, the bass pounding in his chest. he’s never gotten into a fight — nothing serious outside of like, a middle school playground at least, but yunho braces for one anyways. he thinks he could hit this guy. whatever happens, you’re not leaving with him.
it’s part protectiveness, which he’ll wear proudly on his chest. part jealousy too, which he’ll admit only to himself.
he never wants to get in the way of the choices you make, act like some kind of saviour for his own selfish agenda. but he won’t lie and say he takes no joy in stopping someone else from having you in all the ways he dreams of. just this once.
“yah! you two — stop trying to fuck in my living room!!”
hongjoong’s voice rings out over the speakers, the birthday boy’s brows drawn and face cross at how you’re both about to make a ruckus at his party. the crowd steps to the side for his little, angry frame stomping over, his hips swaying even more pronounced than normal because of the mixture of substances in his system. yunho catches wooyoung standing amongst the parted crowd, offering a guilty shrug. no doubt he warned their host about the incoming brawl before it could start.
“what’s going on here?” hongjoong has both hands on his hips as his head whips between the two men standing too close for comfort. “mingi, where were you when i needed a drink?! yeosangie offered to pour me one instead and he dropped the fucking bottle.”
his boyfriend seonghwa appears behind the tiny ball of fury, strutting like he came straight from a runway as he always does. his face holds no emotion, save for an intimidating glare in his eye.
you link arms with yunho, evidently sobered up enough to read the situation — and his entire side lights up with heat under your touch.
“we were just leaving.” you insist, suddenly itching to be anywhere but this dancefloor for the first time tonight.
hongjoong keeps raving on about how you haven’t even tried the cake yet, while mingi’s pulled away in the other direction by seonghwa, whispering in his ear (doesn’t look like anything nice..)
you tried your best to appease the birthday boy enough to get his blessing for you and yunho to leave — though he’s too in his head to focus on any of it, caught up and smiling at himself over the fact that you chose him.
—
yunho grips the steering wheel a little tighter each time he forces himself to not check you out. you’re slumped against the seat, head lolled to the side and wind whipping at your hair, skimpy top just barely hanging on by the thin straps on your shoulders.
his knuckles are pale at this point.
he won’t disrespect you, especially not while you’re barely..there. but you look so pretty. you always do. just, he has to focus on the road right now and you’re not helping.
there’s also the fact he’s over the fucking moon that you ditched a hook-up for him (admittedly a really attractive one at that, too). instead of any other man getting to have you in his bed, you’re sitting pretty in yunho’s car, watching cars pass by out the window.
he’s got it rolled down for you, and keeps making sure that you’re facing to the window in the case that you have to throw up. it’s happened before… you were sitting in the back, squeezed in between wooyoung and jongho, then no warning before you ruined his car floor and their shoes.
yunho cleaned up your mess on a sickeningly humid summer day, while jongho watched and made fun of him for being such a simp.
that’s just the lengths he goes to, being in love with you.
it’s why he lets you slump all your body weight on him as he helps you out of the car and into his house. sets you down on the couch like you’re made of porcelain, fetches you a bottle of water and a bucket (just in case..), tucks you into his wool spiderman blanket that you always claim when you’re over.
yunho sits on the leg-end of the couch, watching you down the bottle in record time and let your vision go out of focus staring at the ceiling. no doubt your head must be spinning from the comedown. he knows he should probably let you rest, but he can’t bring himself to leave you just yet. he’s already been selfish tonight, so what’s one more little thing?
he’s not sure how fast time goes by as he sits there in silence. counting the lashes on your eyes, watching each rise and fall of your chest. waiting for you to need him again. you were both just at an entire lively party, but yunho thinks this is the most happy he’s felt all night.
eventually, he feels his own eyelids getting too heavy for each blink, and decides it’s a sign to finally let you sleep.
“i’ll get you some more water, and then it’s bed time i think.” yunho says, going to stand.
“wait—” your hand flies out from under the blanket, reaching for his wrist to stop him. “don’t go.”
yunho blanches at you. you’ve said little to nothing since climbing into his car, and the next words he thought he’d hear from you weren’t anything close to that. he figured you may have even been asleep already.
he says your name softly, a question.
you tug his wrist a little tighter. “please.”
yunho’s sitting next to you within seconds, even scooting a bit away since he sat right against you in his haste. he knows he shouldn’t get ahead of himself — you just want him to stay, nothing more.
all that reassuring himself is for nought when you just.. wrap yourself around his arm. you kind of push him into the couch’s back, nuzzling your head into his shoulder while his own stares at the ceiling in shock.
you’ve hugged before, of course. cuddled on rare occasions when he was able to keep his lower half angled away. but this all feels different. he doesn’t know why he’s interpreting this as anything different. you don’t see him the way he sees you, he tells himself. over and over again like a mantra.
“yunho..” you murmur in such a soft way that melts his whole heart. “i didn’t wanna sleep on my own tonight..”
“oh..” he gulps down a thick wad of spit, feeling like it’s wrong before he even says it but knowing he has no ill intentions. “did you want to come into my bed?”
you hum, smiling as your knuckles come to brush along his cheek. yunho tenses for a split second before telling his body to relax, even while his mind spins at a mile a minute.
“what do you want?”
yunho has to gulp again so he doesn’t say anything he’ll absolutely regret. buys himself time by fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, slyly pulling it down so it covers his lap. fuck, what’s even an acceptable answer in this situation? a light-hearted, friendly one and not just an admission of years worth of pent up feelings?
“just want you to feel okay,” he croaks, not entirely trusting his mouth to not say any more. he sighs, feeling the warmth of your breath fanning his pulse. this is really fucking dangerous.
you play with the hair at his nape, and he only hopes you don’t mention the beet red shade of his ears.
“hm, i was okay when i still had someone for tonight..” you pout, not realising the things those words do to his heart. “now i’m restless and all alone.”
“i’m here.” he replies way too quickly, instantly regretting it because he knows he just came off desperate. you’re just spouting nonsense, you’re sober and high and you’re worked up, that’s all…
“yeah?” you whisper, grin tugging at your lips. “you won’t let me feel alone?”
the effect your voice is having on his dick right now is, wow… it should be studied. entirely conscious of how rapidly his body’s reacting, he tries to shuffle and put a bit more space between you, but you know exactly what he’s doing and won’t let him — your other hand coming to slide up his chest, curling around his torso and keeping him close.
there comes his name from your mouth again — soft and syrupy and way too fucking sexy. “why won’t you hold me back?” you ask through a pout.
you wait for his face to twitch, knowing damn well the effect your pout has on him. yunho’s hands twitch where they’re sat in his lap, wishing desperately to reach out and hold you but too concerned with covering the obvious lump in his pants.
“this is…” his throat bobs. “you’re not in the right frame of mind.”
neither is he, he thinks. he could be wildly misinterpreting every thing you’re saying and doing. that’s the conclusion he comes to at least. you don’t want him like that. maybe another man, but not yunho. he knows that like a fact.
“i’m thinking clearly enough to know what i want.” you say easily. your hand trails down his chest, fingers dancing lightly across his stomach and causing the muscles to flex. you giggle over it, and yunho knows he needs to get the fuck away from you right the fuck now or he doesn’t know what he’ll do. he can’t stick around to find out — he can’t do that to you, or to his own heart.
it belongs to you and only you, it always will. but he can’t let it try and match the beat of yours when you can’t offer it to him.
he’s not who you want. you might just want someone, anyone — and yunho’s here and you know he’d never deny you anything. just settling for the closest man, train of thought foggy from the alcohol.
yunho says your name as he peels your hand from his body, a gentle warning. “i really think you should go to bed—”
the words die in his throat when you shift suddenly, his hands futilely reaching out as if he could bring himself to even grab you right now — and he has no time to prepare himself for the way your thighs bracket his and you plop down into his lap.
yunho puts all of his brainpower into stifling the noise that almost clawed its way up his throat. you’re just sitting there, smiling sweetly at him as your hands come to cup either side of his neck. his hummingbird pulse hammers under your fingertips and he knows you feel it with the way your eyes sparkle at him.
he can’t bring himself to put a singular thought to how his boner prods into you. oh god, he’s so fucking hard. he has to kill himself now.
“yunho,” you start and his heart clenches. just saying his name, acknowledging that it’s him, your best friend, and he’s not just acting as a placeholder right now. “what’s going on inside that head?”
for a solid moment, he doesn’t answer. can’t. you’ll see right through him if he lies and he refuses to tell you the truth.
by the time he works up the courage to mutter an answer, his mouth’s gone dry. “i’m thinking that you need to have some more water…and you need to sleep.”
you hum in disapproval. “that’s all that’s on your mind?” you shift your hips a little to make a point, his cock twitching in response before his hands fly out and still you by the waist.
yunho says your name lowly — intending for it to be a warning, but it’s lost in how he can’t help but breathe heavily at the feeling. it’s really you on top of him. not his imagination in a wet dream, not some girl to fill the void. it’s you and it feels so fucking good and right.
but this is wrong, it’s all so, so wrong.
“you’re drunk,” he reminds both of you. “you’re not thinking straight, you don’t actually mean any of this — we need to get you to sleep, okay? please?”
yunho won’t let anyone take advantage of you while you’re not sober. he’s no exception, no matter how long he’s waited or how much he’s dreamt of this. he’s weak when it comes to you, the feel of your body weight on top of him like this, but he knows he needs to man the fuck up and make good choices for both of you.
“why can’t i mean it?” you scoff, and fear grips his lungs over the thought of unintentionally upsetting you. “i told you what i want, why aren’t you listening to what i’m saying??”
“you’re drunk.” he reaffirms.
it’s supposed to be final, a nonnegotiable fact. he hopes maybe this time you’ll come to some semblance of your senses and snap out of this alcohol-fuelled act. he hopes he’ll think a little straighter once you’re off of him too, and he can remind himself what’s fact from what’s just your drinks talking.
you haven’t wanted him in all the years you’ve been best friends — why would you start now, when you’re barely sober and your first choice for a hook-up isn’t around?
you frown at him, and yunho’s heart just shatters. you look so let down and hurt. he can’t really understand how he managed to upset you this badly, outside of just cockblocking mingi and not letting you make a move on your best friend that you don’t even want. he thinks he was pretty justified in those decisions though. as much as it pains him to see you this way, he needs to stand his ground if he’s even half of the good guy you see him as.
“fine.” you murmur, voice wavering like you’re tearing up. he ducks his head close to yours to check, even when you purposefully turn your face away so he can’t see you.
you climb out of his lap and crawl back to your spot on the couch. yunho can’t will himself to move, partly from the shock and partly because he needs to wait for his boner to go down before he stands.
his eyes widen to saucers when you raise your arms up over your head and just tug your top off in front of him. he blinks stupidly at you in your bra for a split second before his head whips away, internally scolding himself for being such a fucking perv.
you have changed in front of him before, you’re comfortable in your skin and his friendship like that — but the image hits him in the gut and in the cock because he’s so turned on right now, and you are too. because that’s the furthest he’s ever gone with you and you still don’t even see him as anything more than just a friend.
yunho murmurs something about bringing you more water and some painkillers for the morning before he practically bolts into his kitchen, putting some much needed distance between you and him (and his cock).
he lingers in the room, talking his boner down and only returning to the living room when he’s basically soft. he finds you turned into the back of the couch, blanket pulled over your body. he leaves the things on the floor at your side and retrieves your phone. he puts it on a far-away charger in hopes that you’re too drunk to know where to find it, in case you try to call over some other man to pick you up and take care of you.
it’s okay. he’ll explain all of this to you in the morning when you’ve got a clear head on your shoulders. you’ll probably be mortified, apologising profusely for coming onto him like that. and he’ll probably just smile, nodding that he knows you meant nothing even if it tears his chest open to admit that.
yunho casts you one last, sad glance before flicking the lights off and plopping into the armchair by the couch.
he still isn’t going to let you sleep on your own tonight. and if you do call some other man over, well.. he’s gotta be here and ready to kick them out.
—
yunho jolts awake like lightning struck him in the dick upon being pulled from him slumber at the sounds of you gagging. briefly thinking it was something else for a shameful split second (the freaky ass dream he had last night is to blame..) before his vision comes into focus on you dangling off the couch and heaving into the bucket.
his feet are moving before he even registers it — and a few blinks after waking up he’s at your side once again, holding your hair from your face and rubbing your back for comfort.
“don’t look at me,” you mumble, voice still drowsy with sleep. adorable, he thinks briefly.
yunho already had his eyes shut and head turned in the opposite direction, knowing you hate being sick around other people. “i won’t.”
when you’re all done, he uncaps the bottle of water and brings it to your lips. you don’t take it from him, just tilt your head back and let him pour it down your throat. you make a small noise in relief, and yunho frowns at the thoughts that begin to waft through his head, made only worse by the fact that you’re still in your bra.
he keeps his head down as he offers you your top and you pull it back on, whole time telling his cock to behave.
you basically lay on him as he keeps you propped upright and helps you trudge into the bathroom. he leaves you be when you shoo him away. yunho then figures he should check your phone for you, and get started on some breakfast after.
not my fucking circus.. yunho thinks as he scowls over the very unwelcome name filling all the notifications on your lockscreen. mingi was blowing up your phone well after you left the party and settled down at yunho’s place. some of them look like he’s come to the conclusion you cheated on him, when he also proclaimed yunho as ‘the boyfriend’…. eh, we listen and we don’t judge or whatever it is that you say. yunho would also have a generational crash out if he fumbled you.
he flinches like lightning struck the same place twice when he hears the bathroom door unlock and open. he doesn’t miss a beat in rushing over to you, helping you back to the living room.
you flop down onto the couch like a ragdoll, and yunho can’t help but breathe out a laugh. he loves you, he truly does.
“what did you want to have for breakfast? i’ll cook for us.”
with your face in the cushion, your reply is muffled. it was only one word and he tries, really tries to not let himself think that you just said “you.”
yunho coughs. “sorry, what?”
you turn your head. “i said anything is fine.”
er, he doesn’t think so..
“alright.”
he rubs his neck, watching you just lay there as his mind kicks back into overdrive. do you even remember..?
“ah, i put your phone on the charge by the way. i just checked it — mingi’s been texting you.”
his breath’s halted in his throat as he waits for your reply, tries to gauge the furrow of your brows and press of your lips.
“oh, okay.” you say, completely unaffected by such news. “thanks for charging it.”
the conversation ends there, or at least it should, but he really doesn’t know what to do with that answer. doesn’t know what to do with himself, fidgeting with all this uncertainty.
“you.. uh, you okay?”
“yeah why?”
“well, it’s just that i thought…” yunho tries to pick out the right words from his scattered thoughts, words that aren’t just curses on mingi’s whole bloodline. “last night you were pretty close with him, i figured you would—”
you cut yunho off with a laugh. he looks at you like you’ve just pulled a gun on him.
“do you genuinely think i want mingi?”
heat rushes up his neck, settling in the tips of his ears and apple of his cheeks. “..well why wouldn’t i think so? he was all over you at the party.” and you were too, he can’t bring himself to add. hurts him too much to acknowledge it.
you shrug. “it’s a new day. but i wouldn’t have slept with him anyways — i don’t intend to now, either.”
yunho… doesn’t know what he thinks anymore. how could you have not? how else are you supposed to act if you want someone?
you scoff, watching how his face shifts in confusion. “yunho, you wouldn’t catch a woman’s intentions even if a pussy slapped you in the face.”
he chokes on his own spit over that.
he’s more than eager to reinstate some space between you as he all but rushes to the kitchen — the dream he had last night (and the events of last night itself) isn’t helping the way his body reacts to you speaking so vulgar about him.
after fixing you both up some eggs on toast, and then putting some random ass cartoon on the tv for you to watch while he cleaned up, yunho at last fell back onto the couch with an exhale.
you catch him off guard when you curl into his side, nuzzling into his warmth. he gets a flash of deja vu from last night. only this time, yunho trusts himself to at least place a careful hand on the small of your back. you’ve woken up with a clear head now, so he doesn’t feel that pang of guilt doing so much as just returning the gesture.
though you’re a physically affectionate person, you’ve never really shared that with your own best friend. you see, yunho’s only just grown out of the age where he could pop a boner over you merely breathing a certain way. so, for years now, he’s had to shrug away from your touches and affection, not willing to ruin your entire friendship over a hug.
you’ve accepted the fact that it’s just not his love language (but it really is though, he just wants to be respectful of you). so it’s odd, that you’re acting like this now. cuddling up into him like you would for one of your boyfriends.
“i remember everything, by the way.” you speak suddenly, eyes trained on the tv while yunho cracks his neck to stare down at you. “i really wasn’t as drunk as you kept telling me i was.”
“oh.” is all he can really say. “but then why were you..”
he trails off, swallowing the words back down and choosing to just pretend to also watch the tv. he doesn’t know if he’s mentally ready to have this conversation right now.
“what?” you press him. “why was i what?”
yunho’s heart grips a bit, instantly worried over your tone and assuming he’s upset you. “i’m sorry if i said anything that—”
“—god, yunho, you only offend me each time you don’t acknowledge the obvious.” you look up at him then, and your eye contact sucks the air form his lungs. “tell me what you’re thinking. for real this time.”
yunho chews on the fat of his cheek, accepting the fact that this is happening after years of evading it. he tips his head in an almost imperceptible nod, then closes his eyes for the confidence to speak this out loud.
“last night, i thought that maybe you wanted me. as more than just a friend.”
there’s nothing from you, not even a hitch of air — and he realises you’re both holding back on breathing right now. yunho cracks his eyes open, face pinched in worry.
you lift your brows at him like you’re expecting him to continue. “….well?”
“well, you weren’t sober so i assumed it didn’t mean anything. just..” he swallows, throat suddenly too dry. “..worked up from the party, right?”
there’s a suspended moment of disbelief, in which neither of you fill the silence with more than just shaky breaths. yunho’s too intimidated by you, by this conversation. he can’t read your intentions anymore — not after you so easily admitted to not even wanting a man you were all over.
are you going to be upset that he drew this conclusion? is this the moment that you assert the line between you and him — that you could never be more than this and he’s stupid to have hoped so?
yunho thinks you’ll do anything but just.. burst out into laughter.
you pull yourself off of him, and curl into your own body with helpless cackles. yunho can’t really do anything but just wait for it to be over. the sound of your joy is always music to his ears, but it just feels foreboding right now. because what the hell does that mean? what’s so funny??
you wind down a bit, wiping tears from your eyes with stuttered giggles. “oh, i love you. i love you yunho but you are so, so, so dumb.”
“uh…fuck you?” he huffs, lip quirking into a smirk. okay, so we’re just laughing this off, cool…
you roll your eyes, and he’s unprepared for the way both of your hands come to cup his face, thumbs brushing across his cheeks as you smile at him so sweetly.
“what did it mean to you?”
in that moment, all the air is sucked from the room. you could probably hear ants fucking two rooms over in this heavy silence. yunho’s too shellshocked to react — the reality around him hasn’t sunk in yet, his system won’t be able to handle it.
oh god, is this actually happening?
“i think you already know..” he blushes, sort of glancing down at his lap, in reference to how his body very clearly reacted to you sat on top of him.
“no, i don’t.” you answer, and there’s a flicker of sadness across your eyes.
yunho feels a surge of confidence in his chest, suddenly determined to prove his feelings to you after years of shoving them under the surface. only if that’s what you’re asking.
it’s like you’ve read his mind when you mutter, “show me?”
yunho’s breath hitches, glazed eyes trained on your mouth before he’s leaning in, only stopping when he feels his lips slot against yours.
yunho forces an inhale through his nose, knowing that your mouth will steal all the air from his lungs as you surge forward to kiss him back.
he rips himself away to whine, “it meant everything. you’ve got no idea how long i’ve wanted—i, fuck, i don’t even know,” he dives back in again, pressing with a little more force this time until his chest bumps yours. his heart hammers against your ribs, chasing the beat of yours to match it.
and you just let him, let his lips part yours and his tongue to lick into your mouth. he’s not quick enough to stifle the groan that leaves him over tasting you like this. years of dreaming and imagining couldn’t have lived up to this — the real thing, incomparable to all his fantasies of you.
you tilt your head and allow yunho to kiss you deeper, sliding your hands down to his shoulders while his own wrap around your middle. not even meaning it as he squeezes, just checking that you’re really here.
you must figure what’s racing through his mind, and you giggle onto his lips as you pinch the side of his neck, proving that he’s not dreaming.
“you do want this?” yunho feels the need to ask, chest already rising rapidly.
you cock your head and give him a sort of ‘bitch really’ look.
“only if you do.” you smile, adoring how glossy his lips are.
yunho has to huff out in disbelief at that.
“if i do?” he says your name sternly, shaking you in his arms a little. “everyone but you could tell! i was shit at hiding it but you didn’t even realise. that’s why your exes all hated me, why i do everything that i do for you—”
“—yunho, i’ve been throwing myself at you for years.”
he looks at you like a deer in headlights.
“each time i thought i couldn’t get any more shameless, i’d reach a new low. i thought i must’ve not been your type, or maybe you were gay and that’s why you only ever treated me like a friend.”
“what do you mean? you have never been just a friend.” he raves, completely and utterly lost at how you’d even come to that conclusion. “i mean, i never wanted to assume or make a move in case that’s not how you saw me, i couldn’t risk ruining everything.”
“do you understand that half the things i do are just to get a reaction out of you?” you deadpan. “i was begging for you to ruin it. i just wanted some sign, any sign that you felt it too.”
yunho doesn’t know what else to do other than just kiss you. kiss you with all the confidence in himself that he’s lacked over the years of your friendship, brushing off every sign you’ve given because he was certain you could never, never see him that way.
the only thing that’s certain now, is that he’s fucking dumb. and he’s wasted too many years over it.
he kisses you with the force of every time he’s wanted to in the past, every moment the urge passed through his head and he had to shove it into the deepest pit of his brain.
each time he had to duck his head so you couldn’t see his blush over the sight of you in a towel; each time he awkwardly covered his lap when you’d casually strip in front of him; each time he had to rip his eyes away from your cleavage when he knew you didn’t have a bra on; each time he’s watched your exes kiss you and touch you and pull little noises from your lips, and all he could do was watch and shamefully get off to the memory of it later, wishing it was him.
it could’ve been, earlier on. if only he’d said something. he owes it to you to make up for lost time.
yunho kisses you hard yet slow, channeling years worth of bottled-up desire into the swipes of his tongue against yours, the gentle squeezes and caresses of your waist. it’d be so easy to trail up, up, up until he’s grabbing the part of you that’s always hypnotised him, like a dog to a fucking bone. but he doesn’t want to misread this for anything more than what you’re giving him — so he just savours the way your boobs press so firmly up against his chest, focuses on kissing you as passionately as he can.
you test the waters by trailing your hand down to his chest, spurred on by the way he licks into your mouth as an encouragement to continue. your fingers creep further, brushing over the tent in his pants before your palm closes around it. yunho sort of flinches back from the kiss, forehead falling on yours as he casts his eyes down at your hand cupped over his length. his brows furrow, studying the feel of your hand on him for the first time and unintentionally bucking up.
you giggle, noticing the very large spot of precum staining the fabric. yunho can’t help but grin over the noise, finding you so fucking cute right now. he kisses you again, already sickeningly addicted to how it feels — your smiles slotting against each other.
things heat up pretty quickly with your hand on his dick. he is just a man, after all.
yunho’s helpless to all the little groans and sighs he lets out onto your tongue, more precum seeping into the fabric and ruining this perfect pair of pants even more. he’s never gotten off from the barest contact like this, but for you he definitely could. he’ll take whatever you’ll give him.
ever the mind-reader, your fingers dance up to his waistband and pull the elastic down. yunho breaks the kiss just to study your expression first, and when he’s met with your pleading eyes, he huffs a laugh in defeat and helps you pull his pants and boxers down his thighs.
his cock slaps against his stomach, leaving a stamp of precum on his shirt. he’s been leaking like a damn faucet over you. he doesn’t cum as quick as when he’s jerking off to the thought of you, so the real thing will have him done in an embarrassing amount of time.
he’ll try his best for you, though.
you reach for him, and he winces at your fingertips just tapping him. feeling your skin on his. your hand comes to wrap around just below the tip, and your fingers don’t even meet where they hold him.
your eyes sparkle at yunho, and he just melts.
“big boy.”
his cock twitches way too hard over those words, and you make a little startled noise at how it moves between your fingers. his eyes are so entranced with you right now, the focused look on your face — while your own are trained on his boner, the size of it.
“i’ll get shy..” yunho murmurs.
you offer him a sweet smile, and before he can return it, you spit directly onto the head of his cock.
he throbs at the sudden sensation, then his jaw goes slack as your hand gathers the saliva and pre beaded at his tip to drag down his length. you’re not even gripping him that tight, or moving that fast.. but just the sight is fucking him up all the same.
down to the base, back up to the tip. a few times over, just listening to his laboured breathing and weak hums of approval, until you find a rhythm and your fingers tighten.
yunho throws his head back onto the couch backrest when you flick your wrist in the strokes, an unnecessarily loud groan ripping from his chest over that.
he sort of anchors himself with the hands holding your waist and fucks up, mind tuned in solely to the feel of the circle of your hand around him. tries to memorise its shape, the unfamiliar ridges of your palms, for the next time he needs to get off.
you catch him completely off guard when a second hand joins the first, enclosing just around his tip and rubbing it with the ball of your thumb — other hand still focused on twisting up and down the rest of his length.
yunho thinks he sees glimpses of heaven’s gates behind his eyelids when he clamps them shut, moaning out over how fucking good you are to him. he’s never even used two hands on himself, and his heart just clenches thinking of how you’ve done this with guys who aren’t him.
he doesn’t linger on that thought long before his lower abdomen coils dangerously tight far too quickly — and he has to rip your hands off of him before he can bust all over his couch and ruin this for everyone and for ever.
“sorry,” he huffs, voice hoarse like he’s just scaled a mountain. “that was close.”
“i got too eager..” you shrug guiltily, though your proud grin holds no remorse.
he feels your grin on his lips when he kisses you again. your hands hover by him, untouching while they’re coated in the mess of fluids.
while he’s not turning to complete mush at the feel of your hands on him, yunho takes the chance to drag his own around and rest on your tummy. twitching, desperate to feel you beneath your clothes. you’ve never left anything up to the imagination — and he’s only even more turned on by the fact that he now knows you were doing it on purpose.
he tsks at the thought of you assuming he must’ve liked men to hold no reaction to your bare body all these years. but just as you were forward, yunho had a talent for hiding all the boners he’d pop. so talented that you never even fucking realised.
“may i?” he asks so gently, eyes almost entirely black from his dilated pupils.
you nod, but that’s not to his standards, see.
“words.” he whispers, not attempting to hide the shit-eating grin.
you roll your eyes, but he felt the way your stomach flexed over the little instruction.
“yes, please.”
and you used manners too. oh, how he fucking loves you.
you watch his hand as it travels down your thigh, breaches past the hem of your skirt. two fingers press into the dip of your panties, and you hear the way his breath catches at the dampness under his fingertips. feeling how your body reacts to him.
his throat bobs in a gulp. he watches you watch his arm disappear further under your skirt as he pulls your underwear to the side just enough for a finger to prod at your hole. wet and hot and his head is spinning.
you whine, urging him to keep going. yunho thinks he gets out a nod before sliding his middle finger into your core. you hum as you feel each ridge dragging against your walls.
“always been attracted to your hands,” you admit in a sigh.
yunho’s lip curls, his hooded eyes brightening at your voice. “what about them?”
“they’re long.” your face falls into a silent moan when his ring finger joins the middle.
compared to him, you’re pretty quiet as his hand works at you. no more than just pumping in and out, watching your brows pinch when his fingertips brush by that sweet spot.
“is it alright?” he murmurs, a bit worried over your silence.
“feels so good.” you whisper, making a point by scooting your hips closer and leaning back a little to let him reach even deeper.
knowing that he’s not completely disappointing you, yunho crooks his fingers up, heat flaring in his belly over the whine that leaves you.
his fingers curl into your walls with each thrust of his hand, thumb fumbling to push your underwear further aside so he can press it on your clit.
the pressure instantly has your body jolting, arms wrapping around yunho’s as you kind of fall into him. he kisses the crown of your head, determined to keep his fingers moving at a pace that’s got you whimpering.
he wants you to cum before he does, it’s only right. you’ve seen his size now too — you should know he needs to put in the work if he wants it to fit without hurting you.
on that thought, yunho adds his pointer to the fingers fucking into your pussy, then gives a swipe of his thumb on your clit.
the way you moan his name has yunho falling in love all over again.
he kisses your temple, your earlobe. leaves pecks all over your hair while he focuses on his fingers making you feel the best he can give. now that you’ve let him kiss you once he just can’t stop giving them to you.
he nuzzles his face into your neck to kiss there too. opens his mouth, tastes your pulse on his tongue. resists the urge to suck his mark onto the skin before he moves further down.
yunho leans back a bit, bending down to get at face level with your legs and then put his head between them. but you know what he’s doing before he can do it, and you stop him with a gentle tug on his hair.
“wait, no..” you give a small smile, flustered. he has such a big crush on you, oh my god. “i’m shy.”
he pouts, then his mouth curls into a smug grin. “i just want a taste.”
you smack his arm playfully. “you womaniser… another time, i promise.”
that’s all he needs before his hand’s getting back to work, and he bites his lip in the concentration of circling his thumb around while the rest of his fingers curl up.
you ball his shirt in your fist, grounding yourself as you start to throb around yunho’s fingers. he grins, so in love and so desperate to have you cum for him — because of him.
“yunho, i’m..” you gasp out, and he groans at your pussy clamping down around his fingers — still fucking them into the tight space.
“i’ve got you.” he whispers against your hair, kissing your forehead before his free arm comes to hold your back.
your eyes screw shut, mouth falling open as you let go — cum gushing around his fingers where he’s still relentlessly curling them up.
you sag all your weight on to him and he chuckles fondly, brushing his hand through your hair. he slowly drags the other out of you, and you make a muffled noise on his chest over it.
yunho doesn’t speak as you catch your breath. he doesn’t expect anything past this — you’ve already given him more than what he thought he’d get in this lifetime and the next.
you raise your head, connecting your lips again. you both get lost in the kiss for a bit, yunho chewing on the plush of your lower lip before you pull away.
“do you want to?”
yunho nods, not even thinking once, and your mouth cracks into a sly grin.
“words?”
he smiles at just how cute he finds you, but his face falls as a thought occurs to him.
“i don’t have any condoms..” he admits, sort of shy over the fact that he doesn’t get around nearly as much as you do in comparison.
he’s never really kept any because they’d just expire, unused in his bedside table. his hand sees more action than any box of condoms he’s purchased.
“it’s fine. i want you.”
yunho blanches at what you’re suggesting. you can’t just say shit like that to him.. if you ever wanted to get rid of him, there’d be no hope.
“are you sure?” he asks, wide eyes looking at you a little lost, lips swollen from all the heavy kisses.
“yes. very.” you smile, sealing the promise with a tender kiss.
before he just goes on a spiel about how madly he’s in love with you, yunho lays you down on the couch. he grabs a cushion to prop under your head, and you thank him in such an adorably small voice.
he sits back and takes the view in, running his hands over the sides of your body. wanting to remember this moment, and also too shy to actually begin — still in shock that any of this is even happening, and now you want to have sex with him.
with his incessant staring at your tits, you do him the favour of pulling your top off, bra shrugged off with it. you go for your skirt next, and he realises you’re probably getting impatient at him just ogling and drooling over you.
“sorry,” he mutters, trying to help you pull your skirt off your legs. “you’re just so fucking gorgeous.”
“yeah? you should show me.” you tease, thumbs hooking into your underwear to drag that down too.
yunho meets you halfway, tugging it the rest of the way down while his actual concentration hones in on your pussy, glistening with arousal. all for him.
he doesn’t want to make you wait any longer and risk you changing your mind, so yunho doesn’t even bother with his own clothes as he crawls over your body.
his hips line himself up, both hands focused on holding you and comforting you through this. yunho nudges in slowly, face crumpling with a moan at how your warmth swallows his tip.
he sucks a breath in through his teeth and keeps going, near shuddering above you until he bottoms out, hips meeting your ass.
he keeps telling himself to breathe, hand fumbling for your breast to hold on for some type of support. he kneads the flesh between his fingers, wincing each time your pussy flutters around him, adjusting to the size.
“you can move.” you tell him, amused at how entranced he seems with your boobs.
yunho nods, pulling out just to push back in even deeper. you both shuffle up the couch a little from the force of the thrust, and yunho thinks part of him died from the force of trying not to cum the instant he slid in.
he catches the grin on your face and he groans, burying his head in the crook of your neck. “i’ve thought of this for, fuck.. a really long time.”
you hum, fingers threading gently through his hair.
“i’m embarrassed…i don’t want to disappoint you.”
“you couldn’t,” you whisper right at his ear, making him shiver above you.
at that, yunho starts to move his hips at a steady pace. pulls back to watch your expressions, encouraged by every little sigh you offer him. he angles his pelvis up to hit your g-spot this time, and you react accordingly with a gasped moan, his confidence surging.
yunho doesn’t let his hips tilt another way even a fraction, aiming for the spot that has you seeing stars with each quick snap into you. you look so pretty beneath him, prettier than anything his brain could’ve conjured up on his own with nothing but his hand to keep him company.
“good? does this feel okay?” yunho asks desperately, grabbing onto the couch’s backrest so that he can focus on fucking you as best as possible.
your only response is a light moan, and yunho bites his tongue to distract his body, cock pulsing like crazy inside of you.
“please, i need to know how you feel.”
“just don’t stop,” you all but beg, holding him to you in a hug. and well, he’d be an idiot to not listen.
yunho latches his mouth onto your breast, and you squeak when his tongue laps at the nipple. your mouth gets even louder for him, thighs locking him in at the hips as he hits your spot so perfectly each time he fucks forward.
one airy moan of his name from your lips is what sends yunho toppling over the edge — groaning desperately onto your chest, nearly ripping the fabric of his couch as he fucks you through his orgasm. spilling inside you with each thrust, only stopping when it starts to burn from sensitivity.
even then, he makes no move to pull out. doesn’t even allow himself to get air back in his lungs before he’s diving in to kiss you — pouring all of his love into his lips on yours.
it could’ve been an hour that you both laid there, unwilling to move and not caring to clean up as you clung onto the heat of each other’s bodies, his cock long having gone soft inside you.
“i need to pee,” you say eventually.
“without me?” he pouts and you roll your eyes, shoving him lightly.
he slips himself out of you and sits back, tugging his shirt off over his head and balling it up before pressing it between your legs.
you hold it there as you sit up, raising a brow at him. “been taught well?”
yunho rubs his neck, shy. “not from any of my own experience..”
you just giggle, pressing a kiss to the pink-dusted apple of his cheek.
“you know i love you?”
yunho’s eyes go wide, your words punching him straight in the chest and knocking out his breath.
“don’t feel like you need to say that..”
“why not?” you reply easily, “i already tell you all the time, and now you know how i really mean it.”
well, he can’t argue with that. he’s never been able to argue with you anyways.
yunho holds your head with both of his hands, long fingers splayed across your cheeks.
“i love you too.” he kisses you, and it’s the sweetest taste he’s ever known. the taste that you’re his. “so fucking much.”
↪︎ wanna go on an unexpected date with that dada? part 2 here
Includes: modern!Baelor x f!reader / modern!Maekar x f!reader
Warning(s): ModernAU, kind of a crack!fic really (i wish my dad kept bees)
GIF by @sakuraspoke
The thing about Valarr, sweet, naïve Valarr, was that he had absolutely no survival instincts.
"He's just reading," he said, from beside you on the kitchen counter, stealing grapes from the bowl between you with the casual ease of someone who had decided you were close enough friends that your food was his food. "It's not that interesting."
"He's got two pairs of glasses on," you said.
"He does that." Valarr ate another grape. "He loses one pair, so he puts on another and then he finds the first pair and instead of swapping them he just—" he gestured vaguely, "stacks them."
You looked back through the kitchen window into the living room where his father was arranged in the armchair by the lamp with the particular quality of a man who had achieved a level of comfort he intended to defend unto death. Dark hair, threads of white catching the warm lamplight. Two pairs of glasses. A book that appeared to be roughly the size of a brick, held with the careful reverence of someone deeply personally invested in its continued structural integrity.
He had a cup of tea on the side table that he had not touched in forty minutes because he kept forgetting it existed.
"What is he reading," you said.
"Something about Byzantine military strategy."
You stared.
"For fun," Valarr added. "He does it for fun."
Baelor turned a page. The lamplight shifted across the lines of his face — the strong bearded jaw, the particular set of his brow when he was concentrating, the slight movement of his lips because he occasionally read difficult passages quietly to himself without realising he was doing it, a habit Valarr had told you about once with the fond exasperation of someone who had grown up watching it and could no longer imagine its absence.
He reached for his tea without looking. Missed it by four inches. Patted the table twice, frowning faintly at his book, and then looked down with an expression of mild surprise at the existence of the cup, like he had genuinely forgotten he had made it.
"Oh no," you said quietly.
"Yeah," said Valarr.
Baelor took a sip of the tea, realised it was cold, made a face of profound personal betrayal directed at no one, set it back down, and returned to his book.
You were experiencing something you didn't have a clean word for. It sat somewhere in the vicinity of I would like to bring this man a fresh cup of tea every day for the rest of my natural life and considerably south of that as well, if you were being honest with yourself, which you were trying not to be.
He turned another page. Murmured something to himself. The lamplight caught the line of his jaw and the silver in his hair and the careful way his hands held the book, and you were, genuinely, a little embarrassed about yourself at realizing that you were, in fact, biting your lower lip.
"Valarr," you said.
"Mm."
"Your dad is—" You stopped. Tried to start again. Stopped again.
"Is…" Valarr prompted, with the patience of someone who had been watching this unfold for the better part of an hour and had popcorn, metaphorically speaking.
You watched Baelor reach for his tea again. Miss it again. The same four inches. The same faint frown. The same expression of mild existential surprise upon locating the cup.
Something in you gave way entirely.
"Valarr," you said. "I want to fuck your dad."
The grape Valarr had been eating went somewhere it was not supposed to go. He coughed. You waited. He held up a finger, collected himself, and turned to look at you with an expression that cycled through several distinct phases — shock, offence, processing, reluctant resignation — in the space of approximately four seconds.
"That's my father," he said.
"I know."
"You just said that about my father."
"I'm aware of what I said."
"He's reading about Byzantine military strategy."
"I know! But him being a nerd isn’t helping," you yelled-whispered to your friend.
You looked back through the window. Baelor had found his tea again, remembered it was cold, and was now looking at it with an expression of genuine philosophical sadness, as if looking at it would eventually warm its content again.
Valarr stared at you for a long moment. Then he looked at his father through the window. Then back at you. The reluctant resignation had settled into something that looked almost like the beginning of a plan.
"He needs a fresh cup of tea," he said slowly.
"He really does."
"Someone should bring it to him." A pause. "He likes it with a splash of milk. No sugar. He'll look up when you come in and forget what he was reading for a moment because he's polite like that, and when he takes his glasses off to look at you properly he'll probably—" Valarr stopped himself. Pinched the bridge of his nose. "I cannot believe I'm doing this."
"Valarr—"
"The kettle's right there," he said, getting off the counter and leaving the kitchen with the dignity of a man washing his hands of a situation while absolutely enabling it. "I'm going to be upstairs. Not hearing anything. For a very long time."
You were already filling the kettle.
GIF by @prettysharwood
You had come over to study.
That had been the plan. That was still, technically, the plan, in the same way that standing in Daeron's kitchen doorway staring into the back garden while your notes sat untouched on the kitchen table was still, technically, adjacent to studying.
"What are you looking at," said Daeron, from somewhere behind you, in the tone of someone who already knew and was choosing to witness it anyway.
"Nothing," you said.
"You've been looking at nothing for six minutes straight."
Through the kitchen window and the glass of the back door, Maekar was in the garden.
He was doing something to a raised bed that appeared to involve a great deal of focused activity — kneeling in the dirt in old jeans and a worn grey t-shirt that had not survived contact with the garden soil in any meaningful way, hands dark to the wrist, white hair shoved back from his face with what appeared to have been a forearm and was now sticking up at an angle that should have looked ridiculous and did not. He was frowning at the soil the way, Daeron had once told you, he frowned at everything that failed to immediately cooperate with his intentions.
He said what seemed like a profanity by the look on his face under his breath. Adjusted whatever he was doing. The frown deepened fractionally.
The t-shirt was doing a lot.
"He's been out there since eight," Daeron said, now beside you with a mug of coffee and the expression of a young man who had made his peace with his life. "Something about the drainage not being right."
"Does he garden a lot?"
"He acts like it's a tactical problem he's been assigned to solve." Daeron drank his coffee. "Last month he made an Excel spreadsheet."
"A spreadsheet."
"For the tomatoes." A pause. "It had conditional formatting."
Outside, Maekar sat back on his heels and looked at the raised bed with his arms resting on his knees and dirt on his beard and the particular expression of a man reassessing a situation and preparing a revised approach. The late afternoon light was doing something entirely unreasonable to the line of his shoulders. His forearms were right there. Existentially. Just present in the world, doing that to your composure.
You needed to get a grip.
"He looks like that when he's cooking too," Daeron said conversationally. You wondered if he wore an apron. "And when he's parallel parking. And when he's doing the crossword. Basically, whenever he's concentrating on anything he gets that—" a vague gesture toward the window— "face."
"The face," you repeated.
"You know the face."
You knew the face. The face was a problem. The face combined with the forearms combined with the dirt on his bearded jaw combined with the knowledge that he had made a colour-coded spreadsheet for his tomatoes was creating a situation inside your chest that you were not equipped to manage.
You did not get a grip.
"Daeron," you said.
"Mm."
The words were out before you made a decision about them. "I want to fuck your dad."
The silence that followed had genuine texture.
Daeron lowered his coffee mug with the slow care of a man buying himself time. He looked at you. You looked at the garden. Outside, Maekar was frowning at the soil again, entirely unaware that his drainage problem was the least of what was currently happening in his kitchen.
"That's—" Daeron started.
"I know."
"He's my dad."
"I know."
"You came over here to study."
"I am studying."
A long pause during which Daeron appeared to conduct an internal debate of some complexity. You watched Maekar stand, brush the dirt from his jeans, push his hair back from his face with one forearm, and survey his raised bed with his hands on his hips. The t-shirt. The forearms. The hair. The frown.
"He's going to be insufferable about the drainage for the rest of the evening," Daeron said finally. "He needs something to redirect his attention."
You said nothing. You let that sit.
"He doesn't know you're here," Daeron continued, in the tone of a man constructing a case for something he will deny constructing. "I could go tell him. He does this thing when he's surprised — not bad surprised, just caught off guard — where he kind of—" another vague gesture— "resets. Stops frowning. It's a good moment."
"Daeron."
"I'm just providing information."
"You're facilitating."
"I'm going to go tell my dad you're here," he said, setting his mug down and heading for the back door with the air of someone who has made peace with their choices. "And then I'm going to remember that I have somewhere else to be. Urgently." He paused with his hand on the door. "He likes it when people are direct, by the way. He has no patience for anything else."
"I know," you said.
Daeron looked at you with suspicious eyes, like how long has this woman been observing my father without me noticing kind of eyes. He preferred not to walk down that line of thought and went to open the back door instead.
"Dad," he called, "look who came to visit!"
Maekar looked up from his raised bed. Found you through the glass. The frown shifted into something else — not quite a smile, but the suggestion of one, that fractional movement at the corner of his mouth that you had learned was as much as you usually got and had discovered was entirely sufficient.
Daeron brushed past you back into the kitchen, collected his jacket from the chair, and pointed at you on his way to the hall.
"I want absolutely no details," he said. "Like ever. Under any circumstances."
"Obviously," you said.
"Not even a look. Not a grin. Nothing."
"Daeron."
"I mean it,” he directed one final look to you from the front door. He turned on his heels and, with that wicked smile he usually saved for when he wanted to get under your skin, said: "Go on, pup, go get your toy."
Your eyes widened at the audacity of the man. But, when the front door closed behind him and you looked back through the glass at Maekar, who was still watching you with that fractional almost-smile and the dirt on his jaw and the forearms, you smiled and decided, for maybe the first time in your friendship, to not argue with Daeron.
So, you opened the back door.
I am completely normal about these men. Yeah. Completely normal.
-> warnings / content :: sfw ,, fem bodied reader ,, female reader ,, reader implied to be shorter ,, z team makes fun of him ,, his real name is used ,, lots of kissies <3 for a special someone ,, reader implied to have a different job than him
-> word count :: 534
-> an :: a little special smt while i crash out in my eng class bc why tf my teacher an actual ass 😭 and something to add some more fics for sonar :)) i need more on ao3 plsss i need more sonar 💔💔 im starting to work on requests tho !! tysm for all the requests you guys sent :D i love the ideas
mwah! one more kiss to the tip of his snout made it twitch in response. he was in pure heaven right now, hands on your hips as he bent closer.
another was placed to his cheek, then to the other side. “you’re so cute vic, i love you so much.” your hands dug into the fur behind his head, pulling him in closer than before.
he opened his mouth slightly, allowing you to attempt a full kiss. it was tricky the first few times, trying to actually give him a kiss rather than a peck on the cheek.
you managed to find a way nonetheless, letting nothing stop you from sharing your love for your bat boyfriend.
your lips grazed against his fang before meeting his own. he held you there, eager to get as much as he could from you before having to leave for work.
“mmh, i love you,” he whispered against you.
“i love you more, and as much as i’d love to stay and kiss you more, i think it’s almost time for you to go.”
his ears lowered at that, a frown replacing his previous grin. “one more?” he pointed to his cheek, “for good luck?”
with a roll of your eyes, you cupped his face and brought him closer with a kiss to his snout. “have a good day,” you whispered before grabbing your bag and heading out the door for your own job.
“that wasn’t where i wanted it!” he groaned, reaching a hand out to grab you. his attempt failed, watching as you left.
________
“okay, seriously, is there something in my fur? do i have white on my nose?” sonar grumbled as he turned to malevola.
she held a hand to her mouth, failing at hiding a small laugh. “you definitely have something on you, but i think you should look for yourself.”
“what do you mean?”
“um…the-there’s uh..red…yes a lot of uh r-red on you..” waterboy coughed into his hand, cheeks more flushed than usual.
seriously, what was their deal? was he bleeding and they were being dicks but not telling him?
“i swear if you guys are just bullying me today instead of robert i’m going to be more than just a little hurt.” he crossed his arms and walked towards the men’s restroom.
the stench always made him scrunch up his nose, but it wasnt worse than the bathroom at the sardine. nothing was worse than it.
he gave himself a quick glance in the mirror, ears shooting straight up as he saw the cause for everyone’s sudden giggle fit.
you sly fox… leaving lipstick marks on him. how did it transfer to his fur? last he checked, your lipstick wasn’t that dark.
you knew what you were doing, he thought it was strange you were so touchy this morning. instead of mulling it over he just thought you wanted to fuck later, not have him become the next big talk at sdn.
“i’m so going to get her back this….” he let out a small laugh, looking closer at the kiss placed perfectly on his nose. it wouldnt hurt to keep them on for a little longer, right?
summary: spencer’s sunday chess tradition with your daughter gets interrupted when she’s too sick to wake up for it. she thinks he left her; he thinks he’s failed her; and you watch them find their way back with a board, a blanket, and a very silly stuffed goose.
genre: hurt/comfort, fluff word count: 3.3k
tags/warnings: late-seasons married!spencer & reader with a daughter, spencer’s daddy issues mentioned, parenting guilt, domestic family fluff, no use of y/n
a/n: @esote-rika sent me this tiktok because it gave her dad!spencer vibes, I subsequently could not stop thinking about it, and BAM💥, this fic was born. everyone say thank u erika 🩷 this is the first oneshot I’ve written in MONTHS ooof wow but turns out i *can* still write things other than greenaway!reader! lol enjoy 🤍🪿
You hear her before you see her — the soft thump-thump-thump of bare feet on the stairs, a tiny cough that still sounds a bit raw.
You’re on the couch with a mug of coffee balanced on the armrest and a basket of clean laundry at your feet, halfway through sorting a mountain of mismatched toddler socks. You look up just as Margot appears at the bottom of the stairs, curls in a wild, sleep-tangled halo around her head, one fist rubbing her eyes. The other hand is clutching Sir Reginald Goosebury the Third by one wing.
Spencer named him, obviously. He narrowed the options down to either that or Nikola Goosla, and after a tempered suggestion from you to maybe not name your daughter’s first plushie after a dead inventor, Sir Reginald Goosebury the Third was born.
“Hey, lovebug,” you say. “Look who decided to wake up.”
She blinks at you, still a little disoriented, cheeks pink and creased from the sheets. Her pajama top is twisted, blanket dragging behind her like some tiny, exhausted queen’s train.
“Hi, Mommy,” she murmurs, voice scratchy. “Is it still Sunday?”
You nod as the memory of her padding into your room at three in the morning, hot and miserable and in need of more cold medicine, surfaces. She’d croaked out a tiny, confused question — What day of the week is it, mama? — as you fumbled for the thermometer. You told her and promised it would still be Sunday when the sun came up.
“Still Sunday.” You pat the cushion next to you. “Come here.”
She shuffles over, climbing carefully onto the couch, Sir Reginald bouncing onto your thigh. You tuck the blanket around her legs, smoothing her hair out of her face after checking her forehead for a fever, which, miraculously, seems to have finally broken. Up close you can see the remnants of the last week in the faint dark circles under her eyes, the soft sniffle after every other breath, the way she folds into you like her bones are made of jello.
Her eyes roam the room, taking the day in. You. The couch. The laundry basket. The sunlight through the curtains.
But no Spencer.
“Where’s Daddy?” she asks.
Your heart does a small, anticipatory twist.
“He went out for a little bit,” you say gently. “He’ll be back soon.”
“But it’s Sunday. That’s chess day,” she says, suddenly more awake. “Me and Daddy are ‘sposed to go to the park.”
She’s right: every Sunday (outside of when a case pulls him away for the weekend), Spencer takes her to the park to sit at the chess tables. The tradition started when she was barely three months old and you were so touched-out and sleep deprived you couldn’t see straight. Spencer could tell how badly you needed some alone time, so one Sunday he walked into the bedroom with the baby carrier already strapped on, little Margot blinking up at him from her cocoon against his chest. “I’m going to go play some chess in the park,” he’d said before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m bringing her along so you can nap. And don’t try to argue, I’ve already run the math on your sleep deficit.”
Back then Margot had been all squishy cheeks and flailing fists, honking her indignation any time either of you dared sit still for too long. Spencer started calling her “Margoose” somewhere between the second and third month of outraged squawks, and the name stuck. He brought Sir Reginald home for her a few weeks later.
Now, that same little girl looks up at you with utter confusion in her honey brown eyes.
“You were sleeping, bug,” you explain. “You were up in the middle of the night because you needed more medicine, remember? You were very tired, and your body needed more rest, so Daddy went to the park by himself this time.”
“He went to the chess park,” she says slowly, “without me?”
You open your mouth, then close it, then nod. “You had a big week. You were really sick, honey. Remember? Fever, sniffles, all those yucky coughs? Your body needed to sleep so you could feel better.”
Margot’s little face crumples fast and her eyes fill, lower lip wobbling dangerously.
“But he always takes me,” she says, voice breaking at the edges. “It’s our day. Daddy and Margot day!”
You reach for her, but she’s already curling inward around Sir Reginald, fingers twisting in his plush feathers.
This is the thing about Margot: she’s only three, but she’s exceptionally bright. She knows her routine down to a science. She knows sometimes her daddy is gone when she wakes up because “bad guys don’t wait ‘til after pancakes.” She can handle that. But this isn’t that. This is a disruption in pattern, one her toddler brain can’t quite rationalize despite her above-average intelligence.
“I wanted to play chess,” she whispers, tears spilling over. “Why he leave me?”
Your heart sinks.
You pull her into your lap, Sir Reginald and blanket and all, her warm little body shaking against your chest. She buries her face in your shirt, hot tears soaking through the cotton.
“Oh, sweet girl. He didn’t mean to make you feel left behind. I’m sure he misses you loads, and he wishes you were at the park with him.”
“He coulda waked me up,” she insists, words muffled. “I wanted to go with him.”
You smooth your hand up and down her back, over the familiar curve of her spine. You press a kiss into her curls and glance at the clock over her head. Spencer usually gets home around now on Sundays, smelling like crisp air and victory, cheeks flushed from the walk.
“Daddy’s going to be back any minute,” you say, rocking her gently. “And when he gets here, you can tell him how you feel, okay? He’ll want to talk about it with you.”
She pulls back just enough to look at you, tears shining on her cheeks. “He’ll be sad too?”
“Probably,” you admit. “He loves you so much. He never ever wants you to feel left out.”
She sniffles, rubbing at her face with the back of her hand. You’re about to reach for a tissue when you hear keys in the lock.
The door swings open, a draft of cooler air rolling across the room. You feel Margot’s tiny fingers bunching in your shirt.
“Where’re my girls?” Spencer calls from the foyer, voice easy and warm, the way he always sounds when he knows he’s coming home to the two of you.
Margot turns her head toward the hallway. Her cheeks are blotchy, lashes wet with tears.
You tuck a curl behind her ear. “Do you want to go talk to him?” you ask softly.
She hesitates for half a heartbeat, then slides off your lap. Sir Reginald dangles from one fist as she walks toward the entryway.
You stand, heart lodged somewhere just below your throat, and follow.
Spencer’s halfway through shrugging off his coat and scarf when he looks down and sees her coming. The automatic smile that flashes across his face is pure reflex, bright and boyish and so in love.
“There she is,” he says. “Good morning, Margoose. Did you sleep—”
He cuts himself off when he sees her face. He takes in her red eyes, her wobbly mouth, the way she’s clutching Sir Reginald like a shield.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he says softly, crouching down to her level. “Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?”
She stops in front of him, just out of reach, blanket pooling on the floor. Her chest hiccups once, a little aftershock of crying.
“Why leave me?” she asks.
It’s so small. Three choppy words. But the way she says it — confused and broken and so utterly betrayed — makes something in your chest lurch.
Spencer actually flinches.
“I—” he manages, eyes flicking up to yours for a second, alarmed, before dropping back to her. “Sweetheart, I couldn’t—”
“You go without me,” Margot cuts in, every syllable a tiny accusation. “It’s chess day. You always bring me for chess day. But you left me.”
His mouth opens and closes. You can see him recalculating his entire morning in real time, rewriting every choice he made from the moment he saw her sleeping face and decided it was best he go on without her.
“She woke up ten minutes ago and immediately asked where you were,” you tell him softly. “She’s been… pretty crushed over it.”
He swallows. You watch it slide down his throat like a stone.
“Oh, Margoose,” he breathes. His voice goes rough around the edges, barely holding on. “I’m so sorry.”
He reaches for her but stops himself, hand hovering in the air. “Can I hug you?” he asks. “Or do you want some space?”
Margot hesitates, torn between righteous indignation and comfortable habit. Finally, she takes one small step closer, nudging Sir Reginald into his outstretched hand.
He wraps his fingers around both goose and girl, using the contact to gently pull her into his arms. She goes, but she doesn’t melt yet. Her body stays stiff, her head tipped back so she can glare at him.
“You left me,” she says again, quieter now. “I woke up and you weren’t here, and Mommy said you went to the chess park.”
He nods, eyes glassy. “I did. Mommy was telling the truth. You were still sleeping, and you’ve been so sick all week. You needed to get a lot of really good sleep so you could get better. Remember how I taught you about the immune system before you took your medicine last night?”
She nods, bottom lip still quivering.
“Your body was working extra hard when you were sleeping to fight the germs away. So I couldn’t wake you up, honey. We have to listen to our bodies when we’re sick, and today your body said, ‘I need rest.’”
“But I didn’t wanna rest,” she argues. “I wanted to wake up and go with you to the chess park. It’s our day.”
He huffs out a shaky breath. “You’re right, it is our day. I should’ve left you a note, or stayed home instead of going without you.” His face crumples for a fraction of a second before he reins it in. “I’m sorry, Margoose. I’m so, so sorry you felt left behind.”
His reasoning is sound and his apology genuine, but she still doesn’t seem to totally accept it. Explaining parenting decisions to a three-year-old isn’t exactly an easy task.
“I took something of yours with me,” he says suddenly, scrambling for proof. He shifts her and digs into his coat pocket with his free hand. “Look.”
He pulls out a small, familiar shape: a white knight from the worn wooden chess set that lives on the bookshelf.
“I brought your favorite piece,” he tells her, holding it between his fingers. “I kept it in my pocket the whole time so it was like you were there with me.”
Her eyes flick down to the knight, then up to his face. “Did you win?” she asks.
Spencer smiles softly. “I did. I think having a piece of you with me gave me all the good luck I needed so I could win.” He squeezes one of her little shoulders gently. “Are you okay now, honey? Can you forgive me?”
She considers it, tiny brow furrowing, then leans forward and loops her arms around his neck. It’s not quite a full pardon, but it’s a truce.
He hugs her back like he’s been underwater since he walked inside and can finally breathe again. His face is buried in her hair, but you can see the way his jaw works, the tight clench and release.
“I would never leave you without a really good reason,” he murmurs into her curls. “Not ever. You are my favorite person to take to the park.”
She pulls back just enough to look him in the eye, skeptical. “What about Mommy?” she asks.
He glances at you and actually laughs, a short, incredulous sound that cracks the tension in the room. “Mommy is also my favorite person to take to the park,” he says. “You and Mommy both. But she doesn’t like chess or sitting on cold benches as much as you do.”
“You’re not wrong,” you say, stepping closer to rest a gentle hand on his shoulder.
Margot’s mouth twitches, the beginning of a smile appearing. She looks down at the knight in his hand, then back up at him.
“Can we play chess here?” she asks tentatively. “Since I missed the park?”
“We absolutely can,” he says. “As long as Mommy doesn’t mind us taking over the living room.”
You make a show of considering it, folding your arms across your chest. “I don’t know,” you say. “The living room has a very busy schedule. But I suppose I could clear it for my two favorite people.”
Margot beams at that. Spencer’s eyes soften even further, like they weren’t already dangerously soft to begin with.
“Come on, Margoose,” he says. “Let’s set up the board.”
He stands up with her in his arms and doesn’t put her down once between the entryway and the shelf where the chess set lives. It’s a whole operation: Margot on one arm, Sir Reginald clutched in her tiny fist, the chess set balanced precariously in his free hand. You watch him navigate it and feel something warm bloom in your chest.
He spreads a blanket on the floor — her favorite, the one with the solar system embroidered onto it — and sits cross-legged, settling her onto his lap. She leans back against his chest like she’s been waiting all morning to click into this exact position.
You sit back on the couch for a moment, laundry forgotten, just observing.
“Okay,” Spencer says, flipping open the wooden box that holds the pieces. “Do you want to play the white or black pieces today?”
“White,” she says immediately. “White goes first.”
He smiles softly at that, lining up the pawns with careful precision then positioning the knights, bishops, rooks, queens, and kings. Margot does her best to help, grabbing pieces and setting them down in vaguely correct squares while Sir Reginald supervises.
“You and I will play the white pieces together,” he tells her, because three is still a bit young to commandeer one side of the board alone, even as the child of a genius. “And…” He shifts, reaches forward, and turns the board a hair. “I’ll also play the black pieces.”
“You play both?” she asks, amused.
“Today I play both,” he says. “But you’re the boss of our team, Miss Margoose.”
She beams. “I wanna move the horsie first,” she decrees, pointing to a knight.
Spencer nods, entirely serious. “A bold opening. I respect your vision.”
They play like that — if you can call it playing — for a while. He rotates the board a quarter turn, makes a pensive face, moves a black pawn. Rotates it back, asks her which move she wants to make next. She chooses with the thoughtful yet chaotic logic of a very bright preschooler, and he builds a strategy around it seamlessly.
At some point you slide off the couch and onto the floor beside them, leaning your shoulder into his. He shifts just enough to bump his knee against yours, a quiet little I love you humming under his skin.
Margot glances up at you. “Mommy, we’re winning!” she exclaims.
“You are, bug,” you say, brushing a loose curl behind her ear. “You’re so smart, and you’ve got the best teammate.”
Spencer’s hand finds yours on the blanket, fingers lacing through.
Eventually, the day catches up with her again. Her movements get slower, head tipping back against his chest, eyes blinking longer each time she looks at the board. Sir Reginald slides off her lap, abandoned in favor of fisting her tiny hand in Spencer’s shirt.
She’s half-asleep by the time a white queen takes a black rook — slumped warm and heavy against him, a knight clutched in her fist and tucked under her chin.
Spencer makes one last move with a black king then lets his hand rest on her back.
“Checkmate,” he murmurs.
You turn your head, studying his profile. The worry lines between his brows have softened, but there’s still something fragile in the way he looks at her, like he’s just waiting for her to wake up and decide she hates him.
“How’s your heart, Dad?” you ask quietly.
He huffs, not quite a laugh. “Recovering,” he says. “I know it’s irrational, but when she said I left her…” He trails off, eyes tracking the rise and fall of her small shoulders, his mind drifting to painful memories of his own childhood. “I never want her to feel like that. Not even for a second.”
“You’re allowed to make decisions that are good for her,” you say, squeezing his hand. “Letting her sleep was the right call. She’s been sick, and she needed her rest. Now she’s got you and Sir Reginald and sixteen possibly illegal chess moves. She’s okay.”
His mouth tilts. “I still feel like I blundered, no chess pun intended.”
“You didn’t blunder.” You bump his shoulder with yours. “You sacrificed bringing her along for one Sunday park trip so our little queen could gain her strength back. That’s just good strategy. A gambit, even.”
He looks at you for a long moment, something warm and a little awed in his gaze.
“You’re trying to out-chess metaphor me, aren’t you?”
“You love it,” you counter.
His lips twist into a smile. “I love you.”
He does. You can see it in every softened line of his face, in the way he shifts to press his shoulder more firmly against yours, in the adoring, grateful look in his eyes.
“I love you too.” You lean in to press a kiss to his jaw, then take a slow breath before you speak again. “And before your brain goes there,” you add softly, “this is not even in the same universe as what your dad did to you. You left for a couple hours to decompress and play chess after spending the week with a sick toddler. I know you’re beating yourself up inside, but you’re nothing like him, Spence. I promise.”
His eyes go glassy for a second, which confirms your suspicion that he was indeed comparing himself to his father. “I just don’t ever want her to feel like I’ve left her,” he says quietly, looking back down at Margot in his lap. “I don’t want her to feel abandoned. Not even for a second.”
You squeeze his hand, stroking your thumb across his skin. “You’ve never made her feel that way, because you always come back. She’s only three, so her world is just very small right now, and little things like an interrupted Sunday routine can feel… catastrophic. But after your next visit to the park, she’ll forget it ever happened.” You nudge his chin up lightly until he meets your eyes. “You’re a good dad, Spence. The best dad.”
Some of the tension finally eases from his shoulders. His gaze drops to his sleeping daughter in his lap, hand tracing slow circles on her back.
“You’re a good mom,” he says, looking up at you again. “The best. In case I don’t say that enough.”
You blush softly. “You say it more than enough, but you can always say it more. I won’t complain.”
He grins, sweet and crooked. “Duly noted.”
The chessboard sits half-finished in front of you, pawns scattered, pieces out of place. Your coffee is cold on the table. There are still clothes to be folded, dishes in the sink, a whole messy life waiting to be handled.
But right now, it’s just this: your husband, your daughter, a ridiculously-named stuffed goose, your whole little family piled together on a blanket in the living room, wrapped up in Sunday afternoon sunlight.
ᝰ.ᐟ
masterlist
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How would yandere saja boys react to reader being a child of Gwi ma, but is nothing like him as in they want to help people?
Saja Boys x Demon!GN!Reader
a/n; i keep missing in my fics, i keep forgetting the plot!! so sorry anon,, i don't know what i'm trying to do in this one (´;︵;`) but i do love the new scenario!! tho sadly this isn't obviously yandere,,
— 👑
"Dying king with a crumbling crown," you hum, a teasing smile stretching across your feline lips. "Will he let the fire go out?"
Jinu sighs, absentmindedly plucking his strings. "As much as I love seeing two tigers, I think it'd be best if you take another form. It's creepy watching you talk with its teeth."
With a chuckle, you shapeshift into his bird instead, licks of fire dying as soon as it appeared. You made sure to keep the tiny hat on. "Yeah, sure, okay. Hey, that was a pretty bold move to your king. Y'know, my creator."
One of his demon companions snort. You snap your eyes toward the one with abs. "That's Jinu for you. Knows what he wants, knows what Gwi-Ma wants. As it's always been."
Jinu doesn't react, he doesn't reply—yet, you and the rest of the Saja Boys could tell he's deeply uncomfortable. He continues his focus on his bipa.
Baby coughs. "Look, I'll do the rapping, yeah?"
"I already said that—"
... After a while, you stare blankly as they get lost in their planning. Listening to every word. Paying attention to their movements. You can barely contain the frown itching to crawl on your—oh, wait. You have a beak.
"Master," Mystery suddenly calls, poking a finger on your wing.
You make an expression with your beady eyes. "Do not call me that. What is it, Mystery?"
His lips curl. "Why are you here?"
All your six eyes blink. The rest seem to be intrigued for your answer.
Of course, you're here to disrupt their plans. You don't say that out loud. Always so grateful that you and Gwi-Ma have cut connection, so even he can't hear your spirits.
"I believe I don't need to answer you," you shrug, earning some looks. You flatter your wings and stand on Mystery's shoulder instead. His smile grows. "Just keep doing your magic."
— 🐦⬛
You wonder what the Huntrix girls are doing right now.
Probably better than... whatever this is.
"Gwi-Ma is going to be so disappointed in us."
"What? No! The opposite! He'd be so impressed, we'll never have to be punished—"
"Master's waiting for us to move already."
Gwi-Ma this. Gwi-Ma that. Even if you're the literal spawn of the guy, it's still such a bummer with him being the only topic in this damn world. Well, aside from famine and destruction of your kind. Okay. Enough of this. You have to check on the girls.
Jumping off of Mystery's shoulder, you shift into your true form, pink fire dancing in your silhouette.
You thought you could quietly leave but—
"Where are you going?" comes Jinu's voice, inquisitive. Suspicious, almost.
Romance cast you a look. "You haven't even seen our rehearsal yet! Or, maybe, you'd like to see it live—"
You flow your fire to Romance's side, patting his head in reassurance. "I'll be there."
Maybe that's good enough to be convincing. Then, you leave.
— 🔥
In one of the farthest seat of the stadium, you sit and watch as the Huntrix practice for their performance. Put simply, they're amazing. You always did prefer acapella from the girls.
You've taken a human form, hopefully that will be enough for them to lay off if they spot you. Act like one of the staff who's slacking or whatever.
"So this is where you are," a familar deep voice mutters, and you immediately shoot up a hand to their face. A face that's come from a half-body in the seat next to you, the Honmoon tear strong in your senses.
Between your startled glare and fingers, Baby smiles in curiousity as his eyes glow. "I'm a little hurt. Didn't know you prefer the hunters."
You relax. Okay, cool. He found you spying on Huntrix. "No one will believe you."
A cough. You follow the noise on the floor and find three out of four other Saja Boys. Abby, Romance, and Mystery stares at you with something in their expressions—completely unreadable.
"Does Gwi-Ma know you're—"
Hmm. Darn. You interrupt whoever spoke. "Why are you all here? Did you come to look for me?"
You turn, seeing Baby's immense stare on you. But he doesn't answer. None of them do.
... Weirdos.
"Where's Jinu?"
Baby pauses, then points at the other side of the area.
You follow his direction and Jinu barely meets your eyes.
A frown makes its way to your lips. This human... This human is a wonder. You have Gwi-Ma's memories—while the others are fairly content with their sins, you know Jinu's so much more complicated than that.
Honestly. He'll know about Rumi's patterns in one way or another.
Someone pokes your cheek.
You sigh. "Mystery, stop doing that."
"Ah, no, I'm Abby. You're acting weird."
You? Acting weird? Haven't you always been? You look down on your patterns. An intricate design and color unlike the others.
The weight of your memories — not even yours, really — rumbles in the pit of your core. You don't like what you are, or where you are, or who you are. But, at the same time, you care so much. It's hard to think.
"I'm not answering that," you say eventually, using your higher position whenever convenient.
—
errmm my bad, also im trying to combine asks as I go ... hrrmmm eeemm hmmmm it's not working well
i tried to go with demon reader (anon1) and reader who hates the saja boys but loves huntrix (anon2) but for this one—they just really don't like what they stand for
Summary: Waterboys been acting up around you lately, I wonder why?
Warnings: NSFW, sub waterboy (ofc), blow jobs, uhm dats it ^^
Word count: 2.5k
A/N: I’m so happy my last fic was well received! This one is based on a combination of two requests I got. I’ll have another note at the bottom regarding that!
Gen neutral reader! 2nd person so no pronouns even used!
Waterboy had seemed to be… lurking around you for the past two weeks. His personality seemed flattened and soggy when you spoke to him. Herm’s tone would be low and he’d be half way in a whisper before fleeing away from you. Sure you've gotten busy lately but what could you do about it? Work is work.
Your hero work always seemed to pick up with the changing seasons, the holidays always wretched the worst out of people and you’ve had to ditch taking your breaks with Herm more and more. You knew Herm had only joined SDN recently, this being his first approaching holiday season so naturally you gave him grace. How kind of you.
And so his slinking around and staring from a distance continued. He must have been too scared to approach you, either in shame of his behavior or scared you didn’t want to talk to him anymore. The two weeks of his strange behavior from him started to irritate you. ‘Where does he get off on not letting you speak to him?!’ you thought. You finally had lunch to yourself and you knew Herm was somewhere around the office. You poked your head in the break room only to be met with only a few members of the Z team and the room full of smoke.
You coughed and slammed the door shut, not your circus, not your monkeys, fuck ass Robert can deal with that. With the break room marked off the list, you knew one other place to find Herm. His cleaning closet.
You rattled the door handle only to find it locked so you politely knocked.
“Hey Hermy.. can I come in?”
It was quiet for a while though you could hear shuffling and squeaking behind the door. So he was in there and not answering you? After dodging you and hiding away for two weeks he had the nerve to ignore you?
You put your fist to the door repeatedly.
BANG BANG BANG
“I know you’re in there! We need to talk, don’t make me walk away Herm.”
Were you cruel for saying that, knowing very well that it would make him anxious, a little. But you were determined to make him open that door. And boy did it work, the door swung open immediately after. In fact the door was pushed open with such power it hit the wall with a crack and swung back hitting Herm straight in the face. You could hear him squeak out, slip (probably on his water), and fall flat with a small splash as the door went back to being closed.
You knew it was unlocked now so you slipped the door back open and stepped inside. The inside of the closet was incredibly moist and you saw Herms bucket he would sit in knocked over on the floor. And next to it sat Herm.
He was looking up at you sitting flat on his ass holding himself up by his hands behind him. His face was bright red from the embarrassment of being knocked down from a door, hair stuck to his head accompanied by droplets of water sliding off them and hitting the floor. He looked so perfectly pathetic.
“You alright Herm?”
“I’m f-fine. Swear- I swear.”
You walked closer to him and closed the door, the handle on the inside was slippery. It clicked shut and locked.
“Why have you been avoiding me?”
Straight and to the point. You had grown tired of his unusual behavior and Herm could tell by the way you gazed down at him with disappointment. You stood directly at his where his lanky legs were splayed out with his arms crossed. He felt so deeply below you in the moment that he couldn’t even hold eye contact.
You shook your head and took a step closer between his legs.
“Yes you do Hermy. You can’t keep running away from me.”
He whined like a kicked dog and turned his face away from yours. The room was unbearably humid compared to the hallway and your skin felt sticky under the moisture from his power. It only served to make more pent up.
“N-no! I- I just! Well- you- you..”
His eyes squeezed shut under his goggles and he shook his head several times. You could see him struggle to answer you, but you wouldn’t give up until you got an answer from him.
“What did I do to deserve this hm? Haven’t I been good to you?”
He bit his lip and refused to open his eyes. He looked so sad under you and all you’ve done is give him a few sentences of a lecture.
“Wait! Have! You-you have! I’ve- I’ve been uh.. well- no I don’t kn-know. Jealous- I think uhm j-jealous yeah.”
“Jealous? Baby what are you jealous of? I thought this was about me being busy?”
You took another step, standing in between his thighs and tapped your foot on the wet floor, water splashed under it and hit his suited thigh. He flinched and you saw his fingers twitch against the floor.
“H-heros- I just- you-you talk t-to the hero’s around-d! And- and you seem s-so so busy! I g-get scared I’m steal-stealing your time!”
“And? That doesn’t mean you have to run away from me?”
You put your foot on his thigh and pressed down gently. It squeaked against the wet rubber. He sucked in a breath and choked on his spit, hehad to cough a few times before he could speak.
“I-I was jealous! They g-got your at-attention! I f-felt like an after-afterthought!”
His eyes got teary and his goggles seemed to fog up, you could barely see his eyes in them. You bent down, careful not to put the weight on the foot resting on his thigh, and took the sides of the goggles in your hands.
“I’m gonna take your goggles off so I can see you properly ok?”
“Super- ok! Yeah, yeah.”
He strengthened up and remained completely still- he raised his head further to chase your hands, hoping to bring you closer. You removed the goggles and threw the goggles on the floor with a splat.
“You know you’re never an afterthought to me, Herm. I’m sorry I made you jealous.”
You cooed at him and your hands found placement on his cheeks. You wiped water from under his eyes only to have it form again. You gave him a pinch before standing straight again and giving him a devious smile, one he was beginning to know well.
“How about I make it up to you, hm? Would you like that?”
Your shoe drew along his upper thigh and pushed down close to his crotch. You could see him straining through the rubber of his suit. One of his hands shot out to wrap his arm around your lower leg to steady himself. His eyes started watering again and he made rare eye contact with you while he gazed up reverently at your divine form. He seemed to be struggling to keep drooling from leaking from his mouth at the sight of you in power over him.
“I’m- Please! I’m sorry I was j-jealous! Yes- yes pl-please!”
You removed his hand from your leg and let it drop back to the floor behind him to support himself. Slowly, you positioned yourself on your knees in between his spread legs and planted your hands directly behind him, nearly touching his own. You leaned over his chest and his breath grew heavier as your face neared his own.
“Can I kiss you?”
He nodded quickly and his eyes focused on your lips as you scooted closer to his face. You planted your lips over his and smiled into the kiss as he fumbled to kiss you back. He still needed much teaching but you didn’t mind doing so. Oftentimes his eagerness made up for his lack of precision. Though he had a habit of drooling hard during kisses, likely due to his powers. That’s fine by you, you liked it messy.
You moved your mouth to this damp jaw and left kisses along the edges of it. You shifted weight to one hand and used the other to tug down his suit by the zipper enough to leave a good portion of his neck revealed. After putting your hand back down to hold yourself up better you went back to kissing down his jaw now making your way to his neck. He let out awkward high pitched noises as you began to suck a harsh spot of his upper neck. His hands stayed firmly behind him, holding up his quaking body even though he wanted to reach back and hold you desperately. But his will to do nothing without your permission stayed strong.
“I-i I’m sorry can I- can I touch- uhm touch you? I know- wet uhm- I know I’ll- I’ll get you wet.”
You pulled away from his neck to give him a sloppy kiss on his forehead, his natural wetness had gotten your lips moist like lipgloss would. You honestly couldn’t care less if you walked out of this closet sopping wet.
“Of course baby this is for you.”
He seemed to struggle and slip a little as he got up into a more comfortable position to sit up without needing to balance on his hands. He still seemed to shake as he watched himself carefully reach to place them on your waist. When he finally got his gloved hands on you his eyes flickered to your face to judge your expression. You gave him a sweet smile, the small soft connection made the moment seem anywhere other than the humid closet. You leaned down again and returned to kissing his neck and leaving hickeys across parts of his neck that would be just visible above his suit when zipped. He writhed under you, trapped between your arms while you attacked his neck.
“Pl-please I need- sorry ask- sorry I’m asking but can you-you do more?”
“More? Sure, Hermy.”
You couldn’t bring yourself to deny him when you felt oh so bad that you had made him jealous.
You sat back on your honchos, still remaining on your knees that were beginning to numb. His hands followed you as you shifted and he immediately frowned at the newfound distance between you two.
Your hands fumbled with his slightly slippery zipper and brought it down his body slowly, just to be a tease but not enough to get him impatient. He shifted a hand up to caress your side, he was elated to even have his hands on someone as perfect as you. He was staring so intently at your focused face that he neglected the fact you were actively stripping him.
The zipper reached the end right above his naval and you had to nudge at his hands to get him to pay attention to what you were trying to do.
“Oh! Sorry! Ahead! I mean g-go ahead!”
You shifted his suit down low enough to pull his cock out for the uncomfortable rubbery suit. He swallowed thickly, most likely from the nerves. Even since your strange little relationship with him had progressed he still hadn't gotten used to the feeling of you being so intimately close to him.
His cock was flushed so red it looked like it hurt. Herms dick was so wrapped in precum and water if you wanted to you would have no problem jerking him off without using any spit or lube.
“You look pent up baby. You want me to keep going?”
He eagerly nodded and had a dopey smile strewn across his water covered face. Herm blinked a few times in quick succession and watched in awe as you shimmied down to the floor, holding yourself on your knees and hands on his hips, keeping him down. You lowered your head to his naval and pressed a kiss under his belly button. He let out a breathy laugh, he had always been a little ticklish there.
“You ready?”
“Y-yeah. I thank- I mean I think. Uhm thank you.”
You paid no mind to his stutter, you found it endearing.
You pressed a kiss against his tip, he always tasted like diluted salt water down there. Hern had to bite his lip to stop himself from wailing too loud in the closet. He was already so pent up he was scared he’d come too soon and you’d think less of him. But he just couldn’t help how much he loved feeling you on him.
You licked up his shaft and took the upper part in your mouth to which he breathed out a shaky breath in an effort to keep his voice down. You knew that wouldn’t last long.
You began moving, paying special attention to his tip and kept a hand on the lower half, not moving yet just holding him gently. You kept a slow, leisurely pace, up and down his cock.
“Ah-ahh! You- you’re so-“
His hands twitched near your head, desperately wanting to grasp your hair, your shoulder, any part of you he could. But he hated getting you all messy, not when you were so important. As you kept your steady slow pace he got louder and louder, unable to keep his voice down, just like you thought. God you, important hero you, sucking him off in his own special closet, was enough to get a rare moment of disobedience from him causing him to buck his hips up. Despite your hold on his waist you let him, normally you’d remind him to be a good boy but you wanted to let him have this. After all, you knew the poor man had been missing you so much.
“Ngh- can I? I know- know! Ah! I know I didn’t last- last long! But I really really want to— ah!”
You increased your speed and pressure, particularly to the tip of his cock. The longer you sucked him the closer he got to cumming and he found himself unable to stop his hand from grabbing your hair and soaking it upon touch, he didn’t pull or push you, just found comfort in touching you. Herm couldn’t take his eyes off you moving up and down him sloppily. One of your hands dragged down his exposed lower tummy, leaving little red marks in their wake, with that he lost it.
“Oh! Thank you! So- so good. You’re perf-perfect. I-I I’m!”
You sunk yourself down as far as you could manage and dug your fingers into his side and he let out a loud wail as he came. Ropes of thin liquidly cum landed down your throat and Herm shook aggressively while you stayed sunk down on him.
When he finally finished shivering and his hand slipped from your hair you took your mouth off him and swallowed deeply, making sure you got all of it down.
“Did that feel good, Hermy?”
“Y-yeah.. you’re the-the uhm.. the best. What am-am I supposed t-to say after..?”
You pulled yourself up to his level and kissed his cheek.
“You’re the cutest Herm.”
A/N 2: Thank you for reading <3 I apperciate requests it help me get my creative juices flowing! Im in a lot of fandom spaces so if you want to leave a request for any fandom below I might do it (no guarantees but I love hearing ppl out)
Jjk, dungeon meshi, demon slayer, dispatch (obv) thats abt it
Thanks again! Many ppl were sooo nice on my last fic post ily.
