lemonmoonmochi

[lemonmoonmochi]

𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍

⋆        tadc.jax x reader

summary : since the adventure caine assigned included guns, you were forced to tell jax that you had no clue how to work a firearm, and that resulted in him teaching you.

tags : romance, established crushing, flirting, and guns.

note : why am i obsessed with fics where characters teach the reader how to do stuff ?

"you don't know how to work a gun?"

"isn't that what i said?"

a deep frown was on your face while jax stared at you with a grin, and he lightly snickered as your glare hardened.

why was that fact so amusing? so what if you didn't know how to work a gun? sure, you knew how to shoot a gun, but you weren't aware of how to hold it properly to where the bullet would actually hit somebody. your aim was terrible, and given how you had to shoot people for this adventure, you were screwed.

though, you luckily partnered with the person who made shooting guns his whole personality, so you weren't that worried. the only thing you were apprehensive about was that he would end up shooting you.

you thought that since you were with jax, you wouldn't have to do much. he was always keen on shooting things, so you assumed he'd be thrilled when you announced that he could do all the shooting.

but instead, you were met with him questioning why you weren't going to help shoot, and you reluctantly informed him about your lack of ability to use a gun.

which led to this conversation.

"how could you not know how to use a gun?" he questioned with a raised eyebrow, and he fidgeted with the gun in his hand. you both were currently in the hallway that held everyone's rooms, and jax was leaning against a wall while you stood not too far away from him.

the room had random blocks resting on the ground, and one of the blocks present in the middle of the room had three cans on it. you didn't know why, but you assumed that maybe caine had put those cans there so people could practice shooting. the blocks were obviously for cover, so you weren't curious about them.

"because i didn't learn," you responded as you crossed your arms, and you glanced at the gun in his hand before looking back at him.

due to caine having to deal with the awards show, he just decided to give you all guns to mess with since everyone was complaining about his previous adventure idea. it was some trust exercise that started with jax shooting ragatha, so you just assumed that caine gave up and gifted you all guns to keep you occupied. the adventure itself was simple—team up, find guns that were around the circus, and then shoot each other.

the catch, though, was that everyone had three lives. if you lost them all, you lost the game.

"what's there to learn?" jax pushed himself off the wall, and he started to make his way towards you. he moved to stand on your right side as he lifted the gun, and his eyes didn't leave yours while he pulled the trigger.

the sound of a can hitting the ground made your head turn, and you noticed how one of the three cans was now gone. he had managed to hit one without even looking.

your eyes widened while you slowly turned to look back at him, and his grin grew. "all you do is aim, then shoot. there's nothing else to it."

he eyed the gun in his hands before slipping his index finger into the trigger guard, and he spun the firearm in circles until the motion was abruptly stopped by him grasping the barrel.

the gun was held out towards you, and you narrowed your eyes at it before they flickered up to meet jax's gaze.

a smirk was on his face, and he tilted his head before looking you up and down. "are you just gonna stand there, or are you gonna take the gun?"

"jax, why would i need a gun?" you questioned, but despite your query, you still reached out to take the gun.

the metal felt cold against your palm, and you slightly twisted the gun so you could examine it more thoroughly.

"well, you can't necessarily learn how to use a gun if you don't have one."

your attention moved away from the gun as you stared at jax, and you raised an eyebrow. "you're going to teach me how to use a gun?"

"can't have us losing because you didn't know how to use a gun, now can we?"

"you don't even know what to teach me."

"well..." jax trailed while he lifted a finger to poke your forehead, "it's obviously not the shooting part. it'd be pathetic if you didn't know how to shoot a gun, so i'm guessing your aim sucks?"

it was concerning how easily he was able to guess things.

you raised a hand to waft away his finger, and a chuckle echoed from him while you gave him a slight nod.

"and is another reason you're wanting me to do all the shooting is because you don't want to shoot your friends?"

now that you thought about it, you really didn't want to shoot your friends. you had seen ragatha's expression when jax shot her earlier, and you didn't wish that upon anyone else.

again, you nodded, and jax let out a scoff.

jax grasped one of your shoulders to make you turn, and you were now facing the box. only two cans remained, and you eyed them while jax walked behind you.

you slowly held up the gun with two hands, but instead of being met with the instructions you thought jax was going to say, you were instead met with his presence behind you.

his chest pressed against your back while his hand rested against your hip, and he moved his other hand to place it over one of yours. his hand slightly squeezed yours as a gesture for you to grip the gun tighter, and you did just that.

"listen, dollface, we're not gonna win if you keep that mindset."

his leg slightly slipped in between yours, and he nudged one of your feet so you'd sprawl your legs open more. "you're worried about hurting your friends, that they'll hate you after this—whatever." his leg pulled back, and you were now standing shoulder-width apart. you didn't question the position he put you in, for you were more curious about his position. why was he so close to you?

"but in the end, we're all cartoons, right? we'll come back, and technically, this is our adventure for the day."

your hand was moved so the gun was aimed right at the can in the middle, and his hand removed itself from yours before resting on your other hip.

the gun in your hand slightly trembled while you tensed, and you felt jax's mouth right by your ear. "so, why don't you just relax—"

his words were cut off as you pulled the trigger, and the bullet knocked the can off the box. it crashed against the floor, and you heard jax let out a low chuckle.

"that's more like it."

you let out a shaky breath as you felt your face grow warm, and your grip on the gun loosened as you sighed. "are we done?"

"impatient much? you're the one who doesn't know how to work a gun..."

you slightly peered over your shoulder to frown at him, but you were only met with his smirk while one of his hands left your hip. one of your arms was pulled, yanking your hand away from the gun while his hand trailed up your arm.

he grasped your hand, and his fingers intertwined with yours. your arm was slowly put down to your side, but his fingers never left yours.

"we'll be done once you can shoot with one hand—without my help."

you didn't even know how you shot with both of your hands.

you faced the final can, and you put the gun back into position as you attempted to aim it. yet, every time you moved it, it didn't seem straight. it appeared like it didn't line up, and that bothered you.

but you were also being bothered by how close jax was.

his hand remained in yours while you could practically feel his breath against your neck, and you narrowed your eyes at the can.

"why don't you try relaxing?" he questioned, and you let out a short hum. "because it's hard to do that when you're all up on me..."

"you like it."

you tensed at his words, and you didn't even need to look over your shoulder to know he had a smug look on his face. "you're weird—"

"says the one that i always catch staring at me," he spoke in a taunting tone while you attempted to aim for the can. yet, you couldn't. your mind was too scrambled by what was going on, and jax seemed to notice.

"you're always so tense..." he mumbled, and you were confused once you felt him lift up your arm a bit. though, your mind went blank as soon as your hand was placed against his lips. "why don't you relax?"

your finger squeezed the trigger, and once again, you had hit the can.

"or not. maybe that's your thing—tense shooting." he let go of your hand as he took a step away from you, and you remained in place for a moment before hastily turning around. "you—"

your words died in your throat as soon as you realized how close jax still was, and your chest was almost touching his while he slightly leaned down.

"i...?" he trailed as he waited for you to finish your sentence, but it never happened. you just stared at him with wide eyes, and jax only peered at you back before plucking the gun from your grasp.

"i want to go shoot people so we can win this thing. you in, dollface?"

you watched as jax pulled out another gun, and while you questioned from where, you didn't really have time to ask as he held out the gun to you. the handle was grasped while you held the weapon to your chest, and you nodded at jax.

you didn't know what you expected. you truly thought that he'd just turn around and run off while beckoning you to follow him.

instead, you watched as his gaze trailed down to your lips, and his smirk slightly faltered. yet, he didn't make a move. he didn't even say anything.

he just stared as his eyes trailed to meet yours, and his grin grew once again. "well, then what are we waiting for?"

jax turned on his heel before he started to make his way down the hall, but you stood there for a moment with perplexity flooding your mind.

what was that all about?

[lemonmoonmochi]

“husband,” you call lazily from the bathroom, foam around your lips, “can you grab me a shirt?”

he freezes in the middle of buttoning his own. it’s the simplest word. he’s heard it before—friends have said it, coworkers, even strangers who don’t know your name call him your husband when they see the ring on his hand.

but it’s different when it’s you and it’s somehow different like this.

barefoot in your shared bathroom, not even looking at him. not saying it to get a reaction, not trying to make him blush. just calling for your husband like it’s always been this way. that’s who he is only to you—not nanami kento, not some unreachable salaryman, not an exorcist or a colleague or even a boyfriend—but your husband. like the word is already stitched into your every breath.

his fingers fumble on the button. his eyes drop to the shirt in his hand, then to your open drawer, then back to where you’re still brushing your teeth, waiting.

he goes to your dresser, still a little dazed, and pulls out one of his shirts instead of yours. carries it to you quietly, eyes soft, heart doing something embarrassing in his chest.

you glance up when he steps in, eyebrows raised.

“this isn’t mine.”

“i know,” he says, voice quiet, and holds it out anyway. “wear it anyway.”

you eye him for a second—he’s looking at you too gently, too closely—and you smile around your toothbrush, shrugging as you spit and rinse and tug it over your head. it falls past your thighs and smells like him, clean and warm, and for a second, he just watches even though it’s a sight etched in his brain from a long time ago.

“what,” you mumble as you towel off your hair.

he doesn’t answer right away. just comes closer. presses a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw.

“say it again,” he says softly, almost whispering into your damp skin.

“what?”

his arms come around your waist, slow and firm, pulling you close. “call me that again.”

your heart stumbles. “husband?”

he sighs, like you’ve just dropped him into a warm bath, like you’ve just given him something he didn’t know he needed.

“mm, that’s right,” he hums, pressing his forehead to yours, “again.”

“husband,” you whisper this time, smiling now, leaning into him.

his eyes close. “again.”

“my husband.”

his lips find yours, gentle and grateful. he kisses you because he loves you far too much right now to keep himself away, as if he can’t believe this is his life and he wants to hear it every day for the rest of your lives.

because he does. because he’s yours.

because he’s your husband.

[lemonmoonmochi]

nanami definitely loves to manhandle you. at first it was instinct—just practical. moving you out of the way during missions, catching your wrist when you’re about to do something dumb, steadying you with a firm hand on your lower back. it’s just efficient, he told himself. just muscle memory from years of combat.

but then he started noticing things.

like how you always go a little quiet when he effortlessly lifts you off the couch to make room. how your breath catches when he grabs your waist and pulls you back against him without warning. how you don’t complain when he hooks an arm around your legs and throws you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing. in fact… you giggle. every single time.

and now? oh, he’s shameless with it.

pressing his palm to the back of your neck to guide you through crowds. pulling you into his lap without asking. adjusting your posture by nudging your thighs apart, or pushing between your shoulder blades with two fingers until you sit straight like he wants. he picks you up when you’re being bratty. pins you down when you’re squirming too much. drags you closer just because you’re sitting too far away.

he doesn’t say anything about it, but there’s always that little satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his mouth whenever you melt into his hands. because he knows you like it. and the fact that you trust him enough to let him move you around like that?

yeah. it does something to him.

“you could’ve just asked, y’know,” you tease one day, after he catches you sneaking cookies before dinner and literally hoists you over his shoulder like you’re being arrested.

“i could have,” he agrees calmly, walking off with you dangling upside down, “but don’t you like this better?”

and god, the way you squeal when he slaps your ass once for good measure— he’s never going to stop.

[lemonmoonmochi]

The entire base has come to the conclusion that you're 141's 'barracks bunny'. That you slept your way into the exclusive task force.

At first there was just a rumor that you and Johnny were an item. You were always together. There were multiple eye witnesses of him grabbing your ass in the mess hall. While fraternizing with him wasn't exactly allowed, the task force was often viewed as 'above the rules'. So most kept their mouth shut.

Then more rumors surfaced. Someone had come into the break room to see you buttoning up your shirt. Hair mussed and walking a little funny. Lieutenant Simon Riley sitting spread out on the couch in front of you smoking a cigarette. You both look up as the recruit entered, but don't address it. The implications were clear. You weren't just in a relationship with Soap, you were sleeping around.

One Private swore on his life that someone was under Price's desk when he entered to deliver a file. The Captain's face flushed. He seemed out of breath. John only tugging you off his cock once the recruit had left. Chiding you for continuing despite the interruption.

Gaz was the first to hear about these rumors. He finds it hilarious. And does everything he can to make it worse. During spars he'll pin you just to grind his cock against your ass. Knowing every nosy recruit has their eyes on you. He'll corner you in the hallway. So close but not kissing you. Loving the attention it draws, as well as the needy look in your eye. When you eventually drag him to your bunk the whispers only grow.

What these nosy soldiers don't see is how Johnny spends nearly every night in Kyle's room. Or the way Simon limps out of Price's office after 'private briefings'. How whenever Soap and Ghost work out together their showers afterwards seems to take extra long. When Gaz's knees goes weak every time John places a firm hand at the back of his neck. Or the longing look in his eyes as he watches Simon in the field, entranced by the cold professionalism as he kills.

No, of course the rest of the base only has eyes on you. 141's little slut. Which was ridiculous, Soap was clearly much more of a whore than you.

[lemonmoonmochi]

Yes we love mer!141 and researcher!reader but what abt the reverse???

Youre a mer that got permanently injured by a boat, so you get taken into a mer sanctuary. The staff there are...surprisingly nice compared to the horror stories your podmates told you.

Soap and gaz are more than happy to splash in the shallow zone while they feed you. Theyre trying to socialize you better to having others around, hoping to introduce you to the other mer. Unfortunately for them you still seem pretty nervous when the other mers chirp or bellow in other tanks, clinging to gaz or kyle instinctively. Strong arms keeping them in a hold, they have to gently remind you they dont have gills, less you drown them.

Ghost and price are great too. Doctors who help ease your pain. Ghost is much more indulgent with you, offering pats and treats for good behavior. Price is less so, but he does give good tummy rubs if you are exceptionally well behaved for check-ups. Hes the more experienced doctor, you think, judging by how he is always watching ghost and offering small corrections.

Sometimes, all four of them come to see you! It makes you happy to see your pod all together, offering gifts of small food or shiny things you find. They've all accepted their pod gifts, now you just need them to accept their mate gifts!

You try and get their attention, but they dont fully pay attention. Soap pats your head where it rests against his thigh, but you catch snippets of conversation. "Confused....mates....poor socialization...."

Its hard to follow when they used big words or talk fast, so you just nuzzle against soap and let their voices drape over you. Its odd theyre so worried with the spring approaching. But hey, they are your pod after all, no need to worry when they're here!

[lemonmoonmochi]

Omg would looooove a hurt to comfort fic with newly wed reader and Hotch arguing about something dumb (like if he has to leave for work on their anniversary or on a birthday or - if you decide its a bau reader - something stupid happened at work, i mean something really insignificant they made a big deal of) and after they had a fight and reader fuming in the kitchen Jack going to the reader and telling her "please dont leave us" with sad eyes and a trembling lip 😭😭😭😭 omg litterally crying only thinking of it. Would LOOOOVEE to read it from your writing 💘💘💘💘

mended with love

STOPP 😣 that's so sad i love it cw; fem!reader, established relationship, hurt to comfort <3 wc; 1.1k

"I don't know what you want me to do." Aaron's voice rose slightly, his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. "I think it's highly unfair you're subjecting me to this."

"I don't know what you want me to say,” you snapped right back. "I RSVP'ed for the two of us. You're the one who made other plans."

He scoffed. "Yeah, because I get to choose when I have to go to work. Thanks, sweetheart. Need I remind you, you didn't want to attend your reunion in the first place."

"So?"

"So why are we having this discussion? You don't have to go. Problem solved."

With a bewildered shake of your head, you turned on your heel and walked away. For a profiler – for someone who read people for a living – he could be so dense sometimes.

Aaron didn't follow you; you headed to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water in an attempt to cool yourself down.

That's what the both of you needed, a moment to calm down.

Your eyebrows were knitted together as you stared out the window above the sink. There was an odd sting in your chest, as you processed what had just occurred; your first real argument. It was inevitable, but you hadn't thought it'd be this soon, despite dating for nearly two years and being married a month.

He'd been right; you hadn't wanted to go to your high school reunion to begin with. Spending a night in the past hadn't been appealing, but Aaron encouraged it, reasoning that it could be fun and that you'd be on his arm all night. His charming smile as he stated such made you weak in the knees, so you found yourself opting to go just to flaunt him for the night.

As the date grew closer, a conference had been scheduled for the same day, and Aaron decided to attend last minute, explaining the insights would benefit the BAU. Focused on tactical leadership and decision-making under pressure.

Naturally you wanted what was best for him, for his team. But at the same time, you’d really been relying on his promise to accompany you.

It was late, both of you were tired, and simply started going at it.

The creak of the floorboard pulled you from your flood of thoughts, causing your head to turn. Jack was shyly peering into the kitchen, half his face covered by the doorway.

"Hey Jackers," your face immediately softened. At the same time, your shoulders dipped slightly, the fight draining from you, "what're you doing out of bed?"

Without a word, he made his way over to you. Quickly sensing something was wrong, you sat at the kitchen table and beckoned him closer.

Brushing his hair back once he was in reach, "you okay?"

"I heard you and Dad fighting."

Your heart sank. The argument must’ve carried farther than you thought. "I'm sorry... we didn't mean to wake you up."

"I don't want you to go." Jack said, with the saddest expression you've ever seen. Enough to make the slight sting in your heart transfer to behind your eyes.

"Bub, what makes you say that?"

"When adults fight, they break up." He insisted, full belief in each word. His bottom lip stuck out, trembling. "Even if they're married. I really don't want you to go."

"Oh Jack," you exhaled the words. The guilt came quickly - the thought that he feared he was losing another mom broke your heart in ways words couldn’t describe. "Dad and I aren't breaking up."

He looked at you, unconvinced and needing more.

"Sometimes, adults get into arguments over stupid things. Really stupid things," you explained, suddenly feeling silly over your quarrel with Aaron. It had been pointless, really. "But I love your Dad, and I love you. I never want to be apart from either of you."

"Even if you're mad?"

"Even if I'm mad."

"You promise?"

"We promise." Aaron's voice suddenly chimed in, leaning against the doorway in the same spot his son previously stood. Gone was any anger in his face, and in its place was a tenderness shaped by sympathy and remorse.

You gave him a half smile as he neared, your own silent apology in your eyes.

"We were loud, huh? I'm sorry." Aaron crouched to meet Jack at his level, his knees cracking. And while he was speaking to Jack, his eyes were locked in on you on the tail end of his sentence. "Trust us, the very last thing this family is going to do is break up. You have nothing to worry about. Alright?"

"Alright."

He lowered his voice, but still spoke loudly enough for you to hear. "Believe me, there's not a chance I'm letting Mom go. Ever."

You blushed, a surge of love completely dissolving any remnants of your lingering anger. Your eyes connected with Aaron's, aglow with forgiveness.

"C'mon, gimme a hug." You poked his side. Jack wrapped his arms around you, and you purposefully tightened your grip, refusing to let up. "We love you."

You got a stifled laugh in response, engulfed by your hold. "Iloveyoutoo."

When you finally released him, you suggested, "why don't you head on back to bed? We'll be there to tuck you in in a minute."

"Okay," you gave him a comforting smile, and Jack appeared to be back to his normal self, a stark contrast from when he had first entered the kitchen. Aaron stood, ruffling Jack's hair as he passed.

"My turn?" Aaron held out his arms. You didn't hesitate to melt right into him; leaning into his chest, you instantly found comfort in the quiet, steady thump of his heart.

Aaron clutched onto you, relieved that you were just, still here. The visual of you walking away was unnervingly familiar to the past.

"I didn't realize how loud we got." You sighed after a minute, hating the fact Jack overheard. It was far from the example you wanted to set - a model of love that healed rather than hurt.

But at least, it proved a relationship was imperfect; teaching Jack that love was as much about growing together as it was about holding on. You don't run from the complications, you work through them together.

"Me neither." Aaron's hands roamed your back, offering another firm squeeze. "I should've-"

At the same time, "you were right-"

You both stopped, sharing a quiet laugh.

Aaron's brown eyes were lit with compassion, "I should have discussed it with you before deciding to attend the conference. I didn't mean to blindside you, or bail on you."

"I didn't want to go." You reiterated with a shrug of your shoulders, a small laugh escaping you. "It was unfair of me to keep you up on some pedestal. I was being selfish, and I'm sorry."

Aaron's mouth drew into a gentle line, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. You sighed contently as you reciprocated, your fingers clasping onto the fabric of his shirt.

"We can resolve this further, but first," Aaron stated warmly, pulling away only to grab ahold of your hand. "Let's go say good night to our son."

[lemonmoonmochi]

Turning Page

You work at the library Simon and his daughter frequent.

single dad! Simon Riley x librarian! Reader

tags | alpha! Simon Riley, Omega! Reader, a/b/o dynamics, mentions of mating bonds, scenting, fluff, eventual romance, girl-dad, retired Simon, angst

ch. 1 | ao3 | masterlist

There’s cement in his throat.

Stucco lodged thick in his lungs, solidifying and suffocating him in a god-forsaken children’s library. He can’t breathe, heart racing and bleeding all his layers as his world seems to mute around him.

Every blonde little girl looks like her, running circles around him, mocking him for being a shit father, losing his daughter, but none of them are his. She was there, mere seconds ago, tucked into his side as they browsed the books on the shelf.

Fancy Nancy.

Fancy Nancy is the book that distracted her, with her ribbons and glitter, obnoxious curls and neon pinks, but she had asked so sweetly with doe eyes and precious chubby cheeks— please Daddy, can we get the Fancy Nancy book?

How could he say no? He succumbed, walked to the shelf in front of them, and grabbed the stupid pink book. And now she’s gone, wasn’t standing where she was when he turned back around.

His instincts kicked in, analyzing the room as fast as he could with pinpointed measurements, clearing the area like he was on a mission. An automatic routine when his biggest concerns were enemies, how many bullets were left in his mag, and if the knife buried in his leg was down to the bone. Now, he’s clearing a bloody library because his biggest concern is his daughter and which book they’re going to read before bed time tonight— Fancy Nancy.

He can’t smell her, there are too many scents, too many other little pups smothering her citrus smell. His mind is jumping to every scenario, someone took her, she’s too smart to run away from him, he’s taught her better than that. Someone from his past must’ve tracked him down and took the only important thing in his life away. Came to get revenge, retribution for the irredeemable things he’s done.

He’s stomping through the aisles with an unconfined sense of urgency, terrifying the small children with his looming presence and menacing soured scent, but he doesn’t fucking care. Can’t care when they’re not his Clementine.

Until he hears her, an infectious giggle that only belongs to his girl. When he sees her, dirty blonde curls, ruddy red cheeks, and beady eyes perched on your desk in one piece with an adorable smile smeared across her face it’s like he can finally breathe again, like the stucco melted from his lungs and washed away to utter relief.

Even when he can tell she’s been crying, lashes clumped together as fat tears cascade down her shaking chin and pool in the pink Hello Kitty t-shirt uncle Johnny got her, he knows she’s okay. He can tell by the way you’re cooing at her, wiping her cheeks gently, protruding your omega scent to soothe her anxiety.

He can smell it the closer he gets: white jasmine, musky sweetness, warm, gentle, vanilla seeping through the rich scent. Swirls with his Clementine’s citrus.

It rumbles something in him, spinning and tugging at his alpha. Pulling at the strings he folded away in a neat box for Clementine’s sake, or maybe it was his. He doesn’t have time for things such as that anymore, never really did.

Clementine jumps off the table, small feet pattering against the tiled floor when she sees him.

“Daddy!”

Simon captures her in his arms, pressing her into the crook of his neck with a palm on the back of her fragile head. He’s still shaking even though she’s in his arms, hugging her a little too tight to his chest, scenting the side of her neck and forehead probably a little too much.

“Minty, baby,” He breathes the words as a sigh of relief, pressing a kiss against her temple, “Where did you go? I turned and you weren’t there anymore.”

“I couldn’t find you, Daddy!” She explains, pointing a nubby finger towards you, “I came to the desk like you taught me. The pretty lady helped me.”

He follows her point, finding your gaze. You give him a soft smile, crossing your arms behind your back endearingly. He feels it in his chest when you do, an itch flaring in the back of his throat from the whites of your teeth like the cement was bubbling back up. Except, this time it’s not as heavy, only makes his breath stick in his lungs.

It’s a catastrophe that you are pretty, his Clementine doesn’t lie.

“She did.” You nod in agreement, “She was a very brave girl.”

Even more so because you’re complimenting his girl.

Clementine beams at that, tugging on the collar of his shirt to bring his attention back to her, “See, Daddy! I did good!”

He smiles, tenderly, eyes softening at the bundle in his arms, “Yeah, pup, you did. Thought I lost you.”

She shakes her head proudly, curls bouncing around her face, “Nope, you found me.”

“Always will.” He promises, smoothing his thumb against her hair affectionately, and he means it, he’d go to the ends of the earth until his flesh scraped away to bones to find her.

He turns towards you again, “Thank you, for taking care of her.”

“Of course,” You reassure, “It comes with the job. Happens all the time. I’m glad she’s okay.”

He places the book that got them in this situation in the first place on the counter, “Fancy Nancy.”

You laugh, “Our best seller.”

The noise smooths over him, the tension coiled between his shoulder blades loosening slightly because he’s got Clementine safe in his arms and a pretty librarian to thank for. You’re nice to listen to, sweet to the smell, even better to look at. Hair pulled back into a messy tie, cat-eyed glasses on the bridge of your nose, adorned in a sweater vest, and a skirt to your ankles. It’s familiar, homely.

“Really? Despise tha’ book.” He grumbles, a mixture of the book's contents and the culprit that almost made him lose his daughter the cause.

It’s a catastrophe that you are pretty when Simon spots a mating bite on the base of your neck. It’s ugly, taints your delicate flesh with fading teeth marks, like the asshole who left it on you didn’t really mean it. He wouldn’t do that to you.

Though, he doesn’t have much room to speak when he’s got a daughter without a mating bond of his own, when his Clementine doesn’t have a mother of her own.

Your eyes crinkle, a sight he decides he likes, “She’s a bit obnoxious, isn’t she?”

Clementine makes a noise of disapproval, frowning dramatically, “I like her!”

“I know, Mint. You make me read it to you every night.” He deadpans.

She smiles brightly at that, kicking her feet out around his torso as she giggles in acknowledgment.

You slide the book over to them with a shrug, “She’s teaching children to be themselves, self-expression even if they are a little obnoxious.”

“I like her,” Clementine whispers to him, thinks she’s being real quiet about it, but you hear her loud and clear.

You hide your laugh behind your hand, “I like you too, sweetheart. I hope you enjoy your book.”

“Thank you!”

Clementine squeezes herself tight around his neck from excitement as they walk through the library doors, “She’s pretty.”

“Yeah, pup. She is.”

He doesn’t let go of Clementine the entire walk home.

thank you to @lumilily for the name Clementine! & nicknames tiny & mint 🤍

tag list is open! 🎐

[lemonmoonmochi]

Waiting After The Rain - 14

Pairing: ot8!stray kids x pregnant omega!reader

Synopsis: An omega pregnant and alone after being kicked out by their alpha stumbles upon a pack willing to take them in and care for both the omega and their pup as if they were their own, because now they are.

Genre: strangers to lovers, angsty but lots of fluff to even it out.

Warnings: a/b/o, violence, past abuse physical and verbal, past sexual abuse(mentions of past non-con), mentions of past violence, trauma, self esteem issues, pregnancy, aftermath of abuse, panic attacks, anxiety, pack dynamics, angst but it will be okay, polyamory, cursing, not beta read

A/N: yes yes i know it’s been forever and i am so sorry for that, but this chapter is over double my usual word count coming in at 5318 words so i hope that makes up for it <3

previous chapter // next chapter(coming soon)

This morning you’re an omega on a mission. Even though you still had much to work through, you knew you wanted to accept the pack’s courting. Thinking back to what Felix said about courting them back, your brain latched on to the idea of getting them a gift. With no money of your own and no way to get the pack to help you without spoiling the surprise you settled on something you knew you could do, and do it well. Making breakfast. Your prior life didn’t give you a chance to develop your own personality or take on any hobbies but you could do stuff you were ‘supposed to’ as an omega, you did everything when it came to the home, you cooked every meal so of course you got good at it over time, it’s all you knew. You had to learn to love it to survive, but if you had to be honest cooking was probably your favorite chore. It felt nice to be learning, something you never got to do much of since your parents thought education wasn’t necessary for omegas who were only meant to be the homemakers, learning new recipes felt powerful, playing around with ingredients and spices became a science for you, and you always got a treat in the end, how could you complain? Minho had been pretty adamant that you didn’t need to cook here, just worry about taking care of yourself and the pup and he’d be happy, but you wanted this, you needed this, to show them that you can be a good mate. So you set an alarm to wake you up early, before Minho would even wake up so you could beat him to it. Finding your way around the kitchen wasn’t hard at all after watching the alpha man in this place so many times. You were almost finished when a certain alpha startled you.

“Wah! Baby, what are you doing up this early? If you were hungry you could have woken me up!” He’s not mad at you, just concerned that his pregnant omega didn’t come to him when you were hungry. The alpha wipes the sleep from his eyes while he walks deeper into the kitchen to confront you but you meet him halfway, reaching your arms out to gesture for him to leave.

“No! Go back to bed, I'm almost done.” Your voice wobbles, upset that your surprise didn’t go as planned. Minho notices immediately and stands still for a moment trying to assess the situation, and it quickly clicks for him. A smile graces his lips before it’s replaced by a frown, realizing he ruined your surprise. He takes a deep breath before trying to rectify his mistake.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t though. I’m upset at myself, I thought I planned this perfectly so it’d be done before anyone woke up.” You sniffle wiping away your stray tears with your hoodie sleeve, Minho immediately pulling you into his arms.

“If it makes you feel better, you did. I wouldn’t be up right now but I heard the noise and thought Hannie was in my kitchen making a mess again.” His chest vibrates against your cheek from his laugh at Jisung’s antics, causing you to laugh as well.

“Gosh I’m so stupid I should have remembered to be quiet. I’m sorry.” The alpha pulls away to look into your eyes.

“You’re not stupid, this was really sweet of you and we will all appreciate it regardless of me spoiling it for myself. Now can I stay and help you finish up?” Minho looks at you with a look that says he’s fully ready to accept if you decline but he really wants to stay, so you let him. Just like he said he would, the alpha helps you finish up the breakfast for the pack, even helping you set the table to your liking, understanding how special you want this to be.

You find yourself moving the same bowl back and forth for a moment, trying to get it to a place that feels just right until Minho comes and wraps his arms around your waist.

“Baby it looks perfect, the guys will be down here soon and they will love it just as much as I do.” The alpha hums spinning you around to face him, allowing you to place your forehead on his chest with a huff.

“I just want it to be perfect.”

“It is perfect, because you did it.” He places a kiss on your temple, ushering you to have a seat in your usual spot while you wait for the other guys. Which doesn’t take long, because one by one the guys stroll in shocked to see the table set in such a fashion.

“Minho hyung, what's the occasion?” Seungmin speaks up, ready to thank his hyung for the breakfast.

“Y/N actually did this, all by herself!” Minho gives your hand a squeeze encouraging you to explain your gift to the pack.

“I really wanted to do something nice for you guys so I made you this breakfast. I hope you like it.” You bow your head suddenly, extremely shy and scared of their reaction. You subconsciously wait for a verbal beating that never comes, because instead you’re met with Chan enveloping you in a big hug.

“Thank you so much, baby. I can speak for the entire pack when I say we appreciate this, but I’m sure they will all show their thanks themselves.” Your blush intensifies as he leaves you with a kiss to the crown of your head. The men do all give you a soft thank you bow before heading to their seats.

“Good morning!” You hear from your side turning to see Jeongin looking at you lovingly, but before you can respond he looks down placing a hand on your bump.

“And good morning to my other princess too.” You’re certain the blush would permanently be stuck to your face at this point, something in your stomach turns and flutters at the gesture of the alpha greeting your pup.

“Good morning Innie… from both of us.” you giggle, turning back to eat the food Minho has plated for you.

“Oh Y/N this is so good… Minho hyung you have competition!” Han speaks with his cheeks full of the food you made and it almost makes your heart explode.

“Remember that next time you want me to make you a snack in the middle of the night.” Minho lightheartedly growls from beside you causing the whole table to laugh. With the energy bright and happy, you decide to make your announcement.

“I wanted to say something…” You trail off getting everyone’s attention.

“I made this breakfast as a gift… a courting gift. I would like to accept your courting and officially be a mate to each of you. I know we still have a lot of bridges to cross but I don’t want to cross them with anyone but you guys.” You smile looking around trying to gauge the reactions.

“So like, mates… for life? Because once you agree to this I don’t think I could lose you, I’m hooked for life.” It’s surprisingly not an alpha but Hyunjin who speaks first, though it shouldn’t be surprising given how romantic he is.

“I would like to be with you guys for as long as you’ll have me.” A cough from the eldest alpha draws everyone’s attention.

“So is a mate mark something you’d want? Felix told us you aren’t actually mated so we could definitely do that after the pup is born if that’s something you want.” That earns Chan a swift smack to the back of his head from Felix.

“You can’t just ask that!”

“It’s okay Felix, I think I would like that. We can discuss more once my first heat post-pregnancy is closer.” You shyly nod and everyone seems to hum happily in agreement and continue to eat the meal you’d made for them. One by one the packmates finish their food leaving the dining room to finish getting ready to leave for the day, but not without leaving kisses on your cheeks, thanking you for the delicious meal. As always Felix is the boldest in the room.

“You’re the best mate ever.” The blonde omega smirks before planting a wet kiss on your lips leaving you at the table in shock.

It was Jeongin’s day off today. He loved the days he got to spend at home with the omegas, but right now he was looking for a specific omega, Felix. So with a couple of knocks at his bedroom door, the older omega invited him in.

“Innie! Come sit in my nest with me.” The alpha obeys without a fight, crawling into the omega’s nest pulling him into his lap where he can steal a kiss from him. Felix is the one who pulls away, face flushed and playfully poking the alpha’s chest.

“Oh, does the puppy want to play?” Felix purrs rubbing his head into Jeongin’s scent gland.

“Hmm maybe later… I actually came here to ask you for some advice.” Felix immediately perks up at this, the alpha rarely ever asks the omegas for advice, usually preferring to run to Chan, so this has to be something different.

“I really like Y/N.” The alpha blurts out and Felix looks at him for a moment, trying to process his words before a laugh erupts from his chest.

“Oh! Well yeah, I think we all really like her.” Jeongin rolls his eyes, frustrated that his words didn’t convey what he meant.

“No! I mean, I know we all do, but I love her, not to say we don’t all love her, we do but I need to know how much I love her. Like I so badly need this, I feel like my alpha is going to burst out of my chest.” Felix giggles, heart fluttering at the cute confession from his younger mate.

“God, were you this bad when you courted us?”

“Yes!” The alpha’s voice cracks and Felix sighs, taking his face in his palm.

“If deep down she didn’t think we loved her, I doubt she would still be here. Innie you’re doing so good, don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“You don’t get it, I need to show I can be a good mate… be a good dad.” He whispers the last part, his lips turning into a pout.

“Innie, she adores you and so will the pup! You don’t have to worry about any of that. But if you really must do some grand gesture to appease your alpha, why not a date?” Jeongin raises an eyebrow at Felix’s words, a million scenarios playing in his head.

“I don’t know, what if I take her somewhere she won’t like? What if she gets overwhelmed?”

“I’m sure she’ll just be happy to spend time with you. If anything happens, which it won’t, you’ll just be the big strong alpha you are and handle it, just like you always do!” Felix places a kiss on his forehead and Jeongin settles, feeling much better after his omega’s praise.

“Thank you sunshine, you always know what to say.” Jeongin scents his omega happily.

“Of course! Now go find her!” Felix beams up at the alpha fully amused by his displays of puppy love with their new omega. Jeongin leaves him with a passionate kiss before running to follow your scent throughout the house. He ends up finding you filling up your water bottle in the kitchen.

“Jeongin!” The cheer of his name from your mouth makes his heart flip, he walks closer taking your one empty hand in his.

“Hi sweetheart, I was looking for you.”

“What for?” The cute tilt of your head really does him in, suddenly he’s shy, but he takes a deep breath reminding himself of what Felix said.

“I was wondering… would you want to go on a date with me? You can say no! It’s completely up to you and what makes you comfortable.” The way your eyes widen makes the alpha feel sick, did he do something wrong? Will you hate him now?

“You want a date… with me? Why?”

“Well, I’ve wanted a date with you for a while now but after this morning and us being official partners now I’d like to take my girlfriend on a date!”

“Oh… I’ve never been on a date before.” You look down at the countertop, far too embarrassed to admit to this.

“So I will make sure it’s special! We can go out to dinner tonight, I know the perfect place.” Your head snaps back towards him, is he insane?

“Tonight? That’s like no time at all.”

“Yeah, no time for either of us to overthink this.” His smile only grows when you give him your nod of approval.

“Meet me at the front door at six.” The alpha placed a kiss on your forehead before running off to his room, he’s totally not going to panic or anything.

Which leaves you three hours to do your own panicking. Something in you churned, your omega telling you exactly what you need right now.

Find your omegas. Omegas will help you.

Lucky for you, you find Felix and Jisung lying in Felix’s nest in his room. Before you can even open your mouth Felix knows why you’re there.

“So you said yes right?” Your mouth opens and closes, now you’re just confused.

“How did you know?” Both the omegas laugh now.

“Well obviously he came to me for advice, I’m the one who came up with the idea, and of course I told Jisung.”

“Of course, I said yes, he’s my alpha.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to say yes, you don’t owe any of us anything, not even the alphas.” It’s Jisung who speaks up now, hopefully, you’ll understand one day.

“I love him. I love all of you. There’s no one I’d rather have my first date with than you guys.”

“It’s your first date?” Felix jumps off the bed, eyes bright, full of endearment.

“Yeah… don’t worry I told him that.”

“No wonder your scent is so freaked out, this is huge! Oh, you’re gonna have so much fun, Jeongin’s dates are so sweet.” The blonde omega squeals.

“Why don’t you go take a relaxing shower, and Felix and I will ransack your closet to pick out a nice outfit for you! We have an idea of where he’ll be taking you but we’ll still ask him.” Jisung speaks while getting up from the nest to join Felix.

“Okay, I can do that.” You take a deep breath and shoot them a nervous smile before heading to the bathroom to shower.

You know the shower is supposed to calm you down but all you can do is think. What do you even do on a date? Would he find you boring? What if you have nothing to wear? You’ve never gone out with Jeongin alone. What if something happens? What if he realizes this won’t work? The feeling of the water getting colder snaps you out of your thoughts, you’d been in here a while. Amid your breakdown, you’d put extra effort into getting clean, wanting to look and smell nice for your alpha. You abruptly shut off the water and step out of the shower, wrapping your body in a plush towel. The omegas hear the patter of your feet before they see you.

“Oh! You guys are still here.” You awkwardly close the door behind you, grasping the towel tighter.

“Why wouldn’t we be? We told you we’d pick out an outfit for you!” Jisung says holding up the dress they’d picked out.

“I assumed you’d just leave the dress on the bed… I’m kind of naked, you know?” A crimson blush graces your cheeks as you look away, the brown haired omega blushes too, yet Felix doesn’t even flinch.

“That’s okay! If you want us to turn around or leave we won’t mind. We don’t care about that kind of stuff though, don’t worry.” Felix beams waiting to gauge your reaction.

“Just… turn around.” Your words are abrupt and awkward but they oblige. You use the towel to dry off some more before slipping into your undergarments. Before putting on the dress you apply your lotion, and it was fine until you remembered you can’t reach your back. Usually, you wouldn’t care but you wanted to show Jeongin your best, shit. You look at the backs of the two omegas standing across from you for a few breaths before you remind yourself that these are your mates, and they can help you put lotion on your back. You pick up the towel and drape it over your front before calling out to them.

“Can one of you help me put lotion on my back, please?” Your voice is barely above a whisper but Felix hears and he’s almost too ready to help. Quickly turning around and taking the lotion from your hands, happy to help you. The first touch to your back causes you to flinch but of course, Felix gives you a moment to recoup before continuing. His soft hands rub the cool lotion in, you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel nice. You’d heard stories about how the omega had magical hands but you couldn’t believe how good he was at even just putting lotion on. Once he’s done he rests his head on your shoulder taking in your milky scent.

“All done sunshine.” The omega purrs and if you had fur it would be standing straight up. Your blush only deepens and you usher him to turn back around so you can put on the dress.

“Okay, you can both turn around.” Your hands play with the fabric of the dress, a bit nervous maybe it wasn’t a good choice. The dress is gorgeous, it’s one Hyunjin had gotten you as a courting gift. Long sleeves and a rich burgundy color are perfect for the December night, but of course, your mind played with you. Though it doesn’t matter when your omegas erase those fears the second they turn around, you couldn’t ignore the sparkle in their eyes when they looked at you, it warmed your heart.

“You look gorgeous!” Felix beams.

“Hot mama!” Jisung lets out a whistle dramatically and you can’t help but giggle, feeling so much better already. Felix makes his way over to your dresser and grabs your hairbrush.

“Let me do your hair.” The omega purrs again and you nod, following him to the bathroom so he can dry and style it as well. Standing in front of the omega as he does your hair you feel soft, being with the pack you’d come to realize how much of a show of their love this was. No matter how mundane it was this was intimate for them, grooming your mate is special, Chan had kindly and enthusiastically taught you about that. Felix putting his hand on your shoulders alerts you that he’s done. You take a look in the mirror smiling once you catch a glimpse of your styled hair only to smile wider when you see the omega’s smile behind you, feeling him squeeze your shoulders.

“Such a pretty omega, if I didn’t adore Jeongin I’d steal you all for myself, but lucky for him I’m really good at sharing and it seems your date time is near so let’s get your shoes and coat on and I’ll hand you off to our baby alpha.” Felix kisses your cheek before taking your hand. Once you’re all set to go downstairs both omegas lead the way. Jeongin is waiting at the end of the stairs just like he was the day you went to get your own cellphone. His contagious smile is on full display as you get closer to him, Jisung ushering you to go with him. You turn around one last time to whisper to them.

“Are you sure this is okay? Like nobody will be angry?”

“Don’t be silly, we are all so excited for you! Minho just requests that you eat enough, but I’m sure he already spoke to Jeongin and scared the hairs off him so we won’t have to worry about that!” Felix’s words ease you. You hug both omegas before turning to the alpha, who promptly zips up your winter coat before taking your hand to lead you out the door.

“Don’t wait up.” The alpha blows the two older omegas a kiss.

“We will!” They say in unison before you two walk out the door and towards the car. You soon realize Jeongin is more of a shower than a talker, between opening the car door for you and buckling you in, you feel his love and care even if you can smell how nervous he truly is. But it’s the gentle hand that rests on your bump the entire drive to the restaurant that really gives you goosebumps, it’s subtle, most wouldn’t bat an eyelash at this but this is love, this is protection, it’s still new for you.

As you walk into the restaurant you take note of how nice it is, it’s not obnoxiously fancy but it’s nicer than any place you’d been to before. It feels like a movie, especially when Jeongin insists on pulling out your chair for you.

“Whatever you want, you get, okay?” You look at him for a moment, about to protest his request but the look in his eyes makes you melt, like putty in his big alpha hands, so you nod in agreement. Jeongin helps you look through the menu, recommending items the pack has tried and enjoyed and you feel confident in your choice but when the waitress comes over to take your order your mind completely blanks. Anxiety settles deep in your stomach and your throat feels dry, but your alpha is there to save you from becoming a stuttering mess, swiftly stepping in and ordering for you. Once the waitress leaves you slouch, feeling completely embarrassed.

“She probably thinks I’m a freak.” You groan when Jeongin takes your hand from the table holding it in his to comfort you.

“You aren’t a freak. You’re just anxious and experiencing things for the first time, and that’s okay. Let’s change the subject, are you excited for Christmas?” Your mouth falls open for a moment, “Christmas? Oh yeah, Ji and Felix were telling me about Chan taking them shopping for pack gifts tomorrow. They want me to join them.” How could you forget, the pack even let you help decorate the house, though they were adamant you never did too much.

“Yeah! You should go with them, they can help you pick out gifts if you’re stuck on anything. Christmas is big for us, you’re going to have so much fun! Felix makes a whole spread of desserts and I’d say our pack has some of the best gift givers in the world. Our parents send gifts as well, they even sent some for you!”

“Really? Your parents got me Christmas gifts?”

“Of course! You’re part of our pack now, you’re family. We all spoke with our parents individually about this situation, they are all over the moon about their grandpup. You can ask Jisung about how accepting they all are.” A smile creeps up on your lips, your pup would have real grandparents, technically they’d be your in-laws now, it’s weird, but nice. The food soon arrives and just like Jeongin had said it was delicious.

“Felix said he could guess where you were taking me? Did you take the others here?” A blush forms on the alpha’s cheeks.

“Every single pack member. It started as me just really liking this restaurant but it soon became a tradition as we found more members of the pack. Think of it as good luck.” He sends you a wink and your omega purrs, enthralled by the idea of being included in such a tradition.

“I’m so excited to share all these moments and new memories with you. I hope that as a pack we can give you the family you always deserved. Next Christmas will be even more special with our pup around.“ Jeongin doesn’t miss the glimmer in your eyes, they shine bright with hope he rarely thought he’d get to see from you.

You both finish up your food in between your conversations.

“May I take you out for ice cream? I know a spot.” You giggle as Jeongin helps you get buckled into the car.

“Is that also a part of the tradition?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t love it.” You do love it, he’s got that right. At the ice cream shop, Jeongin keeps up his habit of having an arm wrapped around your waist, he won’t admit to you but he’s grounding himself, his alpha needs to know his girls and safe with him.

“What flavor do you want?”

“Strawberry please.”

“So I’ve got a strawberry omega, a brownie batter omega, and a blue omega, cool.”

“Blue isn’t even a flavor?”

“Lixie cares more about the color than he does the flavor, but this place’s blue is cotton candy flavored if you were wondering.” Before you could respond it was time to order and get your ice creams.

Jeongin offers to sit in the car and eat it to get away from the busy ice cream shop and you happily agree. So you sit hip to hip with the alpha in the back seat of the car eating the cold dessert, he even offers you a taste of his ice cream.

“I don’t know I like mine better, no offense.” Jeongin laughs as you go back to finishing your own ice cream, he would never take offense to that but it’s kind of cute how polite you are nonetheless. Once you’re finished the alpha leans down towards your bump to talk to the pup.

“Did my princess enjoy the ice cream too?” He cooes but before you could respond you feel an unfamiliar fluttering feeling in your stomach, at this point, you were used to her moving around all day but this was different, stronger, it was a kick. Your pup has just kicked for the first time. Jeongin can smell the way your scent spikes and looks up at you confused only to be met with your wide eyes.

“What’s wrong? Are you-“ he’s cut off by you unzipping your coat and taking his hand, resting it on the curve of your stomach.

“Do it again, talk to her!”

“Hi my little princess.” he coos again unsure what was happening before he feels it, the moment below his hand, his princess.

“She responded to my voice! Baby, oh my god that’s our pup in there.”

“I know.” You breathe out, almost speechless at this development.

“Oh, the guys are gonna be so jealous. Won’t they princess? I’m already your favorite and there’s nothing they can do about it.” The alpha is now in full baby voice mode and it’s the most endearing sight you’ve ever seen, especially after she kicked again in response. Keeping his hand firm on your stomach he looks at you with a smile and you smile back. There’s silence for a moment.

“You have ice cream on your lip.” You speak plainly but before Jeongin could respond or wipe his lip you lean forward placing a kiss on his lip. He stills for a moment before melting into the kiss. It’s a lot more passionate than the first kiss you two shared, neither of you wanting to pull away. You do have to eventually, much to the dismay of both of you.

“That was magical.” You speak with a certain air in your voice that drives the young alpha mad.

“Let’s do that more.” He smiles before placing a much shorter kiss on your lips.

“Best first date ever.” You beam up at him causing a tug in his heart, he is so thoroughly in love with you. The drive home is light and airy, you’re both on cloud nine, love for each other bursting at the seams. Jeongin walks you all the way to your bedroom door claiming this was as close as he could get to dropping you off at home. He leaves you with another kiss on your lips. Your heart flutters as you enter your room, the entire date replaying in your mind. Flicking on the light you almost have a heart attack at the blonde omega sitting at your desk.

“Felix!” You all but scream at the omega.

“Whoa, sweetheart calm down! I just wanted to see how the date went.” He gets up and walks towards you giving you a comforting hug.

“Where’s Jisung?” You sigh, walking away to hang up your coat.

“He was supposed to wait up with me but he knocked out in the pack nest with Minho right after dinner.” Felix scoffs, but you know it’s lovingly.

“So how was the date?”

“It was… magical Lix, like ten out of ten, I never thought I’d experience a date like that.” You beam taking Felix’s hands lovingly.

“And did you two maybe, I don’t know, kiss?”

“Three times! I didn’t think I’d do it but the pup kicked for the first time after Jeongin spoke to her and after that, it just felt so right. I felt so safe.” you squealed, causing the omega to squeal back at your confession.

“Oh, I’m so happy for you sunshine!” The older omega envelopes you in a big hug before leaning down towards your bump.

“You'd better kick for me soon as well little one.” You both let out giggles.

“Thank you for pushing him to do this Felix.”

“Of course, you deserve nothing less. Now you get yourself into bed, we have shopping to do tomorrow.” He kisses your forehead and grazes his thumb across your bump wishing goodnight to you both before leaving your room for the night.

Once in your pajamas, you fall back into your nest, letting out a childish giggle thinking of the events of the day. You lay there in the dark for a while genuinely making an effort to try and sleep but you couldn’t come down from the high of the date and something within you itched. It took you a moment to put your finger on it but… You missed him. You let yourself suffer for another hour before you got up with a huff, tip-toeing over to the young alpha’s door. It took one knock for him to invite you in. After closing the door behind you, you took note of the vibe of the room. It's him. Not a maximalist like Hyunjin or Jisung but he has stuff, stuff that’s him like sneakers and sunglasses, at least that’s what you could see with the dim light or his bedside lamp.

“Everything okay?” It’s clear he was asleep, or about to be, his voice huskier than before, your omega purrs at the sound.

“Yeah, I just couldn’t sleep.” You begin to play with the hem of your sleep shirt, suddenly wondering why you’re even here at all. The alpha wordlessly raises his blanket moving himself over to the side making room for you to join him. Your eyes linger on the display for a moment before smiling and joining the alpha under the covers. He reaches to his side and turns off the lamp before wrapping a protective arm over your waist, pressing your back firmly against his chest. His alpha howls in his head, ecstatic to have his omega and pup in his arms tonight, safe and sound.

“Goodnight princesses.” Jeongin’s large hands rub soothing circles on the curve of your stomach, lulling you to sleep.

[lemonmoonmochi]

Feral Desires

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; This feels like a crazy jump from my first smut I posted lmfao 🫡 it was also crazy writing this, I haven’t written omegaverse in forever despite it being a favorite

Summary; You’re on a mission for the First Order, well away from your alpha, which means it’s the perfect time for your heat to start out of nowhere.

Content; NSFW 18+, AFAB reader, omegaverse, omega reader, alpha Kylo Ren, mated to Kylo, heats, ruts, nesting, fingering, piv sex, knotting, biting/marking, scent marking, breeding kink, A LOT of breeding kink, protective and possessive Kylo, also very loving Kylo, tiny bit of size difference kink, conservative views on omegas (mostly pertaining to suppressants), omegaverse terms (kids referred to as pups), fluff

Wc; 6.4k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

You thought it would be fine.

It should’ve been fine.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, gods, this was not supposed to happen.

Your heat was not supposed to start a month early right when you leave on a mission.

Everything had seemed okay at first; you gathered your troops after getting your assignment—investigate an uninhabited jungle planet’s surface and find out what the First Order could gleam from it. You had bid farewell to Kylo Ren, the Supreme Leader and also your mate. Through your bond both in the Force and in the bite mark on your neck, you could tell how apprehensive he was to let you go. It had taken some convincing, but he’d allowed it. If he wasn’t swamped in a million other responsibilities that come with his new position, he would’ve joined you.

The trip to the planet had gone without a hitch, and everything had seemed like it was in perfect order. You were the first to step foot on the surface once your ships’ doors had opened with a hiss of depressurized air. It was quite beautiful when you took it all in; covered in lush vegetation and impossibly tall trees covered in moss, a few of which your ships had unfortunately crushed on their way down. Sensors indicated that the air was nontoxic and clean so you had gladly taken a deep breath. Smells came stronger to you with your aberrant status, meaning you could practically taste the planet on your tongue. It was damp and full of the smell of wet leaves and bark, along with the reek of wild animals you didn’t know the names of. Said animals were calling through the trees in chirps and barks. It was quite nice.

Stormtroopers fanned out, beginning to take notes of anything that seemed of importance or interest. You and your lieutenant, a beta named Mallory who’d been by your side for many years, were in charge of placing down beacons and sensors that would give you every piece of data you’d need. It’d tell you what’s beneath the planets surface like ores and minerals and what kind of regeneration systems it had. It’d be a slow process; taking scans of an entire, huge planets surface wasn’t the easiest thing in the world. That’s why you were given a weeks timeline for this mission. Easy enough.

Until you’d gotten a prickling on the back of your neck, until an odd amount of sweat started to build at your collar, until you could barely hold on to your data pad because of how slippery your palms had become. You’d tried to ignore it, tried to ignore those telltale signs because surely your heat wouldn’t be starting now? Surely it wouldn’t have been catapulted forward a month because your body got confused by you leaving your alpha and was doing what it needed to in order to bring him back?

“General? Are you alright?” Mallory asks you.

You realize you’d been standing there looking at your data pad like an idiot while warmth and sweat builds beneath your uniform. You look up and try to blink the haze out of your vision. Suddenly all those smells from before are so overwhelming. “I think I need to go back to the ship.” You mutter. You’re not stupid, you do realize it’d be irresponsible to try and ignore this. Hell, you can’t even get yourself to take a step forward when all you want to do is go back to your ship where the scents are familiar.

Mallory tenses, noticing the flush in your face and the way your demeanor is so off. She may be a beta but she’s still able to recognize the onset of a heat, especially yours after being your lieutenant for so long. That’s why she goes with you everywhere, to keep an eye on you. She’s perfect for times like these. “Okay. Let’s go, quickly.” She says, a gentle hand on your arm guiding you back the way you came.

She says commands through a radio while you walk, instructing the next in charge—a fresh-face captain—to continue the observations so they can at least get something out of this. You feel guilt pierce through your roiling stomach, cursing yourself over and over for not being able to see a very simple mission to completion. It’s embarrassing. It makes you wish you were able to take your damn suppressants again.

You haven’t taken them for about three years, ever since you became mated to Kylo. As soon as that happened, all of your suppressants were tossed and every medic on the Steadfast was strictly forbidden to give you any. If any were discovered, you knew exactly what price they’d have to pay. Before all that, you’d taken them regularly to give you some peace aboard the ship and keep your position as general safe. People were more willing to trust you with things if your omega status was… muted. It was easier to ignore.

The only reason you really got to keep your job was because you were damn good at it and you kept being an omega from getting in the way, so nobody cared. It was simple. Then Kylo came along, discovered you were Force sensitive, began to train you, and you fell for him hard. You ended up becoming his mate, his teeth laying claim to the skin where your neck meets your shoulder, right where your scent gland starts. He bears a similar mark from your own teeth. He was gracious enough to let you remain as a general, even if every primal instinct he has tells him to keep you away from your job because it’s dangerous. All because he knew how upset it’d make you if he took it away, and because you’re actually competent.

However, it puts you in situations like this where you’re trying to fight off an oncoming heat while you’re on an unknown planet in an unknown space and your alpha is a galaxy away from you. You’ve learned that your status as an omega comes before your position as a general.

Mallory gets you back on to your ship that’s specifically assigned to only you two for your own safety. Never before have you been so grateful for that. She heads towards the cockpit immediately, taking her seat in the pilots chair and flipping switches. You slink towards the back of the ship, craving an enclosed space and cold air. Your heat hasn’t hit you full force yet, but you know it’s a matter of hours. You know it’s a matter of hours until your brain is pure incomprehensible mush, until your body is on fire, and until there’s a need inside so deep that it consumes your entire being and only one man can satisfy it.

It always starts out slow, with everything feeling just a bit too sensitive and your temperature rising. Then you feel it in every gland you have, a slight throb to them as your scent changes and pheromone production skyrockets. You get sweaty and those stiff uniforms the First Order requires feel like they’re boiling you alive—hence why you’re removing your jacket now. Next is the nesting, creating your own little safe space where nothing can hurt you and it’s only for you and your alpha.

It’s extremely difficult in a sterile, empty ship. You can feel your omega start to panic as it realizes there’s nothing to nest with besides your own jacket and a thin, scratchy blanket from an emergency kit in the ship. Nothing with Kylo’s scent, nothing to keep your alpha close, nothing safe, it’s not safe, oh gods-

You whine low and sad in the back of your throat as you hopelessly try and try and try to rearrange your two items into something satisfactory in your little corner. It doesn’t work of course. It only serves to send you into more of a frenzy, wishing for anything else, wishing you were back on the Steadfast, back in you and Kylo’s shared rooms where you could make as big a nest as you want with his full closet at your disposal. Comfy sheets, pillows, big capes covered in his scent… thinking about it is not helping.

The ship rumbles to life beneath you and you can feel its vibrations from how your body is pressed against the floor. The cold metal helps to keep the fever raging through you at bay. You’re curled in on yourself, your hands at your neck massaging your aching glands and the bite mark that resides there. It does little to soothe your pain but it’s all you have. You faintly hear Mallory talking, though it’s drowned out by the buzzing in your head. Until a familiar, deep voice crackles through the ships comms and has you sitting up immediately, your attention laser-focused.

“I want her back on the Steadfast immediately.” Kylo says. He sounds angry, livid perhaps. It’s enough to make you feel the need to submit despite the fact he’s not even mad at you. Hearing him does something to your bond akin to reigniting it across the distance between the two of you. It gives you the smallest bit of a connection to cling on to and you wrap yourself in it, enjoying it while it lasts. You can feel his emotions, his need for you like you need him. He’s angry he isn’t there, that he can’t provide for his omega like a good alpha should. He’s irrationally scared too—scared that something might happen to you, that some other alpha might try to get to you. He’s like a ticking time bomb, ready to go off on anyone he deems fit.

“Yes, sir, I understand.” Mallory says. She looks over at one of the monitors, pressing a few controls on the screen. “Based on what fuel remains and if I avoid active fuel preservation, it should take about five standard hours to reach your coordinates.”

Five hours. By the time you reach the Steadfast, you’ll be well intro the throes of your heat, accelerated by the fact Kylo isn’t there to help you. You haven’t had a heat without your mate for a long time and your body is not happy about it. A wave of depression and anxiety washes over you, your fingers digging into the blanket and threatening to rip it.

Kylo can sense that, sense how panicked and upset you are and it only makes his rage grow. He knows he can’t do anything about the length of your return trip and it makes him feel useless, like a sorry excuse of an alpha. You almost feel bad for the staff back on the Steadfast. “If anything happens to her, I’ll have your fucking neck.” He snaps, voice crackling through the comms.

Mallory takes the threat with neutrality. It’s nothing new to her. “Yes, sir. You have my word that I’ll keep her safe.”

Kylo calls your name suddenly and it has you stumbling to your feet and towards the radio. You grasp at the back of Mallory’s chair to keep you stable. “Alpha?” You ask, voice unable to hide your desperation.

“I’m sorry this happened. It’ll be better soon.” Kylo promises, his tone softening just a bit when he talks with you. “Be good in the meantime.”

You nod even though he can’t see it. “I will, alpha.” You’d do anything he asks.

With that, the radio clicks off and he’s gone. It felt like the only support keeping you upright was just ripped away from you, his presence in your bond fleeing and leaving you with nothing. It made your chest constrict and heat lick down your back, everything seeming to spin. Mallory rises from her chair after putting the ship on autopilot. “Go lay back down. I don’t want you to collapse.” She says. “And take these.” She hands you two bottles of water that were brought along in case of emergencies. You’re going to need them more than anything with how much fluid you lose during your heat. You down one of the bottles immediately.

You obediently take the other back to your “nest”, spending another ten minutes trying to rearrange your blanket and jacket. You eventually just give up and flop down with your knees tucked up to your chest, trying to ignore the ache across the entirety of your body. Your thoughts are still coherent at least, though you can feel them steadily slipping away. Your omega just wants Kylo, wants him more than anything. Wants his scent, his strong arms, his lips on your gland, his knot.

There it is. You whimper, your nails digging into your palms hard enough to draw blood as you feel the first trickle of slick seep into your underwear. Your breath comes out in pants that fog the metal paneling under you, your face feeling like it’s on fire. You writhe on your blanket, distracting yourself with movement and trying to find any kind of position that provides relief. Squeezing your legs together helps a little, putting some pressure on your clit and releasing more slick. You know this pair of underwear is going to be unsalvageable by the time this is over.

You can feel the slick start to stain your pants, creating a wet spot that’ll keep spreading. The ache has moved lower, now settling in your stomach and making you nauseous. Its comes in waves of cramps and hot flashes and gushing slick, creating a combination that feels like actual hell. You know that that’s how it’ll stay with the intensity increasing as the hours pass without your alpha inside you. You wish so badly you could just sleep the time away, close your eyes and open them again to Kylo there to take care of you. But you don’t feel safe enough to fall asleep. Your nest is shit, the ship is too unfamiliar, and you’re right at the beginning of your heat when you’re most vulnerable without your alpha who’s supposed to protect you.

These next five hours are about to be the longest of your life.

» ☆ «

Time passes in a haze.

A haze full of desperation, need, fire raging in your blood, and slick coating your thighs. Your vision is blurred, like a film was put over your eyes. You try to focus on the feeling of the ship underneath you instead of… anything else. The state of being in heat is all you know now, you don’t even remember what it’s like to not be making a drooling mess of yourself over the thought of your alpha’s cock sinking into your aching cunt.

Mallory has been trying to ignore you the whole time for her own sanity; your whines, moans, panting, and the desperate whispers of Kylo’s name passing between your lips. She’s stayed well away in the safety of the cockpit, focusing on just getting you both back to the Steadfast. Even though she’s a beta and has no specific inclinations, she can still feel the headiness in the air, sticking to the back of her neck and making her skin prickle. This isn’t anything particularly new to her, she’s been by your side for years. She knows what it means to be an omega.

That’s why she’s glad when a final jump through lightspeed sends her sensors beeping and the massive hulk that is the Steadfast appears at the top of the viewport. She keeps her hands from shaking by gripping the controls of the ship, guiding it towards home base. She has no reason to be afraid really, Kylo Ren wouldn’t do anything to her without reason after she’s proved to be so faithful, and he’ll be too focused on you anyway. Still, she can’t help the little kernel of fear in her chest as your ship is latched onto by a gravitational beam and power is taken out of her control.

All of the commotion breaks you from your stupor. You prop yourself up weakly on your elbows, your jacket and blanket soaked in slick in a heap under you from all your twisting and turning. Your face is flushed like the rest of your body, your remaining clothes stuck to your skin because of the sweat. From your place on the floor you can just barely see through the viewport, watching as the ship pulls into one of the hangars. You can sense him now. He’s so close. It’s too bad your legs are too weak to support you, otherwise you’d use them to run out of the ship to greet him.

You feel the ship shake as it settles on the ground and you hear the sounds of it powering down. Mallory rises from her chair to get to the ramp controls, a hiss of depressurized air sounding as it lowers. She steps aside and bows her head as he enters. Finally.

Kylo instantly commands the entire space around him as soon as he comes aboard the ship. It’s like everything else around him fades away because nothing else matters. His black robes do a perfect job of outlining the muscles beneath them, his fractured helmet covering his face and making him look akin to death itself. He locks onto you, you can feel it, and instantly there’s a whine coming out of your throat. Your mate is here, your alpha is here after you had to wait for so long. Your excitement is like a buzzing that encompasses your mind to the point you can’t think about anything else.

And then his scent hits you. It’s musky and heavy, amplified by his rut that was triggered by his omega’s heat. He smells like a campfire in fall, smoky and laced with something like cinnamon. When you inhale it, it’s easy to imagine being in the forests of his home planet with a nice fire to keep you warm. There’s undertones of your own scent mixed in from your mating, creating a nice combination of the two to let anyone know that you belong to one another. His scent instantly becomes the only thing you know and starts your heat all over again, fresh waves of slick pouring from your cunt and cramps seizing your stomach.

Kylo smells it, it slams into him like a freight ship, sending him reeling. He resists every feral instinct in him telling him to pounce on you right then, to pin you down and fuck your heat away, to finally take care of the constant bulge in his pants, knowing that he needs to get you somewhere safe first. Somewhere other alphas won’t be tempted by you, even if you’re mated. His scent on you sometimes isn’t enough to deter the most depraved; his hands clench into fists at the thought, the leather of his gloves creaking.

“Alpha… please..” you whimper, reaching your arms out towards him, needing so badly just to feel him, to touch him. You can barely think straight, the only thing in your head being him, him, him. He can’t deny you anything. The metal panels beneath his boots thunder with the power of his steps, it makes you quiver. Alpha is so strong, so capable.

“I know. I’m here now.” He says as he scoops you easily into his arms, voice crackling through the modifier in his helmet. It sends pleasant shivers down your spine. You can hear how ragged his breathing is, can feel it when his chest is pressed against your cheek. You cling to his padded tunic, the material familiar and comforting beneath your fingers. You become surrounded by his scent and it brings some relief to the pain you’ve been feeling, putting your omega at ease with your alpha finally with you.

You shrink yourself as much as possible in his hold as he walks down the ramp of the ship, your face buried against his arm. There’s a spike of anxiety in your chest once the bright lights and all the different smells of the Steadfast reach you; the sharp metal tang, the hints of sterile cleaning products, and then the sweat and musk of every aberrant in that hangar. It’s overwhelming when you’re fresh into your heat, but Kylo is quick to soothe you. His body produces more of his own scent to mask everything else, pheromones changing ever so slightly to have a more calming effect on you. He’s still not entirely used to the way everything about him is so tailored to you and only you even after all this time, but he loves the pride he feels when he successfully gets you to relax.

All of the workers within the hangar stay well away from Kylo. Nobody is stupid enough to approach the Supreme Leader and his mate with the state you’re in. It would only end up getting their heads detached from their shoulders. He’s given a wide berth while walking through the halls of the ship, taking whatever shortcuts he can to reach your shared rooms faster. Everything feels so hot, your breath coming out in pants and your clothes so unbearable because of the way they’ve been drenched in your fluids. You’re whimpering in his arms, sounding so sad and pathetic as your fingers knead into his chest. “I know,” he says again, softer this time, “I’ll make it better.”

There’s the beep of a control panel as Kylo gets the hydraulic doors to your rooms open, bringing you inside and letting them bang shut behind him. You’re greeted with fresh, cold air against your burning skin and comforting familiarity—your safe space. Kylo goes to set you down and you nearly wail at the thought of losing contact, not able to bear it after being without him for too long. “Just one second, I promise.” He tells you, laying a large hand against your cheek, the leather warm from the heat of his palms. You listen to your alpha like the good omega you are, standing there squeezing your legs together while he removes his helmet. His beauty always manages to enrapture you. His sharp features and pale skin dotted with freckles, the black waves of his hair that fall around his face. There’s a slight flush to his cheeks, his pupils blown wide with desire. He carelessly puts his helmet aside.

Then he’s on you. His lips press against yours, hot and needy and wet, his hands coming up to grasp each side of your face. You can’t help but moan into his mouth, your arousal spiking even higher from the urgency in his kiss. You’re surprised you can even produce more slick with how much you’re already covered in but you feel another wave of it drip down your thighs anyway. His tongue licks against your teeth, exploring your mouth that you’ve willingly opened for him.

His hands are heavy weights on your hips. He moves them down to cup your ass, then lifting you easily so your legs are wrapped around his middle. His raging erection presses slightly against your aching cunt and you gasp sharply as a shiver shoots up your spine, causing you to break from your kiss. You can’t help but try to grind down on it, creating a wet spot on his pants from your slick. He groans against you, trying not to drop you from the stimulation.

He’s quick to bring you into the bedroom, kissing you with more fervor. You manage a glance backwards and see just what Kylo’s done to your shared bed. You both barely make it to the haphazard nest he’d made for you in his own desperation, his mind wanting to protect a mate that wasn’t even there and driving himself insane over it. It’s full of dark blankets, pillows, and just about every article of clothing from his closet—soft tunics, capes, undershirts—piled onto the bed so it’s positively drenched in his scent. It’s absolutely heavenly as you fall back into it, surrounded entirely by your alpha. Kylo follows after you, shedding his clothes as he goes and merely adding them onto the nest, the scent of them fresh and potent.

“All for you,” he breathes against you, sticking his face into the crook of your neck, “everything is for you.” He inhales against your gland, tongue darting out to lick sensually at it. You squirm beneath him, moaning openly as your swollen, red gland is finally given attention. His bare hands slip beneath your white tank, pulling it up and over your body, the cold air making your nipples perk up instantly. Your pants and underwear are next to come off and you squeak when your slick becomes chilly against your skin.

“Fuck,” Kylo groans, “smell so good.”

“Alpha,” you whine, wrapping your arms across his wide shoulders to bring him closer, “alpha please…”

The ache and pain you feel is starting to become too much. You need him, you need him to fuck you, to pump you full of his cum and plug you up with his knot. Just the thought of it is enough to make your legs quiver and for your cunt to flutter. He knows exactly what you’re thinking of and he feels the need in himself just as much. He needs to take care of his omega, to make sure you won’t want for anything, and guarantee that you become swollen with his pups. A growl rumbles in his chest, his cock jumping at the idea.

His hand that was on your hip moves lower and he doesn’t hesitate to sink two fingers into your heat. They meet no resistance, sliding in and out with complete ease from the way your body has been preparing yourself for this for the last five hours. You throw your head back, mouth falling open at the relief you feel from finally having something fill you, cunt clenching in appreciation. The sounds your body makes are disgusting, copious amounts of slick being sloshed around by Kylo’s fingers. It’s wet and depraved and nasty and you’re enjoying every moment of it. He uses his thumb against your clit, rubbing back and forth and nearly making you scream. That combined with his mouth altering between the glands on either side of your neck makes it very easy for you to cum. Your body seizes, muscles constricting as pleasure wracks your body.

You can feel part of that fire within you finally die down, but it’s still not enough. There’s still an ache nestled deep inside you that his fingers can’t help with. “Please! Alpha, please, more..” you cry, grabbing at his arm to try and pull him up, to make him give you what you want so badly. You need his cock, the thing red and begging for attention, standing tall against his abdomen and dribbling precum.

His fingers withdraw from the warmth of your cunt and it makes you wince and whimper at the loss, your legs immediately trying to close and rub together in an attempt to get some friction. “What a desperate thing you are.” Kylo mutters, bringing his soaked fingers to his mouth and running his tongue along them to gather your slick. You’ve seen him do this countless times but it still has your face blushing furiously. He hums his delight. “Delicious, as always.”

He gets his hand under your back, scooping you up and flipping you onto your stomach. He tugs you towards him harshly, repositioning you like a doll so your ass is in the air, your face pressed against the materials of the nest. Kylo’s scent overwhelms your nostrils, heady and aroused. A mixture of slick and cum oozes from you, dripping down the lips of your cunt and your clit and onto the bed below. You wiggle your lower half, trying to entice him. “Please… need you..” you say, voice muffled by the pillow you’re currently hiding your face in.

Kylo’s hands run from your breasts, down your sides, and settle on your hips, the rough texture of his callouses making you shiver. “My beautiful mate.” He whispers, enthralled by your body as his eyes trace over it. The head of his cock prods at your entrance and you suck in your breath. You nearly sob as he sinks to the hilt inside your cunt not even a second after, your nails digging into the blankets below you from how full you feel. Kylo stretches you to your limit, getting so deep into you it’s like you can feel him in your stomach. He sighs in relief, his massive body bending over yours so his forehead rests against your shoulder. His chest is so warm against your back, his big muscled arms braced on either side of you. You’re basically caged in and pinned down, completely at his mercy. You couldn’t be happier. Your omega keens at the attention, at your alpha displaying his complete dominance over you.

His first thrust is bliss—sliding out of you almost entirely before slamming back in, his pelvis pressed sharply against your ass. He does it again, and again, getting steadily faster with each one until he’s built up a steady rhythm that has your entire being shaking with the power of it beneath him. Your mouth hangs open, drool falling from your lips, your eyes rolling back into your head. His grunts and groans and rumbles fill your ears, your own moans rising to meet them. He presses his lips against the gland that bears your bite mark, breathing you in again and moaning. “My mate, my mate,” he says reverently along your skin, “fuck- m’gonna fill you so good. You’ll give me pups, won’t you? You’ll make me a strong heir.”

“Yes! Yes, anything!” You wail. To your heat addled mind, nothing sounds better. Nothing sounds better than him filling you so full of his cum that there’s no way you don’t get pregnant. You want him so deep that he gets directly to your womb. You want to satisfy your alpha, you want to show him how obedient you are. Yes, you’ll do whatever he wants.

“My good girl.” Kylo praises, sucking your gland into his mouth and making you scream from the pleasure. It’s so shockingly intimate, warmth blooming in your chest and spreading along your body. He’s always been obsessed with your glands, even before you were mated. Your scent brings him so much comfort, such a feeling of home that he can’t stay away. He has his nose buried in the crook of your neck whenever he can and he it turns him on when he’s able to get his tongue on them. Your scent sticks to the roof of his mouth, it becomes the only thing he knows, the only thing he can taste. He fucking loves it.

“So good, sweetheart.” He gasps, sweat dripping from the ends of his hair. He watches where his cock disappears into your cunt, entranced. “Needed to fuck you so bad..”

If your brain wasn’t pure mush right now, you’d agree with him. But you can’t think with the way his cock is splitting you open, each thrust piercing your cunt and hitting that spot right at the top that seems impossible to reach without him. It makes it feel like lightning is igniting your blood, your vision flashing white. You didn’t realize how hard you were gripping the blankets until his large hand perfectly eclipses yours, his fingers slipping between your own so you hold on to him instead.

You hear his growl by your ear as his thrusts become more erratic, knowing he’s getting close. His free hand reaches under you to your clit, fingers playing with it roughly. He’s going to make sure you go along with him. You jerk from the added stimulation bordering on overstimulation from the constant pounding of his cock and the sensitivity from you already cumming once. Your moans get louder and louder, punctuated by each thrust he gives you, breaking in the middle and becoming more high pitched than usual. Your breath is pushed from your lungs, the pillow beneath you is soaked in drool.

“Mmn, shit-“ Kylo groans. He sounds drunk when he talks, his words slurred by his rut and pleasure. “Gonna give you pups. M’gonna knot you, you’ll be so good. My perfect mate.”

Yes, yes that sounds like everything you could ever want. “Please, please! Please alpha I need you-“ you beg, finally finding some semblance of your voice. “I need your knot!”

Kylo grunts his acknowledgment, his thrusts picking up the pace as he teeters on the edge. Then you feel it. Swelling begins at the base of his cock, steadily getting bigger. His movements are forced to slow along with it, becoming more and more restricted as his knot grows. Just as you feel like he’s stretched you to the brink, he lowers his head and sinks his teeth into your bonding mark. You scream. You scream so loud you wouldn’t be surprised if someone walking by outside your rooms heard you. Your vision is pure white, you feel like you can’t breathe, and you feel such a deep connection to Kylo in that moment that it pushes you over the edge. You cum harshly around his cock and his knot, cunt spasming. He cums at that same moment, hot ropes of his seed coating your walls white and his knot plugging your hole to keep it all in.

Neither of you move for a good minute because quite frankly, you’re not able to. The aftershocks are enough to keep you frozen, simply panting and trying to catch your breath. Your entire body is buzzing with pleasure and it feels like you’re floating in the clouds. Kylo is the one to come-to first, getting his arms under you to flip you both on your sides so that he’s spooning you, chest pressed firmly against your back and his big body practically engulfing you. The movement jostles his knot and makes more cum spurt from his cock and it sounds like he chokes on his breath.

He sighs, kissing the back of your neck before shifting his attention to your bond mark. Kylo’s tongue runs over it soothingly, almost like an apology for biting you. He just felt the primal need in him to refresh the mark, to let anyone else know that you belong to him. With the way you’re absolutely covered head to toe in his scent, you think everyone across the galaxy will know. “You okay?” He murmurs once he’s satisfied.

You nod, even though it feels like too much work. “Mhm.” You’re exhausted. Your heat was completely fucked out of you… for now at least. You know it’ll come back in an hour or two, ready for the same thing all over again. At least your alpha will be with you this time.

“You did so good, sweetheart.” Kylo says, his voice so full of love and adoration for you. He kisses along your jaw to the back of your ear. “My sweet omega.” You love his praise, you love the moments after when he’s so soft and gentle with you. It makes you feel so safe and happy, like you have everything you could ever ask for. And you do, really, because he’s so willing to get you anything, to provide you with everything.

He’s quiet for a moment before kissing your gland again. You can tell something was bothering him. “Never should’ve let you go on that mission.” He mutters, anger biting at his tone. “I should’ve known it was too close.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t expect it either.” You say, taking his hand that had been wrapped around your waist into your own. “It’s fine now.”

“I could feel when you were going into heat,” he continues, burying his face in your neck to remind himself that you’re here, “I could feel it and I wasn’t there… it drove me fucking insane. I needed to get to you.”

You can only imagine how it affected him, sensing you across the galaxy and being so incapable of helping you at all. You get glimpses of those past emotions through your bond; how angry he was, how agitated and scared. He’s far more attuned to the Force than you are, so it was much easier for him to connect to you than it was for you to connect to him. He had to just stand back while you suffered.

“Kylo, it’s okay.” You murmur again, bringing the back of his hand to your lips to break him from his thoughts. “I’m here now. You took care of me so well. You built such a good nest.”

That seems to calm him down. “I did? I just threw what I could on to the bed.”

You nod. “It’s far better than what I had in that ship.” You nuzzle into the soft materials. “Good for pups.” Just the mention has his cock throbbing inside you and pushing out more cum, as if making sure that that actually happens. You both groan.

Once he’s done, you sigh contentedly and look around. “Though… maybe just a few things could be fixed.” You say, reaching out to fix said things as you do. They’d been bothering that primal part of you that enjoys the nesting for a while. A pillow was just a bit out of a place, a blanket wasn’t fluffed up enough by just a tad, and one of his capes was just slightly askew. It makes you feel kind of crazy, but it puts your mind at ease. The whole thing has Kylo chuckling.

He brushes hair back from your face. “You should rest while you can.” He orders. “You’ll need it.”

You’re already starting to feel drowsy again, so you can’t even argue. The low, rumbling purr that’s started in Kylo’s chest adds to it. It’s such a soothing sound—just like a cat’s purr, instantly making your body relax against him. You can feel the vibrations from it reverberated in your back. You curl up as best you can in his hold with his knot still in you, his strong arms secure around your middle. There’s no need for a blanket because Kylo keeps you plenty warm—he’s like your own personal heater.

Laying there in your big, comfy nest with your alpha holding you close and his scent all around you, with your heat finally satiated… it’s so, so easy to fall asleep.

[lemonmoonmochi]

━━━RAGE QUIT 18+

Gamer!Lee Heeseung x Gamer!Female!Reader

.ᐟwarnings/tags: slow burn, gaming buddies, video game terms, texting, sexting, soft dom!heeseung, shy!reader, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, pet names (princess, baby), praising, dry humping, oral (f & m rec), cum eating, unprotected sex, p in v, confessing, reader is down bad for heeseung, fluff

𓏸⠀ 𓈒 you started as friends who played games at night—now he’s the one making you moan into his pillow.

.ᐟwc: 15.9k (no proofread)

It’s been a year since Heeseung joined the friend group. Some random guy Jungwon brought into the server one night for a last-minute League match, and who never really left. Every night like clockwork, your group piles into Discord: Valorant, League of Legends, horror co-ops that get you all screaming in sync. Most nights end in swearing, laughing, or someone rage quitting, usually Heeseung, and sometimes everyone. He’s sharp-tongued, quick-witted, and stupidly good at every game he touches. A little cocky, kind of a menace, and unfortunately for you, exactly your type.

You’ve had a crush on him almost as long as you’ve known him. Actually no, you’ve been in love with him, not that he’d ever guess. Or maybe he would. He teases you like he knows you’ll blush, throws in little pet names and innuendos like he’s testing you for a reaction. But you always brush it off as just another part of the bit. You’re just the girl he likes to mess with during late-night ranked queues. It doesn’t mean anything. Even if your heart does this weird flutter thing whenever he says your name.

“Where’s my duo?” you ask the second you join voice chat, headset sliding over your ears. “You bitches better not have started without me.” A chorus of greetings erupts, Jay, Sunghoon, Jungwon, and two others you recognize from another Discord server. Everyone’s already in the Valorant lobby, bouncing around agents and bantering over voice chat. “Calm down,” Sunghoon laughs. “You’re only, like, twenty minutes late.” You correct him, “Fashionably.” Then his voice comes through. Lazier, deeper, more smug than usual. “Nice of you to show up, princess.” You roll your eyes even as your stomach flutters. “Sorry, didn’t realize I had to run my schedule by you.” you shoot back. Heeseung hums in your ear like he’s unbothered. “You do when you keep dodging games just to avoid being carried.” You scoff. “Carried? Please. You’re always the first to die.” Jay cuts in, laughing. “Here we go again.” It’s always like this, bickering that toes the line between hostile and flirtatious, drawing amused reactions from everyone else in the group. It’s part of the rhythm now. You give Heeseung shit, he throws it right back, and everyone else acts like it’s some kind of soap opera they’ve been watching for seasons. “Bet she top frags this round.” Jungwon says, grinning. “She won’t,” Heeseung says at the exact same time. Then adds, “If she does, it’s because I softened them up first.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, snorting a laugh. “Cope harder.” You lock in Clove. Heeseung picks Jett. Predictable. The match loads in, and everyone starts joking over vc while you check your loadout. Your team takes the first site, and somehow the round is over in seconds, three clean shots from you, one assist, and Heeseung’s kill coming in dead last. “Damn, she’s actually carrying.” Jay says with mock awe. “Say thank you.” you say sweetly. “Thank you, queen.” Then someone else, a guy you vaguely know named Kai, who’s only been playing with the group for a week or two, speaks up. “Carry me again like that and I’ll eat your pussy, mama.” You freeze for half a second, just long enough for your brain to register what he said, and then you giggle. Not because you’re actually into it, but because it’s so fucking unhinged. “Yeah?” you say, leaning into the joke. “Say less.” The whole call erupts in laughter. “Bro.” Jay wheezes.“You’re wild for that.” Sunghoon says.

“Don’t test me.” Kai says again, voice still flirty. And then Heeseung speaks. Calm. Too calm. “Jesus Christ, can you not be a pain in the ass for, like, one game?” The laughter stops for a second. You glance at the chat window instinctively, it’s like the air shifted. He didn’t sound like he was joking. Kai lets out an awkward laugh. “Relax, man. It’s a joke.” Heeseung hums, dry. “Then try making a funny one.” It goes quiet again, not dead silence, but that weird kind of pause where everyone’s pretending not to notice the tension. You hear someone’s keyboard clack in the background. In-game footsteps echo in your ears. “You good, Hee?” You speak up carefully. “I’m great,” he says, “Just bored of hearing you flirt with losers.” Your heart stutters. That one didn’t sound like a joke either. Even Jay seems caught off guard. “Yo, that sounded personal.” “It’s not,” Heeseung says immediately. Too quickly. “Let’s just win the round.”

And he does exactly that, goes full sweat mode for the rest of the match. Dashes into sites solo, gets two aces in a row, doesn’t speak unless it’s a callout. The rest of the group fills the silence with jokes and teasing, but you don’t miss the shift. Heeseung always plays aggressive, but tonight it feels pointed. Like he’s got something to prove. To you. Or to someone else, you’re not sure, but your stomach is buzzing.

The match ends with a win, somehow, Heeseung top frags, of course, and Kai logs off without saying goodbye. The group starts leaving one by one. “Alright, I’m out.” Sunghoon yawns. “GGs.” “Same.” Jay says. “I can’t feel my eyes.” “Goodnight, lovebirds.” Jungwon mutters under his breath before he leaves. You scoff. “Shut up.” Heeseung doesn’t say anything. Eventually, it’s just the two of you. Still in voice chat. The lobby music looping softly in the background. You think about leaving, but your hand hovers over the disconnect button and never quite clicks. Heeseung exhales. You hear the soft creak of his chair. Then, “How come you’re not leaving?” You blink at your screen. His voice is different now, low and quiet, not teasing. “I don’t know,” you say. “Didn’t want to so early.” He hums. “Guess that means I scared everyone off.” You smile faintly, chewing on your lip. “You kinda went off on that guy.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. “Yeah. I didn’t like what he said.” You tilt your head. “Because it was gross or…?” There’s a pause. “Because it was you.” he says.vYour breath catches. You wish you could see his face, but all you have is the green ring around his icon lighting up. “…Oh.” Another pause. It stretches long enough to border on awkward, until he cuts the silence with a sudden, dry little mutter, “God, don’t make me say something corny at 3AM. I’ll literally throw myself out the window.” You laugh, soft and surprised. “There it is,” he says, pleased. “I was waiting for that.” You raise a brow. “For what?” you ask. “You always laugh like that when you’re trying not to.” You protest, “i do not.” But your voice is too light, too amused to sound serious. “You do,” he says, and you can hear the grin behind his words. “It’s cute.” Your stomach flips. “Are you flirting with me, Heeseung?” you ask, trying to make it sound like a joke, but it comes out breathy, shy. He lets out a soft laugh. “I don’t know. Are you gonna flirt back this time or just ignore it like always?” You go quiet. Then, “You notice that?”

“Course I notice that,” he says. “I notice everything when it comes to you.” Your cheeks go warm. You look away from your screen, heart thudding stupidly. “…You’re not as smooth as you think,” you mumble. He yawns, loud, exaggerated. “Mmm. Still made you laugh. Still made you stay in call.” You roll your eyes, “You’re impossible.” and smile. “Yeah, but you like me.” You want to say something back. Something playful or clever. But instead, you just go quiet. He doesn’t push. After a beat, he says, softer this time, “You sound tired.” You lean back on your chair. “Mm. Kinda am,” you admit. “But comfy.” “Yeah?” he says. “Stay a little longer?” You nod, forgetting he can’t see you. “Okay.” There’s a long pause where neither of you talk, just the sound of keyboard clicking as he hovers around his screen, maybe checking stats, maybe just filling the silence. Then, quietly, “You know I wasn’t just teasing, right?” Your eyes flick to your monitor. “About what?”

“Earlier. The guy. The flirting.” His voice drops an octave, a little husky now. “I don’t like hearing other guys talk to you like that. Even if it’s a joke.” You don’t answer right away. You’re too busy staring at your screen like it’s going to tell you what to say. “I didn’t think you cared.” you admit. He laughs again, gentler. “I’ve been caring for a while, princess.” Your heart stumbles. You bite your lip. “…I kinda like when you call me that,” you whisper. He hums, satisfied. “I know.” You giggle, sleepy and flustered and way too warm all of a sudden. He lets out a soft sigh, then mutters, “If we were on cam, you’d be blushing, huh?”

“Shut up.”

“That a yes?”

“Shut up, Heeseung.”

He laughs, warm, lazy. “Sleepy girl.”

You giggle softly, cheeks already warm. “You’re so corny, Hee.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “You love it though.” You pause, just a second too long. “Mmm… kinda.” He chuckles, just this soft, fond sound that sinks right into your skin. “Cute.” Your heart skips. You don’t know what to say to that, so you just smile to yourself, suddenly way too aware of how quiet it is now, just you, him, and that little green ring lighting up every time he speaks. Neither of you says much after that. You just sit there in the silence, not awkward, not heavy, just full of something unspoken. Your eyes start to flutter closed. You think you hear him shift in his chair. Maybe yawn. You don’t log off. Neither does he.

It’s almost midnight by the time everyone’s in the lobby again. League this time, ranked. You’ve got your hoodie on, cup of something warm on your desk, legs curled up in your chair. Your screen lights up with everyone’s icons, voices overlapping in Discord. “Why are we doing this to ourselves.” Jay groans as he hovers over his champion. “Because,” you reply sweetly, “we have no self respect.” Then, “Speak for yourself,” Heeseung mutters. “I’m here to carry.” You roll your eyes, “You wish.” smiling already. “Oh my god,” Sunghoon groans. “You two start the exact same way every game.”

“Wait until she dies in lane,” Heeseung says. “Then she’ll blame me like usual.”

“Because you gank at level six like a coward.”

You hear him snort. “Don’t need to gank when you feed their mid laner for me.”

The game loads in. You settle into your rhythm fast, poking, last-hitting, barely listening to the chaos on comms. But every time Heeseung’s voice filters through your headset, you feel it, that lingering buzz from last night. The way he called you cute. The way you didn’t want to leave the call. You don’t know if it meant something. But you feel different now. Every time he says your name, it lands heavier than before. Fifteen minutes in, you’ve got your third kill, and Heeseung’s still climbing his way up in the jungle. You start pushing your lane harder, greedy. “Damn,” Kai says over comms. “She’s actually carrying again?”

“She does that,” Sunghoon says. “Every once in a while.”

Kai laughs. “Shit. If I play support next round, will you reward me, mama?”

You groan, already bracing yourself. “I mean damn,” he adds, “I’d let you leash me any day.”

The call explodes with groans. You groan too, out of habit, “You’re actually insane, dude.”

“You like it,” he says, clearly proud of himself.

You don’t reply, clicking back to lane. You’re not even thinking about it really. Until you hear…nothing. Heeseung’s gone silent. Not muted. Not disconnected. Just quiet. Then your phone buzzes. You glance at it out of instinct, brows furrowing.

Heeseung [12:16am]

tell your little fanboy to chill lol

You glance at the screen, smirking a little. You don’t reply , just keep farming, like your heart isn’t suddenly going crazy.

Buzz.

Heeseung [12:17am]

kinda annoying hearing him talk to u like that tbh

Buzz.

Heeseung [12:17am]

doesn’t even say it right

if anyone’s gonna call you mama it should be me

You choke on your own breath. Your mouse stutters for a second. One of your minions dies.

Buzz.

Heeseung [12:18am]

jk

Buzz.

Heeseung [12:18am]

unless u like it

Your skin is burning. You tuck your phone away without replying, biting back a smile. Across your headset, the match keeps going—Kai’s talking again, but his voice barely registers. You’re not listening to him anymore. You’re only hearing Heeseung. You don’t reply to his messages. Mostly because you don’t trust yourself to. Your fingers are still shaky on the keyboard as the match rolls on. Heeseung’s acting normal again in vc, throwing out short callouts, occasionally bickering with Sunghoon, playing it cool like he didn’t just imply he wants to call you mama.

Your phone buzzes again once, but you ignore it this time. Your lane’s pushing, and your team is moving toward Baron. You focus. You click fast. And when Kai dies again, whining about being “baited,” you’re already ready to kill. You slide in, ult ready, and drop three of them before they can react, smooth, clean, and so fast that Jay literally yells through his mic. “OH MY GOD—okay, she’s cracked tonight.”

“Bro, what was that?” Sunghoon laughs. “Are you sweating?”

You’re already smiling to yourself when you hear it. Low. Offhanded. Just one beat late.

“Good job, baby.”

Everything stops. No one else reacts. But you hear it. Loud and clear. Your brain scrambles. You don’t know if anyone else caught it, maybe he was leaning too close to his mic, maybe it just blended in with the chaos, but your stomach drops. In a good way. In a terrifying way. You go quiet for a few seconds, and then, “…What’d you just call me?” There’s a beat of silence. Then Heeseung’s voice, smooth as ever, “Hm? I said good job.”

You narrow your eyes. “No, you didn’t.”

“Might’ve added something,” he says casually. “You complaining?”

You hate that your face is hot. You hate it more that you smile.

“…You’re annoying,” you mumble, half-giggling.

“Still blushing though.” he replies, grinning into his mic.

Sunghoon: “What did I miss?”

Jay: “I knew something was going on with you two.”

You groan, tugging your hoodie over your mouth. “Play the damn game,” you mutter, but your voice is way too giddy to be taken seriously. And even though everyone goes back to screaming over objectives and team fights, your head’s somewhere else completely. Still stuck on that word. Baby.

It’s the next night. Everyone’s in voice chat again—same group, same vibe. But now you know what he said last time. He knows you heard it. And he hasn’t brought it up since. He’s acting normal again, but you’re not letting him off the hook that easily. The match is halfway through. You’ve just landed a perfect kill steal on Heeseung’s target, claiming the bounty right out from under him. He groans dramatically. “You seriously just took that?” You smirk, leaning into your mic. “Mhm. Had to show off for you, baby.” Silence. Total, absolute, silence.

Jay wheezes. “Wait.”

Sunghoon: “Did she just—?”

You don’t say anything else.

But you can feel Heeseung scrambling on the other side of his headset. He doesn’t speak for a few seconds, which, for him, is a lot. Then he clears his throat. “You trying to start something, princess?” You smile. “Just matching energy.” He lets out a low laugh, little breathless, a little impressed. “Dangerous game,” he mutters. “Careful or I might start taking you seriously.” You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Maybe I want you to.” He doesn’t respond right away. And when he does, his voice is quieter. “…Noted.”

You’re walking behind Heeseung in-game, flashlight beam jittering as you peek into dark hallways. You are playing Phasmaphobia, already regretting letting the boys talk you into this. “Is that—? No, okay, that’s just a shadow.” you mumble, heart racing. Heeseung laughs softly through the mic. “You alright back there?”

“No,” you whisper, sticking close. “Why do you sound so calm?”

“‘Cause I’m brave,” he says casually, like it’s obvious. “You’re the scaredy cat .”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

“You are,” he continues, voice smooth. “Cute though. I like it.”

Your stomach flips. You keep your eyes on the screen, trying to act unfazed. “Not my fault you’re so bad at protecting me.” you murmur. He pauses for half a second.

Then, “Oh, that’s how we’re playing tonight?”

You smile, shy but satisfied. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Mm. You didn’t have to.”

Jay’s voice cuts in on voice chat, “Guys? Where the hell are you two?”

“Clearing the hallway,” Heeseung answers smoothly. “She’s being brave.”

You don’t say anything, but you know he hears your quiet giggle, even through your mic.

It’s almost 3AM when the final round ends. Everyone’s laughing, still on edge from that last chase. Jay’s cackling over some glitch, Sunghoon’s threatening to uninstall the game, and you’re still trying to slow your heartbeat. Then Heeseung’s voice cuts in, calm and lazy through the mic. “Alright, I’m out. I need to shower before I crash.” You blink at your screen, suddenly still. “Damn, it’s that serious?” Jay says, yawning. “Alright, night bro.”

“Night, losers,” Heeseung says with a smirk in his voice. “Later, princess.”

Your stomach flips, but before you can even think of a reply, his little green Discord ring goes gray. Gone. You try not to pout. The call slowly empties, one by one, goodnights echoing into silence until it’s just you. Alone in the lobby, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, still hoping he’d maybe rejoin. But he doesn’t. So you log off too. Toss your headphones aside, get up and do your skincare, brush your teeth, your hair, fluff your pillows. But you don’t feel sleepy yet. You’re scrolling aimlessly on your phone, tucked under your blanket, when it lights up suddenly.

Incoming call: Heeseung

Your breath catches. He’s calling you. At 3:27AM. You stare at it for half a second, then answer. “Hello?” you say, voice soft and a little surprised. “Hey.” His voice is warm, low, a little rough. You can tell he’s laying down too. “I thought you were going to sleep,” you murmur. “I was,” he says, quieter now. “Shower helped, but… I don’t know. Something felt off.” You wait, heartbeat picking up. “Didn’t get to talk to you.” Your lips curve into the softest smile.

“I was waiting for you to stay.”

“I know,” he says. “I wanted to.”

Then there’s a pause, intimate, quiet. “You comfy now?” he asks. “Mhm. Just got in bed.” Another pause. “Wish I could see you.”

You bite your lip. “You’re sweet tonight.” you whisper. He chuckles. “You make me sweet.”

Heeseung’s quiet for a few seconds. Then, casually, “You played good tonight.” You blink, surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Carried my ass a couple times.”

You let out a soft laugh. “I always do.” He chuckles too, low and warm. “You’re not gonna let me be nice, huh?”

“Mm, maybe not.”

There’s a pause, not awkward, just weighted.

“You ever think about playing just us?” he asks, voice a little softer. Your heart stutters. “Like duo by ourselves?” you say quickly, trying to play it cool. He hums. “Something like that.” You bite your lip, smiling into the darkness. “Maybe.” He doesn’t push it. Just lets the silence stretch again. “You sleepy?” he asks gently. You nod, even though he can’t see. “Yeah. You?”

“Mhm.” A beat. “Didn’t wanna sleep without hearing you again.” You go quiet, your heart going crazy. “…You’re sweet,” you whisper. He breathes a little laugh. “Don’t tell anyone.” You smile. “Secret’s safe with me.” There’s one last pause, so full of things neither of you say. Then finally, he says, “Sleep well, princess.”

“Goodnight, Hee.”

He hangs up. But you don’t sleep for a long time.

Discord is chaotic as always—half the team is yelling over each other mid-match, someone’s mic is echoing, and Sunghoon’s pretending to AFK just to piss people off. You’re trying to focus, but your mind’s a little too full of Heeseung. Ever since that late-night call, everything feels shifted. More intense. Every time he talks in call, your chest gets tight. And when his icon lights up just to say your name, it’s worse. “Okay, Saturday—Heeseung’s place?” Jake says. “Yeah, I’m in,” Sunghoon says. “Someone bring snacks.” Then Heeseung, smooth as ever, “You coming, princess?” You blink. Swallow the flutter in your chest. “Uh…yeah. Sure.” you say quickly, trying to sound casual. But barely a beat later, your screen lights up with a DM.

Heeseung [11:45 pm]

u don’t sound excited

Your lips twitch.

You [11:45 pm]

i am

Heeseung [11:46 pm]

lol?

that’s all i get?

You shake your head, smiling to yourself.

You [11:46 pm]

focus on the game hee

There’s a short pause.

Heeseung [11:47 pm]

not when you say my name like that

You bite your lip.

But before you can answer, Heeseung suddenly says in vc, “Yo—who just stole my red buff? I swear to god.” Everyone starts yelling again. The moment breaks, but not completely. It lingers underneath the noise, quiet and warm.

It’s almost 2:30 a.m. when your phone buzzes. You’re curled up in bed, scrolling aimlessly, already half-asleep. The soft glow of your screen lights up your dark room.

Heeseung [2:28 am]

u still up?

You blink at the message, a tiny smile tugging at your lips.

You [2:28 am]

barely

was abt to sleep

Heeseung [2:28 am]

wait

look at this

A photo comes through. It loads slowly, thanks to your shitty Wi-Fi, but when it does, your breath catches. Heeseung, shirtless. Pyjama pants slung low on his hips, just enough to tease, the band of his boxers peeking out. And right in the center of the frame, curled up perfectly in his lap, his small, fluffy kitty, fast asleep.

Heeseung [2:30 am]

isn’t she cute :)

You swallow, staring at the picture a little too long.

You [2:31 am]

so cute

must be comfy there too

The typing bubble appears almost immediately.

Heeseung [2:31 am]

yeah?

u jealous princess?

You grin at your screen, heart racing.

You [2:31 am]

hmm

maybe a lil :3

He doesn’t respond right away. You wonder if you went too far, until your phone vibrates again.

Heeseung [2:33 am]

could make room for u too

You stare at the words, pulse jumping.

You [2:33 am]

bold

Heeseung [2:34 am]

not bold if it’s true

u always look tired after carrying me anyway

You let out a soft laugh, trying to hide the way your cheeks are burning.

You [2:34 am]

i hate u

Heeseung [2:34 am]

no u don’t

you like me too much

You don’t reply right away. Instead, you bite your lip, heart pounding in the quiet dark.

You [2:35 am]

maybe :>

Heeseung [2:35 am]

see you saturday bby

sleep tight

You set your phone down on your chest and stare at the ceiling, grinning like an idiot. No shot you’re sleeping now.

You hadn’t seen Heeseung in two weeks, not in person, at least, but the late-night texts and flirty voice chats had kept him pressed into your mind like a fingerprint. Every time he called you “princess” every teasing message he sent before bed, made you blush behind your screen like some lovesick idiot. So yeah, now that you were about to see him again, you were nervous. Stupidly nervous. You stood in front of your mirror for way too long that afternoon, picking out something cute but not obvious, landing on a short, flowy dress that made you feel pretty. It felt casual enough not to raise eyebrows, but still, you hoped he’d notice. You wanted him to.

You met up with the others at the corner near Heeseung’s place. Everyone was buzzing with energy, talking about what games they’d play, what movies they’d watch, how long they were gonna stay. You tried to laugh along and act normal, but your heart beat louder with every step closer to his house. And then, you were there. One of the guys knocked on Heeseung’s door, you held your breath. A few seconds later, it swung open. He was standing there in a black hoodie and gray sweats, hair a little messy like he’d just run a hand through it before opening up. His eyes skimmed lazily over the group, and then landed on you. They didn’t move for a moment. Neither did yours. “Yo.” one of the others greeted him. Heeseung smirked. “You guys are late.” Then, to you, voice a little quieter, a little warmer, “You coming in, princess?” Your stomach flipped. “Uh, Yeah.” You tried to play it cool, stepping past him like your skin wasn’t already prickling from just hearing his voice up close.

You walk into the apartment, your eyes adjusting to the soft orange glow spilling across the living room. It was warm in there, literally and figuratively, the kind of cozy that made you want to curl into a blanket and never leave. Lamps instead of overhead lights, a couple of pillows tossed lazily across the couch, the faint scent of something like vanilla and laundry detergent lingering in the air. You quietly took a seat on the couch, smoothing your dress under your thighs. The fabric felt short when you sat, but you kept your expression neutral, pretending like you weren’t already hyper-aware of Heeseung moving around behind you. He dropped down into the armchair across from you, spreading his legs slightly, elbows on his knees. The hoodie he wore was unzipped, the edge of a plain white t-shirt barely clinging to his collarbones. He caught your eye for a second, just a second, and gave you a small smile. You looked away first.

The rest of the group slowly filtered into the living room, loud and casual like always. One of them kicked off their shoes and flopped dramatically onto the rug. “So,” someone said, clapping their hands together. “Are we being normal and playing something like Monopoly, or are we ruining friendships tonight with Uno?”

“Uno,” Heeseung said immediately, leaning back in his chair. “No mercy.”

“I’m voting for Mario Kart,” someone else chimed in from the floor. “Get on later and let me kick your ass, Lee.”

“Bro, last time you said that, I fucking stepped on you.”

Laughter erupted across the room. You giggled quietly, tucking your hands into your lap. It was easy being here. Loud, chaotic, but safe, like always. The way it always had been. Except…Except now Heeseung looked at you differently. They eventually settled on starting with a few board games, pushing aside the clutter on the coffee table and pulling out the boxes. Sunghoon opened the food delivery app and started taking orders—half the group wanted ramen, the other half wanted pizza. You stayed mostly quiet, watching it all unfold with a small smile, your knee gently bouncing on the couch. Every now and then, Heeseung’s eyes flicked toward you. When they did, he didn’t look away. He just watched, like he was content to see you sitting there, finally within reach again.

The living room had grown quieter since earlier, the post-game, post-food lull settling into everyone. Someone had queued up a movie, someone sprawled out across the couch and floor with blankets, while the others argued over what snacks were left and who was going to eat them. You slipped away quietly, rising from your seat and heading into the kitchen with an empty soda can in hand. The orange glow from under the cabinets bathed the room in a soft warmth, the hum of the fridge buzzing steadily behind you. You opened it, pretending to look for something, even though you weren’t really hungry. Your heart was beating too fast anyway. You closed the door and turned around, only to find Heeseung standing in the doorway. He wasn’t looking for snacks.

His hands were stuffed casually into the front pocket of his hoodie, his expression unreadable in the dim light. The laughter from the living room felt distant, muffled by the walls between you. He stepped inside slowly, letting the door swing shut behind him. “Been looking at you all night.” he said, voice low. You blinked, caught off guard. “What?” His eyes dropped, just for a second, to your dress—the way it clung softly to your waist before fluttering down your thighs. “That little dress,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You wore it for me, didn’t you?” You scoffed softly, trying to hide the way your stomach turned. “Shut up.” He tilted his head, amused. “What? I’m wrong?” You didn’t answer. He stepped closer. Not touching you yet, just close enough that you could smell the fabric softener clinging to his hoodie.

“You look so pretty, princess.” he said gently. Your breath hitched. The nickname sounded different when he said it here, alone, with the world gone quiet around you. No Discord call. No other people. Just him—tall and warm and real in front of you. “You’re gonna make me blush.” you whispered, glancing up at him through your lashes. He smiled. “That’s kind of the point.”

His hand rose slowly, like he didn’t want to startle you, and he touched your cheek. Fingers warm against your skin. You leaned into it without thinking, eyes fluttering shut. And then he kissed you. Soft and slow. Just enough pressure to make your knees feel a little unsteady. He kissed you like he’d wanted to for a while. And you kissed him back. Your hand came up to rest against the curve of his chest, clutching the fabric of his hoodie like you were afraid to let go. His thumb brushed your cheek. You sighed into him, and he pressed his forehead to yours for a second before pulling back slightly.

Before either of you could say anything, a voice echoed faintly from the other room, “I’ll go grab a beer, y’all want something?” You both froze, then stifled a laugh. Heeseung’s hand lingered on your face a moment longer before slipping away. “You should go,” he said quietly, eyes locked on yours. “Before someone comes in here and ruins it.” You smiled, breathless. “Yeah…” But neither of you moved.

You were the first to step back into the living room. No one looked up, the movie was too loud, and everyone else was too busy bickering over what just happened in the plot. You sank back into your spot on the couch, heartbeat still trying to even out, trying to act normal. Like Heeseung’s mouth hadn’t just been on yours. A few seconds later, he came in too, casually, like he’d just gone to the bathroom or gotten a drink or something. But instead of dropping into his old seat across the room, he sat beside you.

Right beside you. No one said anything. No one noticed. But you did. You were hyper-aware of every shift—the way the cushion dipped slightly under his weight, the warmth of his thigh brushing yours. You didn’t even dare look at him at first. You just stared ahead, pretending to focus on the screen. Then, his hand landed on your thigh. Your breath caught, but it wasn’t like that. It was soft, subtle. Just a palm resting over the fabric of your dress like it belonged there.

He didn’t move it. Didn’t squeeze, didn’t tease. He just…let it be there. And somehow, that was even worse. Eventually, the others started yelling at the TV again, someone shouting “YOU IDIOT WHY WOULD YOU GO INTO THE BASEMENT ALONE?” and the whole room dissolved into laughter. Heeseung’s hand slid away. But only to settle beside your thigh, knuckles just barely brushing the hem of your dress. You hesitated, heart thudding, before you let your pinky drop, feather-light, against his.

And he hooked it, like it was nothing. Like it was everything. You finally looked up at him, hust briefly. His gaze was already on you. He didn’t smile, not quite. But his expression softened, like he was memorizing this, keeping it tucked away somewhere quiet just for him. Your cheeks burned, you looked away, but you didn’t pull your hand back.

It was late when everyone finally started gathering their things. The movie had long since ended, and the energy in the room was quiet and warm, a buzz of satisfied laughter and sleepy goodbyes. Shoes were slipped on, jackets thrown over shoulders, as one by one, people trickled toward the front door. You were the last to follow. Dragging your steps a little, pretending you were still putting your phone in your bag, but really, you were just hoping he’d say something. Do something. And he did.

As you reached the door, Heeseung caught your wrist gently. Just for a second. Just enough to make you stop and glance back at him. He stepped closer, leaning down just slightly. And before you could even say anything, he pressed a kiss to your cheek. Warm. Quick. So casual, but not casual at all. His lips lingered for just a second before pulling back. “Goodnight, princess.” he murmured. Your chest fluttered. You tried to respond, but your words caught somewhere between your throat and your racing heart. All you could do was smile, cheeks burning, as you stepped out into the night. You didn’t even remember saying goodbye to the others. You just kept touching your cheek where his mouth had been.

Another night, another game. Everyone was online, the Discord call full of laughing and yelling as you all loaded into a League match. But it felt different this time. You could feel it immediately, even before Heeseung joined. Your heart jumped a little when his icon lit up green. “Yo.” he said, like always. “Hi.” you replied softly. He hummed, low and warm. “Miss me already?” Someone snorted in the background, Kai probably, but you didn’t even flinch. “Maybe a little,” you said, light and teasing. “Don’t let it get to your head.” He chuckled. “Too late, princess.” Nobody commented. Nobody knew. But you could hear the grin in his voice, and the sound made something tug low in your stomach. You played League. You laughed with the others. The usual trash talk flew back and forth, but the way Heeseung talked to you now? It wasn’t the same.

When you stole a kill from him, he groaned dramatically. “Wow. Can’t believe my own girlfriend would do me like that.” You choked. “Heeseung—!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “Still pending, I guess.”

Kai laughed. “Damn, she’s got you whipped.”

Heeseung only hummed again. “Can you blame me?”

Your cheeks burned, but you didn’t deny it. You just pushed your mic away a little, smiled at your screen, and kept playing.

You were mid-game, headset on, pretending to be fully focused, but your phone kept lighting up beside you. You shouldn’t have looked.

Heeseung [11:26 pm]

u looked really pretty yesterday btw

Your fingers stuttered on the keyboard.

You [11:26 pm]

heeseung please focus i’m literally dying in mid rn

Heeseung [11:26 pm]

how am i supposed to focus when u looked like that in that dress

unfair tbh

Your face was burning. You typed quickly, glancing at your minimap.

You [11:26 pm]

stop distracting me :(

Heeseung [11:27 pm]

can’t help it

u get all shy when i text u and it’s cute asf

You tried so hard to keep a straight face. Then, right when you were getting pushed under tower, Heeseung’s champion appeared in lane. Ganked clean. You got the kill. “Nice!” you said out loud, a little breathless. And then you heard it through the headset. “That’s my girl,” Heeseung murmured. You giggled. Couldn’t even help it. The call exploded.

“Kill me already,” Sunghoon groaned. “Get a room.”

“I’m gonna uninstall.” someone else muttered.

You pressed a hand over your smile, pretending to focus again, but your phone lit up once more:

Heeseung [11:30 pm]

u liked that baby?

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh again. The match was still going, your screen full of chaos, but all you could think about was the heat spreading over your cheeks.

You [11:30 pm]

maybe i didd

The typing bubble popped up right away.

Heeseung [11:30 pm]

yeah?

bet you’d like it even more if i whispered it in ur ear while u were on my lap

Your stomach flipped, pulse thudding deep in your chest. You squeezed your knees together under your desk and stared at your screen, barely registering the game anymore.

You [11:31 pm]

hee.

stoppp that’s not fair :(

Heeseung [11:31 pm]

aww baby’s getting all shy now?

cute

You didn’t answer right away, and he didn’t need you to. He knew exactly what he was doing to you. And when he pinged on the map again to come help you in lane, you swear your hands were trembling.

It was past 2 a.m. now. The group was deep into another League match, your sixth of the night. And the fourth loss. Everyone was tilted. Half-joking, swearing under their breath. But Heeseung…Heeseung was seething. You could hear it in the way he was clicking. Rapid, furious, sharp. His voice had dropped into this low, tight drawl as he muttered, “This jungler’s a bot. Actually brainless.” You shouldn’t have found it attractive. But the heat in his voice, the frustration curling behind every breath, it made your stomach flutter. But then his mic went quiet. You knew that silence. The kind that was dangerous. “Bro, this is unplayable,” Heeseung muttered suddenly. His voice sounded a bit raspy and tired. “I can’t do this shit anymore. I’m out.” Disconnect.

The call fell into stunned silence for a second. Then Sunghoon sighed. “Yikes.” Your heart dropped. You stared at your screen for a long second, your fingers frozen over your keyboard. You hadn’t even typed “gg.” You stayed quiet. Just tried to blink back the weird sting that hit you way too fast. “I’m gonna switch to Valorant,” Jay said. “Anyone else?”

“I’m in,” you mumbled, a little too quickly. You didn’t want to log off. Not yet. Not if he texted. So you launched the game, joined a party, and tried to laugh along with the others, but every second that passed, your eyes flicked down to your phone. Still nothing.

It was almost 4 a.m. by the time you logged off. You barely said goodbye, too drained from the string of losses, but more so from the ache in your chest that had settled there after Heeseung left the call. He didn’t text. Not once. You went through your usual motions anyway. Washed your face, pulled on an oversized tee, got under the covers with your phone still in hand, brightness low, just mindlessly scrolling. Checking Instagram, discord, his profile—more than once. Still nothing. Your screen dimmed. You stared at the faint glow on your ceiling, curled under your blanket, and tried not to overthink it. You told yourself he was just mad at the game, not at you. Your phone eventually slipped from your hand onto the pillow beside you. And sometime after, you drifted off, eyes closed, heart a little too heavy for sleep to come easy.

Buzz.

Your screen lit up softly in the dark. You squinted one eye open.

Heeseung [4:21 am]

sry abt that

Your heart thumped. You reached for your phone with a sleepy hand, your fingers a little clumsy as you unlocked it.

Buzz.

Heeseung [4:21 am]

wasn’t mad at u or anything

And then, after a moment:

Heeseung [4:23 am]

missed ur voice tbh

Your breath caught. Your thumb hovered over the keyboard, your chest warm, a smile curling on your lips as you looked at the screen.

You [4:24 am]

it was boring without u :(

There was barely a pause before your phone buzzed again.

Heeseung [4:24 am]

yeah baby?

That one made your breath hitch. You turned onto your back, screen hovering above your face now, your lips pressing together to contain the smile threatening to break free.

You [4:24 am]

mhm

wanted u there

The typing bubble appeared again. Stopped. Then came back.

Heeseung [4:25 am]

wanted to be there too

but u know how i get with that game lol

You giggled softly.

You [4:25 am]

i do

but u still sounded hot all pissed off like that

You waited, then cringed a little, your heart racing like ‘shit why did i say that’. A second later:

Heeseung [4:26 am]

oh yeah?

u like when i’m mad baby?

should’ve seen me after i logged off

was thinking abt u

Your heart stilled.

Heeseung [4:26 am]

couldn’t stop thinking abt ur thighs

Your hand went to your chest like you could calm the thunder in your heart.

You [4:26 am]

hee.

you can’t say stuff like that rn

Heeseung [4:27 am]

why not?

no one’s around

just me n my sleepy girl

You [4:27 am]

hmm

u like my thighs? :3

Heeseung [4:27 am]

i love them baby

You stared at his last message, your pulse loud in your ears. You swallowed. Your thumbs hovered over the keyboard for a moment before you typed.

You [4:28 am]

u love them?

Heeseung [4:28 am]

mmhmm

love how soft they looked when u sat next to me

kept thinking abt how warm u’d feel on my lap

Your thighs pressed together instinctively, breath catching. You hesitated. Then, slowly, like some part of you needed him to see, you pushed the blanket down. Your legs were folded up, thighs squished slightly together. Your tiny shorts clung to you, barely covering the top of your legs. With one hand, you tugged your shirt up just enough to show a sliver of your tummy, skin warm and soft under the low light of your phone screen. Your finger trembled as you tapped the shutter. You stared at the photo for a long moment. You didn’t look perfect, not posed like other girls might be. But something about it felt so real. So you sent it anyway.

You [4:30 am]

here :)

Three seconds passed. Then five.

Buzz.

Heeseung [4:30 am]

jesus baby

you’re gonna kill me

so fucking pretty

Buzz.

Heeseung [4:30 am]

can’t stop looking

want u so bad right now

Your body was warm all over. You stared at his words with your bottom lip between your teeth, your legs slowly stretching under the blanket again, your heart racing faster than it had all night. You type with shaky fingers.

You [4:31 am]

want u too :(

miss u

You don’t even care how needy it sounds, because it’s true. You miss the way he looked at you when no one else was watching. You miss the warmth of his hand next to yours. You miss how soft his lips were on yours.

Heeseung [4:31 am]

fuck baby

wish i could sneak into ur bed rn

kiss u slow n make u feel good

You bite your lip hard. Your whole body feels electric , flushed with adrenaline and want. You prop your phone up for a moment, your hand slipping under your oversized shirt. Your palm covers your left tit, squeezing softly. Your thighs shift and spread slightly as you angle the camera, lifting your shirt a little, enough to show a peek of tummy, the curve of your waist, the swell of your thighs pressed together in the low light. You snap the photo, heart hammering. And before you can change your mind, you send it.

Buzz.

Heeseung [4:33 am]

holy fuck

look at u baby…

can’t believe u sent this to me

Buzz.

Heeseung [4:33 am]

ur unreal

my pretty girl

all mine yeah?

Your legs curl up under the blanket again, warmth spreading between your thighs as you try to calm your breathing, but it’s impossible now, he’s everywhere, in your head, under your skin.

You [4:34 am]

mhm! only urs

want u so bad :((

Your pulse thunders in your ears as you shift on the bed, tugging your shirt higher. You take your shorts off, leaving your panties on, the cotton clinging to your pussy, soaked through, and you let your legs fall open. One hand moves to squeeze your tit, fingers covering your nipple, the curve of your breast spilling out just enough. Your shirt’s bunched under your chin, tummy soft and exposed. You lift your phone, and take a picture. You stare at it for a moment. You feel sick with nerves. Then:

You [4:35 am]

see? :(

You send the photo and immediately regret it. Not because you don’t want him to see it—you do, so badly—but because now there’s nothing. No reply. You stare at your screen, chewing your bottom lip. One minute passes. Then two. Then three. Your stomach twists, nerves bubbling up like soda fizz under your skin. Was it too much? Did you freak him out? You reach for your phone again just as the screen lights up.

Heeseung [4:39 am]

….

Your breath catches.

Heeseung [4:39 am]

princess i’m so fucking hard rn…

You bite down on your lip, heart pounding, legs still spread. His message replays in your head again and again. You can’t help yourself.

You [4:40 am]

proof? :3

The typing bubble appears instantly. Then disappears. Then it’s still again for a moment, until your screen lights up with a photo. He’s shirtless, skin flushed, abs tight. His hand is cupping his bulge through soft gray sweats, and the outline is obscene. Big. Thick. Heavy. You swear you let out the softest gasp, your thighs instinctively rubbing together. He’s huge. You press your phone to your chest, eyes wide, heart fluttering out of rhythm.

You [4:40 am]

ugh hee this is so unfair :((

Heeseung [4:41 am]

wanna make it fair baby

want u to touch yourself for me

You don’t even think. Your fingers are already slipping under the waistband of your panties before you start typing, your other hand barely steady.

You [4:41 am]

i’m already touching myself hee :( can’t stop

Your cheeks burn, your breath shaky as you press down, wet, aching, throbbing for him.

Heeseung [4:42 am]

fuck princess

wish i was there

i’d take care of u so good

you’d be shaking on my fingers

Your head falls back against your pillow as you whimper, reading and rereading his messages. He’s so good with his words, you feel them in your chest, between your legs, everywhere.

Heeseung [4:42 am]

how are u touching yourself baby?

You can’t even think straight anymore. His messages have your body burning, soaked and aching, and your fingers are moving slow, desperate circles over your clit, and all you can think about is him. The weight of his hand. The sound of his voice. His lips saying “that’s my girl.” You need him to see you like this. You pull the covers back just a little, breathing shaky as you lift your phone. One hand slips back under the waistband of your panties, your fingers teasing just enough to make your thighs twitch. You snap a photo. Your hand between your legs. Your panties slightly tugged down. Your thighs soft and parted. You’re trembling when you hit send.

You [4:43 am]

…

Seconds feel like hours.

Heeseung [4:43 am]

jesus fucking christ

look at you

fuck

keep touching yourself just like that

pretend it’s me

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, the other hand still moving—slow, desperate circles on your clit, slick and messy. You’re so close already it’s dizzying.

You [4:43 am]

i always pretend it’s u hee :(

You hit send, barely able to see straight. It takes him a moment.

Heeseung [4:44 am]

fuck baby

you’re driving me insane

wish i could hear u right now

whimpering all soft and needy

Another sharp flick of your wrist and you gasp, eyes fluttering shut. You are whimpering, broken, breathy sounds you try to muffle into your pillow.

Heeseung [4:44 am]

keep rubbing that pretty little pussy for me

slow circles baby just like i’d do it

make yourself cum for me yeah?

You [4:44 am]

mhm :((

are u touching yourself too?

You send it while circling your clit just the way he told you to—slow, trembling, and wet. You can barely keep your hand steady, your thighs twitching at every glide. A second later, his response lights up your screen.

Heeseung [4:45 am]

yes baby

can’t help it

your pictures, your little sounds in my head

i’m so hard it hurts

That does it. You rub harder, faster, the heat coiling deep in your belly, your hips stuttering into your hand as you let out a tiny gasp, cheeks flushed, lip caught between your teeth. You need more, and he knows it.

Heeseung [4:46 am]

baby

put ur fingers inside for me

pretend it’s my fingers deep inside u

You whimper at the message, already sliding your fingers down lower, slipping them in without resistance. You’re so wet, they glide in easily, your head tilting back at the stretch, the heat, the ache.

Heeseung [4:46 am]

god i wish it was me

wish i could feel how tight you are

i’d fuck u nice and slow

You moan into your pillow, fingers curling, fucking yourself just like he would—thinking about his voice in your ear, his breath on your skin, the way he’d whisper praises in your ear while kissing your neck. It hits hard, your orgasm ripping through you in waves, thighs trembling around your hand, lips parted in a silent cry. You stay like that for a moment, ruined and flushed, before managing to pull your hand away. Still breathless, you lift your phone with shaky fingers and take another photo—your soaked fingers, a glossy string of cum stretched between them.

You [4:48 am]

made a mess for u hee :)

Heeseung [4:48am]

fuck…

fuck princess

i’m gonna cum

You’re still catching your breath when your phone buzzes again.

Heeseung [4:50 am]

you’re unreal baby

so pretty

so good for me

my perfect girl

You smile, cheeks hot, curled beneath your blanket now, the ache between your legs softening into warmth. You type slowly, eyes heavy with sleep.

You [4:50 am]

hee

u make me feel so good :(

want u here

wanna fall asleep on your chest

Heeseung [4:51 am]

i’d hold u so close princess

kiss ur forehead

play with ur hair til u fall asleep

You let out a soft, sleepy giggle into your pillow.

You [4:51 am]

mm that sounds perfect

goodnight hee <3

Heeseung [4:51 am]

goodnight baby

dream of me yeah?

<33

You tuck your phone under your pillow, smile still lingering on your lips as your eyes flutter shut, his words wrapped around you like a blanket.

You wake up to the soft buzz of your phone against your sheets, light from the screen spilling across your pillow.

27 new messages.

Your stomach flips. The group chat is blowing up and your name is all over it.

Sunoo

okay so it’s settled?? Heeseung’s place again??

Jungwon

yup tonight

Sunghoon

y/n don’t forget your controller

Jay

does she even know what’s happening rn

You stare at the screen, frozen. Heeseung’s place. Your cheeks burn as last night flashes in your mind, his voice, his texts, your fingers between your thighs. The pictures you sent. The ones he sent. And now… this? What if it’s weird now? What if it was just fun for him in the moment, but he doesn’t actually want you? What if he regrets it, and you’re showing up like a fool? You’re overthinking. Still, your fingers hover above the keyboard, hesitation burning in your chest. Then a new message pops up.

Heeseung

y/n are u in?

Three words. That’s all it takes to make your heart skip. You wait, ten seconds, twenty, trying not to read too much into it. Then, finally, you reply.

You

yeah :)

You stare at the little smiley face, hoping it doesn’t look too nervous. Hoping he sees it and hears the ‘please still want me’ in your head. Your phone buzzes again.

Heeseung [1:27 pm] (privately)

morning princess

missed u already

You [1:27 pm]

morning hee

missed u too <3

You send it before you can overthink, then hide your face in your pillow, kicking your legs. Your stomach is still tight with nerves, but his reply melts them just enough to let a smile creep in.

You’re staring at your reflection again. For the third time. Your skirt is short, but not too short, you tell yourself, sitting perfectly on your waist. The soft grey cardigan you picked out earlier clings to your frame just enough to show it off, the top buttons left undone so collarbones and chest show. You’re wearing perfume, a subtle one, the same one you wore last time at his place. You look cute. You know you do. You just hope he notices. Hope he wants you still. Hope none of what happened the other night has changed the way he looks at you.

Your phone buzzes again.

Sunoo

on our way! be there in 10

You grab your bag, swipe on a little extra lip balm, and head out. Fast-forward to Heeseung’s front door, everyone’s already inside laughing and talking as you step in. The same cozy orange light glows through the living room, voices echoing through the apartment. And then you see him, sitting on the edge of the couch in a hoodie and sweatpants, hair slightly messy like always, exactly how you like it. He turns his head the second you walk in. And you swear his eyes trail down your body, slow and shameless.

“Hey.” he says, voice low, lips lifting into the slightest smirk. “Hey.” you mumble, already feeling your cheeks warm. “You look cute.” he says simply. Like it’s just a fact. You barely manage a quiet “thank you.” before Sunghoon yells something about Mario Kart and the moment is gone. But not really, because you can feel his gaze on you even when you’re looking away.

The night has that same warm, familiar glow as last time—soft lights casting a gentle hue over Heeseung’s living room, the TV humming low as the next movie rolls. Everyone’s sprawled around the room now, Sunghoon’s half-asleep already with a bowl of popcorn resting on his chest, Jay and Sunoo are arguing playfully about which horror movie is better, and Heeseung’s legs are stretched out in front of the couch where you’re curled up on one end, hugging a fluffy pillow. Your skirt’s ruffled from how you’ve been shifting to get comfy, the neckline of your cardigan dipping slightly as you sink deeper into the cushions. You feel his gaze again, subtle but heavy. You glance up just in time to catch it, and he doesn’t even look away. He just smirks a little. You flush. Again.

Trying to act casual, you tuck your legs under yourself, tugging the hem of your skirt down just a little more. The warmth of the room, the quiet chatter, the way Heeseung hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you walked in, it’s all making you drowsy. By the time the third movie starts playing, your head is dipped against the couch, your cheek pressed to your arm. You fight it for a bit, blinking slow, barely following the plot, but your body is already giving in. Your breathing slows, your limbs go still, and eventually…you fall asleep. Heeseung notices immediately. At first, he just glances over, ready to make a comment, maybe tease you, but the words never come out. Instead, his expression softens. The curve of your lashes against your cheek, the way your lips part ever so slightly when you exhale, it’s enough to make his heart stutter.

He shifts, propping his elbow on the couch, letting his fingers curl against his cheek, watching you in silence while everyone else reacts to whatever’s happening on screen. You’re practically glowing under the dim light, blanket half falling off your thighs, cardigan slipping off one shoulder just enough to make him swallow hard. A while passes like that. Quiet. Intimate. Like it’s just the two of you in the room. Then Jay says something about it being past 3AM, and someone stands, stretching with a dramatic groan. “Should we bounce?” Sunghoon asks, rubbing his eyes. Jay nods. “Yeah, i’m dead. Heeseung, all good?” Heeseung tears his eyes away from you for the first time in a while. “Yeah.” Someone notices you next. “She’s out cold.” Jay leans in, whispering loudly. “You want us to wake her?”

Heeseung shakes his head, protective without even realizing it. “No. Don’t. She’s fine.” And just like that, they gather their things. Shoes are slipped on, phones grabbed off chargers, quiet goodbyes are mumbled, but Heeseung stays seated beside you, gaze still locked on your sleeping form. When the door finally closes and the apartment is quiet again, he stays still. His living room is bathed in that same soft orange glow, the credits roll on the TV, and you’re still there, breathing slow and peaceful, curled up with your lashes fluttering faintly, as if even in your sleep, you know he’s watching. He shifts just a little closer. You stir slightly when you feel the couch dip beside you, your body still heavy with sleep. “Hey, princess,” a voice murmurs, soft and warm near your ear. “Everyone left.” You blink up at him, slow and disoriented, eyes adjusting to the dim light. “Oh…I fell asleep?” Heeseung’s face is close, framed by the golden hue of the room, his smile gentle and just a little smug.

“Yeah,” he says, brushing a thumb lightly over your cheek. “You looked too cute to wake up.” You bite back a flustered smile, pulling the blanket tighter around your body. “You could’ve at least nudged me…” He shrugs, still looking at you like you hung the stars. “Didn’t want to. You looked peaceful.”

Your heart flutters, cheeks warming as your sleepiness starts to fade. He doesn’t move away, his face is still close, his hand resting beside your waist. The room feels warmer than it did earlier, quieter. Like everything outside of this couch doesn’t matter right now. You shift a little, your voice still a bit hushed. “So…it’s just us now?” Heeseung hums, tilting his head. “Yeah.” A pause.“You wanna stay a bit longer?” he adds. “Just us?” And the look he gives you isn’t teasing, not this time. It’s curious and hopeful.

You nod, still wrapped in the blanket, and sit up a little. A quiet yawn slips out before you bring your hand up to rub your eyes, still groggy, still warm from sleep. When you look up at him again, Heeseung’s already watching you, so closely, his gaze soft and heavy, like you’re the only thing in the world worth looking at. His lips are slightly parted, his expression unreadable but so full of something you’ve never seen from him before, not like this. Your heart stutters. Maybe it’s the quiet of the room. Maybe it’s the way he hasn’t looked away from you once. Maybe it’s the leftover warmth from your late-night texts, from the ache you haven’t been able to shake since. But something makes you reach out, slow and uncertain, your fingers brushing against his cheek before settling there gently. His skin is warm under your touch, and his lashes flutter just slightly at the contact, but he doesn’t move away.

Heeseung leans into your hand just the tiniest bit. And then, before you can overthink it, before you can get too scared, you lean in. Your lips press softly against his, barely there at first, just enough to feel the way he exhales sharply through his nose. His hand brushes lightly against your knee under the blanket, but he doesn’t pull you closer, doesn’t rush it. He just lets you kiss him, lets you decide. When you slowly pull back, your breath catching in your throat, you meet his eyes again. He’s smiling, soft, in awe, and he whispers, “Hey.”

A small laugh escapes your lips, bashful and sweet. “Hi.” You don’t say anything else for a second, both of you just sitting there in the glow of the room. And something in the way he’s looking at you, so soft, so wanting, makes the nerves dissolve into something deeper, heavier, needier. So you kiss him again.

This time with more pressure, more feeling, like all the nights of tension are finally spilling out through your lips. Your hand slips from his cheek to the back of his head, threading into his hair gently, and you feel him breathe in sharply when you do. His hands grip your waist and pull you effortlessly into his lap, and you melt against him, thighs bracketing his hips as his touch slides down to caress them slowly, reverently. You sigh softly into his mouth, and he hums in response, the sound low and satisfied. His fingers squeeze just above your knees, coaxing you closer until there’s nothing between you but heat and fabric.

Your arms wind around his shoulders, fingers threading into his hair as the kiss deepens, grows hungrier, but still soft around the edges. His lips break from yours for only a moment, breath shaky against your cheek. “Could kiss you forever.” he whispers, voice rough and thick. Your lips are still barely touching when you whisper it—quiet, breathless, almost like a confession. “I missed you.” He pauses, eyes searching yours, hands still resting on your waist like he’s afraid to let go. His voice is gentler when he replies, like he’s matching your softness.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along the hem of your cardigan. “I missed you too, princess. So much.” You feel your cheeks heat up, but you don’t look away, not this time. Not when he’s holding you like that, not when he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters. A shaky breath escapes you before you murmur, “You have no idea how much I thought about you.” Heeseung tilts his head, his thumb tracing slow circles on your waist. “Yeah, baby?” he asks softly, like he’s afraid to hope. “Tell me.” You press your lips together for a moment before whispering, “I couldn’t stop replaying everything…the way you looked at me, the way you talked to me last night. I couldn’t sleep.” He lets out the faintest exhale, something between a sigh and a groan, like your words hit him right in the chest. “I know,” he says, brushing his nose against yours. “You’ve been in my head ever since i met you.” You look up at him again, shy and aching. “I was scared maybe you changed your mind.”

“Not even close,” he says without hesitation. “You don’t get it…I haven’t wanted someone like this, ever.” Your fingers curl into his hoodie, heart thudding. His lips find yours again, slower, more sure. His hands cradle you like he can’t believe you’re real. “I want you, Heeseung.” For a second, he just stares at you, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your waist. Then he leans in, lips brushing yours, voice dropping into something husky and warm, so low it shoots straight through your spine. “Show me how much, baby.” You don’t hesitate. You crash your lips to his in a filthy, needy kiss—nothing like the soft ones you shared before. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as your body presses flush against his. He groans into your mouth, both arms wrapping around you, dragging you further onto his lap. His fingers slide up beneath your cardigan, caressing the soft skin of your waist, and your hips roll instinctively. Heeseung’s lips move feverishly against yours, and everything about him feels hot and overwhelming, like he’s been holding himself back for far too long. “You drive me crazy.” he mutters against your lips, breathless. You only kiss him harder in response, fingers clutching the sides of his jaw like you never want to let go.

His hands drift lower, until they slip beneath the hem of your skirt. You gasp softly into the kiss when his palms find the soft flesh of your thighs, then higher, until he’s gripping your ass with both hands, squeezing gently but possessively. “You’re so cute, baby.” he murmurs against your mouth, his voice thick with need and affection. You whimper, biting down softly on your lower lip as you pull back just enough to look at him. His eyes are dark, hooded, roaming over your face like he’s trying to memorize every little expression. Your cheeks flush, your hands stay tangled in his hair, your body warm and trembling in his lap. “You make me feel so…” you whisper, unsure how to finish the sentence with how full your chest feels. Heeseung leans in again, kissing you slower this time, his thumbs tracing soft circles over your skin. “I know,” he whispers. “Me too.”

Without even thinking, your hips begin to move , slow, subtle rolls against his lap, just seeking friction, something to ease the ache building between your thighs. You don’t even realize what you’re doing at first, too lost in the feeling of him, the way his hands are holding you, the way his lips feel on yours. But the second you hear him exhale, a deep, shuddering breath, you freeze. “Princess…” he murmurs, his voice all rough and low, like he’s holding back. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, your cheeks burning. “Hee…” you whisper, flustered, your fingers gripping his shoulders for balance. “I didn’t mean to—” His hands slide up your back slowly, soothing. “Don’t hide from me,” he says, and you feel him smile softly against your temple. “Keep going, baby.” Your breath catches, and you nod slowly, your lips brushing his skin as you speak. Your hips keep moving against him, soft and needy, your fingers clutching the fabric of his hoodie like it’s the only thing grounding you. “Hee…” you breathe, your voice trembling as your lips brush against the warm skin of his neck. “You feel so good…”

Your soft moan spills out before you can stop it—quiet, breathy, but it sends a sharp jolt through Heeseung. His grip on your waist tightens as his cock throbs beneath you, straining against his sweats. “Fuck, baby…” he groans, his voice rough and low. “You sound so good—gonna make me lose my mind.” You shiver at his words. You try to bury your face even deeper into his neck, cheeks burning. “Stop…” you whisper shyly, squirming in his lap, but not enough to actually get away. “Don’t say stuff like that…” He laughs softly, the sound husky and fond as he presses a kiss to your temple. “Why not?” he murmurs. “It’s true. You’re so fucking cute when you’re like this…all needy and shy in my lap.”

Your body moves again, hips rolling against him with a little more need, a little more desperation. Each soft moan and whimper that escapes your lips only fuels him more, your breath catching every time your clothed core drags along the thick bulge in his sweats. “Ngh…” you whimper, clinging to him. “Mmh—just like that, baby…” Heeseung groans, deep and low, his hands sliding down your waist until they’re gripping your ass again, squeezing it firmly. His fingers dig in just a little as he helps guide your movements, encouraging you to grind harder against him, a soft moan leaving your mouth. “Yeah?” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “That what you want, princess?” You nod quickly, too dizzy to speak. He chuckles under his breath, hands keeping you steady as he rocks you against him, the pressure sending sparks through your whole body. “So pretty—so fucking soft—can’t get enough of you…”

His hands slip beneath your cardigan slowly, warm palms cupping your breasts over your bra, and the soft moan that escapes you only makes his breath hitch. “Fuck…” he murmurs, voice low and strained as he palms at you, thumbing over the fabric. You’re trembling, but still, you find the courage to sit back just enough to slowly shrug your cardigan off, cheeks burning as it falls to the couch behind you. You look up at him with wide, shy eyes, your chest rising and falling. His jaw drops slightly. “Holy fuck…” he breathes, eyes glued to the way your breasts spill against the bra, soft and full. He wastes no time, hands grabbing them over the fabric, squeezing them in his palms. “You like them, Hee?” you whisper shyly, barely able to meet his eyes.

He lets out a soft, strained laugh, eyes dark. “Princess,” he groans, “I’m so fucking hard right now, what do you think?” Your whole face flushes hot, lips parted slightly. Still, you manage a soft, almost breathless, “You can take it off…if you wanna,” your voice fragile, and your eyes impossibly big and trusting. He stares at you like you just gave him the universe. Heeseung doesn’t say anything right away, just watches you for a moment, barely holding himself together. Then, slowly, he leans in. His lips find your neck, soft and warm, pressing kisses down the delicate skin like he’s savoring you. Each one slower than the last, trailing lower with every breath you take. Your eyes flutter shut, your fingers threading back into his hair as a shaky sigh slips from your lips.

His hands move with purpose, sliding behind you, and you feel the gentle tug as his fingers find the clasp of your bra. With one flick, it comes undone. The straps fall loose against your arms, and he pulls back slightly, eyes meeting yours. You give him a small nod, cheeks burning. He pushes the straps off your shoulders and lets the bra fall between you. Then his hands return to your chest, palms warm and reverent as he cups you fully now, skin to skin. He groans softly, like he can’t help it, like the feel of you is too much. “So soft,” he mutters, squeezing you gently. “So fucking perfect…” Your head tilts slightly with a quiet whimper, lips parted, body buzzing with heat as he rolls your nipples between his fingers, teasing and slow. “You’re driving me insane, princess,” he breathes, voice thick and low. “You’re too pretty for your own good.”

You lean in just a little, shy but needy, and Heeseung catches on instantly. His hands slide up your sides again, and he brings his mouth to your chest, kissing over the soft swell before wrapping his lips around one nipple. He sucks gently, warm tongue flicking, lips tugging just enough to make you gasp. One of his hands squeezes the other breast while his mouth works you, slow and purposeful. You whimper, back arching instinctively, and your hips begin to move again, grinding softly against the bulge straining beneath you. He switches sides, his mouth now on your other breast, sucking, licking, groaning low in his throat like he can’t get enough of you. “You like it, princess?” he murmurs between kisses, breath warm against your skin. “mhm” you whine softly, your eyes shut tight as you let the pleasure wash over you. He chuckles, proud and a little breathless himself. “Yeah? Then keep going, baby.” he murmurs, voice thick. His hands settle on your hips, helping guide your rhythm as you rock against him. “Just like that.”

His mouth returns to your chest, and the room fills with quiet whimpers, heavy breathing, and the soft sound of his lips on your skin. Your fingers tug gently at the hem of his shirt, your voice barely above a whisper. “Hee…” Heeseung doesn’t hesitate, he pulls his shirt off in one smooth motion and tosses it aside, and you can’t help the soft gasp that escapes your lips. Your eyes roam his toned chest, the sharp lines of his abs catching the dim light. You bite your lip, hands instinctively rising to trace along the ridges, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your trembling fingertips. Still grinding against him, you lean forward slowly, pressing soft kisses to the side of his neck. One after another, each one deeper, needier. His breath catches when your lips suck gently, leaving behind faint red marks, proof of how badly you want him.

He groans, low and raspy, and his hands return to your ass, squeezing hard, pulling you closer as your grinding becomes more desperate. “Fuck, baby.” he whispers, voice thick and strained, his head falling back just slightly as your mouth moves along his neck. His grip on your ass tightens as he helps guide your hips faster, harder—grinding down on the thick bulge straining beneath you. Every drag of him against your clothed cunt sends sparks through your body, his cock catching perfectly on your clit, the pressure unbearable in the best way. Your moans come out higher now, breathy and helpless, and it only spurs him on. He groans low, “You’re gonna cum, princess?” You nod frantically, eyes squeezed shut, hips rocking with desperate rhythm. “Please…Hee, please—”

He doesn’t make you beg more than that. One of his hands slips down between your bodies, under your skirt, fingers pressing against the soaked fabric of your panties. He rubs small, fast circles on your clit, syncing with your grinding, the friction making you cry out. “Shit, you’re so wet.” he breathes, watching you fall apart on top of him. “Feels good, doesn’t it, baby?” And you can only nod again, whimpering, as your orgasm builds sharp and fast in your gut—his voice in your ear, his hands on your body, everything pushing you closer and closer. You tremble as the wave crashes over you, tugging on his hair as your orgasm hits—your soft, broken whimpers filling his ears as you finish, your body melting in his arms. Heeseung wraps you up, his hand stroking gently up and down your back as he whispers, “Good girl…so good for me.”

Still catching your breath, you lift your head, take his face in both your hands, and kiss him deeply, slow and messy and full of all the want that had been simmering between you for weeks. When you finally pull back, your lips are kiss-swollen, your cheeks flushed, your eyes shy, but burning with something he can’t look away from. You shift off his lap, still trembling a little, and settle down between his legs instead. Sitting back on your knees, you look up at him through your lashes, arms resting against his thighs, pressing your soft chest together just a little. “Fuck.” he breathes, his voice raspier now, his eyes dark as they rake over you. His cock is twitching in his pants, straining, aching, just from the way you’re looking at him. Just from you. “Princess…” he says low, barely holding himself back. Your voice comes out breathy and shy, but so full of want it makes his head spin. “I wanna make you feel good, Hee…”

Heeseung’s eyes drop to your hands as they move gently over the hard bulge in his pants, slow and curious, your fingers tentative but so eager. He swears under his breath, biting down on his lip, the way you look up at him so innocent while touching him nearly making him lose his mind. “Shit, baby…” he groans, hips twitching slightly into your touch. “You’re driving me crazy.” You blink up at him, a soft smile tugging on your lips as your hands press a little firmer, rubbing him through the fabric. “Let me?” you ask quietly, so sweet, so soft, like you’re asking for permission to ruin him. He cups your cheek, brushing his thumb along your skin, voice low and wrecked. “You can do anything you want to me, princess.” You give him the softest kiss on the cheek, your lips lingering just a second longer, like a promise.

Then, slowly, with trembling fingers, you tug down his sweatpants and boxers, your breath catching when his cock springs free—big, leaking, heavy against his stomach. Your thighs instinctively press together at the sight, and your lips part slightly, like you’re already imagining how he might taste. “God…” Heeseung exhales, his head tipping back as he watches you through lidded eyes. You wrap both hands around him delicately, like you’re handling something precious, and lean in, placing a soft, innocent kiss right on the tip. Your eyes flick up to meet his as you do, wide, shimmering, so sweet it makes his jaw clench. “You’re so pretty, Hee…” you whisper, kissing him again, lips brushing lightly down the side of his shaft.

He twitches in your hand, groaning low. “You’re the one that’s pretty, princess,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “So fucking pretty…down on your knees for me.” He cups the back of your head gently, fingers threading into your hair as you continue kissing along his length, so slow, so teasing, savoring every second. Your tongue flicks out slowly, tasting the tip, salty and warm. You kiss it again, before dragging your tongue just a little lower, teasing the underside as you hear Heeseung’s breath hitch above you. “Fuck…” he mutters under his breath, his grip on your hair tightening just slightly.

You kiss him again, and then finally part your lips and sink down just a little, taking him into your mouth, the warmth and weight of him making you shiver. The second he’s inside, even just barely, a soft moan escapes you, quiet, involuntary, but enough to make him groan. “You like it, baby?” he breathes, his voice low and ruined. You hum around him in response, sending vibrations up his shaft, and it makes him curse again. You pull back slightly, your lips wet and shiny, looking up at him with that same innocent gaze. Heeseung’s jaw clenches as he watches you. “God, you’re so fucking perfect, princess…” You wrap your lips fully around him, taking him deeper this time, your mouth warm and wet as you start to suck with more confidence. Your hand tightens its grip around his shaft, fingers sliding smoothly as you bob your head up and down, eyes locked on his dark, intense gaze.

A thin strand of drool escapes the corner of your mouth, dripping down his length, but you don’t care, your focus is on him, on the way his breath hitches and his body tenses under your touch. Heeseung groans, one hand curling around your cheek, thumb brushing softly over your skin while the other finds your hair, guiding your movements like a gentle command. “Fuck, baby,” he rasps, voice rough and desperate. “Just like that—keep going.” You obey without hesitation, the rhythm steady and slow, savoring every moment, every reaction from him. You take him a little deeper, the sudden stretch making you gag softly. Your eyes water, tears gathering at the corners, but you don’t stop, driven by the way Heeseung’s low moan vibrates through you. Pulling back just enough to catch your breath, you look up at him with wide, glistening eyes and ask in a quiet, tender voice, “Does it feel good, baby?”

The moment the word leaves your lips, his composure shatters. His grip tightens, jaw clenches, and a guttural growl escapes him.“Fuck…,” he rasps, voice thick with want and disbelief. “You calling me that…I’m losing it.” His hands tighten in your hair, pulling you gently but firmly back down as his hips shift, desperate for more. Heeseung’s hands grip your hair firmly, guiding your head up and down faster now. Your soft moans fill the room, the vibrations sending shivers straight through him. He growls low, voice strained with need. “Shit—I’m gonna cum, princess.” he warns, breath hitching. You pull back just enough, lips parted and tongue sliding out to trace the length of him one last time. Your hands move eagerly up and down his shaft, keeping the pace as you wait for him to let go. His hips jerk forward suddenly, and he curses, fingers tangling tighter in your hair as he shudders, spilling hot and heavy into your mouth. You swallow it all and then lean in, lips parted, tongue peeking out to show him it’s all gone—clean, obedient, just for him.

His eyes darken as he exhales shakily. “Holy shit, baby…you’re fucking unreal.” You giggle softly, cheeks flushed, and crawl back onto his lap. Your lips meet his for a tender kiss, sweet and slow, but he kisses you back harder, possessive now, hands sliding over your hips before squeezing your ass firmly. The sudden smack he lands on it makes you whimper against his lips, body jolting slightly. Then, with barely a second to catch your breath, he flips you over on the couch, your back hitting the cushions with a soft thud, his body hovering over yours. He kisses you hungrily, like he can’t get enough, mouth trailing down your neck, your collarbones, teeth grazing, lips sucking until you know there’ll be marks. You whimper beneath him, arching into his touch, needing more.

He pulls your skirt down slowly, followed by your panties, dragging the soft fabric down your thighs with careful hands, like he’s unwrapping something precious. His breath catches when you’re bare for him, eyes darkening as he settles between your legs. His fingers gently part you, slow and deliberate, and he swipes through your slick with a quiet exhale. “So pretty…” he murmurs, almost to himself, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Embarrassment flutters in your chest and you instinctively cover your face with your hands, cheeks burning. He chuckles softly, voice low and warm. “Why are you hiding from me, baby?”

You don’t answer, you can’t, not when he leans in and presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to you, licking a slow stripe that has your back arching. You gasp, your fingers reaching down to grab at his hair. He keeps going, licking, kissing, sucking, slow at first, then faster, more purposeful. You whimper his name, thighs trembling as he keeps you open with one arm wrapped around your hip. And then, his fingers. One sliding in, then another, curling just right as his mouth never lets up. The combination makes your toes curl, your moans growing softer but needier, your grip on his hair tighter with every flick of his tongue. “Hee…” you whine, breathless.

He groans against you in response, like he could stay there forever, completely lost in you. His fingers are working you open, curling and thrusting in a rhythm that’s already overwhelming. His tongue moves with practiced precision, flicking and sucking at your clit until your thighs are trembling around his head. And then suddenly, his fingers slip out, replaced by both of his arms wrapping firmly around your waist, tugging you closer to his mouth. His hands slide up your body and cup your tits, squeezing gently at first, then harder when you moan. His thumbs brush over your nipples, sending jolts of heat straight through your core. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he groans between licks, his breath warm and ragged against you. “Could stay here all night, baby. You’re so sweet…so wet just for me.”

You let out a choked sound, high and breathy, your hands flying to cover his on your chest, needing to feel him, hold him, ground yourself. Your hips twitch helplessly as his mouth drags another moan from your lips. “So sensitive,” he mumbles, sucking your clit just right. “So fucking good for me. Can’t believe I get to have you like this.”

You whimper, eyes squeezed shut, fingers squeezing his tighter. “Please…Baby—don’t stop.” you whine. He moans against your cunt, sucking harder now, his fingers rolling your nipples as your body writhes beneath him, overwhelmed by the pleasure building like a storm. Your whole body’s trembling, thighs tightening around his head, your hips bucking up into his mouth without you even realizing. “Hee—” you whimper, breath hitching. “I’m—I’m cumming—”

Your hands clutch his over your chest, knuckles white, your back arching as your voice gets higher. “Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, voice muffled against your soaked cunt. “Cum for me, baby. All over my fucking mouth.” And you do. A broken, high-pitched moan escapes you as your release crashes through your body, your hips stuttering against his face, your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer. He groans again at the feeling, his tongue still working you through it, drinking every last bit of it up like he needs it to live. Your thighs tremble around him, your whole body going warm and overstimulated, but he’s still kissing the inside of your thigh, murmuring softly, “That’s my good girl…”

He pulls back from between your thighs, lips shiny, eyes dark and hungry. Still catching your breath, you reach up with shaky arms and hook them behind his neck, tugging him down into a messy, desperate kiss. You moan softly into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue. He groans into the kiss, hands sliding under you, one under your back, the other under your thighs, and lifts you like you weigh nothing. You gasp, arms tightening around his shoulders, your forehead resting against his. He carries you through the quiet of his room, the only sound your shallow breathing and the soft creak of the floor beneath his feet. His eyes stay locked on yours, so intense it makes your stomach flutter.

And when he reaches the edge of the bed, he lays you down gently, hands never leaving your body, and whispers, “You’re so perfect like this, princess…” He crawls over you slowly, eyes raking over every inch of your bare body, like he can’t believe you’re really here, like this, under him. His hands trail down your waist, squeezing gently before gliding to your hips, your thighs, your ass. He lowers his head to your neck, kissing and sucking softly, then down to your chest, lingering there, murmuring sweet nothings between kisses.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good.” he whispers against your skin, voice low and rough. You nod, already breathless, lips parting into a pout. “Please, baby…” you whine, fingers slipping through his hair, playing with it softly. His eyes flicker between yours as he pushes his sweatpants down, his voice low and breathless. “My sweet little girlfriend, yeah?” he murmurs, gaze heavy with want, but also something softer. You gasp, heart pounding, but you nod quickly, eagerly. “Yes, baby… please. Wanna be yours, Hee.” He groans under his breath, palming himself through his boxers. “Fuck…” Then he slips them off, his cock springing free once again. He positions himself between your thighs, stroking himself slowly as he looks down at you, completely bare and trembling beneath him. “All mine,” he whispers, leaning in to kiss you again, “Gonna take care of you.”

He finds your hand beside your head and gently intertwines his fingers with yours, grounding you, holding you close. “Got you, baby.” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. Then he slowly starts to push inside, inch by inch, his breath stuttering. “God…you’re so tight, princess. Love this pretty pussy…” You whimper, brows furrowed as you cling to his hand, squeezing it tightly. The stretch burns a little, making you wince, your thighs trembling around his waist. He pauses, his free hand stroking your cheek, eyes locked with yours. “You okay?” he murmurs, voice laced with care. You nod shyly, breathless. “Y-Yeah… just go slow, baby.”

As he inches in the rest of the way, your mouth parts in a sharp gasp from the stretch, but before the sound can fully escape, Heeseung leans in and kisses you, swallowing the noise and grounding you with his lips. “Doing so good for me.” he murmurs against your mouth. He stays there, buried deep, holding still, giving you time, kissing your cheeks, your nose, the corner of your lips. You squeeze his hand tighter, chest rising and falling as you adjust to the size of him. “Y-You can move…Hee.” you whisper shyly, blinking up at him with watery eyes. He nods, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “Okay, baby. I’ll be gentle.” And then he starts to move, slow and careful, dragging his hips back and rolling them forward again. He keeps holding your hand, his other brushing down your side. Every thrust melts the ache into something warmer, deeper, and you whimper softly beneath him, each sound making his heart clench. “That’s it,” he breathes, kissing your cheek as your lashes flutter. “Feels good now, doesn’t it?”

You nod quickly, lips parted, eyes fluttering open to meet his. “Mhm…feels so good…” Heeseung leans closer, voice rough and low in your ear. “Been thinking about you like this since the first time I saw you…” You gasp, your back arching at his words. “All wet and shy…wrapped around my cock like this.” His thrusts get slower, deeper, savoring every second. “Fuck, you feel like a dream, princess.” Your hands cling to his shoulders, lips brushing against his ear as you pant, your voice trembling but honest, too far gone to hold back now. “I touch myself to your voice…” you whisper, so shy but so desperate.“Every time you spoke, I’d get so wet.” You whine, tightening around him. “So wet for you, Hee… always.” His hips falter at the confession, breath catching in his throat. “Fuck, baby…” he groans, voice rough with desire, and then he thrusts harder, faster, trying to reach deeper just from your words alone.

“You’ve been mine this whole time, hm?” he breathes against your lips. “Getting off to my voice, fuck—dirty little thing.” You whimper, completely unraveling, and he’s loving every second of it. “Please, Hee…wanna ride you, please.” Your voice is all breathy and sweet. He groans low, twitching inside you, the tip of his cock nudging that spot that makes your thighs tremble. “Fuck…yeah, baby,” he breathes. “C’mere.” He pulls out gently, lays flat on the bed, eyes burning into yours as he guides you up. “Come ride your man.” You’re quick to move, desperate, aching. You straddle him with shaky thighs and grab his cock, lining him up and slowly sinking down, whining as he stretches you open again. Your hands splay on his abs for balance, your head falling back at the fullness. “So deep…” you breathe. “F-fuck, Heeseung…” He watches you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered, his hands gripping your thighs, sliding up your waist, thumbs brushing under your breasts. “That’s it, baby… take what you need,” he says, voice low and full of want. “Look at you…riding me so good already.”

You start bouncing on him, slow at first, then faster, the wet sound of you taking him again and again filling the room, making his breath catch in his throat. Your head tilts to the side a little as soft, high-pitched moans spill from your lips, your eyes fluttering with every drag of him deep inside. “Holy shit…” Heeseung groans, eyes roaming all over you—your flushed skin, your bouncing tits, the way your stomach tightens every time you sink back down on him. His hands move up to your chest, squeezing your tits in his palms, thumbs brushing over your nipples just to hear you whine again. Then down, caressing the curve of your waist, trailing lower until they find your ass, gripping it hard, pulling you deeper on his cock, then suddenly landing a sharp slap to one cheek.

You gasp, a broken moan leaving your throat as your hips stutter. He smirks, rubbing the spot he slapped. “So fucking cute when you sound like that, princess.” Then his hands slide down your thighs, fingers dragging over the soft skin, admiring the way they tense as you keep moving. “Feel so good riding me, baby.” he says, voice breathless.

Your rhythm turns desperate, bouncing faster and harder as your hands cling to his abs, nails digging slightly into his skin. “Want you—so bad, Hee—need you,” you pant, voice high and breathless, “Need to be—under your skin…” He lets out a soft chuckle, the need in your voice making his cock twitch deep inside you. “God, baby,” he murmurs, his hand sliding down to rub tight, fast circles on your clit. “You’re so fucking needy…” You nod, crying out as his fingers work you harder, your thighs trembling. “Hee—Hee, I love you—love you so much—ahh!” His hips twitch beneath you, and he sits up just enough to pull you in for a kiss, messy and deep, all tongue and breath. “I love you too, princess,” he whispers against your lips, “I’ll always take care of you—my sweet, perfect baby.” You nod frantically, fingers tangling in his hair, overwhelmed with pleasure and emotion. “I’m gonna cum—gonna cum for you, Hee!”

“Cum for me, baby.” he groans, fingers still circling your clit as you crash into your orgasm, moaning loud, hips stuttering. He holds you through it, eyes fixed on your face, utterly in love. Then, with a low curse, he lifts you just enough to slide out of you, stroking himself fast and desperate before finishing all over your belly with a strangled moan, his hand trembling from the force of it. You both stay still for a moment, catching your breath, your skin warm and glowing, his cum sticky on you, his arms still wrapped around you as you sit on his lap. He’s pressing lazy kisses to your shoulder, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles into your hips. “Was that okay?” he murmurs against your skin, voice low and hoarse. You nod slowly, leaning your head against his. “It was perfect.” He smiles, nuzzling your neck, “You’re perfect.”

After a moment, he shifts gently, reaching for a tissue from the nightstand and cleaning you up carefully, his touch tender, eyes always flickering up to check if you’re okay. You just watch him, dazed and dreamy and completely in love. He tosses the tissue aside and pulls you into his chest. You tuck yourself under his chin, your fingers playing softly with his hair. His heartbeat’s still a little fast. “I still can’t believe i did this to you.” he whispers. You smile against his skin. “I always wanted you to do it.” You lie there like that for a while, tangled up, warm and soft, only the sound of your breathing filling the room.

His hand finds yours again, fingers interlacing without thought. Then, very quietly, you murmur against his chest, “Want you to fuck me again, Heeseung.” He freezes. Blinks. Tilts his head to look at you, his eyes wide. “W-What? Now?” You look up at him innocently, smiling, eyes wide and full of mischief. “Mhm!” He groans, dragging a hand down his face as the tips of his ears turn bright red. “Princess…you’re gonna kill me.” You giggle, tugging at his hair and pulling him back down for a sweet kiss.

a/n: got lazy at the end. also left a sneaky easter egg whoever finds it gets a kiss :p idk how this got so long sry if it was annoying

© guliexe

[lemonmoonmochi]

wife.exe has crashed. rebooting in husband’s arms

feat. gojo, geto, nanami, toji, sukuna, shiu, higuruma

summary. when they come home after long hours from work and find you still wide awake, with their daughter crying in your arms.

warnings/triggers. non-sorcerer, domestic setting, mom!reader is exhausted from newborn care, dad!JJK MEN coming home late from work, infant crying, soft hurt/comfort, affectionate marriage dynamic, husband apologizing for being absent, stay-at-home mom x workaholic dad dynamic, age gap relationship (36yo husband / 28yo wife), gentle manhandling (carrying, rocking), emotional vulnerability, emotional intimacy, mentions of crying, mental and physical exhaustion (mom burnout), praise kink adjacent (non-sexual), caretaking/comfort themes, possessive tender language (“my baby”), implied post-partum softness.

GOJO SATORU

the front door creaked open quietly, just past eleven-thirty, the air thick with the silence of a house that should be asleep. gojo toed his shoes off in the dark, slipping his jacket from his shoulders as he whispered to himself dramatically, “the world’s most overworked man has finally returned home to his castle.” he expected quiet, maybe a faint hum of the baby monitor, the fridge buzzing faintly in the kitchen, the comforting nothingness of nighttime domesticity.

but instead, the first thing that greeted him was the unmistakable, hiccupping wail of his four-month-old son echoing through the hallway like a little broken siren. and then—soft, frayed, and somehow louder than the crying—your voice, shushing gently, near tears yourself.

gojo’s chest tightened instantly.

he was in the living room in three strides, socks sliding on the hardwood floor, heart climbing up his throat.

and there you were.

curled into the corner of the couch, shoulders slumped forward, your face buried halfway into a muslin cloth while your other hand patted the baby's back rhythmically. his tiny fists balled at your collar, his mouth open in a high, wet cry, his face flushed red from too much emotion for such a tiny body. your eyes flicked up at the sound of movement—eyes bloodshot, lashes clumped from tears, exhaustion weighing so heavily on your expression that gojo actually forgot how to breathe.

“baby…” he said, voice cracking into something terribly soft.

“it’s okay,” you muttered, half-asleep, half-defeated, not looking at him as much as through him, “he just won’t settle. he’s been like this for hours, satoru. i don’t know what’s wrong. i’ve tried everything, i…”

and it broke him. it just cracked something wide open in his chest.

gojo didn’t waste a second. he was already crouching in front of you, taking the baby gently from your arms with a murmured “shh, c’mere, little man, let daddy handle this, yeah?” and once the baby was nestled into the crook of his elbow, he used his free hand to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing across your skin with a heartbreaking softness.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispered. “i should’ve come home earlier, i should’ve—fuck, you look so tired, babe. my sweet girl…”

you didn’t cry, not really, but the way you closed your eyes and leaned into his touch—like you’d been holding yourself together for hours and now that he was here, you could finally, finally drop it—that made his throat go tight.

“go rest,” he said, kissing your temple as he rocked the baby lightly. “go lie down. take a bath. sleep. i’ve got him now. i’ve got both of you, okay?”

you didn’t argue. didn’t even try. just nodded wordlessly and let him help you stand, his hand lingering at the small of your back as he kissed the top of your head. you shuffled off toward the bedroom, shoulders drooping, the faintest whisper of “thank you” floating behind you.

gojo watched you go, baby still squirming against his chest, and swore quietly to himself.

“you’re killin’ mommy, huh?” he murmured to the baby, lifting him up so their noses touched. “you little devil in disguise. you wanna fight your old man or what?”

his son blinked up at him, let out another pitiful sob, and kicked his legs.

“alright, alright,” gojo sighed, smile softening as he started to bounce him lightly. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

it took nearly forty minutes of walking in slow circles, humming a disjointed melody of whatever came to mind—“jingle bells,” then “moon river,” then the opening theme of some random anime he watched in college—but eventually, the baby began to settle. the hiccuping cries softened into sniffles, which turned into yawns, and then silence. warm, peaceful silence.

gojo placed him gently in the bassinet, stared at him like he was made of starlight and trouble, then tiptoed out like his life depended on it.

the moment the door closed, he moved fast.

he found you already lying on your side in bed, curled in on yourself, eyes closed but not quite asleep. your face still held the remnants of your day—exhaustion in every line, in the way your fingers twitched restlessly on the sheets.

gojo climbed in behind you without a sound, wrapping himself around you entirely, his long limbs draping over your body like a warm, weighted blanket. he kissed your nape, slow and apologetic, and whispered, “my baby.”

you hummed, barely conscious, and he didn’t stop.

“you’re such a good mom, you know that?” he murmured, nuzzling your hair. “like, ridiculously good. you were already the love of my life when all you did was exist and make fun of me, and now you’re out here being amazing and raising our tiny little loud gremlin and looking like that?”

he sighed dramatically, arms squeezing tighter around you.

“how did i get this lucky? how did i manage to trick you into marrying me, huh?”

you chuckled sleepily, and he felt it against his chest like the sun breaking through a cloud.

“you kept buying me coffee and saying i looked hot when i was pissed,” you mumbled.

gojo grinned into your skin. “and it worked. legendary. iconic. a true menace to society. god, you’re perfect.”

you laughed again, a little clearer this time, and he kissed the corner of your jaw.

“i’m sorry again,” he whispered, sobering just a little. “i hate that i missed today. i hate that you had to handle it all on your own. i know this isn’t what we pictured. you being home, me always working. but i swear to you, i’m trying. and i’ll do better.”

your hand reached back to tangle with his.

“i know, satoru.”

he stayed quiet for a moment, just breathing you in, the scent of your shampoo and skin more soothing than any lullaby.

in his head, he was still thirty one and head over heels for a girl who made fun of his sunglasses and called him dramatic. you, in your little sun dresses and oversized hoodies, rolling your eyes every time he flirted too hard in public. he still saw you like that—young and bright, his girl, his baby. now with a ring on your finger and his last name on your ID. now with a baby the two of you made from scratch.

“you’re still my girl,” he whispered suddenly, lips against your cheekbone. “even now. even with spit-up on your shirt and sleep in your eyes. i still look at you like you’re twenty-three and teasing me at the café where we met. and i still feel like i have to earn you every day.”

you turned your head slightly to look at him, eyes glossy. “satoru.”

“nope. shh. i’m being soft. let me finish.” he kissed your nose. “you’re everything to me. happy wife, happy life, right? and you—you’re my whole damn family now. so i’m gonna keep making it up to you, every day. because you deserve everything. and then some.”

you didn’t say anything this time. just turned fully in his arms, tucked your head under his chin, and let out a long, shuddering sigh as his hands ran up and down your spine.

gojo smiled against your hair, rocking you slightly like he had rocked your son earlier, murmuring nonsense and love in the same soft breath.

he knew the world could wait.

right now, this was everything.

his baby in his arms.

and his baby finally asleep.

GETO SUGURU

the living room lights were dim, the kind of quiet that lingered after hours of crying hanging in the air like fog. the minute geto opened the front door, shoulders hunched and tie loose around his neck, he knew something was off.

he didn’t even have to call out your name—he heard it first. the soft, shuddering sobs of your four-month-old echoing down the hall, worn thin and hoarse, a sound that had long passed frantic and now just begged for comfort. and beneath it, softer still, your voice—sweet, strained, cracking on the edges, like you were holding yourself together with fraying thread.

he dropped his bag by the door.

“shit,” he muttered, already moving.

his steps were quick, purposeful, the kind he used to take back when he still ran between meetings and deadlines and never had enough time. but now, with every inch closer to the nursery, his chest got heavier.

he paused at the door.

you were there, standing by the crib, arms wrapped around your son as he wailed against your chest. your hair was disheveled, your shirt stained with milk, exhaustion carved so deep into your face that geto couldn’t remember the last time you looked at peace.

your eyes met his, wide and tired.

“he won’t stop,” you whispered. “i fed him, changed him, rocked him, swaddled him again, even gave him gas drops just in case but—i don’t know. he won’t settle, suguru.”

geto’s heart cracked clean open.

he crossed the room in two steps.

“give him to me, baby,” he said gently, hands already out. “you’ve done more than enough.”

you hesitated only a second before handing your son over, your movements stiff, cautious, like your arms had gone numb. the moment he was in geto’s hold, the baby kicked and whimpered, face red and wet.

geto adjusted him with practiced ease, resting the tiny head against his shoulder, a large hand splayed across his back.

“hey, little one,” he murmured, bouncing him gently, fingers stroking the baby’s back. “what’s got you so upset tonight, huh? giving mama a hard time, yeah? we’re gonna have to talk about that.”

he felt your presence linger for a second—your hesitation to leave, the guilt you carried even though it was never yours to bear.

“go rest,” he told you without looking. “i’ll handle it. promise.”

you didn’t argue. you never did when he used that voice.

he stayed there, rocking slowly, humming whatever came to mind—some song from an old movie you once made him watch, the theme of a lullaby his mother used to sing. eventually, your son’s cries quieted, fading into sniffles, then steady breathing.

when the baby finally gave in to sleep, his little body soft and warm in geto’s arms, he let out a slow sigh, kissed the side of that tiny head, and lowered him into the crib.

“good job, buddy,” he whispered. “you win this round. but we’ll talk about that scream of yours later.”

he didn’t linger. didn’t want to risk waking him. he closed the nursery door with the same delicacy he used for flipping book pages in an old library. then turned toward the kitchen.

you were there.

standing by the stove, face still tired, but hands busy—chopping green onions on a worn cutting board, a small pot simmering beside you. your hair was pinned up lazily, loose strands curling around your temples, and your back was tense in a way that made geto want to carry you straight to bed and tuck you under every blanket in the house.

you looked up when you heard him.

“i thought you might be hungry,” you said, softly.

geto didn’t say a word.

he crossed the kitchen in four strides, came up behind you, and wrapped his arms around your waist tightly, chin resting on your shoulder as he pulled you flush against him.

“stop,” he murmured. “you should be sleeping.”

“i couldn’t. not with all that crying. and you hadn’t eaten, so i—”

“baby.” his voice dropped lower. “enough.”

you went quiet.

he turned you gently, taking the knife from your hand and placing it aside. his hands came to rest on your cheeks, thumbs brushing the lingering puffiness under your eyes, the frown on his lips so small and so pained it barely looked like him.

“you didn’t have to wait for me,” he said. “you didn’t have to make dinner. you’ve been carrying everything today. everything.”

you looked up at him, trying to smile. “i wanted to.”

“i don’t want you running yourself into the ground for me,” he whispered. “you’re not alone. you were never supposed to do this alone.”

you leaned into his palm slightly. “i just… it’s been hard lately.”

geto nodded, pulling you in slowly until his forehead pressed to yours.

“i know, sweetheart. i know. and i’m sorry.”

he closed his eyes.

“i’ve been putting work first. i keep saying it’s just one more day, one more week, but it’s not fair. not to you, not to him. i missed too much again, and you’re here picking up all the pieces, and i hate that i made you do that.”

you didn’t cry, but your silence said more than words.

he took your hand, tugging you to the small kitchen table and sitting you down, then crouched in front of you, his hands never leaving yours.

“you’re such a good mom,” he said, voice warm and firm, like he needed you to believe it. “you’re incredible. and i still see you the same way i did when you were twenty-three—barely fitting in my shirts, mouth full of sarcasm, always making me fall harder than the day before.”

your lips quirked. “that’s because i am still in your shirts.”

“exactly,” he said, grinning. “still my girl. still my baby.”

he stood slowly, leaned in to kiss your forehead, then your cheek, then the corner of your lips.

“you’ll always be my girl first,” he murmured. “even now. even if we’re older and more tired and always covered in formula. you’re still mine.”

he moved back to the stove, turned off the burner, and poured the soup into a bowl.

“let’s eat together, then go to bed. i want to hold you tonight, yeah?”

you nodded, smiling softly, eyes glassy.

geto slid into the chair beside you, bowl between you, his hand already reaching for yours again.

“happy wife,” he said, lifting your knuckles to his lips, “happy family.”

and in his heart, that was all that ever mattered.

NANAMI KENTO

the living room was bathed in a low amber glow, the kind that came from a single lamp left on too long — not for aesthetic, but for survival. the house was quiet in the way only a house full of tension could be, like the walls themselves were holding their breath. nanami stepped in with the sound of keys clinking against the front door, tie loosened, blazer draped over his arm, the weight of the world still clinging to his shoulders after another long day of meetings, reports, phone calls that never ended, and deadlines that bled past office hours — a corporate life he had resigned himself to only because it allowed you and your son to live in the kind of home he used to daydream about on lunch breaks. but the moment he stepped in, the sense that something was off hit him square in the chest, subtle but immediate.

there was no greeting. no soft hum of your voice. no baby gurgling in the distance. instead, there was a muffled sound — a tired, rhythmic patting, a breath that hitched under strain, the quietest sob of a four-month-old who had clearly exhausted himself but still refused to sleep.

nanami didn’t call out. he didn’t even set his things down. he followed the sound like it was tethered to him, like it had wrapped itself around his ribs and pulled him toward it with no room for pause.

when he reached the hallway, he saw you in the doorway to the nursery, back leaned against the wall, knees slightly bent like you hadn’t even realized you were sinking. you were holding your son against your chest, one hand cupping the back of his head, the other rubbing light circles on his back, the front of your shirt damp where his tears had soaked through, and your eyes — red-rimmed, raw with sleep deprivation and the kind of tired that reached down to the soul.

you didn’t even look at him when he stepped in.

“he won’t sleep,” you said, barely a whisper, voice cracking somewhere in the middle. “he keeps waking up. i tried everything. rocking, feeding, changing, singing. walking. everything. and every time i think he’s finally down, he screams like he’s in pain, and i don’t know what i’m doing wrong.”

nanami didn’t respond with words — he simply dropped his blazer to the floor, stepped in, and took the baby from your arms with a quiet “come here, little one.” his voice softened, gentled to the tone only you and your son ever got to hear.

the baby whimpered, hiccuped, fists clenched, face blotchy and red. nanami cradled him with effortless care, like he’d been doing it for years, his broad hands supporting the tiny frame, his chin lowering to press gently against the soft crown of hair.

“it’s alright,” he murmured, starting to sway, the kind of rhythmic movement that could lull the earth back to sleep if it tried. “daddy’s here now. you gave your mama a hard time, huh? let’s try to make it up to her.”

he didn’t have magic. not in the way that mattered. but there was something about the way he held your son — secure, warm, solid — that made the little body begin to relax, the cries softening into hiccups, then into breathy little snuffles, and finally into silence.

you watched all of it, silent, empty.

nanami kept rocking until he was sure, until your son’s eyes fluttered closed and his limbs slackened with sleep. he placed him into the bassinet with the care of a man placing a crown jewel into velvet. then turned.

and he looked at you — really looked.

you were still against the wall. still standing like you didn’t trust your own legs. and even in the half-light, he could see the toll it had taken on you. the way your shoulders had curved in defensively, your cheeks hollowed slightly from nights spent pacing instead of sleeping. you were always beautiful to him, always would be, but in that moment, he realized you were burning out.

you flinched a little when he walked over.

“you should sit,” he said, gently.

you shook your head. “i’m fine.”

“you’re not.”

“there’s still dinner—”

“no,” he said, more firmly now, his hands settling on your arms, guiding you forward. “no more. come with me.”

you didn’t resist. just let him take your hand and lead you, barefoot and dazed, into the kitchen.

and that’s when he saw it.

you’d already started prepping dinner. there was a cutting board on the counter with half-chopped vegetables, a pan heating slowly on the stove, rice in the cooker ticking its final few minutes. everything was halfway done — paused not because you forgot, but because something more urgent pulled you away.

you were still taking care of him. of this home. of him. even when you were unraveling at the seams.

nanami didn’t say anything right away. didn’t need to. he reached forward, turned off the stove, slid the cutting board away, and took the knife from your hand before you could so much as flinch.

“sit,” he said again, but softer now, almost pleading. “please, baby.”

you sat.

he crouched in front of you, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked up at you, his tie now completely undone, hair falling slightly into his eyes.

“i’m sorry,” he said, voice quiet, but heavy. “i’m sorry for leaving you alone with all of this. i told myself that it’s just a busy season at work, that i’d be able to make up for it soon. but there’s no excuse for not seeing how much it’s costing you. you don’t have to be everything. you don’t have to do this alone.”

your lip trembled, and you looked away, ashamed.

he reached for your hand.

“you’re an incredible mother,” he said. “you’re patient, gentle, strong. you’ve done more in these four months than i ever could. and i hate that i’ve made you carry it alone.”

you finally looked back at him.

“i didn’t want you to feel guilty,” you whispered. “i know you work hard for us.”

“i do,” he said, nodding, “but not harder than you. and i didn’t marry you so you could suffer alone while i chase paychecks. i married you because you’re my partner. because i love you. because i wanted a life with you. not beside you. with you.”

he stood slowly, leaned forward, and kissed your forehead, lingering there, like he could press his apology directly into your skin.

“you’re still my girl,” he murmured against your hair. “still the twenty-three-year-old who called me boring and made me laugh when i hadn’t in weeks. still the one who used to come to my office with coffee just to watch me blush when you wore short skirts.”

you huffed a quiet laugh.

“you’re still my baby,” he added. “even now. especially now. and if i have to take two weeks off work just to remind you how loved and cared for you are, i will.”

you pulled him in by the waist then, resting your head against his stomach, arms wrapping around him.

he ran a hand through your hair.

“come,” he whispered. “let’s go to bed. i’ll hold you. and tomorrow, i’ll make breakfast. we’ll take turns. we’ll figure it out.”

you nodded against him, breath finally evening out.

and in that moment, nanami made a silent vow — that no meeting, no deadline, no paycheck would ever be more important than this. than you. than the family you’d built together, even if you had to fight for it through sleepless nights and cries that refused to be soothed.

you were his happiness. his home. his baby.

and he would never let you forget it.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

the house was quiet in that strange, eerie way it only ever got after hours of crying — not peaceful, not truly calm, just… drained. like the walls were still catching their breath, and everything inside them had been rung out to dry. the light in the hallway was still on, low and yellow, casting long shadows over the picture frames that lined the wall, all of them holding memories that felt so far from the version of you that now sat on the edge of the bed, cradling your daughter in trembling arms, eyes red-rimmed and heavy from another day that had slipped entirely through your fingers.

you didn’t even look up when the front door creaked open.

you already knew it was him.

toji’s steps were heavy, familiar, solid in a way that never failed to remind you he had always been like this — grounded, steady, impossible to move unless he chose to move. and tonight, you could tell, he moved quickly.

“where is she?” was all he said, voice low, barely above a breath, and not angry — just tired, concerned, tense.

you didn’t respond with words. just lifted your head, eyes glassy as they flicked toward your daughter, still sniffling weakly against your shoulder, the poor girl’s cheeks flushed and sticky with tears, tiny fists clenching around your shirt like she was afraid to let go.

“she’s been crying for hours,” you murmured, lips chapped, voice hoarse, your arms visibly trembling under the weight of it all — not just her, but the day, the stress, the endless cycle. “i don’t know what else to do.”

toji crossed the room without hesitation.

“c’mere, sweetheart,” he murmured, already reaching. his tone shifted when he spoke to her — rough edges worn smooth, low and soft like he was handling glass. he took her from your arms carefully, one big hand sliding under her bottom, the other resting against her back, and cradled her against his chest like he was made for it.

“shh, i got you. daddy’s got you now. you’ve been workin’ mama real hard, huh?”

he began to sway immediately, long steps as he rocked her back and forth, murmuring nonsense under his breath — a lullaby that had no real tune, just the hum of his deep voice and the slow rhythm of footsteps across the bedroom floor. you watched him from the bed, body limp, your arms now empty and sore, hands resting palm-up in your lap like you didn’t know what else to do with them now that they weren’t carrying your daughter.

he stayed patient.

and slowly, her breathing began to slow. the hiccups faded, the little gasps turned into sighs, and her fists relaxed, unclenching from his shirt as she finally, finally gave in to sleep.

he didn’t rush. not even then. he kept walking for a while, just in case, until her weight grew heavier in his arms and her tiny lips parted with the even breaths of deep, peaceful sleep.

only then did he ease toward her crib, lowering her in with a tenderness that surprised even you sometimes, that felt almost unreal coming from a man like him — broad, scarred, short-tempered, often seen by the world as rougher than he was worth.

but never to you.

he adjusted her blanket, tucked her little stuffed bear closer to her side, then stood still for a long moment just watching her, the faintest crease between his brows like he was still half-expecting her to wake and start screaming again.

she didn’t.

and then he turned to you.

you didn’t have the energy to speak. not even to move. your eyes were unfocused, blinking slowly, your shoulders slack, your legs curled loosely beneath you.

he crossed the room, crouched down in front of you, hands bracing on your knees.

“how long’s it been like this?” he asked, quiet.

“all day,” you said, barely managing the words. “i haven’t eaten. i haven’t showered. i didn’t even get to sit down ‘til maybe twenty minutes ago. she just kept… screaming.”

toji didn’t say anything right away. he just looked at you — really looked, in that way he did when something inside him was shifting, breaking, rearranging itself around you.

you blinked slowly, expecting a sigh or a muttered curse. maybe some offhand “should’ve called me earlier.”

but what he said instead was, “get in the bath.”

you furrowed your brow. “what?”

“bath. go. i’ll run it. you sit there and don’t move ‘til you feel human again.”

you opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off with a look — that dangerous tilt of his head, that unimpressed arch of one brow, and the way he reached for your hand like he wasn’t about to ask again.

“i’m not askin’. go.”

you sighed, tired, but nodded. “only if you sit with me.”

he smirked. “was already planning on it.”

he helped you up, his hand steady and warm in yours as he guided you to the bathroom, flicking on the soft overhead light and reaching immediately for the faucet. he tested the water like a man who did this a hundred times before, adjusted the temperature, poured a few drops of your favorite bath oil into the rising water — the lavender one you only used when you were at your wit’s end.

while the tub filled, he went back into the bedroom, returned with a fresh towel, your robe, and one of his shirts — the loose one you always stole when you wanted to feel safe.

then he reached for your clothes.

“toji—”

“let me,” he murmured, tugging at the hem of your top gently. “you took care of her all day. let me take care of you now.”

you let him.

he helped you out of your clothes like he was unwrapping something fragile, every touch slow, reverent, almost unsure like he didn’t want to break you more than you already were. when he eased you into the water, your body immediately relaxed, sinking into the warmth with a sigh that felt like it came from your bones.

you tilted your head back, eyes fluttering shut.

and then you felt the water shift.

toji stepped in behind you, fully clothed at first — gray sweatpants already damp around the calves — then sat at the edge of the tub, letting your back lean into his chest as he reached for the washcloth, soaked it, and began running it slowly over your shoulders.

“you did good today,” he murmured. “i know it didn’t feel like it. but you did.”

your eyes burned.

“i didn’t feel like i did anything right,” you said, voice wobbling. “she cried all day. i was angry. i almost yelled.”

“but you didn’t,” he said, rinsing the cloth, trailing it down your arms, slow and steady. “you held her. you stayed. you didn’t give up. that’s what matters.”

you let yourself lean into him fully now, letting his arms curl around your waist, his chest solid and warm behind you.

“you’re such a good mom,” he said, voice rough, sincere. “and you’re still my girl, even like this. even when you’re wiped out and smell like formula and look like you’re gonna pass out any second.”

you laughed, weak but genuine.

“i’ll always see you as that brat i used to pick up in tiny skirts, runnin’ her mouth, thinkin’ she could handle a man like me.”

“i did handle you,” you muttered.

“mm, still do,” he said, grinning. “that’s why you get baths and i don’t complain.”

you fell silent after that, just breathing, the warmth of the water and his hands moving gently through your hair undoing knots you didn’t even realize were there.

and for the first time that day, you let go.

because he was there. because he always would be.

your daughter was asleep.

your husband was here.

and somehow, you knew you’d be okay.

RYOMEN SUKUNA

the house was still, the kind of rare quiet that came only after hours of screaming, rocking, bouncing, pacing, pleading. it hung in the air like steam after a hot bath, like tension that hadn’t quite dissipated but was trying — trying to make room for something softer. the clock had long since slipped past midnight, and though your body had begged you to collapse somewhere, anywhere, you had stayed awake, stayed moving, stayed fighting every minute of this day that seemed to never end.

and now, finally, the only sound echoing down the hall was the soft click of the nursery door being pushed shut with a gentle finality.

you were in the living room, half-laying on the couch with your knees pulled up, head leaned against the back cushion, your hair a mess, your shirt stained with dried milk, your eyelids heavy and slow but not yet shut. your body ached, but your mind buzzed just enough to keep you from sinking. it always did after days like this — too much emotion left over, nerves frayed to the ends, heartbeat still fast even though the war was over.

the sound of his footsteps was unmistakable — deliberate, slow, not exactly quiet, but not careless either. ryomen sukuna, in all his post-midnight glory, shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, eyes already on you like he’d walked in with a mission.

“she’s out,” he muttered, voice still a little gravelly from the quiet way he’d been humming to her. he never said lullaby. called it “chanting bullshit to make her shut up,” but you saw the way he looked down at her when she slept — like he was staring at a masterpiece he didn’t know how he’d created.

you gave a small, tired nod, eyes still half-lidded, voice coming out barely above a whisper. “finally…”

he walked over to where you sat and looked at you for a long moment — not just glancing, but studying, the way he always did when he was about to make some decision that would knock the air out of you. his gaze moved over your face, down your shoulders, to your legs pulled close, your fingers twitching slightly against your thigh, the soft unevenness of your breath like you were trying not to cry just because there was finally space to.

and then he let out a low exhale, the kind that always came before he shifted — from the bastard everyone else knew him as, to the man who’d been softening more and more every time he looked at you holding their daughter.

“alright,” he said, stepping forward and scooping you into his arms without warning, “up.”

you let out a startled noise, hands pressing against his chest automatically, not really resisting but confused by the suddenness of it. “what—sukuna, what are you doing?”

he didn’t answer at first, just carried you down the hall like you weighed nothing, one arm under your legs, the other behind your back, his chest warm and solid against yours.

“you’re tense,” he muttered, his tone clipped like it pissed him off just thinking about it. “you’re overworked. and your eyes look like they haven’t closed since 1998.”

“not that long ago,” you mumbled, voice sleepy. “i was a baby in 1998.”

“exactly,” he said, lips twitching into something smug and dangerous and affectionate all at once. “my baby.”

you groaned against him, letting your head fall to his shoulder. “you’re so annoying when you do that.”

“mm. and yet you’re drooling on me.”

“am not—”

but your protest died in your throat when he nudged open the bedroom door with his foot and you caught sight of the setup.

he’d already turned the lights down to their dimmest setting, the covers pulled back just enough, the bedside table glowing softly with a candle you’d forgotten he knew how to light. there was a towel folded on the corner of the bed, one of his oversized shirts — the one you liked to wear when everything else felt too tight — and a tray on the dresser with a small cup of tea and a square of chocolate, half-melted from the warmth of the room.

you blinked.

“what is this…?”

he set you down carefully on the bed, letting your legs dangle off the side, crouching in front of you to unhook your fingers from the hem of your shirt, eyes flickering up to yours.

“it’s me doing what you never ask for,” he said simply. “it’s me helping you relax. because you’re not just the mother of my child — you’re my wife, and the only person in the world who gets to be exhausted in my presence and not hide it.”

you stared at him for a moment. his face, stern as always, but the way he touched your wrist said everything else he never said aloud — said i see you, i love you, you’re breaking down and i’m not gonna let it happen on my watch.

“i didn’t even realize how much it got to me today,” you said quietly.

he hummed. “that’s why i knew it did.”

and then, without waiting for more protests, sukuna reached for the towel, dipped it into a bowl of warm water you hadn’t noticed on the dresser, and wrung it out with strong hands before pressing it gently to your face. he started with your forehead, then your cheeks, slow, methodical, almost reverent in his movements. he wiped away the dried tears, the crusted milk, the tiny flecks of mascara that had survived the day.

you didn’t speak. couldn’t. not when he was doing something so… gentle. not when the man who could level an entire city block with his bare hands was holding your face like you were something delicate and sacred.

“drink your tea,” he muttered after a moment, nodding toward the tray. “i sweetened it the way you like.”

“you… know how i like my tea?”

he gave you a look. “you think i don’t pay attention?”

“honestly? no.”

“shows what you know,” he grumbled, though his hand was sliding through your hair like he hadn’t stopped petting you since he walked in the room. “you think i don’t listen when you make that tired noise and say you need ‘exactly three spoons of honey or it’s just sadness in a cup’? i could make it in my sleep.”

you snorted, eyes closing as you sipped, the warmth settling into your bones almost instantly.

after a while, he pulled you into his lap — not just beside him, but actually on him, your legs draped over his, your face pressed into his neck, the smell of him grounding you, solid and strong. his arms wrapped around your waist, one hand resting low on your back, the other slowly stroking up and down your spine.

“i love you,” you said suddenly, muffled.

he didn’t move for a moment. then he pressed his lips to the top of your head.

“i know,” he said, voice thick.

“you’re good at this,” you whispered. “you’re a good dad. a good… husband.”

“don’t say it like that,” he muttered, a faint chuckle in his throat. “like it surprises you.”

“it does.”

“bitch.”

you laughed. then sighed.

“i feel better now.”

“you better,” he said, smirking. “i did a whole performance. bathed our kid, sang to her in a voice that would haunt the damned, made tea, wiped your face, and now i’m holding you like i’m your fuckin’ mattress. you better feel like goddamn royalty.”

“i do,” you said softly, leaning in to kiss his jaw. “i really do.”

and for the rest of the night, he kept you there — warm, safe, still — arms around you, watching your eyes flutter shut as your breathing evened out, his mind quiet for the first time all day. he didn’t sleep immediately. didn’t need to.

because you were okay now. and that meant everything was.

and if he had to carry all of it again tomorrow — the weight, the crying, the mess — he would. gladly.

because you were his. and he was yours. and for ryomen sukuna, that was the only truth that mattered.

SHIU KONG

the door clicked open at 11:17 p.m. exactly — the soft metallic sound barely audible over the high-pitched, pitiful wailing still echoing down the hall. your arms were stiff, your shirt soaked where little hands had gripped it all evening, your back aching from the way you’d been rocking back and forth on the edge of the couch for what felt like hours. no sleep. no break. not even dinner. your eyes stung from holding back tears, and every muscle in your body was locked in place like if you dared to move, your baby would cry even harder.

then the familiar sound of keys hitting the hallway table. low-heeled dress shoes against the wooden floor. and that distinct scent — expensive cologne, sharp and smoky with a hint of something warmer — that always came with him when he walked through the door past ten.

“baby?” shiu’s voice was low and smooth, but you could already hear the shift in it — from casual to worried in under a second. then came the pause, the sharp inhale. “fuck… is she still crying?”

you didn’t answer. you couldn’t. you just rocked a little slower, patting your daughter’s back with a trembling hand as she cried against your chest like her whole world had collapsed.

“hey,” shiu said softly, suddenly in front of you, his jacket half-off, tie undone, kneeling between your knees with those stupidly perfect hands reaching up to cradle your face. “hey, sweetheart. look at me.”

you looked.

and that was all it took.

he saw it immediately — the weariness in your eyes, the heat of frustration beneath the exhaustion, the way your lower lip was pinched in a silent attempt to not scream or sob or both. and his heart cracked open like a cheap lock.

“oh, my baby…” he exhaled like it hurt. “why didn’t you call me? you should’ve called me.”

“i didn’t want to bother you,” you whispered, throat dry and brittle. “you were in meetings. you always say how late they run and—”

“no, no, no,” he shook his head, brushing your hair away from your temple with more gentleness than a man like him should’ve been capable of. “you’re never a bother. you hear me? not ever. i’d walk out of every boardroom in that fucking building if you told me you needed me.”

he stood quickly and plucked your daughter from your arms in one smooth, practiced motion — she kicked and wailed louder at the transition, her face red and wet, her tiny fists still swinging.

shiu didn’t even flinch.

“c’mere, c’mere,” he murmured, pressing her close to his chest, one large hand cradling her head, the other bouncing her rhythmically as he started to pace across the living room. “shhh. yeah, i know. long day, huh? mama tried everything, didn’t she? made you milk, sang to you like an angel, didn’t even stop to sit. now you’re all tired and mad, just like your dad.”

you sank into the couch like your body suddenly remembered it could. like it had permission.

he didn’t stop moving, didn’t stop whispering nonsense and praises into your daughter’s ear, until her cries slowly softened, turned into whimpers, and eventually faded into exhausted little huffs. he held her close, kissed her damp forehead, and mumbled something about how much trouble she was going to give him when she got old enough to talk back.

when he came back, he leaned over to press a kiss to your hair. “go lie down, angel. i’ll put her to sleep.”

you hesitated, but he gave you that look — the one that always said “i got it now, baby. rest.”

you did.

twenty minutes passed. the silence grew soft, golden, like the house had finally taken a breath. and then your bedroom door creaked open. slow steps. then warmth — a solid body climbing in behind you, pulling you gently into his arms, chest to your back, arm curling tight around your waist like you were something precious he thought he might lose if he didn’t hold tight enough.

“there she is,” he murmured into your hair. “my girl.”

you let out a soft hum, eyes still closed. “she’s asleep?”

“like a rock. i should’ve gotten home hours ago. i’m sorry.” his voice cracked just a little. “i should’ve been here. for her. for you.”

“you’re here now.”

“still,” he sighed, nosing into your neck, kissing the space just below your ear. “you shouldn’t have to do this alone, not even for a second. you’re a good mom. the best. the way you held her even when you were falling apart—fuck, baby, you don’t even know how strong you are.”

his words soaked into your skin, heavy and warm, like water over parched earth.

“you used to be just my girl, you know?” he whispered. “back when you were twenty-three and kept me on my knees with one look. still do. still my pretty little girlfriend in my mind, always needing her older man to spoil her, take care of her, kiss her until she forgets why she was mad.”

you laughed softly. “you’re ridiculous.”

“mm, but you love it,” he grinned against your shoulder, tightening his grip. “and now you’re the mother of my child. you gave me something i didn’t even know i was allowed to want. a family. a home. but don’t think for one second that i forgot you’re still my baby first.”

he shifted so you were facing him, your forehead pressed to his chest.

“happy wife,” he murmured, voice low and firm, like a promise. “happy family. that’s the rule now.”

you nodded, finally letting go.

and in his arms, with his heartbeat steady in your ear and the weight of his love wrapping around you like a shield, you slept — finally, deeply, without fear. and shiu kong, ceo, menace, husband, father — stayed awake just a little longer to watch you breathe, smiling to himself like he’d won the whole damn world.

HIGURUMA HIROMI

the moment the front door creaked open, the apartment already sounded like a slow unraveling — the soft, raw cries of your four-month-old daughter echoing through the narrow hallway, not sharp or angry anymore, but the pitiful kind, the kind that dragged on like a violin string pulled too tight. it was already close to midnight, and the lights were still on in the living room, dim and yellow like a streetlamp left to flicker in a fog.

hiromi stepped in quietly, shutting the door behind him with a slow exhale, shoulders slumped from another long day in court — tie loose, hair messy from raking his hand through it too many times, suit wrinkled, briefcase in hand and heart already cracking at the sound of his daughter’s cries.

he didn’t call out. he just followed the sound.

when he reached the living room, he stopped short in the doorway.

there you were — curled into the corner of the couch like a wilted flower, holding her to your chest as she cried, your hand rubbing her back in slow, tired motions. your eyes were puffy, red, glassy. your lips chapped. your hair pulled back with the same clip from this morning. the baby’s onesie was damp with tears, yours or hers or both. you hadn’t even noticed him standing there.

his heart shattered right in his chest.

“baby,” he breathed, voice cracking.

you blinked up at him slowly, too tired to flinch, to smile, to say anything at all.

“hiromi…” your voice was hoarse, barely audible.

he crossed the room in three strides and dropped everything — his briefcase, his coat, his day — onto the floor without a second thought. he sank to his knees in front of you, hands going immediately to your face, cradling it with the tenderness of someone who’d just found something precious on the edge of breaking.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispered. “i’m so fucking sorry.”

your bottom lip trembled. you couldn’t even cry anymore.

“she won’t sleep,” you managed, eyes fluttering shut as his hands brushed over your cheeks, your temples, his thumbs wiping at the tear tracks. “i don’t know what else to do. she’s been like this since six. i tried everything. and i’m just—i don’t know what else she needs.”

he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead, then to the space between your brows.

“you’ve done everything right,” he murmured. “you’ve been doing so much. too much. let me take her, love. let me take over now.”

you hesitated, arms tightening for just a second around the small body in your arms. but then you nodded, almost numb.

“thank you,” you whispered.

he stood, lifting her gently from your chest with practiced ease, and pressed her against his own heart. she whimpered, but didn’t scream — maybe sensing him, maybe just too tired to resist. he bounced her slowly, one hand behind her head, the other supporting her tiny bottom as he walked around the room.

“it’s okay, sweetheart,” he whispered into her soft, damp hair. “daddy’s got you now. mama did everything, didn’t she? you gave her a hard time, hm? let’s get you to sleep, little mouse. come on now…”

his voice was a low hum, rhythmic and steady, and he walked with slow, even steps, swaying gently as he rocked her, murmuring soft nonsense. you watched from the couch, still half-curled into yourself, feeling your muscles relax one by one as her cries began to settle, her breath evening out against his chest.

he took his time. he always did with her. and eventually, she went quiet — the kind of quiet that only came with surrender, when sleep finally claimed her.

he slipped into the nursery, laid her down with the patience of someone handling fragile glass, and covered her with her small blanket, kissing her forehead once, twice, before straightening up and exhaling a breath he’d been holding since he got home.

then he came back to you.

you hadn’t moved. your eyes were still open, dazed and heavy, hands slack in your lap. he crouched in front of you again and looked up at you like you were the one who needed cradling now.

“my baby,” he whispered, voice thick, wrapping his arms around you suddenly, pulling you against his chest.

you buried your face in his neck with a quiet sob, the sound escaping before you could stop it.

“i’ve got you,” he said, pressing kiss after kiss into your hair, your temple, your jaw. “i’m here now. i’m sorry for working so late. i hate being away from you. i hate knowing you’re here alone, doing everything, carrying all of it.”

you just nodded against his shoulder, your hands fisting into the fabric of his shirt. your fingers were cold.

“you’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he whispered, lifting you slowly — arms hooked under your thighs and back as he carried you with ease, standing up like you weighed nothing. “you’re such a good mom. the best. you were always going to be.”

he walked slowly around the living room with you in his arms now, rocking you the same way he rocked your daughter, his cheek resting on your head.

“you’re still my girl,” he said, soft and warm. “still that gorgeous little thing i met when you were twenty-three and drove me absolutely insane. still the one who asked if i wanted to go halfsies on a bottle of wine and then made me fall in love with you by the end of the night. still my baby. and i’m gonna take care of you just like you take care of us.”

you didn’t respond, but your arms slowly curled around his neck, and your breath slowed against his skin.

“happy wife, happy family,” he murmured, smiling. “i get it now. completely. it all starts with you.”

he walked with you until your shoulders went slack, your breath steady, and he felt the weight of your sleep settle in his arms. you’d finally given in — let him carry you, let yourself rest.

and hiromi kept walking. just a little longer. just so he could hold you close and whisper thank you into the quiet, because he knew he didn’t say it enough.

and because this — the soft weight of you asleep on his shoulder, the silence after a storm — this was everything he ever wanted.

[lemonmoonmochi]

╰┈➤SHIPWRECKED!

SYNOPSIS: The school ships you with Caleb, but you both were already sailing

PAIRING: teacher!Caleb x teacher!reader

TAGS: fluff, bantering, fun teachers rivalry,

NOTES: 1.3k words. wowie im not so satisfied with this but please enjoy this short caleb fic before i brainstorm a better fic for apple hubby.

Caleb stole your markers again.

You know this because the red one now smells like his overpriced cologne and the green one is missing entirely, probably buried under a pile of gym mats or wedged into a trebuchet he built for Year 11 physics. He’s across the hall, explaining projectile motion with your blue marker like he’s narrating a sports documentary.

You consider filing a formal complaint. Or a restraining order. Or a hit.

A student passing by glances between you and Caleb, then mutters to their friend, “They’re either about to kiss or kill each other.”

Caleb catches your eye and winks. You mouth ‘I will end you.’

He smiles like you just proposed.

Later, you find your green marker taped to a dumbbell in the PE office with a note:

‘Found it during warm-ups. It misses you. — C.X.’

You consider switching schools. Or switching husbands.

Not that anyone knows you already have one.

It’s not just Caleb. It’s the entire school. They’ve turned your professional rivalry into a spectator sport.

The whole school ships you.

Not loudly. Not with banners or fan edits (thank God). But it’s there—in the way students smirk when you argue in the hallway, or how they exchange glances every time Caleb calls you “Miss Xia” with that infuriating little smile. He calls you “Miss Xia” in front of students like it’s a joke.

You haven’t legally changed your name. You haven’t even told anyone you’re married.

But he says it with that smug little smile, and you let him—because correcting him would mean admitting the truth.

And you’re not ready for that. Not yet.

You’ve overheard whispers. A few ‘just kiss already’ comments. One student asked if you were dating during a quiz review, like it was relevant to Newton’s third law.

You denied it, obviously. Professionally. Firmly.

Caleb coughed. Loudly.

You glared.

He smiled.

Someone snorted.

You gave up after that.

Let them speculate. Let them write their little theories and ship you like it’s a group project.

They don’t know you already share a Netflix account. Or a laundry basket. Or a last name.

Heh. Fools.

You’ve become the school’s favorite subplot.

Forget curriculum reform or budget meetings—your hallway interactions are the real drama. Students time their bathroom breaks to catch glimpses of your “fights.” Staff members place bets on who’ll snap first.

You once found a sticky note on your desk that read “Enemies to lovers? Or lovers pretending to be enemies?” No signature. Just chaos.

You suspect Year 11.

Caleb, of course, encourages it. He thrives on attention and absurdity. He’ll lean against your doorway mid-lesson, arms crossed, voice loud enough to echo down the corridor.

“Hey, Pipsqueak. You seen my protractor?”

You don’t look up. You’re mid-sentence, explaining centripetal force to a room full of teenagers who are now laser-focused on the drama unfolding in your doorway.

“Try checking under your ego,” you say.

Someone chokes on their water bottle.

Caleb grins, unbothered. “Already did. Found a thesaurus and half a granola bar.”

You sigh. Loudly. Deliberately.

He takes it as an invitation.

Strolls in like he owns the place, plucks a spare protractor off your desk, and holds it up like a trophy. “Victory,” he announces.

You snatch it back. “That’s mine.”

“Sharing is caring.”

“Then care less.”

The class is silent, hanging on every word. One student mouths married. Another writes Caleb + Pipsqueak = OTP in the corner of their notebook.

You pretend not to see.

Caleb winks as he leaves, and you swear he does it in slow motion.

You resume the lesson, but the damage is done.

No one remembers centripetal force.

They remember the way you said care less like it was a love confession.

It gets to the point where the students tried to play matchmaker.

One time you and Caleb both got locked in the supply room. Another time it was the gym closet.

One leaves a folded note on your desk: If you were a molecule, you’d be polar—because you’ve got chemistry.

Another starts a rumor that you and Caleb were spotted at the same coffee shop. You were. Along with half the faculty. But that part gets edited out.

Then there’s the anonymous suggestion box. You open it one morning and find:

•            Field trip idea: Escape room. Lock them in together.

•            Extra credit: Write a love letter using Newton’s laws.

•            Petition to make Caleb a guest lecturer on flirting through physics.

You start assigning more homework. They start turning it in with doodles of you and Caleb arguing in speech bubbles that end in hearts.

Caleb sees one. He doesn’t comment. Just grins like he’s been waiting for this subplot to kick in.

During a class party, students hand out personalized juice boxes. Yours says your last name. Caleb’s says Mr. Heartthrob. Inside each is a folded note: You two are the reason we believe in tension. Caleb raises his juice box in a toast. You drink yours in one long, pointed sip.

It’s after school. The halls are quiet, save for the distant hum of a vacuum and the occasional locker slam. You’re in your classroom, reorganizing lab reports and pretending you don’t hear Caleb’s footsteps approaching like he’s auditioning for a rom-com entrance.

He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, smug as ever.

“You know,” he says, “I think the Year 10s are planning a fake wedding. There was a glue stick labeled ‘ring’ in my drawer.”

You don’t look up. “Tell them I’m already married.”

He grins. “To who?”

You glance at him. “To my job.”

“Oof. Cold.” He strolls in, picks up your red marker—now permanently scented with his overpriced cologne—and twirls it like he’s about to deliver a TED Talk on emotional repression. “So. How long do you think we’ve got?”

You blink. “Until what?”

“Until someone figures it out.” He gestures vaguely, like your entire relationship is a subplot he’s tired of keeping secret. “The marriage. The laundry basket. The shared Netflix account with my cursed algorithm.”

You sigh. “I told you to stop watching documentaries about competitive cheese rolling.”

“They’re inspiring.”

You set down the papers. “I give it a month. Maybe less. Someone’s going to catch us slipping.”

He tilts his head. “Slipping how?”

“Like when you called me ‘babe’ in the staff room.”

“I was quoting Shakespeare.”

“You were asking if I wanted Thai food.”

He shrugs. “Same energy.”

You cross your arms. “We could just tell them.”

He raises an eyebrow. “And ruin the mystery? The drama? The hallway tension that fuels their academic engagement?”

You stare. “You think our fake rivalry improves test scores?”

“I think it gives them hope.”

You snort. “In what? That love is just bullying with paperwork?”

He steps closer. “In the idea that two people can fight like hell and still choose each other. Every day.”

You hate him a little for that. Mostly because it’s true.

Then he’s in front of you—closer than he should be, marker forgotten, hands sliding around your waist like he’s done this a thousand times and still isn’t used to how you tense when he does. His mouth finds yours before you can think, before you can argue, before you can remind him that the blinds are half-open and your dignity is hanging by a thread.

It’s heated. Familiar. His hands are so not innocent—one trailing down your back, the other skimming the edge of your blouse like he’s trying to rewrite the dress code.

You break the kiss with a sharp inhale, palms pressed to his chest.

“Hands,” You slap it. Hard. “We are in school, Mr. Xia.”

He blinks, dazed. “Right. Sorry. Got carried away.”

You straighten your blouse, ignoring the way your heart is trying to escape through your ribs. “You always do.”

He grins, sheepish. “Can’t help it. You’re very... grade-ruining.”

You shove a stack of papers into his arms. “Then go ruin them. Quietly. In your own classroom.”

He salutes. “Yes, Miss Xia.”

You roll your eyes. “One month.”

He’s halfway out the door when he turns back. “You know I’m going to lose, right?”

You don’t answer. But you’re already planning how to announce it.

[lemonmoonmochi]

Booby-Trap Droid

Summary: Flashing your boyfriend while he is streaming

TW:Boyfriend!Droid, simp!Droid,

The red "LIVE" indicator glowed ominously in the corner of Droid's meticulously curated stream setup. He was deep into a heated match of "Galactic Gladiators," his fingers flying across the keyboard as he barked commands to his virtual army. I, meanwhile, was bored out of my skull. We'd been cooped up in his apartment all day, and the allure of watching pixels clash had worn off hours ago.

A mischievous idea sparked in my brain. Droid, or as I knew him, Alex, was completely absorbed in his game. He wouldn't see it coming.

I quietly slipped behind him, staying out of the camera's field of vision. He was practically vibrating with concentration, his brow furrowed, a vein throbbing in his temple. This was the perfect opportunity.

With a silent prayer that his mic wouldn't pick up the rustle of my clothes, I hiked up my sundress... and flashed him my best "I'm bored and want your attention" grin.

His reaction was instantaneous, hilarious, and utterly Droid.

He froze. Mid-click. His character, a heavily armored space marine, stood stock-still, vulnerable and exposed. The game audio, normally a cacophony of explosions and laser fire, faded into the background.

His eyes remained glued to the screen for a beat, maybe two, as if desperately trying to maintain the illusion of professionalism. But then, they darted to me, widening comically. His jaw slackened, and for a moment, he looked like a deer caught in headlights.

Then came the grabby hands. He reached back with both arms, fingers wiggling playfully, his expression a mixture of stunned surprise and pure, unadulterated lust. He didn't say a word, just mouthed, "Come here," with an exaggerated lip movement.

This was where it got interesting.

He cleared his throat, a slight pink tint creeping up his neck. "Uh... excuse me, chat," he mumbled, his voice suddenly several octaves higher than usual. "Just... uh... technical difficulties. My... my connection is acting up. Blame space weather, you know how it is."

The chat exploded.

XxSpaceMarine69xX: WTF DROID, LAG SO BAD GalacticGamerGirl: Connection issues my A**, he's got the googly eyes somethin' fierce. DroidFan4Life: Did anyone else see that? He's so flustered!

He turned back to me, still mouthing, "Come here," his eyes sparkling with mischief. Then, back to the camera, forcing a shaky smile.

"So, as I was saying," he stammered, "the optimal strategy here is to utilize the... the... uh..." he trailed off, completely forgetting his train of thought. "The... boobytraps! Yes, boobytraps are crucial to victory!"

The chat went nuclear.

BoobyTrapExpert: BOOBYTRAPS? DROID WHAT ARE YOU EVEN SAYING? TotallyNotSuspicious: Boobytraps? I see what you did there, Droid. 😏 SendNudesForDroid: Someone clip this, PLEASE!

He sighed dramatically, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "Okay, okay, you got me," he confessed, his voice laced with amusement. "I may have been slightly... distracted. Let's just say a rogue asteroid field just passed my window. A particularly... shapely asteroid field."

He winked at the camera, then turned back to me, fully abandoning the charade. "Seriously though," he whispered, reaching out and pulling me into his lap. "Come here. You're way more interesting than these pixels."

He turned back to the stream, his arm protectively around my waist. "Okay, chat," he announced, his voice back to its normal, confident tone. "Looks like I'm going to have to cut this stream short. Duty calls. And by duty, I mean distracting my very beautiful and very impatient girlfriend."

He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, sending another wave of chaotic energy through the chat.

ChaosCommander: HE'S DOWN BAD, I REPEAT, HE'S DOWN BAD! SaveDroidFromHimself: SOMEONE GET THIS MAN A COLD SHOWER!

Droid chuckled, shaking his head. "Don't worry, chat," he said, still holding me close. "I'll be back tomorrow, refreshed and ready to conquer the galaxy. But for now, the galaxy can wait."

With a final wink and a mischievous grin, he clicked the "END STREAM" button. The red "LIVE" light flickered and died, plunging the room into a comfortable darkness. And then, all I could hear was Droid's laughter and the sound of him whispering promises in my ear, proving that sometimes, the best games are played offline.

[lemonmoonmochi]

Good Morning Kisses

Summary: The kitchen, bathed in the golden sunrise, felt like our own little world, a sanctuary where unspoken words could finally be voiced, and where a simple kiss could change everything.

TW: Established relationships, kisses, soft love,

The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a warm golden light through the kitchen window as I made my way across the cool tiles. My mind was still foggy with sleep, but the aroma of fresh coffee brewing in the air beckoned me to abandon my dreams and face the day. As I rounded the corner, there stood Smii7y, leaning casually against the island, a playful spark in his eyes that instantly stole my breath away.

It wasn't just the way he looked, though that certainly contributed. He was wearing one of his old, faded band t-shirts, the graphic barely visible, and a pair of grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. His normally meticulously styled hair was a mess of tousled brown, escaping the confines of gravity and framing his face in a way that was both endearing and... well, devastating. But it was the spark in his eyes, that mischievous glint that always hinted at a joke waiting to be unleashed, that really got to me.

I stopped in my tracks, feeling a rush of warmth fill my cheeks. There was something about the way he looked this morning—messy hair falling into his forehead, that signature crooked smile that seemed to hold a hundred unspoken words. I didn’t need to say anything; the air between us was electric, thick with possibility. We'd been friends for years, a comfortable, easy friendship built on late-night gaming sessions and shared bad jokes. But lately, there had been a shift, a tension that vibrated beneath the surface of our interactions. This morning, it was almost palpable.

Lost in the moment, I felt my heart race as he suddenly tilted my chin up, gently coaxing my gaze to meet his. His thumb brushed softly against my cheekbone, sending shivers down my spine. Our worlds narrowed down to just the two of us in that kitchen, the sounds of the outside world faded into nothing. The gentle hum of the refrigerator, the birds chirping outside, the almost imperceptible ticking of the kitchen clock - all vanished. Time felt suspended, and for a second, all my thoughts scattered away, leaving behind a blissful emptiness. The only thing that mattered was the warmth of his hand on my skin, the intensity of his brown eyes locked on mine.

Then, with a boldness I didn’t know I possessed, I reached out and pulled him closer by his belt loop, closing that final distance between us. He didn’t resist, but rather met my pull with a quiet eagerness, his own hands reaching up to cup my face. The kiss came crashing down like a wave—urgent, passionate, a release that had been building for what felt like an eternity. His lips were soft, warm, tasting like coffee and something much sweeter—something I could only describe as the world falling into place. It was a clumsy, imperfect kiss, born out of a desperate need and years of unspoken feelings. But it was perfect.

When we finally pulled apart, gasping for breath and slightly dizzy, my mind was swirling in a delightful haze. I stared at him, utterly speechless, as if trying to decipher the symphony of emotions coursing through me. My hands still rested on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart mirroring my own. How was it possible that a single kiss could leave me disoriented, yet completely alive? How could a simple pressure of lips ignite such a wildfire within me?

He chuckled softly, breaking the silence, “Guess that coffee will have to wait.” His voice was a little rough, a little breathless, and it sent another shiver down my spine. He took a step back, giving me a little space to breathe, but his hands remained on my face, his thumbs gently caressing my cheeks.

I couldn’t help but smile, a dazed expression on my face. Words escaped me; I didn’t know how to talk, to exist in this blissful state that felt both new and familiar. But somehow, it didn’t matter. The air was still thick with possibility, but now, it was tinged with a nervousness, a vulnerability that both scared and excited me.

[lemonmoonmochi]

THE KITCHEN INCIDENT ⋆✦⋆ iwaizumi hajime

synopsis ➸ some people say childhood friendships never last—but they're wrong about you and hajime. though twenty years of friendship doesn't prepare you for what happens when you finally see him as more than the boy who grew up next door

tags ➸ childhood friends to lovers, roommates to lovers, strong sexual tension, fingering, nipple play, oral sex (mentioned), size kink, praise kink, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, voyeurism (sorta), getting caught, grinding, manhandling, implied exhibitionism, multiple orgasms, massage leads to more

wc ➸ 15.5k

Some people say childhood friendships never last—that they're as fragile as the paper airplanes you used to launch from the second-story window of Iwaizumi's bedroom, soaring briefly before crashing into the unforgiving earth below. But they're wrong. At least they were wrong about the three of you. You, Hajime, and Tooru had been constants in each other's lives since before conscious memory formed, your existences so thoroughly intertwined that sometimes you couldn't remember where your personality ended and theirs began. Your mothers still liked to tell the story of how three-year-old Hajime had stubbornly planted himself between you and a neighborhood dog that had wandered too close, his small fists clenched and ready to defend you despite his own obvious fear. Or how Tooru had wailed inconsolably when your family considered moving to Tokyo for your father's job when you were seven, staging a one-child protest on your front lawn until his mother dragged him home, embarrassed but secretly understanding. The move never happened, and sometimes in your darkest moments, you wondered how different life would have been if it had—if you'd never grown up witnessing Hajime's quiet evolution from the soft-spoken boy with perpetually dirt-stained knees to the powerhouse ace who could silence a gymnasium with a single spike.

People always assumed Tooru was the glue that held your trio together—charismatic, beautiful Tooru with his perfect smile and carefully crafted persona. But you knew better. It was Hajime who anchored you both, his unwavering reliability providing the foundation upon which your friendship was built. When Tooru pushed himself too far during practice, it was Hajime who forcibly dragged him home, his hand rough on the back of Tooru's neck but his eyes betraying genuine concern. When you struggled through advanced mathematics in your third year, staying up until your vision blurred and your fingers cramped around your pencil, it was Hajime who appeared at your window at midnight with energy drinks and his meticulously organized notes, refusing to leave until the equations made sense. "I'm not doing this for you," he'd grumble, but the lie was transparent. He had always been a terrible liar.

The three of you had created your own language over the years—a complex system of inside jokes, half-finished sentences, and meaningful glances that outsiders could never hope to decipher. You could communicate volumes with just the quirk of an eyebrow or the set of your shoulders. You knew exactly which smile of Tooru's was genuine and which was manufactured for his fangirls. Hajime could tell when your laughter was forced, calling you out with a simple, "Cut the crap," that somehow never felt harsh coming from him. And both you and Hajime had become experts at reading the subtle signs of Tooru's insecurity—the infinitesimal tightening around his eyes, the way his fingers would twist just a little too hard in the hem of his shirt. In those moments, you'd exchange a glance with Hajime, an entire conversation happening in seconds: Your turn or mine? He needs us. Again.

High school slipped away like sand through fingers, impossible to grasp no matter how tightly you clenched your fist around the memories. The inevitability of separation loomed like a thundercloud on the horizon, impossible to ignore but easy to pretend wasn't there—until graduation day arrived with its brutal finality. Tooru was Argentina-bound, his talent too immense for Japan to contain. Hajime had chosen Tokyo for sports medicine, his practical nature guiding him toward a future that would keep him connected to the sport even after his body could no longer withstand the punishing demands of competitive play. And you—well, you'd applied to universities in Tokyo almost as an afterthought, your real motivation transparent to anyone who knew you well enough. Where Hajime went, you followed. It had always been that way, even when Tooru was there to complete your triangle.

The night before Tooru's departure had been uncharacteristically subdued. No dramatic declarations, no forced cheerfulness. Just the three of you sprawled across the floor of his half-packed bedroom, surrounded by the artifacts of a childhood about to be left behind. Tooru's eyes had been red-rimmed, though he'd deny crying if confronted. Hajime had been quieter than usual, his normally expressive face carefully blank as he absently tossed a volleyball from hand to hand. You'd lain between them, your head on Hajime's thigh, your feet in Tooru's lap, feeling the physical connection between the three of you like a living thing, already grieving its imminent loss.

Tokyo welcomed you and Hajime with indifferent arms, the city too vast and impersonal to care about two more people from the countryside. Your apartment was cramped and overpriced, a fifth-floor walk-up with temperamental plumbing and walls thin enough to hear your neighbors' most intimate moments. But it was yours—yours and Hajime's—and there was something thrilling about that possession, about building something that belonged just to the two of you. No parents, no Tooru, no history except what you carried with you.

The first few weeks had been a chaotic blur of unpacking, getting lost on subway lines, discovering which convenience store had the best onigiri, and learning to navigate the strange new terrain of living with Hajime without the buffer of Tooru between you. You'd seen glimpses of this Hajime before—the one who existed when Tooru wasn't around to command attention—but never for extended periods. Never with this raw, unfiltered intimacy that came from sharing a bathroom sink and seeing each other first thing in the morning, bleary-eyed and defenseless.

Hajime in private was both exactly who you'd always known and someone entirely new. The gruffness remained, but without Tooru to focus it on, it softened around the edges. He still exercised with religious dedication, but now you witnessed the full extent of his routine—the way sweat gleamed on his skin as he did push-ups in the living room, his t-shirt clinging to the muscles of his back, the controlled rhythm of his breathing as he counted reps under his breath. You found yourself watching him more often than you'd care to admit, cataloging the details you'd somehow missed despite years of friendship: the small scar at the corner of his jaw from a childhood biking accident, the way one eyebrow lifted slightly higher than the other when he was skeptical, how his hands—always so capable and strong—could be surprisingly gentle when he absentmindedly massaged your shoulders after you'd been hunched over textbooks for too long.

Tooru's absence was strange and disorienting, like losing a limb. The phantom pain of missing his dramatic entrances, his ridiculous poses, his ability to fill a room with his presence alone. Video calls helped, but they were a pale imitation of having him physically present, his voice tinny through speakers, his image frozen by bad connections at the most inopportune moments. Still, there was comfort in seeing his face, in watching him gesticulate wildly as he described his new teammates, his new apartment, his new life that was happening without you. Sometimes you'd catch a shadow crossing his features when you mentioned something you and Hajime had done together, a flicker of something like loneliness before his practiced smile slid back into place. Those moments cut deep, made you question whether you'd made the right choice following Hajime instead of Tooru.

But then Hajime would do something—drop a cup of tea beside you while you studied, press his shoulder against yours during a crowded subway ride, fall asleep on the couch with his head tilted toward your bedroom as if even unconscious he was attuned to your presence—and the doubt would dissolve. There was an easiness between you now, a comfortable silence that had never been possible with Tooru around to fill every quiet moment with chatter. You learned that Hajime hummed tunelessly while cooking, that he folded his laundry with military precision, that he secretly read historical fiction before bed. He discovered your habit of talking to yourself when concentrating, your collection of ridiculous socks, your inability to remember to buy toilet paper despite multiple reminders.

The physical awareness of him grew by imperceptible degrees, like water slowly rising in a basin. You noticed things you'd never allowed yourself to notice before—the breadth of his shoulders under thin cotton t-shirts, the tanned column of his throat when he tilted his head back to drink, the way his hair fell across his forehead when freshly washed. His presence in a room changed the very air, charged it with something you couldn't name but could feel in the pit of your stomach, in the suddenly rapid beat of your heart.

Sometimes you'd catch him looking at you with an expression you didn't recognize, his eyes dark and unreadable. It would last only a second before he'd turn away, jaw tight, shoulders tense. In those moments, uncertainty would creep in, cold fingers of doubt trailing along your spine. Had you done something wrong? Was he regretting the decision to live together? Did he wish he'd chosen a different roommate, one who didn't leave hair in the shower drain and forget to buy groceries when it was their turn?

Then came the night that changed everything—though perhaps change isn't the right word. Perhaps it was more of an awakening, a sudden violent clarity washing over you like ice water, forcing you to see what had been right in front of you all along.

It was a Thursday evening in late October, the kind where autumn's chill had finally committed to its descent, no longer teasing with occasional warm afternoons but settling into the city with grim determination. Rain had been falling steadily since morning, not the dramatic downpour that would give you an excuse to call off plans, but the persistent, monotonous kind that soaked through layers regardless of umbrellas or hoods. You'd arrived home with damp socks and a foul mood, having stepped in a puddle that went halfway up your calf on the final stretch to your apartment building.

Hajime had beaten you home, evident from his muddy running shoes haphazardly kicked off in the entryway (a habit that normally irked you, but today seemed strangely endearing in its familiarity) and the smell of something savory simmering on the stove. The apartment was warm after the damp chill outside, steam fogging the kitchen window as Hajime stood with his back to you, shoulders broad beneath a worn gray t-shirt, the muscles of his forearms visible as he rolled up his sleeves to wash something in the sink.

"I'm home," you called unnecessarily, dropping your sodden bag on the floor with a wet thud.

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes taking in your bedraggled state with a quick sweep that somehow missed nothing. "You look like shit."

"Charming as always, Hajime," you muttered, but there was no heat in it. This was your rhythm, comfortable and worn like an old sweater.

"Take a hot shower before you catch something. Food'll be ready in twenty." He turned back to whatever he was doing, dismissing you with the easy confidence of someone who knew his suggestions would be heeded.

And they would be, because he was right—you were freezing, your clothes uncomfortably damp and clinging to your skin. But something stubborn in you resisted the immediate compliance, a childish urge to assert some kind of control in a day that had seemed determined to strip it from you at every turn.

"What are you making?" You moved closer instead, peering around his solid frame to see what was in the pot he was stirring. The kitchen was small, barely enough room for two people to move comfortably, and your shoulder brushed against his back as you leaned in.

"Curry. My mom's recipe." A pause, then almost grudgingly: "The one you like."

Something warm unfurled in your chest at that, at the knowledge that he'd chosen to make your favorite comfort food on this miserable day. It was so typically Hajime—gruff words masking thoughtful actions, caring for you in ways so subtle and consistent they were easy to overlook. He'd always been like that, from the time you were children and he'd wordlessly handed you his jacket when you shivered at the summer festival, to now, cooking you dinner after what he'd somehow intuited had been a terrible day.

"Let me help," you said, already reaching for the cabinet where plates were kept.

He made a noncommittal grunt that you interpreted as assent, and for several minutes you worked in companionable silence, moving around each other in the cramped kitchen with the unconscious choreography of people who had shared space for years. You set the table while he finished the curry, occasionally brushing against each other in the confined space—his hand on the small of your back as he reached past you for the rice cooker, your arm grazing his as you grabbed utensils from the drawer. Each point of contact sent a small jolt through your system, like static electricity, there and gone so quickly you barely registered it on a conscious level.

"Can you get the good glasses?" Hajime nodded toward the upper cabinet. "The ones your mom sent."

You moved to comply, stretching up on tiptoes to reach the cabinet above the stove where the nice glassware was kept—a housewarming gift from your mother, who had insisted that proper adults needed proper glasses, not the mismatched collection of promotional cups and chipped mugs you'd accumulated through high school. Your fingertips just grazed the shelf, not quite able to reach.

"Move," Hajime said from behind you, the single word a command rather than a request. Before you could respond, his chest pressed briefly against your back as he reached over you, his body heat seeping through your damp clothes and making you acutely aware of just how cold you'd been. He grabbed two glasses with ease, his height advantage making the task effortless where you had struggled.

As he set them on the counter, one slipped from his grasp—perhaps because of residual soap from washing his hands, or just one of those inexplicable moments of clumsiness that happen to even the most coordinated people. It shattered on the tile floor with a crash that seemed disproportionately loud in the small kitchen, glass fragments exploding outward in a glittering radius that included where you stood in your socked feet.

What happened next occurred so quickly that your brain struggled to process the sequence of events. One moment you were standing there, staring dumbly at the broken glass surrounding your feet; the next, Hajime's hands were on your waist, large and warm and uncompromising as they lifted you bodily off the ground as if you weighed nothing at all. There was a suspended second of weightlessness, of complete surrender to his strength, before he deposited you firmly on the countertop, your legs dangling a safe distance above the hazardous floor.

"Don't move," he ordered, voice dropping to a lower register than you were accustomed to hearing from him, authoritative and unyielding in a way that sent an unexpected shiver racing down your spine. "You'll cut yourself."

And then he was crouching down, carefully gathering the larger shards of glass, his movements precise and methodical. You sat frozen on the countertop, but it wasn't the broken glass that had immobilized you—it was the sudden, visceral awareness of Hajime as a man, not the boy you'd grown up with. The realization crashed over you with such force that it momentarily robbed you of breath, of thought, of any coherent response beyond the thundering of your heart against your ribs.

His hands. God, his hands. How had you never truly seen them before? Large enough to span your waist with ease, strong enough to lift your entire body without apparent effort. The same hands that had patched up your scraped knees as children, that had spiked volleyballs with devastating power in high school, that now moved with careful precision as they collected broken glass. The dichotomy was dizzying—such strength capable of such gentleness, such careful control harnessing such raw power.

And the way he'd lifted you—so effortlessly, so decisively, without hesitation or strain. As if the most natural response to potential danger was to simply remove you from its path, to take control of the situation and your body in one fluid motion. There had been nothing sexual in the gesture, nothing overtly intimate, and yet heat bloomed low in your abdomen, spreading outward until even your fingertips tingled with it.

This was Hajime—your Hajime—who had seen you with chicken pox and braces, who had held your hair back when you vomited after your first ill-advised experiment with alcohol at sixteen, who knew all your embarrassing secrets and childhood fears. And yet suddenly he was also this stranger with broad shoulders and capable hands and a voice that commanded obedience without question. How had you never noticed the way his t-shirt stretched across his chest when he reached up, or how the tendons in his forearms flexed as he worked, or the sheer masculine solidity of him occupying space in your shared kitchen?

"You okay?" His voice cut through your spiraling thoughts, and you realized he was looking up at you from his crouched position, brow furrowed in concern. "You look flushed. Are you getting sick?"

Sick? Yes, perhaps that explained the sudden heat in your cheeks, the difficulty drawing a full breath, the way your entire body seemed to vibrate with a new awareness you couldn't name. Easier to blame it on illness than to confront the truth—that something fundamental had shifted in your perception of the man before you, something that couldn't be undone or ignored.

"I'm fine," you managed, your voice sounding strange to your own ears, higher than usual and slightly breathless. "Just... startled."

He grunted, clearly unconvinced, and went back to cleaning up the glass. You watched him in silence, cataloging details with newfound intensity—the way his hair fell across his forehead as he bent forward, the strong column of his neck disappearing into the collar of his t-shirt, the flex and release of muscles in his shoulders as he moved. How many times had you seen him exactly like this, performing some mundane task in your shared space? And yet now, it was as if you were seeing him through a completely different lens, one that stripped away the comfortable familiarity of your history together and left only this visceral, primal awareness in its place.

Your mother's voice suddenly echoed in your memory, her raised eyebrow and knowing smile when you'd announced your plan to share an apartment with Hajime. "Just the two of you?" she'd asked, a teasing lilt to her voice that had made you roll your eyes at the time. "You know, sweetheart, people change when you live with them. You might see sides of Hajime you've never noticed before."

You'd dismissed her concern with the confident ignorance of someone who believed they knew everything there was to know about their oldest friend. "Mom, it's Hajime. We've been joined at the hip since we were in diapers. There's nothing about him I don't already know."

How spectacularly, catastrophically wrong you had been. Because the Hajime you'd known all your life didn't make your pulse quicken with a single touch. He didn't make you hyperaware of your own body, of the thin fabric of your shirt against suddenly sensitive skin, of the exposure of your bare legs where they dangled from the countertop. He didn't make you wonder, with a kind of reckless curiosity that bordered on desperation, what those hands would feel like on other parts of your body, what that voice would sound like murmuring against your ear, what that strength would be like if it was focused entirely on you in an entirely different context.

Hajime finished gathering the larger pieces of glass and stood, moving to the trash can to dispose of them. "Don't get down yet," he instructed, grabbing the broom from the corner. "I need to sweep to make sure I got all the small pieces."

You nodded mutely, not trusting your voice. There was something almost unbearably intimate about sitting on the counter watching him clean up the mess, something domestic and quotidian that now seemed charged with new significance. This was your life together—broken glasses and curry for dinner and rain pattering against the windows—and yet suddenly it felt like the setting for something much more complex, much more dangerous than mere friendship or sharing an apartment.

He swept methodically, his movements economical and thorough, occasionally glancing up at you with that same concerned furrow between his brows. "You sure you're okay? You've been quiet."

"Just tired," you lied, forcing a smile that felt brittle on your face. "Long day."

He studied you for a moment longer, eyes narrowing slightly as if he could see through the flimsy excuse, but ultimately he let it go. That was Hajime too—knowing when to push and when to give you space, respecting your boundaries even when he suspected you weren't being entirely truthful. The thought sent another wave of heat through you, the realization that his consideration, his attentiveness, had always been there but now carried new weight, new implications.

"Done," he announced finally, setting the broom aside. He moved back to stand in front of you, positioned between your dangling legs, and for one wild, heart-stopping moment you thought—hoped? feared?—he might put his hands on your waist again, might lift you down as easily as he'd lifted you up. Instead, he stepped back slightly, giving you space to slide off the counter on your own.

"Thanks," you murmured, suddenly shy in a way you'd never been with him before. Your feet touched the floor, and you were abruptly aware of the height difference between you, of how you had to tilt your head back slightly to meet his eyes, of how easily he could—

Could what? Your mind raced ahead, filling in blanks with possibilities that had never occurred to you before this moment. Could back you against the counter. Could tilt your chin up with those strong fingers. Could bend down and—

"Food's getting cold," Hajime said, breaking the spell. He turned away to grab the pot of curry, seemingly oblivious to the chaotic spiral of your thoughts, to the seismic shift that had just occurred in your perception of him, of your relationship, of everything.

You moved to the table on unsteady legs, sinking into your chair with the distinct feeling that you were no longer the same person who had walked through the door twenty minutes ago. That version of you had seen Hajime as a constant, a known quantity, a childhood friend turned roommate with no complex layers to navigate. This new version saw him as... something else entirely. Something that made your skin too tight, your breath too shallow, your thoughts too scattered to form coherent patterns.

As he served the curry, his forearm brushed against your shoulder, and you flinched at the contact, a small involuntary movement that didn't escape his notice.

"Seriously, what's wrong with you tonight?" he asked, genuine concern mixing with exasperation in his voice. "You're acting weird."

You looked up at him—at the familiar features you'd known all your life, at the strong jaw and direct gaze and perpetual slight furrow between his brows—and felt as if you were seeing a stranger superimposed over your oldest friend. How could you explain that the problem wasn't him but your own sudden, visceral recognition of him as a man, as someone who could make your heart race with just the casual display of strength, who could command a room—command you—with nothing more than the tone of his voice?

"Nothing's wrong," you lied again, knowing he wouldn't believe you but unable to offer anything closer to the truth. "Just... thinking about something."

He raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for elaboration, but when none came, he simply shook his head and sat down across from you. "Fine. Keep your secrets. But eat something before you pass out."

You picked up your spoon obediently, going through the motions of eating while your mind continued its treacherous exploration of this new territory. Every movement Hajime made now seemed laden with significance—the flex of his jaw as he chewed, the way his fingers curled around his water glass, how his throat worked when he swallowed. Had he always taken up so much space at the table, his presence so solid and undeniable? Had his eyes always held that intensity when they rested on you, as if he could see beneath your skin to the turmoil beneath?

"Is it not good?" he asked, nodding toward your barely-touched food.

"No, it's delicious," you assured him quickly, forcing yourself to take another bite to prove it. "I'm just... distracted."

"By what?" he pressed, setting down his spoon and giving you his full attention. It was overwhelming, being the sole focus of that gaze, being pinned in place by nothing more than his interest, his concern.

"Work stuff," you said vaguely, knowing it was a weak excuse but unable to formulate anything more convincing when your brain was so thoroughly occupied with cataloging the exact shade of his eyes in the warm kitchen light, the precise curve of his mouth as it turned down slightly in skepticism.

He didn't believe you—that much was clear from his expression—but instead of calling you on the obvious lie, he simply reached across the table and pressed the back of his hand to your forehead, checking for fever with the casual intimacy of someone who had done so countless times before. His skin was cool against yours, his touch gentle despite the roughness of his calluses, and you fought the urge to lean into the contact like a cat seeking affection.

"You don't feel warm," he murmured, brow furrowed in concentration. "But you look flushed."

Because you're touching me, you wanted to say. Because I can feel your pulse in your wrist where it rests against my cheek. Because I suddenly can't remember how to breathe normally when you're this close. Instead, you pulled back slightly, breaking the contact before you could do something mortifying like turn your face into his palm.

"I'm fine, Hajime. Really. Just tired and wet and..." You trailed off, gesturing vaguely at your still-damp clothes.

Understanding dawned on his face. "You never took that shower. Go. Now. Before you actually do get sick." He stood, gathering your mostly-full plate. "I'll keep this warm for you."

The note of command was back in his voice, that tone that brooked no argument and expected immediate compliance. And just like that, the heat returned, spreading through your body like wildfire, making it difficult to stand without revealing the sudden weakness in your knees.

"Yeah, okay," you managed, pushing back from the table. "Thanks."

As you turned to go, his hand caught your wrist, the contact sending a jolt of electricity up your arm. You froze, heart hammering against your ribs, afraid to look back at him lest your face betray the chaos of your thoughts.

"Hey," he said, his voice softer now, tinged with genuine concern. "You'd tell me if something was really wrong, right?"

The question hung in the air between you, loaded with years of trust and friendship, with the certainty that had always existed between you—that no matter what, you could tell each other anything. Except this. How could you possibly tell him that everything had changed in the span of a few minutes, that you suddenly saw him not as Hajime-your-friend but as Hajime-the-man, that your body responded to his proximity in ways that were entirely new and terrifying and exhilarating?

"Of course," you lied, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. "Always."

He released your wrist, apparently satisfied, and you fled to the bathroom, closing the door behind you with perhaps more force than necessary. You leaned against it, eyes closed, breath coming in shallow gasps as if you'd run a marathon instead of simply walking down a hallway.

The face that greeted you in the mirror was both familiar and strange—your features the same as they had always been, but your eyes wider, darker, your cheeks flushed with color that had nothing to do with fever or cold. You looked like someone on the edge of something monumental, someone teetering between before and after, between safety and risk.

As you stripped off your damp clothes and stepped under the hot spray of the shower, you couldn't escape the realization that had ambushed you in the kitchen. Hajime was no longer just your childhood friend, your roommate, your constant. He was a man who made your pulse race and your skin tingle, whose casual display of strength had awakened something primal and hungry within you, whose voice could command your obedience with a single word.

And nothing—not the scalding water beating down on your shoulders, not the steam filling the small bathroom, not the rational part of your brain screaming warnings about ruining friendships and crossing lines that couldn't be uncrossed—nothing could wash away the sudden, visceral certainty that you wanted him. Not as a friend, not as a roommate, but as a man wants a woman, with all the messy, complicated, thrilling implications that entailed.

The question that remained, as you pressed your forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall and tried to regain your equilibrium, was what the hell you were supposed to do about it now.

The days following what you'd come to think of as the Kitchen Incident unfolded like a fever dream, your perception of Hajime permanently, irrevocably altered. It was as if someone had adjusted the focus on a camera you'd been looking through your entire life—suddenly everything was sharper, more defined, details you'd never noticed before now impossible to ignore.

There was the morning after, when you'd emerged from your bedroom to find him doing push-ups in the living room, body moving with controlled power, the muscles in his back shifting beneath his thin t-shirt with each precise movement. You'd frozen in the hallway, coffee mug clutched in white-knuckled fingers as you counted along silently—forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine—until he finally rolled to his feet in one fluid motion. A strange flutter rippled through your stomach at the sight, but you pushed it down immediately. This was Hajime, for god's sake. The same Hajime who'd eaten dirt on a dare when you were eight, who'd thrown up in your mom's hydrangea bushes after your first attempt at making cookies resulted in severe food poisoning. There was absolutely no reason for your heart to suddenly kick against your ribs just because he could do a lot of push-ups.

"Morning," he'd grunted, using the bottom of his shirt to wipe sweat from his face, momentarily exposing a stretch of tanned abdomen. You forced your eyes away, confused by the urge to keep staring. "You sleep okay?"

You'd mumbled something noncommittal, retreating to the kitchen before your brain could continue its bizarre malfunction. Probably just tired. Or hungry. Or both.

Then there was the incident with the jar three days later—a stubborn pickle jar with a lid that refused to budge despite your increasingly frustrated efforts. You'd been about to resort to running it under hot water when Hajime wandered in, drawn by your muttered curses. Without a word, he'd taken it from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours in a contact that sent an unexpected jolt through your system. He'd twisted the lid off with one easy motion, not even the slightest strain showing on his face as the vacuum seal gave way with a soft pop.

"Thanks," you'd managed, trying not to stare at his hands. Had they always been that large? That capable-looking? You'd seen those hands nearly every day for the past twenty years, and yet suddenly they seemed like they belonged to a stranger. A man, not the boy you'd grown up with. The thought made you strangely light-headed.

"You okay?" he'd asked, interrupting your confused spiral.

"Fine," you'd said quickly, snatching the jar back and turning away. Just a weird mood. That's all it was. You'd get over it.

But you didn't get over it. If anything, this strange new awareness of Hajime—of his physical presence, his strength, the sheer masculine energy he exuded without seeming to realize it—only intensified as the days passed. You found yourself noticing things you'd never paid attention to before: the way his throat worked when he swallowed, the rough calluses on his palms when his hand accidentally brushed yours, the way his t-shirts stretched across his shoulders, evidence of years of rigorous athletic training.

The breaking point came a week after the Kitchen Incident, when you'd returned home from a study session to find Hajime in the bathroom, crouched down in front of the sink, wrench in hand as he worked on a leaky faucet. He hadn't heard you come in, too focused on the task at hand, giving you an uninterrupted view of him from the doorway. He wore a simple white tank top that had seen better days, thin with washing and clinging to the muscles of his back where sweat had made it transparent. His jeans rode low on his hips as he leaned forward, exposing a strip of tanned skin and the waistband of his black boxer briefs. His arm flexed as he turned the wrench, the muscles shifting beneath his skin with controlled power that made your mouth suddenly dry.

You'd stood there, frozen in the hallway, watching as he worked, completely unaware of your presence or the effect he was having on you. Water dripped from the pipe onto his forearm, trailing down to his wrist in a meandering path that your eyes followed with inexplicable intensity. A bead of sweat rolled down the back of his neck, disappearing beneath the collar of his tank top, and you had the sudden, intrusive urge to trace its path with your tongue, to taste the salt of his skin, to—

The thought had jolted you out of your trance, shocking in its suddenness and clarity. What the fuck was wrong with you? This was Hajime. Your best friend. The boy who'd pushed you on the swings and shared his lunch when you forgot yours and sat with you in the nurse's office when you had your first period at school and were too embarrassed to call your mom. You didn't think about licking his skin or touching him or—God—anything else your suddenly deranged brain was suggesting.

You'd backed away silently, retreating to your room before he could notice you, closing the door and leaning against it as you tried to understand what was happening to you. It was just stress, you'd decided. The pressure of university, of being away from home for the first time, of adjusting to this new life in Tokyo. That had to be it. There was no other explanation for why you'd suddenly started noticing your childhood friend in ways that made your skin feel too tight and your heart beat too fast.

Denial, it turned out, was a surprisingly effective coping mechanism—at least for a while. You managed to convince yourself that your heightened awareness of Hajime was just a phase, a temporary blip that would resolve itself if you just ignored it hard enough. You avoided being alone with him when possible, kept physical contact to a minimum, and desperately tried not to notice things like the way his hair fell across his forehead when he leaned over his textbooks or how his voice dropped to a lower register when he was tired.

But then came the heatwave—a brutally hot Saturday in early November, one of those freakish late-autumn days where summer seemed to have returned with a vengeance, the temperature soaring into the high eighties despite the changing leaves. You'd spent the morning at the library, studying for upcoming exams in the blessed air conditioning, but eventually hunger had driven you home despite the heat that hit you like a physical wall when you stepped outside.

The apartment was quiet when you entered, the only sound the distant hum of traffic from the street below and the soft whirring of the standing fan in the corner of the living room. You called out a greeting that went unanswered as you kicked off your shoes, dropping your bag by the door with a heavy thud.

"Hajime?" The apartment wasn't large—if he was home, he should have heard you. Perhaps he'd gone out, though his running shoes remained in their usual haphazard position by the door.

Movement caught your eye through the glass door leading to the small balcony—a flash of bare skin in the sunlight. You moved closer, curiosity drawing you forward, and then stopped dead, your breath catching in your throat at the sight that greeted you.

Hajime lay stretched out on a towel on the balcony floor, wearing nothing but a pair of black athletic shorts that rode high on his powerful thighs. His chest was bare, absolutely drenched in sweat that made his skin gleam in the harsh afternoon sun, the defined muscles of his abdomen rising and falling with each slow breath. The dusting of dark hair across his chest was visible now, damp with sweat and trailing down to his navel before thickening into a more defined path that disappeared beneath the waistband of his shorts. His small brown nipples were hard, either from the heat or the light breeze that occasionally stirred the heavy air, the contrast against his tanned skin making your mouth water in a way that shocked even you. A smaller towel was draped across his face, presumably to block the sunlight, leaving him unaware of your presence as you stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide and heart hammering against your ribs.

He was magnificent—raw masculinity on display, unfiltered and unself-conscious in a way that made your knees weak and your core throb with sudden, undeniable want. Those shorts left absolutely nothing to the imagination, plastered to his body by sweat and revealing the substantial outline of what could only be his cock, thick and heavy even in its relaxed state. You couldn't tear your eyes away from it, from the clear shape visible through the thin, sweat-soaked fabric, your brain immediately supplying vivid imagery of what it might look like freed from those shorts, how it would feel in your hand, your mouth, between your thighs.

'Fuck,' your inner voice whispered, no longer interested in denial or pretense. 'Look at that bulge. He's fucking huge. I knew it, I fucking knew he'd be hung like that. I bet he could split me in half with that thing and I'd thank him for it.'

You should move. You should turn around, go back inside, pretend you'd never seen this—Hajime splayed out like an offering, all that strength rendered momentarily vulnerable in unconscious repose. But your feet remained rooted to the spot, your eyes greedily devouring details you'd never allow yourself to linger on if he were awake: the sharp cut of his hipbones above the waistband of his shorts, the way his throat worked as he swallowed unconsciously, the trail of hair that you suddenly, desperately wanted to follow with your tongue, from his chest all the way down to where it disappeared beneath his shorts, to take his cock in your mouth and—

'Jesus Christ, I need therapy,' your brain supplied, even as your body throbbed with want so intense it was almost painful. 'Or I need to get laid. By him. Right now. On this balcony. I don't even care if the neighbors see. They should see. Everyone should see what a fucking god he is.'

The towel shifted, and your heart stopped as Hajime's hand moved to push it up slightly, revealing the strong line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth. You were caught, deer in headlights, unable to move or speak or do anything but stare with undisguised hunger at the feast laid out before you.

"That you?" His voice was rough, whether from sleep or the heat impossible to tell. "Thought you'd be gone longer."

"Just got back," you managed, impressed at how normal your voice sounded when your internal monologue had devolved into a stream of 'fuck me fuck me please just fuck me until I can't walk straight, bend me over right here, I don't care, I'll take that monster cock any way you want to give it to me.'

He pushed the towel off entirely now, squinting up at you against the brightness of the sun. Sweat gleamed on his forehead, in the hollow of his throat, along the ridges of his abdomen. A drop rolled slowly down his chest, following the line of dark hair downward, and you tracked its progress with an intensity that bordered on obsession.

'Fuck, I don't care how sweaty he is, I'd lick every drop off him like it's the best thing I've ever tasted,' you thought wildly. 'I'd clean him better than any shower could, get on my knees and worship every inch of that body with my tongue until he couldn't take it anymore and had to fuck my throat just to shut me up.'

"You okay?" Hajime propped himself up on his elbows, brow furrowing in concern, the movement causing his abdominal muscles to flex and contract in a way that made your mouth water. "You look weird again. Is it the heat?"

Oh, it was heat alright—the heat of your cunt practically dripping at the sight of him, the heat of imagining those big hands spreading your thighs wide, those fingers pushing inside you, that mouth on your neck, your breasts, between your legs, that cock stretching you open so good you'd see stars.

"I'm fine," you said, the lie coming easily after weeks of practice. "Just a little warm."

He grunted, unconvinced as always by your increasingly transparent falsehoods. "Grab some water. You look like you're about to pass out."

'I'm about to cream my fucking pants is what I'm about to do,' you thought hysterically. 'One good look at that dick print and I'm ready to let you ruin my life, destroy my pussy, leave me a whimpering mess begging for more. I'd let you cum on my face and use it as a fucking face mask, I swear to god.'

"Good idea," you said, impressed by your own self-control when your entire body felt like it was on fire, your underwear embarrassingly damp just from looking at him. "You want some too?"

He nodded, still watching you with that slight furrow between his brows, the one that appeared whenever he was trying to solve a particularly challenging problem. You were the problem now, your strange behavior these past weeks, the way you flinched when he touched you, the flush that seemed permanently etched on your cheeks whenever he was near.

You retreated to the kitchen on unsteady legs, pressing your thighs together as you walked in a vain attempt to alleviate the ache between them. This couldn't continue. You couldn't keep living like this, constantly on edge, constantly fighting this new awareness of him, this hunger that threatened to consume you from the inside out. Something had to give.

But as you filled two glasses with cold water, hands trembling slightly, you knew with absolute certainty that it wouldn't be today. Today you would bring him water, you would make normal conversation, you would retreat to your room and shove your face into your pillow to muffle the sounds as you fucked yourself with your fingers, imagining it was his cock inside you, his voice in your ear telling you how tight you were, how good you felt, how he was going to fill you up with his cum until it dripped down your thighs.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow you would do it all again, trapped in this exquisite torture of wanting what had once been the most familiar, comfortable relationship in your life—now transformed into something dangerous, thrilling, and entirely out of your control.

Days passed in a haze of unrelenting sexual frustration following the balcony incident. You'd managed to hand Hajime his water that day, maintaining a facade of normalcy while your internal monologue screamed obscenities that would make a sailor blush. The pattern had continued—you going about your daily life pretending everything was fine while your mind supplied increasingly explicit scenarios involving your childhood friend, his massive cock, and various surfaces of your shared apartment.

Tonight was no different, the clock on your laptop reading 7:48 PM as you attempted to focus on an assignment due the following week. The apartment had been quiet for hours, Hajime still at practice, giving you a brief reprieve from the constant torment of his presence. You'd almost managed to trick yourself into believing you could be productive, that you could think about something other than what Hajime would look like naked and sweaty above you, when the sound of the front door opening shattered your concentration.

His footsteps in the hallway were immediately different—slower, heavier, with a slight drag that wasn't typical of his usual confident stride. You looked up from your laptop as he appeared in the doorway to your room, his face drawn in a grimace that set alarm bells ringing in your head.

"What's wrong?" you asked, immediately closing your laptop and giving him your full attention. Despite the constant state of arousal he unknowingly kept you in, he was still your best friend, and the obvious discomfort on his face pushed all lustful thoughts temporarily aside.

"Pulled something during practice," he muttered, leaning against the doorframe with one hand pressed to his upper thigh. Even in pain, he managed to look devastatingly attractive, his hair damp with sweat and his practice clothes clinging to his body in a way that highlighted every defined muscle. "Coach says it's just a strain, but it hurts like a bitch."

Your eyes were drawn to where his hand pressed against his thigh, just below where his athletic shorts ended. The muscle there was tensed visibly, and without thinking, you blurted out, "I could massage it for you."

The words hung in the air between you, and for a split second, panic seized your chest. What the fuck were you thinking? Offering to put your hands on his thigh when you could barely look at him without imagining riding his face? But before you could retract the offer, Hajime's expression shifted from surprise to relief.

"Would you? Coach showed us how to do it, but it's awkward to reach properly myself." He straightened from the doorframe, wincing slightly as he put weight on the affected leg. "It's my hamstring, upper inner thigh. Guess I pushed too hard during sprints."

Your mouth went dry at his casual description. Upper inner thigh. Which meant your hands would be inches from his—No. Focus. He was in pain, and he needed your help. This was what friends did for each other. It didn't matter that your heart was suddenly racing, that heat was pooling between your legs at the mere thought of touching him so intimately. You were an adult. You could handle this.

"Sure," you managed, aiming for nonchalance and probably missing by a mile. "Come sit down." You patted the edge of your bed after you put your laptop away, the only suitable surface in the room besides your desk chair, which was too small and awkward for what you'd need to do.

Hajime crossed to the bed with that same slight limp, the discomfort evident in the tightness around his eyes. He sat heavily on the edge of your mattress, the familiar weight of him causing the bed to dip, sending a cascade of memories through your mind—how many times had he sat exactly like this over the years? How many times had you shared this same casual intimacy without a second thought? And now, your heart was pounding like you were about to jump out of an airplane rather than help your injured friend.

"I, uh, need to..." He gestured vaguely at his shorts, a slight flush creeping up his neck. "To get proper access to the muscle."

"Right," you said, your voice embarrassingly high. "Of course."

With a grunt of discomfort, Hajime stood long enough to push his athletic shorts down his legs, revealing black boxer briefs that clung to his muscular thighs and, more distressingly, did absolutely nothing to hide the substantial bulge at his groin. You forced your eyes away from it, focusing instead on the clearly tensed muscle of his upper thigh, where a slight redness indicated the strained area.

He sat back down, now wearing nothing but his t-shirt and those obscenely tight boxer briefs, his legs slightly spread to accommodate the injury. "Coach said firm pressure in circular motions, working from the knee up. But not too hard right on the strain itself."

You nodded, not trusting your voice, and moved to kneel on the floor between his spread legs. This was fine. This was normal. This was just you helping your injured friend, not you positioning yourself at eye-level with his crotch, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin, to smell the clean sweat and masculine scent that was uniquely Hajime.

"Tell me if I press too hard," you said, placing your hands tentatively on his knee, feeling the coarse hair that covered his legs against your palms. His skin was hot to the touch, almost feverish, though whether from the injury or just his naturally high body temperature, you couldn't tell.

You began the massage gently, working your thumbs in small circles just above his knee, feeling the dense muscle beneath your fingers. Hajime was solid everywhere, the result of years of rigorous training, not an ounce of softness to be found. You worked methodically upward, applying gradually increasing pressure as you moved toward the strained area, focusing intently on the task at hand rather than on how close your hands were getting to the edge of his boxer briefs, to the place where his thigh met his—

"That's good," Hajime murmured, his voice lower than usual, slightly rough at the edges. "A little higher."

You swallowed hard and obeyed, moving your hands further up his thigh, your thumbs now pressing into the sensitive inner portion where the strain was located. This close, you could see where the hem of his boxer briefs had ridden up slightly, exposing more of his tanned skin. You could also see, no matter how hard you tried not to look, the unmistakable outline of his cock through the thin fabric, seemingly thicker than it had been a few minutes ago.

'He's getting hard from this,' your brain helpfully pointed out, sending a jolt of heat straight between your legs. 'Your hands on his thigh are making his cock hard. Imagine what would happen if you moved your hands just a little higher, slipped them under the fabric, wrapped your fingers around—'

"Harder," Hajime said, breaking into your increasingly inappropriate thoughts. "The muscle's really tight."

You bit your lip and increased the pressure, working your thumbs more firmly into the tense muscle. A small sound escaped him—something between a grunt and a groan—and the noise shot straight to your core, your cunt clenching around nothing as your brain immediately categorized it as one of the hottest things you'd ever heard.

"That hurts?" you asked, easing the pressure slightly, trying desperately to maintain some semblance of normal friendly concern.

"No," he said quickly, "It's good. It hurts in a good way. Don't stop."

Don't stop. The words echoed in your head, your imagination immediately supplying a very different context for them—Hajime above you, inside you, his voice rough as he told you not to stop, to keep going, to take all of him—

You realized your thumbs had stilled and resumed the massage, working the tense muscle with more confidence now. Hajime leaned back slightly, bracing himself on his hands, his head dropping back as another low groan escaped him. The position stretched his t-shirt across his chest, highlighting the defined muscles beneath, and caused his abs to contract visibly. The sight made your mouth water, your body responding with a rush of heat and dampness between your thighs.

"That's... really helping," he murmured, eyes closed now, completely unaware of the effect he was having on you. "A little higher, right where it connects... yeah, there."

Your hands were now mere centimeters from the edge of his boxer briefs, your thumbs pressing into the incredibly sensitive juncture where thigh met groin. You could feel the heat of him, the strength in the muscle even as it remained tense under your ministrations. And you could see, no matter how much you tried to be professional about this, that his cock was definitely hardening, the outline becoming more pronounced against the black fabric.

Suddenly, Hajime shifted, dropping from his seated position to lie flat on your bed, one arm coming up to drape across his eyes as he stretched his legs out more fully. "Sorry," he mumbled, "sitting was making it worse. Is this okay?"

It was more than okay. It was the stuff of your recent fantasies—Hajime sprawled across your bed, his powerful body on display, his legs spread to accommodate you between them. The new position pulled his boxer briefs even tighter across his groin, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. He was definitely hard now, his cock creating an impressive tent in the fabric, the head of it visible as a distinct ridge beneath the tight material.

"This is fine," you managed, your voice strangled as you adjusted your position, still kneeling but now between his spread legs as he lay on your bed. You resumed the massage, working your thumbs in firm circles against the strained muscle, trying to ignore the fact that his cock was now at eye level, so close you could lean forward and mouth at it through his boxer briefs if you lost all sense of self-preservation.

Hajime made another one of those devastatingly hot sounds—a deep groan that rumbled up from his chest—as your thumbs hit a particularly tight spot. "Fuck, that's it," he murmured, the curse word falling from his lips with an ease that sent another rush of heat to your core. "Right there."

Your cunt throbbed in response to his words, to his tone, to the sight of him laid out before you like some pagan offering to the god of your sexual frustration. Without conscious thought, you shifted position, raising yourself up higher on your knees to get better leverage, one leg moving to straddle his uninjured thigh as you continued to work the knotted muscle.

In this new position, your core was pressed directly against the solid muscle of his thigh, the pressure providing a tantalizing hint of relief for the ache that had built between your legs. You hadn't intended it—or at least, you could tell yourself you hadn't—but now that you were here, the temptation was overwhelming. You continued the massage, your thumbs working deep into the muscle, but your focus had shifted almost entirely to the delicious pressure against your cunt, separated from his skin by only the thin fabric of your shorts and underwear.

Hajime's groans grew more frequent, deeper, as you worked the strained muscle with increasing confidence. His arm remained thrown across his eyes, blocking his vision, leaving him unaware of how you'd positioned yourself, of how your hips had begun to move in tiny, almost imperceptible circles against his thigh. The motion was so slight that you could almost pretend it wasn't happening, that you weren't essentially grinding yourself against your best friend while he lay vulnerable and in pain beneath you.

But it was happening. With each press of your thumbs into his muscle, your hips rocked slightly, dragging your clit against the firm ridge of his thigh through your clothes. The dual sensation—his skin hot beneath your hands, his thigh solid against your core—was intoxicating, addictive. You found yourself pressing harder with your thumbs just to justify the increased pressure of your cunt against his leg, the massage becoming secondary to the slow, torturous pleasure building between your thighs.

You weren't even truly massaging anymore, your hands simply holding his thigh as your hips worked in increasingly blatant movements against him. Your breathing had grown heavier, your focus narrowed to the point of contact between your body and his, the rest of the world falling away as pleasure built in slow, inexorable waves. You were wet—embarrassingly so—your arousal likely soaking through your underwear and shorts to dampen his skin, but you couldn't bring yourself to care, couldn't bring yourself to stop this illicit pleasure even knowing how wrong it was, how much it risked.

"What are you doing?"

Hajime's voice cut through the haze of arousal like a bucket of ice water. His arm was no longer covering his eyes; instead, he had raised his head, propped up on his elbows, watching you with an expression you couldn't immediately decipher—shock, certainly, but something else too, something darker and more intense that made your stomach flip.

Reality crashed back with brutal force. You were straddling his thigh, grinding yourself against him like a bitch in heat while he lay injured on your bed. Your hands had stopped any pretense of massage, instead gripping his thigh as you essentially used him to get yourself off. Mortification flooded through you, hot and overwhelming, as you realized how completely you'd lost control.

"I—" you started, but what could you possibly say? How could you explain this away? Your mind raced for an explanation, an excuse, anything to salvage the situation, but came up empty. There was no innocent interpretation of what you'd been doing, no way to pretend this was normal behavior between friends.

Before you could formulate a response, before you could even move off his leg, a familiar electronic chime sounded from your laptop on the desk—the distinctive ring of an incoming video call. Tooru's custom ringtone, the one he'd set up himself the last time he'd visited, claiming it was "more dramatic" than the default.

Relief surged through you at the interruption, giving you an excuse to escape this excruciating moment. You practically leapt from Hajime's leg, scrambling toward your desk with undignified haste. "That's Tooru," you said unnecessarily, as if Hajime hadn't heard the same ringtone countless times before. "I should—I should get that."

"Don't," Hajime said, his voice carrying a note of command that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine despite the circumstances.

But you were already reaching for your laptop, flipping it open with trembling fingers. "He'll just keep calling if I don't answer," you said, the excuse sounding weak even to your own ears. "You know how he is."

Before Hajime could protest further, you accepted the call, Tooru's face filling the screen with his usual dramatic timing. His hair was perfectly styled despite the late hour in Argentina, his smile wide and practiced until he got a good look at your face.

"Well, don't you look flustered," he said immediately, his keen eyes missing nothing even through the screen. "What have you been up to, hmm? Your face is all red."

"Nothing," you said too quickly. "Just, um, exercising."

Tooru's eyebrows shot up, his expression shifting to one of delighted suspicion. "Exercising? In your bedroom? At eight o'clock at night?" His eyes narrowed, peering past you as if trying to see more of the room. "Where's Iwa-chan? Is he home?"

"I'm here," Hajime's voice came from behind you, still rough at the edges but controlled now, giving nothing away. He hadn't moved from your bed, still sprawled there in his underwear with a visible erection, but thankfully out of the camera's field of vision. "Just got back from practice."

Tooru's eyes lit up at the sound of Hajime's voice, his expression turning sly. "Oh? And why aren't you on camera, Iwa-chan? Hiding something?"

"None of your business, Shittykawa," Hajime growled, the familiar insult falling from his lips with practiced ease despite the charged atmosphere in the room.

Tooru gasped dramatically, hand flying to his chest in feigned offense. "So mean, Iwa-chan! And here I am, calling from across the world just to check on my two favorite people." His gaze shifted back to you, shrewd and calculating despite his playful tone. "You're being suspiciously quiet. Both of you are. What were you doing before I called?"

"Nothing," you repeated, knowing you sounded guilty but unable to come up with anything more convincing. "Hajime pulled a muscle at practice. I was just helping him with it."

"Helping him with it," Tooru repeated slowly, his lips curving into a knowing smirk. "I see. And how exactly were you 'helping' him with his... muscle?"

Before you could stammer out another unconvincing denial, you heard the bed shift behind you, and then Hajime was there, his presence solid and unmistakable at your back, still out of the camera's view but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his body.

"Hang up," he said quietly, his voice pitched low enough that Tooru couldn't hear, his breath warm against your ear, raising goosebumps along your neck. "Now."

You ignored him, focusing on Tooru instead, desperation making you cling to this lifeline of normalcy, this barrier between you and the conversation you were definitely not ready to have with Hajime. "How's Argentina?" you asked brightly, your voice unnaturally high. "Tell us everything. How's your team? Your apartment? Have you tried that restaurant you mentioned last time?"

Tooru opened his mouth to answer, still looking suspicious but seemingly willing to play along, when you felt Hajime's hand on your thigh. Not your knee, not your calf, but high on your thigh, his fingers splayed wide, nearly spanning the width of it with his palm. The touch was deliberate, possessive in a way that made your breath catch, your words dying in your throat as his hand began to move slowly upward, pushing beneath the loose fabric of your shorts.

"Hang up," Hajime repeated, his voice firmer now, an unmistakable command that made your stomach flip and your core throb with renewed arousal. "Or I'll hang up for you."

His fingers continued their upward path, now brushing against the edge of your underwear, so close to where you were embarrassingly wet, where you had been grinding yourself against his thigh just minutes ago. The touch was a clear escalation, a deliberate crossing of the line you'd already blurred with your actions.

"Are you even listening to me?" Tooru's voice cut through your distraction, his head tilted in confusion at your obvious lack of attention. "What's going on over there? You're acting weird. Both of you."

Hajime's fingers slipped beneath the elastic of your underwear without warning, sliding easily through the slick evidence of your arousal to find your clit with unerring accuracy. The contact was electric, pulling a small gasp from your lips before you could stop it, your body jerking slightly in response.

"Are you okay?" Tooru asked, leaning closer to the screen, his brow furrowed in concern that quickly shifted to suspicion as his eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute. Where exactly is Iwa-chan right now? And why did you make that noise?"

Hajime's fingers didn't still at Tooru's questions, instead beginning to move in slow, deliberate circles against your clit, spreading your wetness, building a pleasure so intense it took everything in you not to moan out loud. His other hand came to rest on your shoulder, keeping you in place as he continued his torturous ministrations, his body a solid wall of heat at your back.

"I—" you started, but whatever excuse you might have formed died as Hajime slid a thick finger inside you, the intrusion so sudden and so perfect that your eyes threatened to roll back in your head. "Tooru, I should—I need to go."

Understanding dawned on Tooru's face, his eyes widening comically before a shit-eating grin spread across his features. "Oh my god," he said, voice rising with glee. "Oh my GOD. He's touching you right now, isn't he? That's why you're making those faces. That's why he's not on camera." He clapped his hands together in delight. "I knew it! I KNEW IT! You two are fucking!"

"We're not—" you began automatically, but Hajime chose that moment to curl his finger inside you, hitting a spot that made your words dissolve into a choked sound that could not possibly be mistaken for anything other than pleasure.

"Goodbye, Oikawa," Hajime said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through your body where he pressed against your back. Without waiting for a response, he reached around you with his free hand—the one not currently buried between your legs—and ended the call with a decisive click, closing the laptop with perhaps more force than necessary.

The sudden silence in the room was deafening, broken only by the sound of your rapid breathing and the obscene wetness of Hajime's finger still moving inside you, joined now by a second that stretched you further, making you bite your lip to hold back a moan.

"Now," he said, his mouth right against your ear, voice deeper than you'd ever heard it, "we're going to talk about what you were doing on my leg. About how fucking wet you are right now. About how long you've been wanting this." His fingers thrust deeper, emphasizing his words, making your back arch involuntarily. "But first, I'm going to make you come. Because I don't think you can focus on anything else right now, can you?"

The question hung in the air between you, not truly requiring an answer when your body was already providing one—in the way your inner walls clenched around his fingers, in the flood of wetness coating his knuckles, in the small, helpless sounds escaping your throat with each precise movement of his hand. You couldn't focus on anything beyond the overwhelming sensations he was creating, your world narrowed to the points of contact between his body and yours—his chest pressed against your back, his breath hot against your neck, his fingers buried deep inside your cunt, stretching you in a way that your own never could.

"Hajime," you gasped, the syllables of his name fractured by the pleasure building inside you. His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow circles with devastating accuracy, as if he'd been studying your body for years rather than touching you intimately for the first time. Perhaps he had been studying you, noticing things about your responses that even you weren't aware of, the same way you'd recently begun cataloging every detail of his physicality with obsessive precision.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through your body where he pressed against you. "Let me hear you. Let me feel how much you want this." His fingers curled inside you, finding that spot that made fireworks explode behind your eyelids, pressure building at the base of your spine with each deliberate stroke. "You've been driving me fucking crazy for weeks, you know that? Walking around in those little shorts, watching me when you think I'm not looking, those sounds you make in your room at night when you think I can't hear you through the wall."

Your eyes flew open at that, mortification flooding through you at the realization that he'd heard you—heard the muffled moans you couldn't quite contain as you touched yourself in the darkness, imagining it was his hands, his mouth, his cock bringing you to release. But the embarrassment was quickly overwhelmed by a fresh wave of arousal at the knowledge that he'd been listening, that he'd known all along what you were doing, who you were thinking about.

"You think I couldn't tell it was my name you were saying?" he continued, his fingers never slowing their relentless rhythm inside you. "Think I couldn't hear you begging for my cock through that thin fucking wall?" His teeth grazed your earlobe, the slight pain a counterpoint to the pleasure building between your thighs. "I've been hard for you for so long I thought I was going to lose my mind. And then today, feeling you grinding on my leg like you couldn't help yourself, seeing how desperate you were for me—fuck, I almost came in my underwear like a fucking teenager."

The image his words conjured—Hajime so turned on by your mindless rutting against his thigh that he nearly lost control—sent a fresh surge of wetness around his fingers, your clit throbbing almost painfully against his thumb as tension coiled tighter in your core.

"Hajime, I'm—" you couldn't finish the sentence, your words dissolving into a high, keening sound as he added a third finger, the stretch bordering on too much yet somehow exactly what you needed. Your thighs began to tremble, heat spreading through your lower body in waves that threatened to consume you entirely.

"I know," he growled, his voice strained with the effort of his own restraint. "I can feel it. You're getting tighter, wetter. Your little cunt is squeezing my fingers so hard, I can only imagine how good it's going to feel around my cock." His thumb pressed more firmly against your clit, circling with precise, relentless pressure. "Come for me. Now."

Your body obeyed as if it had been waiting for his command, release crashing over you with an intensity that bordered on violence. Your back arched sharply, a cry tearing from your throat as your inner walls clamped down on his fingers in rhythmic pulses, wetness gushing around his hand in a way that would have embarrassed you if you had any capacity for shame left. The orgasm seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of pleasure radiating outward from your core, leaving you limp and trembling in its wake.

As the intensity began to ebb, Hajime carefully withdrew his fingers, the loss making you whimper despite your oversensitivity. He turned you slowly to face him, and for the first time since he'd touched you, you could see his expression clearly—pupils blown wide with desire, jaw clenched tight with the effort of restraint, a flush high on his cheekbones that spoke of how affected he was by what had just happened.

He brought his hand to his mouth—the hand that had just been inside you—and deliberately, maintaining eye contact the entire time, sucked his fingers clean, tasting your arousal with a low groan that sent aftershocks of pleasure rippling through your still-sensitive body.

"Fuck, you taste good," he said, the crudeness of the words at odds with the almost reverent tone in which he delivered them. "Been wondering about that for longer than I should admit."

You stared at him, brain struggling to process the radical shift in your relationship, the fact that Hajime—your Hajime, your childhood friend, your roommate—had just made you come harder than you ever had in your life and was now telling you he'd been fantasizing about how you tasted. It seemed impossible, like a particularly vivid dream your sex-starved brain had conjured after weeks of unfulfilled longing.

"How long?" you finally managed, your voice hoarse, as if you'd been screaming though you were fairly certain you hadn't been that loud.

"How long what?" he asked, his hand coming to rest on your thigh, the touch possessive in a way that made your stomach flip pleasantly. "How long have I wanted to taste you? Touch you? Fuck you until you can't remember your own name?" His thumb traced small circles on your inner thigh, dangerously close to where you were still sensitive and wet from your orgasm. "All of the above, probably longer than you've been wanting the same things from me."

"I thought—" you began, then stopped, unsure how to articulate the weeks of confused desire, the certainty that your sudden awareness of him as a sexual being was one-sided, that acting on it would destroy your friendship.

"You thought what?" he prompted, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek, surprisingly gentle given the intensity of what had just transpired between you. "That I didn't notice how you looked at me? That I didn't want you just as badly? That this—" he gestured between you, encompassing the electric tension that had been building for weeks, "—was all in your head?"

You nodded mutely, leaning into his touch like a cat seeking affection, your body still humming with residual pleasure and the building anticipation of what might come next.

"I've wanted you for years," he said quietly, the confession falling between you like a stone in still water, ripples of implication spreading outward. "Not just like this—though fuck knows I've thought about it enough to fill several lifetimes—but all of you. Every part. The good, the bad, the fucking infuriating parts that make me want to shake you sometimes." His thumb brushed across your lower lip, his eyes tracking the movement with hungry intensity. "I just never thought you saw me that way. Not until recently, when something changed. When you started looking at me like you wanted to devour me whole."

"The kitchen," you murmured, understanding dawning. "That night with the broken glass. That's when it started for me. When I saw you differently."

A small smile played at the corners of his mouth, not the full grin that transformed his face but something softer, more private. "I wondered what had happened. One day we were fine, normal, and the next you were jumping every time I touched you, staring at me when you thought I wouldn't notice, taking suspiciously long showers after I'd been working out in the living room."

Heat flooded your cheeks at how transparent you'd apparently been, how obvious your sudden desire had been to the very object of that desire. "You lifted me onto the counter like I weighed nothing," you explained, the memory still vivid, still capable of sending heat pooling between your legs despite the powerful orgasm you'd just experienced. "You just... took control. And suddenly all I could think about was your hands on me, your strength, how easily you could—" You broke off, embarrassment finally catching up with you.

"How easily I could what?" he pressed, his voice dropping lower, rougher, his hand on your thigh inching higher, sending sparks of renewed arousal through your oversensitive body. "Tell me. I want to hear exactly what you've been thinking about."

The command in his voice was impossible to resist, breaking down the last of your inhibitions. "How easily you could hold me down," you admitted, the words coming faster now, tumbling over each other in their rush to be spoken. "Pin me against the wall, the bed, the floor—anywhere. How strong you are, how big your hands are, how they'd feel on my skin, inside me, how your cock would feel stretching me open, filling me up until I couldn't take anymore—"

Your words cut off as Hajime surged forward, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that was nothing like the tentative first kisses you'd imagined during your more romantic fantasies. This was raw, hungry, desperate—teeth clashing, his tongue immediately seeking entrance which you granted without hesitation, his hand moving from your cheek to tangle in your hair, holding you exactly where he wanted you as he devoured your mouth with single-minded intensity.

You responded with equal fervor, weeks of pent-up desire finally finding an outlet as your hands clutched at his shoulders, his chest, anywhere you could reach, greedy for the contact you'd been denying yourself. He tasted faintly of you—a reminder of what he'd done moments ago—mixed with something uniquely him, a flavor you immediately knew you'd never get enough of.

When he finally broke the kiss, you were both breathing hard, his forehead resting against yours, his hand still tangled in your hair, grip just tight enough to send little sparks of pleasure-pain across your scalp.

"I'm going to fuck you now," he said, the crude statement delivered with such matter-of-fact certainty that a fresh wave of arousal flooded between your thighs. "Unless you tell me to stop. Unless this isn't what you want."

"I want it," you assured him immediately, no hesitation, no doubt. "I want you. Please, Hajime."

The plea in your voice seemed to snap something in him, the last thread of his restraint giving way. He stood, pulling you up with him in one fluid motion, his hands moving to your waist as he lifted you bodily—just as he had that night in the kitchen, but with far different intentions now. Your legs wrapped around his hips instinctively, your core pressing against the hard length of his cock through the thin fabric of his boxer briefs and your shorts, the contact making you both groan.

He carried you to the bed with the same effortless strength that had started this whole chain of events, laying you down with surprising gentleness given the obvious urgency of his desire. He stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at you with an expression that made your breath catch—hunger, yes, but also something deeper, more complex, a tenderness that belied the crude words and actions that had preceded this moment.

"Take off your clothes," he said, the command softened by the slight tremor in his voice, the way his eyes roamed your body as if he couldn't quite believe this was happening. "I want to see all of you."

You complied without hesitation, sitting up to pull your t-shirt over your head, revealing the simple cotton bra beneath—nothing fancy or seductive, not something you'd worn with the expectation of anyone seeing it. But the way Hajime's eyes darkened at the sight, his throat working as he swallowed hard, made you feel as desirable as if you'd been wearing the most expensive lingerie.

Your shorts and underwear followed, already damp from your earlier activities, leaving you in just your bra. Before you could reach behind to unclasp it, Hajime was there, his weight dipping the mattress as he knelt beside you, his hands replacing yours.

"Let me," he murmured, deftly unhooking the clasp and sliding the straps down your arms, his calloused fingers leaving trails of fire on your skin wherever they touched. When the last piece of clothing was removed, he sat back slightly, eyes roaming your naked body with undisguised appreciation, taking in every curve, every imperfection you'd normally be self-conscious about but couldn't find it in yourself to worry over when he was looking at you like you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Your turn," you said, finding your voice despite the vulnerability of being completely exposed while he remained partially clothed. "Fair's fair."

A small smirk played at the corners of his mouth as he pulled his t-shirt over his head in one smooth motion, revealing the torso you'd been obsessing over for weeks—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, defined pectoral muscles dusted with dark hair, abs that flexed unconsciously as he moved, the trail of hair leading down from his navel disappearing beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs. The sight was familiar from your recent observations yet somehow more overwhelming now, knowing you were allowed to look, to touch, to taste.

He stood to remove his boxer briefs, pushing them down his powerful thighs and stepping out of them with an athlete's grace. His cock sprang free, hard and thick and intimidating in its size—larger than you'd imagined even in your most optimistic fantasies, the head flushed dark and already leaking pre-cum, a bead of it glistening at the tip. Your mouth watered at the sight, your body clenching around emptiness in anticipation of being filled by him.

"See something you like?" he asked, the cockiness of the question belied by the slight uncertainty in his eyes, a reminder that for all his confidence, this was new territory for him too—this crossing of boundaries, this transformation of friendship into something else entirely.

"Everything," you admitted, no room for artifice or games between you after what you'd already shared. "I like everything I see."

The simple honesty seemed to touch something in him, his expression softening for a brief moment before hunger took over once more. He moved onto the bed fully now, nudging your legs apart to kneel between them, his hands running up your thighs in a touch that was both possessive and reverent.

"I've thought about this so many times," he murmured, his thumbs tracing the creases where your thighs met your hips, dangerously close to where you were wet and aching for him. "Having you spread out under me like this. Seeing all of you. Touching you wherever I want." His hands moved higher, skimming over your stomach, your ribs, finally cupping your breasts with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the intensity in his eyes. "You're even more beautiful than I imagined."

The compliment sent warmth flooding through you that had nothing to do with sexual arousal and everything to do with the man delivering it—Hajime, who had never been free with praise, who showed his affection through actions rather than words, now looking at you like you were something precious and telling you you were beautiful.

His thumbs brushed over your nipples, drawing them into tight peaks, the sensation shooting straight to your core. You arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping your lips as he leaned down to replace one thumb with his mouth, hot and wet as he sucked the sensitive bud between his lips. His tongue circled your nipple with deliberate pressure, teeth grazing lightly in a way that walked the perfect line between pleasure and pain.

"Hajime," you gasped, hands coming up to tangle in his hair, holding him against your breast as he continued his ministrations, switching to the other side to ensure both received equal attention. "Please, I need—"

"What do you need?" he asked, raising his head to meet your gaze, his hair mussed where your fingers had clutched it, his lips slightly swollen from his attentions to your body. "Tell me. I want to hear you say it."

"I need you inside me," you said, beyond embarrassment, beyond anything but the desperate desire to feel him filling you, stretching you, completing the connection that had been building between you for weeks—perhaps years, if his earlier confession was to be believed. "Please, Hajime. I need your cock. Now."

A low growl rumbled from his chest at your words, his eyes darkening with renewed hunger. "Fuck, the mouth on you," he muttered, shifting his position to align himself with your entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your slick folds. "Been dreaming of hearing you say filthy things like that."

He rubbed himself against you, coating his length in your wetness, the friction against your sensitive clit making you writhe beneath him, seeking more pressure, more friction, more of him. When he finally began to push inside, the stretch was immediate and intense—he was big, bigger than anyone you'd been with before, his girth forcing your body to accommodate him inch by agonizing inch.

"Fuck," he hissed, his jaw clenched tight with the effort of restraint, sweat beading on his forehead as he fought the urge to thrust forward all at once. "You're so tight. So fucking perfect." He paused when only the head was inside, giving you time to adjust. "You okay? Not hurting you?"

The concern in his voice, the fact that he was checking on you even while clearly struggling with his own control, made something warm bloom in your chest. "I'm good," you assured him, hands running up his arms to his shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles as he held himself above you. "Just... go slow. It's been a while."

He nodded, understanding without needing further explanation, and resumed his careful entry, pushing forward with exquisite slowness, retreating slightly before pressing deeper each time, working himself into you with a patience that must have cost him dearly given the tightness of his expression, the trembling in his arms as he braced himself above you.

When he was finally seated fully inside you, both of you were breathing hard, adjusting to the overwhelming sensation of being so intimately connected. He was deep, deeper than you'd thought possible, filling you so completely that you felt stretched to your limits, hovering on that exquisite edge between pleasure and discomfort.

"You feel—" he began, then broke off, apparently unable to find words adequate to describe the sensation. Instead, he leaned down to capture your mouth in a kiss that was surprisingly tender given the circumstances, his tongue tangling with yours as he remained motionless inside you, giving you time to adjust to his size.

The kiss deepened, grew hungrier as your body gradually relaxed around him, the initial discomfort fading into a growing need for movement, for friction. You shifted beneath him, tilting your hips in a silent plea that he immediately understood, breaking the kiss to meet your gaze as he slowly withdrew almost completely before pushing back in with a controlled thrust that hit places inside you that made your vision blur at the edges.

"More," you gasped, hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into the firm muscle there. "Hajime, please, more."

He complied, setting a pace that was measured at first—long, deep strokes that allowed you to feel every inch of him as he withdrew and pushed back in, his eyes never leaving your face, watching for any sign of discomfort. But as your body opened for him more fully, as your moans grew louder and more desperate, his control began to slip, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, more demanding.

The change in tempo drove you higher, pleasure building with each precise stroke of his cock inside you. He shifted slightly, changing the angle, and suddenly he was hitting that spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyelids, your back arching off the bed as a particularly loud moan tore from your throat.

"There?" he asked, though the question was clearly rhetorical given your reaction. A smirk played at the corners of his mouth as he deliberately aimed for the same spot again, watching with obvious satisfaction as you writhed beneath him. "Gonna remember that. Gonna learn every inch of you, figure out exactly how to make you scream my name."

The promise in his words, the implication that this wasn't a one-time thing, that he planned to do this again—to learn your body, to perfect his knowledge of what brought you pleasure—sent a fresh wave of arousal through you, your inner walls clenching around him in a way that made him groan, his rhythm faltering momentarily.

"Fuck, do that again," he muttered, his voice strained with the effort of maintaining control. "Squeeze my cock like that again."

You did, deliberately tightening around him, watching with fascination as his eyes nearly rolled back in his head, a string of curses falling from his lips as his hips jerked forward with increased urgency. The sight of him losing control because of you, because of how your body felt around his, was intoxicating, a power you hadn't expected to have in this situation.

His hand slid between your bodies, finding your clit with unerring accuracy, circling the sensitive bundle of nerves in time with his thrusts. The dual stimulation was overwhelming, pushing you rapidly toward a second orgasm that promised to be even more intense than the first.

"Hajime, I'm close," you warned, your voice breaking on his name as tension coiled tighter in your core, heat spreading through your lower body in waves that threatened to consume you entirely.

"Me too," he admitted, his movements growing more erratic, less controlled, his breathing harsh in the quiet of the room. "Want to feel you come on my cock. Want to feel you squeeze me when you let go."

His words, combined with the relentless pressure of his fingers on your clit and the perfect angle of his thrusts, pushed you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you with stunning intensity, your back arching sharply off the bed, a cry tearing from your throat that might have been his name or just an incoherent sound of pleasure. Your inner walls clamped down on his cock in rhythmic pulses that seemed to go on forever, wave after wave of ecstasy radiating outward from your core.

The sensation of you coming around him was apparently too much for Hajime's already strained control. With a low, guttural groan, he thrust deep one final time, his cock pulsing inside you as he came, hot spurts of his release filling you in a way that should have concerned you but in the moment felt only right—primal and perfect and exactly what you both needed.

He collapsed on top of you, his weight a comforting pressure rather than a burden, his face buried in the crook of your neck as you both struggled to regain your breath. Your hands moved lazily up and down his sweat-slicked back, feeling the strong muscles there gradually relax as the intensity of your shared release ebbed, leaving behind a pleasant lassitude that made your limbs feel heavy, your mind blissfully quiet for the first time in weeks.

After what could have been minutes or hours—time seemed to have lost all meaning in the aftermath of what you'd just shared—Hajime raised his head, looking down at you with an expression that made your breath catch. The hunger was still there, banked but not extinguished, but it was tempered now by something softer, something that looked dangerously like tenderness, like affection deeper than mere friendship or physical desire.

"That was..." he began, then shook his head, apparently unable to find words adequate to describe what had just transpired between you.

"Yeah," you agreed, understanding perfectly despite his lack of articulation. "It really was."

A small smile played at the corners of his mouth, not the full grin that transformed his face but something more private, more intimate. He shifted his weight, carefully withdrawing from your body, both of you wincing slightly at the loss of connection. He rolled to the side but kept one arm draped across your waist, as if unwilling to lose contact entirely, his hand splayed possessively across your hip.

"We should probably talk about this," you said after a moment, gesturing vaguely between your naked bodies, the implications of what you'd done, of the lines you'd crossed.

"Probably," he agreed, though he didn't sound particularly eager to engage in a deep discussion of feelings and boundaries in the afterglow of what had been, frankly, the most intense sexual experience of your life. "But not right now."

"No?" you asked, turning your head to meet his gaze, searching for any sign of regret, of uncertainty, finding only a satiated contentment that mirrored your own.

"No," he said firmly, his hand tightening slightly on your hip, pulling you closer until your bodies were flush against each other, skin to skin from shoulder to ankle. "Right now, I'm going to hold you for a while. And then, when I've recovered enough, I'm going to fuck you again. Maybe against the wall this time, since you mentioned that particular fantasy earlier."

Heat flooded your cheeks at the reminder of your earlier confession, at the matter-of-fact way he stated his intentions, as if there was no question that this would happen, that you would continue whatever this was between you.

"And after that?" you couldn't help asking, needing some reassurance that this wasn't just a one-night release of weeks of pent-up sexual tension, that there was something more substantial underpinning the physical connection you'd just shared.

Hajime's expression softened, his free hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your face with surprising gentleness. "After that, we'll figure it out. Together. The way we always have." He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead that was achingly tender compared to the raw hunger of earlier. "I meant what I said before. I've wanted you—all of you, not just this—for years. That's not going to change just because we finally acted on it."

The simple honesty of his words, the quiet certainty in his voice, settled something in your chest that had been fluttering with anxiety despite the physical satisfaction still humming through your body. This was Hajime, after all—solid, reliable Hajime who had been your constant since childhood, who showed his feelings through actions more than words, whose promise of "together" carried more weight than flowery declarations ever could.

"Okay," you said, snuggling closer to his warmth, your head finding that perfect spot on his shoulder that seemed made for you to rest against. "Together."

His arm tightened around you in response, a wordless affirmation that spoke volumes. And as you lay there, content in the aftermath of pleasure with the promise of more to come, you couldn't help but think that your mother had been right after all—people did change when you lived with them, revealing sides of themselves you'd never noticed before. But sometimes, that change was exactly what you needed, the final piece clicking into place in a puzzle you hadn't even realized you were solving.

[lemonmoonmochi]

✿ all over again: part two | park jeongseong

♡ content: jay x fem!reader, doctor!jay, ex-boyfriend!jay, exes to ?, my attempt at the miscommunication trope?, slow burn? girl idk

♡ disclaimer: i'm so sorry if this looks like an essay-writing contest. it just didn't feel right to skip over some narrative that would help out in understanding their emotions huhu idk. also might have inaccuracies on becoming/being a doctor lol. also only roughly proofread. i mean no harm to any of the members, this is purely a work of fiction.

♡ word count: +4.3k

♡ part one here!

when you said yes to bringing your nephew to his first annual check-up, you definitely did not sign up to seeing your ex-boyfriend.

your sister had fallen sick, so she had asked you to bring her son, youngjae, to his upcoming check-up. you initially had said no, because it was scheduled to be on one of your only rest days from the flower shop. you had just finished one of your biggest projects yet, a grand wedding of a couple, which was located in another town. in between all of the logistical planning and travel, you had planned to spend the entire day recovering from the whole ordeal.

but your sister needed you, and her husband was the one taking care of her and trying to keep the household afloat. and you couldn't really say no to the thought of being able to spend the day with your nephew. as the fun aunt, you would always bring him to his favorite places and buy him his favorite sweets, things that your sister and brother-in-law would shake their heads at.

so as a result, you're now met face to face with jay, in the middle of his clinic. you had teased him before, that a tall and intimidating man like him would look so out of place in a colorful room full of toys and trinkets for young patients. and yet taking a whole look at him now, with his white coat that had the letters "MD" after his name, you knew that he belonged here. and in some part of your heart, you were still proud of him for achieving his dreams, even if you were no longer a part of it.

it was jay who had first broken the silent staring contest that was happening between the two of you. "hi," he started hesitantly, "i didn't expect to see you again," he said before leading you both inside the examination room. you had struggled to respond, as you were nowhere near mentally prepared for how to handle this situation. so you had simply responded with, "yeah, i guess i've been busy."

jay on the other hand, was having a full-on meltdown inside his head. he had always thought that on the day that he'd see you again, he would be ready to do everything in his power to win you back. he had an elaborate plan on recreating your first few dates, bringing you to your favorite places and doing your favorite activities, to remind you just how good the two of you had once been.

but now, jay feels like he's been slapped in the face. here you are, bringing in your son to his first annual check up. had it been any other scenario, he would have thanked heeseung for passing his patient to him. he looked again at the boy, who had been hiding his face in your neck, clearly shy at meeting this new person. jay felt that the universe was rubbing it in his face, of what exactly he had decided to throw away in exchange for what he thought would make him happy.

jay wanted to ask you so many questions. who was the lucky guy? where did you meet him? how fast did it take you to move on? were you happy? happier than when you had been with him? but jay knew that he had to burry those questions for now, or perhaps forever.

for now, he put a practiced smile on his face and went to the part of his office where he kept all of his toys. picking out a red firetruck, he approached the baby, showing him the toy as a bribe to get you out of his arms. "hey little guy, wanna come with me?" jay asked with eased, and immediately the boy had reached out to jay, eagerly reaching out for the toy.

you had watched jay in awe. you knew that he was good with kids, as you saw him before with his nieces and nephews. heck, even the kids that you would see at the park or restaurants were all naturally drawn to jay. you watched him take your nephew's vital signs with minimal fuss, inwardly feeling betrayed because just this morning, it had taken you a full hour to get him dressed for this check up.

but your stubborn heart couldn't help but warm at the sight in front of you. jay had your nephew's full attention, as he softly spoke to him and would tickle him in the right places to get a laugh out of him. after testing a few of your nephew's reflexes, jay had brought the baby back into your arms while he prepared the things he needed to administer a vaccine.

while waiting, you had been thinking of how you could sneak into the conversation that this baby wasn't yours and that you were remarkably single even after all of these years. you knew you were still upset at jay, and rightfully so. he had given up on your relationship while you had held on to his promise for months, even if your heart was already slowly falling apart. however, you knew deep down, that you still deeply loved and admired the man in front of you.

yet, something was stopping you from saying it outright. maybe it was your pride/ you didn't want jay to think that you were so eager and desperate to get back with him, even if that was what your heart was screaming for. on the other hand, it may have been your insecurity and self-doubt. jay had been the first one to let go. and like he said before, maybe his life really was better without you in it. who were you to suddenly jump back in his life and ruin his peace and quiet?

deep in thought, you hadn't noticed that your nephew was trying to get your attention, waving the toy around. what brought you out of your head was when you heard the words, "mama, mama!"

jay had dropped the small syringe in his hand in shock of what he heard. he felt as if the world was mocking him, reminding him again that he'd never be able to hear those words from your own children. thankfully, the syringe had fallen onto the sterile tray below it, jay felt relieved that it was at least not wasted. he picked it up again with shaking hands before clearing his throat, "he's definitely a happy boy, huh?" he choked out, trying to hide his true emotions.

you were still trying to process just what happened, your nephew staring at you with those beady eyes of his, clueless of what he had just caused. you quickly made up a reply, "yeah, um, it's the only thing he's been saying the past few days," you inwardly groaned, cursing yourself for not coming up with a better thing to say. while it had been true that your nephew has been saying those words non-stop, especially from the excitement and encouragement from your sister, it had made it even harder for you now to explain your situation.

the rest of the appointment was spent in silence, save for when jay had to administer the vaccine to youngjae. but jay had handled it like the professional he was, distracting your nephew to subdue his reaction from the pain.

now, jay was writing on his prescription pad, writing down instructions for the next couple of weeks, as well the details of your nephew's next appointment with his original doctor. you could feel your mouth become dry as the words you desperately wanted to say were stuck at your throat. in an attempt to ground yourself, you focused on jay's hands that were busy jotting down notes.

you were fine, really, but not until you noticed a simple silver band wrap around jay's left ring finger.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

you finally arrived at your sister's place, trying your best to close the front door as quiet as possible. in your arms was youngjae, who had already fallen asleep on the way home, tired after the day's events. you had felt bad for the boy, as you were distracted the entire time you spent together after his doctor's appointment. but you couldn't help but drown yourself in self-pity.

of course jay had moved on. he probably met another respectable doctor, somebody who would truly understand his struggles and the ins and outs of his tight schedule. you thought on how they were probably the it-couple at the hospital, everybody in awe on how a couple could be so perfectly intelligent and attractive at the same time.

your bitter thoughts had clouded your mind the entire way home, only slightly quieting down when you had placed youngjae in his crib in his nursery. on a regular day, you would have cooed and taken a million photos of your sleeping nephew. but with everything that had happened today, your eyes started to tear up as you watched over your nephew. you thought of when you and jay were still together, of the times when you two would think of what your little family would look like. looking at your nephew now, you think of how far away those dreams seem to be now.

you cursed yourself for hoping. hoping that one day jay would change his mind and run back to you and appear at your front door, begging you to take him back. today was a clear reminder that it just wasn't happening. declaring a pause at your little pity party, you wiped your own tears away and went to your sister's bedroom.

"you could have at least given me a heads up, you know," you said as you plopped down the recliner chair your sister had in her room, barely acknowledging the presence of your brother-in-law who had been sorting laundry at the foot of their bed.

"well, hello to you too. and what do you mean heads up?" she said as she stared at you expectantly. you squinted your eyes at her before replying, "that dr. park was actually jay park, my one and only ex-boyfriend?"

you watched your sister's expression transform from confused to a shit-eating grin before fully laughing at you. recovering from her laughing fit, she said "oh my god, you have to tell me everything that happened," fully giving you her attention from her place on the bed.

you begrudgingly told her everything, not pleased by her amusement at your misery. but on the other hand, you were thankful that you had somebody to talk to about it. you also handed her the the prescription note that jay had given you after the appointment, as you ended your recap on what had happened.

"wow, who would have thought, huh. imagine all of the stars that had to align for you guys to meet again," your sister said as she read over the note. "but you did tell him that youngjae is your nephew, right?"

when you didn't say anything, she repeated, "right?" she was not staring at your guilty expression. "well, you see," you laughed nervously, "i didn't really get the opportunity to say so?" you had tried to reason.

your sister just stared at you, trying to comprehend what you just said to her. "but it doesn't matter," you quickly added, "he's married anyway."

"well, did he tell you that?" she asked in reply, now understanding why you had first entered the room so down. "no, but he was wearing what i'm pretty sure was a wedding band, so," you shrugged as silence occupied the room, both you and your sister not really knowing what to say afterwards. the silence was quickly interrupted by youngjae's cries from the baby monitor perched at your sister's bedside table.

"i'll get him, don't worry," you sighed as you pushed yourself up from the chair and left the room to go soothe your nephew.

as soon as you were out of sight, your sister took one last look at the prescription pad, suddenly getting an idea.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

a few weeks later, you found yourself driving up to your sister's house again. now that she's feeling a lot better, you were celebrating youngjae's first birthday with some close friends and family. you came a bit earlier to help set up the party, since you were also in charge of decorations. which you happily complied with, preparing a few flower arrangements to bring to the party.

when you arrived, you brought in the flowers and started to get to work. it was only a small gathering at your sister's place, so you prepared some balloons and streamers to put on the wall as decoration. you were balancing on a small kiddie stool trying to put up a blue 'happy birthday' banner on the wall when you sister dropped the bomb on you.

"oh, i invited jay, by the way. i got his number from the prescription note you gave me the last time you were here," your sister told you as if she was commenting about the weather. you were thrown off, quite literally, from the stool you had been balancing on, landing on your bum as a result.

"you what?!" you exclaimed as you scrambled to your feet, ignoring the pain that was starting to form behind you. you sister had been arranging the cupcakes she had ordered at the dessert table as if nothing happened. she shrugged before saying "as youngjae's doctor of course, nothing else. just a bit of thank you for taking on the appointment at such a short notice."

but you knew your sister like the back of your hand. you knew that she had been plotting something, and you knew that what she had in mind wasn't anything good.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

when jay had read the text from your sister, he was still in bed, half asleep. but upon reading the text a second, and even a third time, he shot out of bed, and started weighing his options. on one hand, he had been desperate to see you again. he should feel guilty, knowing that you were happily taken with a family of your own. but ever since you left his office that day, he had not stopped thinking of you. on the other hand, he knew that he would be digging his own grave if he showed up to the party, only to be faced with the man that you had chosen to spend the rest of your life with.

in the end, jay had decided to attend the birthday party. because as pathetic as it sounds, he convinced himself that he would be okay with just being your son's doctor, if it meant he got to see you happy. even if it was from a distance, even if it wasn't with him.

which is why he found himself at the front door of your sister's house, holding a blue gift bag, hoping that your nephew would like his gift. after taking a deep breath, he rang the doorbell, also hoping that he got the address right. but he didn't have enough time to doubt himself, not when the door had opened to reveal you. jay knew that it was bad to stare, but he couldn't help but look at your face, trying to memorize every feature as if you'd disappear from him again.

you had to clear your throat to get his attention, "hey! um, you're just in time. the party is going to start soon," you awkwardly said as you held the door open for him to come inside. jay snapped out of his thoughts, quickly following you inside.

"oh, i brought a gift. it's just something small, but i hope he'll like it," jay said as he handed over the gift to you.

"i'm sure he will," you smiled at him, and jay had almost melted right then and there, "let me put it with the other gifts," you said as you took the gift from him, your hands brushing for a split second.

while waiting for the party to start, jay was stuck making small talk with your family, praying that they wouldn't bring up the past that the two of you had together. you were also busy entertaining guests and refilling the refreshments. but even if jay was in the middle of conversations, he would scan the room. he'd watch as to who you would interact with, curious as to who your partner would be out of everyone.

but then everybody had started cheering and cooing, as your sister emerged from the nursery, holding little youngjae in the tiniest hanbok, who had a confused expression on his face, wondering why there were suddenly so many people in his house.

you had appeared with a camera saying "let's first take some photos, everyone!" you ushered the little family in front of the decorations and started to take their photos. you were diligently taking every photo with different friend groups and family members, when your sister loudly said, "and of course youngjae needs pictures with his favorite auntie!" making sure that jay had heard what she said.

you knew your sister was up to no good at this party, but you tried to keep your cool when you carried your nephew and got ready for the photo. but your sister didn't stop there, "jay! come join the photo!" your sister told him with a smile that couldn't hide her mischievous intent.

on the outside, jay acted normal as he went beside you and posed for the photo. but on the inside, he was trying so hard to keep in his excitement. because your sister had finally spelled it out for him that you were single. after taking photos, the party had officially started. the room was soon full of laughter as everybody enjoyed the food and drinks that were going around. jay had tried to catch a conversation with you, but you made yourself busy as you couldn't face him out of embarrassment.

but when guests started to trickle out of the party one by one, jay finally caught you alone in the kitchen, washing some of the dishes. "here, let me help you with that," jay said as he grabbed the dish from your hand and started finishing the dishes. but before you could escape a conversation with him again, he asked "so, when were you going to tell me that he was just your nephew?" hearing the slight teasing in his voice.

"w-well! it was never really brought up! and..." you trailed off, saving your words in case you embarrass yourself further.

"it's okay," jay said, brushing it off like it was no big deal. you were happy to think that he'd end it there, but he looked at you with a smirk before saying,

"i would accept a date as an apology, though."

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

you genuinely did not know how you ended up in this situation. there were a million alarms going on in your head, telling you that this was a bad idea. you had no business meeting up with an engaged, possibly even married man. but nothing could stop your heart from fluttering at the thought of going on a date with jay again. the man that still held your heart in his hands.

you look at your reflection in the mirror, clothes strewn at every corner of the room, a result of trying to come up with a decent outfit. you had agreed to grab coffee and pastries at a local cafe after his shift at the hospital, but jay told you that he'd pick you up beforehand.

while waiting for jay to arrive, you couldn't help but think about your first ever date. how nervous, yet excited, you had felt for it. the two of you were just university students, who had crossed paths in an elective subject you shared together. you were paired up with each other for one of the projects. and as one thing led to another, he ended up asking you out on your first ever date.

sometimes your sister's words would echo in your mind, on how all of the stars must have aligned for you to meet. you had thought that it was by chance that you had shared the same random elective in the same semester, and that you had met again at his clinic on accident. and yet, your foolish heart would also like to think that maybe it really was fate that made your paths cross again.

you were brought out of your thoughts by the doorbell of your apartment. you quickly gathered your things and rushed to the door when you were greeted by jay, who had a huge bouquet of lilies in his hand. "hi, sorry if i kept you waiting," jay said bashfully. but in all honesty, you didn't mind one bit. you had thought of all the trouble he must have gone through to make sure he arrived on time, even getting flowers on the way.

still, deciding to tease him, "patronizing another flower shop, huh?" you said, as you stared at him suspiciously. "o-of course not! i knew you wouldn't be at your shop today so i made sure to get them from there," jay insisted.

you let out a soft laugh at his desperate expression, "i'm just teasing. thank you, they're lovely. here, let me place this in a vase," you said as you took the flowers from him, already thinking about the perfect vase that would compliment the flowers. you had always thought that flowers were more than gifts. they were also letters in a way, messages that couldn't be conveyed just through words.

now, you didn't know if jay chose lilies on purpose, but you smiled to yourself knowing that they represented new beginnings.

jay had kept the promise he made with himself. that if given the chance to win you back, he would recreate all of your dates, buying you your favorite things and doing everything that you had loved to do in the past. your date didn't end at the coffee shop, as jay dragged you to an arcade. he desperately tried to show off at the claw machines, but failed miserably. trying to cheer him up, you led him to the photo booth. you were also eager to capture this moment, as you loved being able to look back at your memories through physical photos.

your date was going well, perfect even. but with every door held open, every time jay would fix his hair, your eyes would find the silver band wrapped around his ring finger. you knew that you had to make the choice, you had to tell him that you weren't going to subject yourself to this kind of set up. that it wasn't fair. even if it meant bursting the perfect little bubble the two of you had made. even if it meant you walking out of his life another, and perhaps the last, time.

so when jay had dropped you off at your front door, you looked to face him. jay immediately met your gaze, eyes full of wonder and love. he was making this harder than it already was, your heart already breaking.

"i really enjoyed today, jay. but, i'm going to have to be honest with you," you said before taking a deep breath, "i don't think we can keep doing this, jay," you said as you stared at your feet.

"w-wait, love, where is this coming from?" jay immediately panicked, not even noticing that he had called you by the term of endearment. "look, i know that i have yet to address how we ended things before and i promise that i was going to properly deal with it later. did something happen, d-did i make you uncomfortable?" jay had started to say a million words a minute, confused where you were coming from.

"please just be honest with me already, jay. i see the ring that you wear on your ring finger. it's not fair for me, and not fair for her,'' you said, starting to get frustrated, wanting to get this over with immediately.

"h-her?" jay stared at you, dumbfounded. not until he looked at his left hand, finally understanding what you had meant.

jay started laughing. like, letting out a full-blown belly laugh.

"gosh, if you can't treat this seriously then maybe i really should've said no to the date!" you whined as you started to search for your keys in your bag, eager to get into your apartment so you could wallow in your sadness and embarrassment.

but jay was quicker. he had grabbed your hands and gently leaned you against your front door. pressing his forehead against yours, he whispered, "you've got it all wrong, baby."

jay leaned back and removed the ring from his finger. "i've been wearing this since you've left. i wear it because some doctors or nurses would approach me with, um, romantic intentions. and since you weren't coming over to the hospital to visit me in between shifts anymore, well, this had been my first line of defense," jay explained as he kept on fidgeting with the ring in his hand.

jay reached for your hand and brought it in front of his lips, "and so i swear on everything that i hold dear in my life, there is nobody else. because it's only you, and it will only ever be you," he said before pressing his lips on your knuckles.

"so, what do you say? will you be willing to do this all over again with me?" jay asked mischievously.

without even processing what he had said, you pulled jay by the collar to kiss him on the lips. "yes, a hundred times, yes, my love," you said as you started to get lost in his eyes.

he smiled, placing a quick kiss on your nose before he said,

"good, because i've had your engagement ring with me for ages."

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

tagging everyone who asked for part 2! @wondahoy2345 @yeahhemmings- @pshnoona @atashiboba @daisyintherainsposts @sunnyjayjays @kissukyy @lovingjongseong @jayshadoww @hollxe1 @sunishake @pjseongrockstar @kirakun @evashp @sievenderz @mrsjjongstby @luvleyylina @antheiaspace @pjselee @eneiyri @en-chantedtomeetyou @staytinyluv @jayyluvvies (sorry if i missed anybody or tagged the wrong account, thank you so much for the love on part one! 🥹)

[lemonmoonmochi]

- Nerd, Interrupted II -

part I

enhypen masterlist

wattpad

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down bad!bully!park sunghoon x nerd!reader | enemies-to-lovers | teasing → in love | slow burn | rom-com with emotional depth | size difference | mutual pining | filthy smut | shy but smart reader | possessive, whipped male lead

summary: It starts quiet. Then it gets loud. You break him. He worships you for it.

warning: rough sex, jealousy, choking (consensual), thigh-grabbing, overstimulation, visible precum, filthy dirty talk, degradation mixed with praise, size kink, public tension, desperate moaning, reader crying from pleasure, Sunghoon moaning like a broken man, worship kink, panties pulled aside, full creampie, post-sex shaking, hand-holding during climax, soft aftercare, cheeks squished, eye contact kink, boyfriend begging, body worship, emotional softness, clinginess after fucking

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You’re humming when you walk into class.

Not loudly. Just a soft little tune under your breath as you slide your fingers along the spine of your chemistry book, the hem of your skirt swishing just slightly around your thighs. There’s still gloss on your lips, and the warmth from yesterday still lingers between your ribs — the kind of warmth that stays after someone’s held you like they didn’t know how to let go.

Your neck still smells like him.

You sit down at your usual seat — second row, near the window — and pull out your lab notebook.

A boy slides into the seat beside you.

Not Sunghoon.

You blink.

He’s new. Sharp jaw, friendly eyes, a stupid silver chain peeking from under his collar. And worse?

He’s smiling.

“Hey,” he says casually. “Y/N, right?”

You pause mid-note. “Yeah…”

“Cool. I’m Theo. I just transferred here from Busan.” He offers his hand, confident but not cocky. “Looks like we’re partners for the term.”

You blink down at the schedule paper he’s unrolling next to your desk.

Lab Partner Assignments

Y/N L/N × Theo Kang

Oh.

Right.

Your professor had mentioned reshuffling partners this week. You’d barely paid attention. Too distracted by the memory of Sunghoon’s mouth on your neck.

You clear your throat. “Nice to meet you.”

Theo grins. “Same. Hope you’re smart, ‘cause I suck at titration.”

You smile. Not flirtatiously. Just polite. Nice.

And that’s the mistake.

Because across the room — standing in the doorway, one hand braced casually on the frame — is Park Sunghoon.

And he’s watching.

⸻

His eyes narrow.

He doesn’t move for a solid ten seconds. Just stands there — tall, lean, jaw clenched — and takes in the scene:

You, smiling.

Some new guy, grinning.

Your knees too close.

His fucking seat taken.

When he finally steps in, it’s slow.

Measured.

The sound of his shoes against the tile is soft but sharp enough to make Theo glance up.

“Oh,” Theo says, confused. “Is this your seat?”

You open your mouth, but Sunghoon beats you to it.

“No.” He says it too smoothly. “Used to be. Don’t worry about it.”

Theo blinks. “Oh. Cool.”

Sunghoon walks right past. Drops into the seat behind you.

And doesn’t say another word.

But you can feel it.

The weight of his eyes.

The heat of his jealousy crawling up the back of your neck like a hand pressing down.

You don’t turn around. You know better. You just focus on your notes — even though your pen is starting to tremble and your thighs are suddenly tight.

Theo laughs at something he wrote. “I’m already lost. Did she say twenty-five or fifteen milliliters?”

You lean over. “Twenty-five.”

He leans closer, just to see your notebook.

That’s it.

That’s all it takes.

Behind you, Sunghoon’s breath stutters.

He shifts in his seat.

And when his leg bumps your chair, you know exactly what that meant.

He saw.

___________

Later that afternoon.

You step out into the breezeway after class, heading toward your locker. The hallway is quiet — most students still in session. Your shoes echo faintly on the tile.

You feel the shift before you hear it.

A hand wraps gently — but firmly — around your wrist.

Pulls you into the old AV room. Empty. Dusty. Soft blue light through the blackout curtains. Equipment boxes stacked in the corners.

You turn, startled.

“Sunghoon—?”

He locks the door.

You freeze.

He steps toward you. Slowly.

You step back. One pace. Then another.

Until your back hits the wall.

He doesn’t touch you yet.

Just looks at you.

Then…

“Was he making you laugh?”

His voice is low. Quiet. But not calm.

“No—yes. I mean—he was just being friendly.”

Sunghoon’s eyes don’t blink.

You keep going. “He’s new. He didn’t know—”

“That it was my seat?”

Your breath catches.

“I don’t own you,” he says slowly, “but don’t sit there laughing with another guy like I don’t spend every night thinking about your smile.”

You go silent.

“You think I can watch that? Watch you giggle and lean in and act like he’s the one who gets to sit next to you now?”

He steps closer.

You press back against the wall.

“I’m not mad at you,” he says softly. “But you don’t get it. I’m going insane trying not to lose it.”

“You already are,” you whisper.

His smile is broken. “Yeah.”

You look up at him.

He’s staring down at you like he wants something he’s too afraid to take.

You whisper, “What are you waiting for?”

He exhales.

“I don’t know. Permission. A sign. Anything.”

You reach up.

Fingers curl into his hoodie.

And that’s all it takes.

His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your lip, and his voice cracks when he whispers:

“You’re mine, right?”

__________

His fingers are curled beneath your jaw.

Not tight. Not rough.

But firm — like he’s scared you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold you in place.

And when he says it again, voice breaking?

“You’re mine.”

You feel it in your chest.

Not just a claim. Not just a line.

It’s a need.

You blink up at him — soft, flushed, lips parted — and for a long, breathless second, neither of you says anything. The closet is dark, lit only by the crack of daylight through the slats in the door, the hum of electricity overhead, and the shared sound of your uneven breathing.

He leans in slowly, forehead pressing to yours.

His nose brushes yours.

His voice drops.

“Say it.”

Your throat tightens.

“Say you’re mine, pretty girl. Say it before I lose my fucking mind.”

You close your eyes for just a moment — chest heaving — and then whisper:

“I’m yours.”

His inhale is sharp.

You open your eyes just in time to see his lashes flutter — his whole body tense — and then suddenly his mouth is on yours.

Not gentle this time.

Hungry.

His lips crash into yours like he’s been waiting to taste you again for years. His hand slides down from your jaw to your neck, not choking, just holding — like he wants to feel the words still vibrating through your throat.

You’re gasping now, body pressed back against the supply shelf, the edge of a box digging into your lower back. His tongue licks into your mouth and you whimper into him — breath catching, knees weakening.

He pulls back just enough to murmur against your lips:

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours,” you breathe.

He moans — actually moans — like the sound breaks something inside him.

“Say it louder.”

You cling to him.

“I’m yours, Sunghoon.”

He groans, his hips pressing forward, grinding just slightly against your stomach. He’s hard. Already. And the sound that leaves his throat is borderline feral.

“Fuck, you drive me crazy.”

He kisses down your jaw — wet, hot, open-mouthed — then lower, to your neck. You gasp when his teeth scrape against your pulse point.

“You think I can watch you laugh with someone else?” he growls. “You think I can breathe when someone else touches your arm?”

You tremble.

“You looked so pretty sitting there,” he pants. “Like you didn’t even know what you do to me.”

“I wasn’t—” you gasp as his hand slips under the hem of your skirt, “I wasn’t trying to make you jealous—”

“I am jealous,” he snaps. “I’m fucking drowning in it. You’re all I think about.”

His fingers slide up the inside of your thigh.

You choke on a breath.

“You’re mine, pretty girl,” he growls against your skin. “My girl. My fucking everything.”

His hand finds your panties.

You’re soaked.

He groans, deep and shaking, like he’s wrecked just from the feel of you.

“Of course you’re wet. Of course you are,” he mutters. “You like when I get jealous, don’t you?”

You gasp as he presses against you — two fingers pushing against the soaked fabric.

“You like when I get mean. When I growl in your ear. When I drag you into closets and kiss you until your legs stop working.”

You do.

You really, really do.

And he knows it.

“Say it again,” he hisses. “Say you’re mine while I touch you.”

You’re shaking.

“I’m—oh my god—I’m yours, Sunghoon—please—”

He groans, nearly buckling at the knees.

And then suddenly he’s pulling back, just enough to look at you — eyes glassy, lips swollen, chest rising and falling like he ran a mile.

“I need you,” he says. “Right now. Properly.”

You blink, dazed. “What?”

His voice breaks.

“I need to fuck you.”

________

The closet is too small for this.

Too hot. Too dark. Too quiet to hold the kind of sounds you’re both making — your soft little gasps, the way Sunghoon pants like he’s about to fall apart just from how wet you are.

His fingers are still between your thighs. Rubbing slow, tight circles against your clit through your panties. Not teasing. Not testing.

Just… needing.

And his other hand?

Gripping the back of your neck like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

“I need to fuck you,” he mutters. “I need to—fuck, I can’t wait—”

He mouths at your jaw, your cheek, your lips. His teeth catch your lower lip and pull. You moan into his mouth. Your hips rock against his hand and you feel him twitch in response — through his pants, against your stomach, already hard and leaking.

He kisses you again — deeper now, rougher — and his hand slips under your skirt fully, dragging your soaked panties to the side.

“Can I?” he breathes.

“Yes.”

He groans. Loud. Just from that. Like the sound of your permission breaks something.

“Fuck, baby—thank you—thank you—”

And then he’s rubbing you — bare, soaked, and so sensitive you can barely breathe. His fingers slide up and down your folds, spreading you open like he’s memorizing the feel of your cunt, like he can’t believe this is real.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs. “You’re shaking. Oh my god, baby, look at you—”

You moan — breathy and high — and his head drops to your shoulder as he rubs tight little circles on your clit.

But then — just as suddenly — he stops.

He’s breathing hard.

You blink up at him, confused. “Sunghoon?”

His jaw is clenched. His eyes are tortured.

And then — voice wrecked — he whispers:

“No.”

You freeze. “What?”

He pulls his hand back. Barely. His palm still cups your thigh, but his fingers curl like he’s forcing himself to let go.

“No, not like this. Not here. Not rushed. Not with your panties still on and a box of dry erase markers digging into your spine.”

You open your mouth.

He keeps going.

“You deserve more than a closet, baby,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “I want our first time to be perfect. I want it to be soft. Slow. I want to undress you one button at a time, lay you down, fuck you on clean sheets with the lights on. I want you to feel safe.”

Your throat tightens.

He kisses your temple.

“I want you to remember it,” he murmurs. “Not just because you came. But because you felt loved.”

Your heart aches.

His voice shakes.

“You mean too much to me.”

You reach up and cup his cheek. He leans into it instantly — like a boy who never thought he’d be touched like this.

And when you speak?

It’s barely louder than a whisper.

“Then love me like this.”

He blinks.

You look at him — eyes wide, soft, shining — and say:

“It’s already perfect if it’s you.”

Sunghoon breaks.

You feel it happen — like something snapping just behind his ribs.

His mouth crashes into yours. His hand grabs at your thigh, yanking it around his waist. His other hand fists in your cardigan, pulling you closer, like he wants you everywhere. His cock grinds against your stomach — hard, thick, twitching through his pants.

“Say that again,” he gasps.

You look up at him, ruined already, and whisper:

“I want you. I want this. Right now. You’re the only thing that’s ever felt right.”

He groans — like he’s in pain — and kisses you hard. His hand slips back between your thighs and this time?

He doesn’t stop.

_________

He doesn’t stop this time.

The moment you say it — “It’s already perfect if it’s you” — his hands are on you like he’s afraid someone will come and tear you away. He groans into your neck, arms wrapping around your waist, breath ragged like he’s drowning in it.

“Fuck,” he pants, “say that again—please—say it again.”

You tilt your head back against his shoulder. “I want you.”

He makes a sound. Broken. Low. Wrecked.

“God, baby… you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

And then he turns you.

Not fully.

Just enough that your spine presses into his chest — your skirt lifted slightly, his hand pressed to your stomach. He kisses the top of your shoulder. Then your neck. His hand slides up — over your ribcage, under your cardigan — until he’s cupping your breast and moaning.

“So fucking soft,” he breathes. “You feel like heaven.”

His other hand dips lower, palm spread over your bare thigh. Your panties are still pushed to the side. His fingers ghost over your clit but don’t press — not yet. Not until you feel him press his cock between your ass cheeks, the thin fabric of his boxers the only thing separating you.

And then—without a word—you reach back.

One hand. Slow. Fingertips trailing down his thigh, then up.

And you grab him.

His whole body shudders.

“Ohh—fuck,” he moans, voice breaking.

His head drops to your shoulder. His mouth is open, jaw slack, breath steaming against your skin.

“Baby—fuck, baby—what are you doing—”

You stroke him gently through the fabric. He’s thick, heavy, twitching in your palm. And his hips roll forward, like he can’t help it.

“You’re gonna make me come just from this,” he whines. Whines.

You turn your head slightly. “You like it when I touch you like that?”

“I—fuck—I love it,” he chokes. “Love you—love the way your hand feels on me, the way you look when you beg—God, baby, you’re gonna ruin me.”

His hand trembles as it slides back down.

He cups your pussy from behind — hot, open fingers pressing down, dragging between your folds. You moan, loud and high, and he groans behind you, rutting against your ass like he’s gone feral.

“So wet,” he murmurs, dazed. “You’re dripping, pretty girl. For me. All for me.”

You nod frantically. “Only for you.”

“That’s it,” he growls. “That’s my girl. My nerd. My pretty fucking girl.”

He brings his fingers to his mouth, tastes you, moans, and slides his hand back down without hesitation.

His middle finger circles your clit. Tight, slow pressure. You gasp. Your thighs twitch.

“You feel that?” he whispers, breath hitching. “That’s me loving you. Right here. With my fingers. Gonna make you come like this first, baby. Gonna make you shake for me.”

His voice is low, soothing, but filthy.

“Gonna spread you open with my fingers… get you nice and loose for my cock. Want you to take it all.”

He kisses your shoulder again. Sucks lightly.

And then he slides in one finger.

You moan. Louder than you mean to.

“Shh,” he breathes, curling it inside you. “Don’t want anyone to hear how pretty you sound when I finger you.”

Your body arches against him.

He groans.

“That’s it. Just like that. Let me in.”

He adds a second finger.

Your head falls back on his shoulder.

His mouth finds your jaw.

His hand under your skirt is relentless—curling inside you, pressing hard against that sweet spot while his thumb rubs tight circles over your clit.

“You like that, baby?”

“Y-yes—”

“You gonna come for me like this? Let me feel you squeeze my fingers?”

You whimper.

“Please,” you whisper. “Don’t stop. Please, Sunghoon—please—”

And the way you say his name?

He loses it.

_______

You’re panting.

He’s behind you, chest pressed to your back, fingers still deep inside you — curling just right, thumb circling your clit. Your body’s rocking in his arms, soft whimpers spilling from your lips as you start to break apart.

“That’s it,” he murmurs against your shoulder. “You’re so close, I can feel it.”

You are. Your thighs tremble. Your hands grip his arms. You moan his name again — Sunghoon — and the sound that rips from his chest is half prayer, half possession.

“You’re everything,” he breathes. “You feel like fucking heaven.”

He kisses the back of your neck as you come — hard, soaking his fingers, your entire body twitching and arching back into him. He holds you through it, whispering praise the whole time.

“That’s my girl,” he coos. “So pretty. So fucking perfect. I’ve got you.”

And then he pulls his fingers out — slow, reverent — and groans when he sees how wet you are.

“You’re ready,” he says, voice wrecked. “You’re so ready, baby.”

You nod, dazed.

“I want you,” you whisper. “Please.”

Sunghoon kisses your cheek, then gently turns you around in his arms. This time, your chest is flush against his — your back pressed to the supply shelf, his hands cradling your hips.

He looks down at you.

And he smiles.

Soft. Lovesick.

“Hi,” he says, voice shaking.

You giggle. “Hi.”

He brushes his thumb over your cheek.

“You sure?”

You nod.

“I’m yours.”

He groans.

“I don’t deserve you.”

You reach up, palm over his heart.

“No. You always have.”

His breath catches.

And then — slow, trembling — he reaches between you.

Pushes his pants lower. Boxers down.

His cock springs free — flushed, red at the tip, thick and veined, leaking already.

You gasp.

“Oh my god…”

“You okay?” he whispers.

“You’re so… big.”

He grins — cocky for just a second — then leans down and kisses you. Gentle. Deep.

“I’ll go slow,” he promises. “I’ll make it good. You’ll feel so good, baby.”

You nod, wide-eyed, trusting.

You grip his shoulders.

And then he lines up — his tip pressed right to your entrance, dragging through your folds.

“Ready?” he whispers.

“Yes.”

He kisses your nose.

“I love you.”

You whimper.

“I love you too.”

And then — finally — he pushes in.

⸻

It’s slow.

It’s so slow.

You feel every inch of him — the stretch, the heat, the way your body opens for him like it’s been waiting for this.

You gasp — loud and high — clinging to his arms as he presses deeper.

“Oh my god—”

He moans. Loudly.

“You feel so good,” he groans, voice raw. “So fucking tight, baby, you’re so warm—”

His jaw tightens. His brow twitches.

He looks like he’s about to cry.

“You’re squeezing me so tight,” he pants. “Fuck, I’m not gonna last—”

You wrap your arms around his neck.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “You feel so good, Sunghoon. You’re perfect. You’re everything.”

His lips crash into yours again — desperate now, open-mouthed and shaking.

“I love you,” he moans into your mouth. “I love you I love you I love you—”

He bottoms out.

Your gasp breaks into a moan.

His hips still. Forehead to yours. Eyes fluttering.

And then?

He thrusts.

⸻

The first real stroke knocks the breath out of you.

“Sunghoon—”

“I’ve got you,” he gasps. “I’ve got you, baby—fuck—you’re mine—”

He kisses your cheeks between every thrust.

“My girl—” kiss

“My love—” kiss

“My fucking everything—” kiss

His hips rock into yours — deep, full strokes, slow but intentional.

You cry out softly.

He moans, his mouth dragging over your jaw, your neck, your lips.

“You feel like heaven,” he gasps. “I never wanna leave this pussy—fuck, you’re so wet, you’re so tight—”

You squeeze around him.

He whines.

“Fuckfuckfuck—do that again—yes—just like that, baby—”

You nod. You don’t even know what you’re agreeing to.

You’re gone.

So is he.

⸻

He loves you in every sense of the word — his hands holding your hips, his lips worshipping every inch of your face, his cock pushing so deep you can’t think.

And every few strokes, he stops — just to look at you.

And every time you moan?

He kisses you like he needs to.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers. “You were made for me.”

_______

He groans — a sound that scrapes from the back of his throat — and his arms slide under yours, hands gripping your hips from behind, holding you still as he ruts into you from the rear.

“You’re—fuck—you’re taking me so well,” he pants, voice cracked, hair plastered to his forehead as his cock disappears again into your soaked heat. “I don’t—baby, I don’t think I can stop—”

You’re shaking, lips parted, moans spilling from your mouth with every snap of his hips. Every thrust feels like it knocks you higher. Every word he says pulls you closer to unraveling.

“So deep,” you gasp, “you’re so big—”

He growls at that — a low, primal sound — and wraps one arm around your belly, the other coming up to cradle your jaw.

“Turn around,” he murmurs into your ear, breath hot, voice trembling. “Let me see you.”

You do.

You turn.

You let him guide you, breathless and shaking, until your hands are clinging to his shoulders and his hands are on your waist again, lining you up.

And when he slides back inside you—this time face-to-face—your mouth falls open and your eyes flutter.

Because it’s deeper this way. Slower. Full.

“Oh my god—” you moan.

Sunghoon’s head drops to your shoulder. His hips roll. The stretch, the burn, the pressure of it—all of him inside you—makes your eyes fill.

“You’re warm,” he groans. “You’re so fucking warm, I feel like I’m inside the sun.”

You cry out softly when he thrusts again — long and deep, your body jolting with each motion.

“Look at me,” he whispers, lifting his head.

You do.

Your eyes meet.

And it’s like your whole body pulses under his gaze.

He looks at you like you’re sacred.

“I love you,” he whispers, voice breaking. “I fucking love you.”

You whimper, your hands sliding up to his face.

“I love you too.”

And he kisses you — hard, open-mouthed, moaning against your lips as he fucks you deeper, faster.

You feel everything.

His sweat-slicked chest pressing to yours.

The way his cock stretches you with every thrust, nudging that sweet spot over and over until your thighs start shaking.

His moans — God, the sounds he makes — raw, breathy, desperate.

“You’re so tight, baby,” he gasps. “So wet for me. You were made for me. This pussy was fucking made for me—”

You sob out a moan.

Your arms cling to his neck.

“Don’t stop—please, Sunghoon—don’t stop—”

“Never,” he growls. “I’ll fuck you through every lifetime if I have to. I’m not letting anyone else touch you—ever.”

He kisses your cheeks between thrusts.

Your forehead.

Your jaw.

“Pretty girl,” he breathes, “my pretty fucking nerd—fuck—you feel so good, I’m gonna die—”

You’re close. So close you can’t speak.

Your nails dig into his back.

“Come with me,” he pants, voice cracked. “Please, baby—come with me—need to feel you—need to feel it—”

You nod frantically, lips trembling, thighs quivering around his waist.

And then—

He thrusts up, hard, deep—

And your body breaks.

Your orgasm hits like a wave — shaking you, pulling a loud, high-pitched moan from your throat as you come around him, clenching and sobbing his name.

“Sunghoon—!”

And that’s it.

He loses it.

His hips stutter, a groan tearing from his chest, and he buries himself to the hilt—

“F-fuckfuckfuck—I’m coming—”

—before he spills inside you, cock twitching, moaning brokenly into your neck as he fills you with heat.

“God—I love you—I love you—I love you—”

You’re both trembling.

You hold each other like you’re afraid you’ll fall apart.

His forehead is against yours, eyes dazed, lips twitching with every aftershock.

You press your nose to his cheek.

“That felt so good…”

He laughs. Breathless. Destroyed.

“You feel so good. Perfect.”

You kiss his lips.

He kisses your eyelids.

And you both just stand there, full of each other, hearts racing, sweat-damp skin pressed together in the silence.

He lets out a long, shaky breath.

“Can I…” he whispers, voice so quiet you almost miss it.

You blink up at him.

“What?”

He kisses your cheek. Your jaw. His hands still trembling on your waist.

“Fuck,” he whispers, breath caught in his throat. “I wanna be your husband.”

You freeze.

He’s staring at you like it hurts — like loving you is something sacred and unbearable all at once.

“I wanna wake up next to you every day,” he says, chest heaving. “I wanna take you out on dates and come home to you and kiss you when you’re reading those stupid smutty books and tell you you’re mine and—” His voice cracks. “Please, can I be your boyfriend? Can I please be yours?”

Your lips part. Your eyes sting.

Because there’s no hesitation. No pride. Just pure, open, aching love.

You press your forehead to his.

“You already are.”

_______

You don’t know how long you stayed in that tiny supply room.

Minutes. Hours. Days. Maybe an entire season passed while you curled against Sunghoon’s chest, legs tangled, his fingers brushing through your hair like it was the only thing that could keep his heart beating.

But eventually?

You moved.

Together.

Still clinging. Still flushed. Still smiling so hard it hurt.

And now—walking hand in hand down the hallway, your cheeks glowing, his eyes never leaving your face—you feel it.

Everyone sees it.

The shift.

The transformation from “he teases her” to he’d burn the planet down if she frowned.

⸻

You reach the study lounge before he does—mostly because he keeps slowing down to steal glances at you.

“You’re glowing,” he murmurs, catching your hand again. “Like… actually glowing.”

“That’s just fluorescent lighting.”

“No,” he whispers, “that’s love, nerd.”

You roll your eyes but your cheeks flush warm anyway.

You push open the door to the lounge, expecting mild chaos. Maybe a stack of books. Maybe Sunoo on a beanbag with a bag of dried mangoes.

What you don’t expect—

Is everyone there.

Sunoo. Yunjin. Jake. Eunchae. The new guy.

And all of them stop what they’re doing when you walk in—with Sunghoon trailing behind, his hand tightly laced in yours, his hoodie now hanging off your shoulders.

There’s a pause.

A full-body, brain-short-circuiting silence.

And then—

“HOLY SHIT,” Sunoo shrieks, leaping off the couch. “WHAT DID I MISS?!”

“Oh my god,” Yunjin gapes, blinking. “Did you guys—wait—is that his hoodie?!”

You smile, sheepish, tightening your grip on Sunghoon’s hand.

He’s smiling too. Softly. Proudly. Like you’re something he earned and treasures.

Jake drops his pen.

“Bro. You’re holding hands. And not like, haha we tripped into each other—like… real people. In love.”

“We are real people in love,” Sunghoon says, without even flinching.

You choke on your own breath.

Sunoo clutches his chest.

“They admitted it. Oh my god. This is it. True love is real.”

Eunchae claps dramatically.

Yunjin still looks like she’s processing.

Meanwhile, the new guy—Theo, the one Sunghoon had previously nearly burst a vein over—just tilts his head, expression amused.

“Well, this is interesting.”

Sunghoon narrows his eyes.

You squeeze his hand.

“Be nice,” you whisper.

Yunjin grabs her drink, sips from the straw, and leans dramatically against the couch arm.

“Okay, Mr. Flirt,” she says, turning to Theo. “Just so you know? She’s taken. So maybe back off a little.”

Theo pauses.

Raises a brow.

Then lets out the most obnoxiously perfect little laugh.

“Honey,” he says, crossing one leg over the other, “I’m gay.”

The entire room stares.

You blink.

Sunghoon blinks.

Yunjin sputters.

“WHAT?!”

Theo shrugs, reaching for his iced coffee.

“You thought I was flirting? No, babe. I was trying to figure out if her skin routine was CeraVe or sorcery.”

Sunghoon looks like he just lost a ten-year war.

You squeeze his hand tighter.

Yunjin literally facepalms.

“God,” she groans, “I accused a gay man of trying to steal someone’s girlfriend. I need to go home and rethink my entire personality.”

“Too late,” Sunoo chirps. “You’re stuck here with us.”

“Help,” she mutters.

Jake finally speaks.

“Wait—” he blinks. “So this whole thing—like, you two—like, you’re official now?”

Sunghoon doesn’t even hesitate.

He lets go of your hand—just to wrap his arm fully around your waist, pull you close, and kiss the side of your head.

“She’s mine,” he says, voice steady. “And I’m hers.”

“We’re dating,” you add, shy but glowing. “Like… real dating.”

Sunoo sniffs, dramatically dabbing his eyes with a napkin.

“They grow up so fast.”

Eunchae reaches over and rubs his back solemnly.

⸻

Later, you’re curled up on the couch.

Sunghoon’s head in your lap.

Your fingers in his hair.

Everyone’s talking over each other. Sunoo and Theo are now in a full-blown discussion about skincare acids. Jake is writing something down with an expression that suggests he just discovered love exists. Yunjin is still grumbling into her coffee.

And you?

You’re looking down at the boy who used to call you nerd like it was a curse.

Now?

He says it like it’s your name.

“Hey,” he whispers, tilting his head so he can see you better. “Can I tell you something?”

You nod.

“I used to think I liked teasing you,” he says, fingers tracing lazy circles on your knee. “But now I know I was just trying not to fall in love too fast.”

Your throat tightens.

“Sunghoon…”

“Too late though,” he adds, lips curving. “I’m gone for you. Fully. There’s no coming back.”

You smile, your hand smoothing over his hair.

“Good,” you whisper. “Because I love you too.”

⸻

And as the others argue, laugh, tease, and throw popcorn…

You and Sunghoon sit there, wrapped in each other.

No more walls.

No more teasing.

Just a nerd and her menace — completely and irreversibly in love.

And he exhales like he’s finally breathing for the first time.

____________

NERD, INTERRUPTED IS OFFICIALLY CLOSED THANK YOU SM FOR READING PLS COMMENT AND REBLOG HEHEH

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