#I read something and I sat there thinking “you could go a step further here. you're SO close” but alas.

[pisstintedglasses]

Lessons in Longing

Reader x P.JS

warnings; angst, dacryphilia, angst, emotional abuse, ANGST, mentions of exessive drinking, did I mention angst? this chapter doesn't have much smut, it's mostly angst. 

WORD COUNT: 15k

Playlist for whilst you read:

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Chapter 2 of Lessons Learned

It was gonna be hard filling out the cracks he's left on you and your family, (and vice versa), but you'll have to manage, and you are managing it. Just not in the healthiest way possible. Your coping mechanism of choice was day-drinking and party-hopping every night, making out or even going as far as sleeping with random strangers to help you forget all about Sunghoon. You thought this was fine. It wasn't harming anyone. Oh, but it did. It made Ivan grow more wrinkles, especially when you'd come home smelling like sex and hard liquor.

Ivan's brow furrowed in frustration as he paced back and forth in the small kitchen, his hand running through his hair for the third time in as many minutes. The late afternoon light streamed in through the window, casting long shadows that only seemed to emphasize the heaviness of the conversation.

You sat at the counter, arms crossed tightly over your chest, avoiding his gaze. Your fingers drummed absently on the ceramic mug in front of you, the coffee long cold. The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to suffocate, and neither of you seemed able to bridge the gap that had grown between you.

"I just don't get it," Ivan finally snapped, voice low but strained with barely contained anger. "You're—you're destroying yourself, and I can't just stand here and watch you do it. What happened to you?" You stared down at the mug, swallowing hard. The words stuck in your throat, thick and bitter. You weren't sure how to explain this to him — how could you? How could you explain the hollow ache inside, the need to drown everything out with the noise of another drink, another stranger, another night that didn't matter?

"I didn't ask for your help, Ivan," you muttered, your voice rough from both the alcohol and the fatigue that seemed to have settled into your bones. "I don't need a babysitter." Ivan's eyes narrowed, a flash of hurt crossing his face before he forced it down. "I'm not trying to babysit you, damn it! I'm trying to save you." His voice shook with the effort to keep his composure. "You think I don't know what you're doing? You think I don't see you slipping further and further away every day?"

"I'm not slipping," you shot back, irritation lacing your words. "I'm fine." He shook his head, exasperated. "No, you're not. You're not fine, and you know it. You're out of control." Ivan took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but his fists were clenched at his sides, his knuckles white. "I've told your sister, I've told your family, and still, you keep doing this. Why? Why are you doing this to yourself?"

The question hung in the air, sharp and accusing. You felt a sting in your chest, a pang of something you couldn't name. The silence stretched on as you fought the urge to let out the truth — but the truth felt too raw, too heavy. "I don't need to explain myself to you," you said quietly, but it lacked conviction. The defensiveness you put up was starting to crumble beneath the weight of his words.

Ivan's voice dropped, becoming softer, but more desperate. "You're not explaining yourself to me. You're explaining yourself to you." He took a step toward you, his face softer now, the anger replaced by worry. "Look at you. You're not the same person anymore. You're pushing me away, pushing everyone away. Do you think this is just about you drinking? It's about you running from something. I don't know what it is, but I can't watch you keep spiraling like this."

Your gaze finally lifted to meet his. There was a flicker of something in his eyes — pain, fear, maybe even a little bit of guilt, but it only made your stomach twist in knots. You wanted to scream, to shove him away, to tell him it wasn't his problem, but the words wouldn't come. You just felt numb.

"I'm fine," you repeated, but even you could hear the lie in it. "No," Ivan's voice cracked with frustration. "You're not. And I can't keep pretending like everything's okay. I care about you too much to just sit here and do nothing while you destroy yourself." You stood up abruptly, shaking your head, unable to stay still. "Don't act like you know me. You don't. You're just some guy trying to fix someone who's already broken."

Ivan stepped forward again, his eyes pleading. "I'm not trying to fix you. I just want to help you, damn it. Why can't you let me in? Why can't you trust me enough to let me help?" A bitter laugh escaped you, but it was hollow, empty. "I don't even know who I am anymore, Ivan. I'm not the person you think I am." Ivan's face softened, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of the situation had suddenly crushed him. "You're still you. I know it feels like everything's falling apart, but you're not lost. You don't have to do this alone."

But you couldn't stand it anymore. The suffocating concern. The disappointment in his voice. You couldn't breathe under the weight of it. Without thinking, you turned on your heel and stormed toward the door. "I can't do this right now." Your voice cracked, but you refused to show him any more vulnerability. Ivan called after you, his voice rising with urgency, "Where are you going?"

You didn't answer. You couldn't. Your only focus was getting away from him, from the house, from the conversation that was circling back to the same tired point. Your hand gripped the doorknob as you fought back the rush of tears threatening to break free. Before you left, you glanced over your shoulder. Ivan stood frozen in the kitchen, looking like someone had punched him in the gut. His hands were trembling, and his lips parted as though he wanted to say something else, but the words wouldn't come.

"I'll be fine," you said, though you both knew it was a lie. Then you slammed the door behind you, the hollow sound reverberating in the silence that followed.

Ivan grew worried about you, but he couldn't really prevent you from sneaking out of his house. He'd check up on you in the morning after an argument about your new-found alcoholism only to find your window open and a dent in the bed you were supposed to be lying in. He's already told your family, in hopes that they could get you thinking straight again, yet even they weren't able to bring you back to your senses. 

You were a mess. A drunk, depressed mess. Currently staring up at a ceiling you weren't familiar with, limbs entangled with a whole bunch of other sweaty, and blacked out people from the part you no-doubt got too excited from last night, since you felt an impending headache pound at your temples. Rubbing at your forehead with tired, nimble fingers as your brows drew together in pain. You palmed your pocket to check if your phone was there. Good news; it was. Bad news; it was dead. 

Weakly gathering your belongings, you stuffed them into your purse. Skipping over the countless bodies and red plastic cups strewn all over the beds, couch and floors with a grunt, you tried to find the door out of this place so you can get the hell out and call a taxi to Ivan's as soon as possible. As if you weren't already having trouble making your way around this big ass dorm, your hangover decided to hit you now of all moments, turning the once stable room into this blurry labyrinth. 

Stumbling, you felt your vision deter for a moment, legs failing to keep up with your thoughts, you were about to fall down. Thankfully, a strong grip caught you by your biceps before your ass got the chance to hit the floor. "Woah, careful there hot stuff. Looks like you had too much to drink last night." Your savior drawled, and immediately, you put a face to his voice, ultimately remembering who owned the place. It was Jay, from a certain fraternity you were affiliated with. Which would mean you were at their frat house right now.

Great. You were 40 minutes away from Ivan's.

Jay's sturdy hands pulled you back to stand on your own two wobbly feet, never leaving your arms in any case you trip over again. "You okay?" The pace of the room spinning slowed down until it came to a halt, your dreary eyes finally meeting his fierce ones. "Man you look like shit" He whispered. Mustering up what little body-control you had left to give him a nod, to which he gave an unsatisfied groan or acknowledgement. He gently pulled you somewhere, and you followed blindly. Normally, you would've slapped him and told him to fuck off by now, but you weren't really in the state to put up a fight. 

He kept tugging you along behind him, looking back at you every now and then to see if you bumped into any corner or something, up a flight of stairs and a couple more turns until you reached a less crowded wing of the dorm. Finally stopping your little walk to open the door to what you assumed was his room, he ushered you (who was leaning against the wall to keep yourself from falling) into his room. You caught a glimpse of this other girl who was half-naked on his bed jolt at the sudden intrusion. 

"Get out." Jay said, emotionless, stunning the girl and making her scoff, thinking he was just kidding. "You heard me, didn't you? Out. Now." He repeated, grabbing the girl by the arm and practically shoving her outside the room, all while you stood watch from the side. He finally turned his attention back to you, hands finding it's way wrapped around your wrist and guiding you to rest your body on his bed. 

"Why did you kick her out?" Out of all the other, more sensical questions you could've asked, you chose that. You didn't know why but it felt like the right one to ask in that moment. Jay simply chuckled in response, joining you, collapsing onto the bed as well, cradling the back of his head with his hands. "Didn't feel like sharing space," he muttered.

You didn't bother replying. The pounding in your skull was starting to sync up with your heartbeat, and the room still tilted slightly every time you blinked too fast. You let your head fall back onto the pillow, eyes slipping shut, hoping the silence might give you a second to breathe.

But of course, he broke it. "Shouldn't your boyfriend be looking for you right about now?" he asked, voice dipped in lazy amusement. Jay grinned like he'd just caught you off guard. "C'mon, a girl like you doesn't just end up at a party like this without someone losing their mind about it. Some athlete guy or whatever, right? Skater boyfriend or something?"

That snapped your attention toward him. Your brows furrowed, confusion wrinkling your expression. "What?" "You have a boyfriend, right?" he added casually, like he hadn't just dropped a loaded issue onto your fragile morning. You sat up halfway, squinting at him. "How do you—?" Jay shrugged like it was no big deal. "Everyone on campus knew you two. The golden couple. Picture-perfect." He paused, watching your reaction closely, the smirk on his lips tightening. "Didn't expect to see you at one of our parties, though."

You swallowed hard. "We're not together."

Jay blinked, briefly caught off guard. "Oh... Damn. My bad. Just figured with how you carried yourself back then — cold, focused, untouchable — someone already locked you down." You sat up a little, groaning as your headache punched you behind the eyes. "I'm not really in the mood for small talk." He shrugged, completely unfazed. "Wasn't trying to make small talk."

That answer set off a low warning in your gut, but you didn't move. You couldn't. Not yet. You just stared at the wall, chest tightening. You swallowed thickly, unsure if it was nausea or dread climbing up your throat. "Who are you?" He chuckled again, propping himself up on one elbow. "You wouldn't know me. Most people don't. But I know you." You shifted uncomfortably, wrapping your arms around yourself. The air suddenly felt colder. Jay leaned a little closer, eyes never leaving your face.

"I saw you skate once," Jay added, softer now — but not gentler. "Nationals, a couple years back. You were wearing this icy blue outfit. Hair slicked back like you were ready to ruin someone's life. I went with my mom. She kept commenting on your form. I couldn't stop staring at your legs." You stiffened slightly. His tone was too casual for what he was saying. Too confident, like he didn't think it was creepy.

"You were hot as hell," he said with a small laugh. "Still are." You turned away, trying to ignore the way your stomach twisted. "I wanted to talk to you after that," he continued, eyes dragging over you again. "But you had that face. Like you were already taken. Like no one else existed." You didn't respond. Didn't want to feed the moment. Didn't want to find out where this was going, even though you already knew.

Jay leaned back again, as if he hadn't just peeled a piece of your past open and held it up for inspection. "But now," he said with a small smile, "you're here. Kinda wild how things work out." You stood up, ignoring the throb in your head, and grabbed your purse. Jay didn't move to stop you. He just watched, gaze trailing your movements like he already had a version of you built up in his mind — and last night, maybe he thought he finally got close enough to taste it.

"The door's down the hall," he said. "Don't trip on the bodies."

You didn't answer. You just left — heart racing, throat tight, wondering how you'd gotten so far from the person you used to be... and how many more strangers were going to see you like this before you finally stopped.

[*]-----===[☠]===-----[*]

Ivan opened the door for you, helplessly staring at your drunk state for what felt like the umpteenth time that week. You could barely hold yourself upright, stumbling in with glassy eyes and the scent of cheap liquor clinging to your clothes. It was becoming a twisted routine: you disappearing into the night, and him opening that same door in the early morning hours, bracing himself for the sight of you barely hanging on.

He hated it. Every second of it. But he couldn't lash out at you now—not when you looked so fragile. And tonight, you looked even more broken than usual. There was something different in your eyes. Something that clung to you like a ghost. He had a feeling he knew what it was. Or rather, who it was.

Jay's careless question still echoed in your head—"Shouldn't your boyfriend be looking for you right about now?"—and it made your stomach churn. The walk back from the frat house had been hell. That single sentence had stirred a storm of memories, forcing your mind to replay your breakup with Sunghoon over and over like a scratched-up mixtape you couldn't shut off.

It pissed you off more knowing that he was already dating that Minji bitch—openly, even proudly, parading her around campus as if you were never part of his life. You'd seen the photos. Him smiling beside her like she was the prize at the end of a race. It was disgusting. Infuriating. Heartbreaking. And somehow, Jay didn't even know you and Sunghoon had broken up. Guess the news didn't reach everyone.

Two months. It had been two months since the breakup, and yet you still hadn't moved on. Not really. How could you? You spent six fucking years loving that boy. Six years building a life with him, believing—knowing—that he was your future. And all of that... gone. Like it never meant anything to him. Because the day after he ended things, he posted a photo with Minji, hand on her waist, her lips brushing his cheek. That's how you found out.

It destroyed you.

Because that meant he had her lined up all along. That while you were crying yourself to sleep, barely able to eat, barely able to breathe, he was out there already replacing you. Already happy. His actions screamed that those six years were disposable. That you were disposable.

Meanwhile, your world collapsed. Your relationships with friends, your focus on school, even your self-worth—it all crumbled. You were stuck in the ruins, trying to make sense of what you did wrong. Wondering why he didn't fight for you. Why he didn't show up at Ivan's doorstep with your favorite flowers in hand, crying in the rain, begging to be taken back. That was the least he could've done. But he never did. No calls. No texts. Just silence. Just... nothing.

So, you started to treat him the same way.

You tried to forget him by throwing yourself into strangers—letting unfamiliar hands trace skin they didn't deserve, letting their mouths write lies across your collarbone. You smiled with your teeth and not your eyes, danced until your feet ached, drank until your lips forgot how to speak his name. Skimpy dresses became armor, lip gloss became distraction, and sex became an escape hatch. Every party was a stage, and you played your part flawlessly—the wild one, the carefree one, the girl who didn't care anymore. But deep down, you were just the girl still bleeding under her glitter.

Day-drinking was easier than admitting you were hurting. A shot before your morning class, a spiked drink tucked in your tote bag, alcohol woven into your daily routine like it was a form of self-care. Your friends raised brows, but you shrugged and laughed, playing it cool like it was all a joke. You weren't drinking to get drunk—you were drinking to forget. And most days, you were too numb to even tell the difference.

You wandered from party to party like a ghost with good eyeliner, haunted by your own heartbeat. Every night was another blur of sweaty skin and strangers' laughter, another playlist of songs you didn't like pounding in your skull. You clung to the bodies of people you barely knew, hoping their touch would scrape away the memories. They pressed you against walls, whispered nothings in your ear, hands eager, lips desperate—but none of it reached you. You felt like a mannequin dressed in desire.

Their kisses were messy and thoughtless, all tongue and teeth, nothing tender. They didn't know how to touch you, not really, not in the way you craved. Their fingers moved like they were trying to win a game, not learn your language. And yet, you let them. Again and again and again, because if you stayed still too long, you might remember the silence he left behind.

You let them fuck you in bedrooms with the lights off, in bathrooms with the sink pressing into your back, in cars that smelled like sweat and gasoline. You said yes when you didn't mean it, faked moans like it was second nature, and left before they could ask your name twice. You weren't looking for connection—you were looking for oblivion. Something fast. Something forgettable.

But nothing ever stuck. Every body you pressed against felt more like a placeholder than a presence. Every orgasm felt like chasing a high that never came. No one looked at you long enough to see past your thighs. And maybe that was the point.

You'd lie in strangers' beds with the ceiling spinning above you, the sheets damp and your skin crawling with regret. Their scent always lingered too long on your skin, clashing with your perfume in the worst way. You'd slip out quietly, clothes wrinkled, heels in hand, mascara smudged and pride shattered. Sometimes you'd catch your reflection in a hallway mirror and barely recognize yourself. You looked like a girl who had everything under control—and felt like a girl who'd lost her soul in someone else's sheets.

Even in their arms, you felt alone. Even in a crowded room, you felt invisible. Even with mouths pressed to your neck and praise spilling from their lips, it all rang hollow. They didn't want you. They wanted what you gave so easily—skin, sound, surrender.

The void in your chest grew heavier with every morning after. The more you gave yourself away, the more fragmented you became. Pieces of you scattered across dorm rooms and strangers' memories, never quite whole again. You began to wonder if there was even anything left to keep sacred. And still, you kept going.

Somewhere in the blur of hookups and hangovers, it hit you—this wasn't what you wanted. You didn't want sex. You wanted safety. You wanted arms around you, not hands on you. You wanted someone to pull you in when you were falling apart, not someone who peeled your clothes off before even learning your name.

You craved comfort like oxygen—something real, something still. You wanted the weight of someone's chest under your cheek, their voice a soft murmur in your hair, promising you that not everyone disappears. That not everyone takes and leaves. That love, the kind that stays, might still exist for people like you. But the more you searched for it in strangers, the more you realized they didn't have it to give.

These boys didn't look at you like you were something precious. They looked at you like a challenge, a pastime, a pretty body wrapped in emotional distance. Their kisses were rushed, their hands clumsy, their intentions thin. There was no warmth in them—just heat. And even that never stayed long.

You started to notice how shallow their touches were, how forced your laughter sounded, how each encounter left you colder than before. You began to feel like a shell, doing things that once gave you a rush but now just drained you dry. The hollowness crept in slowly, like smoke filling a locked room. You tried to pretend it wasn't suffocating. But every time the high wore off, you felt more alone than ever.

You stopped counting how many boys you'd kissed. You stopped looking them in the eye. Because you knew if you did—if you really saw them—you'd have to see yourself too. And maybe that was what scared you the most. The reflection of a girl who gave herself away in pieces, hoping someone might care enough to gather them.

The world felt colder now. Not in the weather or the air, but in the way people passed you without looking twice. In how easy it was to be touched but not held. In how your name was spoken like a footnote. In how no one ever stayed long enough to see past your body.

You missed the kind of closeness that didn't end with the buzz wearing off. You missed whispered conversations under blankets, sleepy morning texts, and soft laughs that felt like home. You missed being known. But most of all, you missed how it felt to belong to someone who wanted to keep you, not conquer you. Someone who made you feel like you mattered, not just in bed—but in the world.

And that someone had been him.

Sunghoon had been your anchor, the only one who ever held you together when everything else fell apart. With him, even silence had felt safe. You didn't have to chase attention or earn softness—he gave it freely. He was your calm, your constant, your shelter from the chaos.

But now, without him, everything felt unsteady. Each day was a tightrope walk with no safety net, each night a plunge into loneliness that no body could fill. The world felt sharper, meaner, more dangerous. Like you could disappear, and no one would look twice. Like maybe you already had. Like even if you disappear, no one would even notice

But Ivan did. He always does. He didn't ask questions, didn't press, didn't scold. Just caught you when you were crumbling again, holding you together in the quietest way possible. Like a thread keeping your unraveling from turning into collapse.

He didn't say anything as he helped you inside, guiding your barely responsive body toward the couch. You couldn't even meet his eyes; everything inside you was knotted and swollen, a bruised heart too sore to speak. Your limbs moved like dead weight, your soul heavier than you could carry on your own. Ivan didn't hesitate—not even for a second. He tucked the blanket around your shoulders like he'd done it a hundred times before.

He sat beside you, not close enough to crowd you, but close enough to catch you if you shattered. The silence between you wasn't awkward—it was gentle. The kind that wrapped around your ache instead of digging into it. He didn't try to fix you with words. Just his presence, steady and grounding, letting you fall apart without fear of being seen as weak.

You didn't speak either—your thoughts too loud, your throat too tight. But Ivan didn't need the noise to understand the storm inside you. He knew you too well. He'd seen you bruised, both inside and out, and never once did he look away. Never once did he treat you like you were too much to handle.

He watched you the way someone watches a fire—not with fear, but with reverence. Like you were something powerful, and hurting, and beautiful all at once. His eyes flicked over your features, tracking every quiver of your jaw, every flicker of pain behind your lashes. Not judging. Just��seeing.

Wishing, with every breath he took beside you, that he could pull your sorrow into his chest and carry it for you. But he knew better than to try. Healing couldn't be handed over—it had to be reached for. And you weren't there yet. Not really.

Still, he stayed. Because he always did. Because he knew you weren't okay, and maybe you wouldn't be for a while, but you didn't have to be alone in that. Not while he was around. He made the ache more bearable just by being near.

You leaned your head against the back of the couch, staring blankly at nothing, and only then did you feel it: the subtle shift in the air. The difference between being tolerated and being cared for. Ivan didn't want anything from you—not your body, not your distractions, not your apologies. Just you, exactly as you were, broken pieces and all.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn't feel like disappearing. 

The silence gave you room to breathe, but it also gave your thoughts space to scream. You sat there, swaddled in Ivan's borrowed blanket, and felt the full weight of everything you'd tried to bury. It wasn't just about being used, or discarded, or forgotten—it was about being unloved. About being loved once, and then not enough to be stayed for. That kind of abandonment doesn't just sting—it brands.

You tried to make sense of it, tried to find the exact moment when things began to rot beneath the surface. Was it something you did? Something you failed to give? Something he found in someone else that he couldn't find in you? Your mind spun in circles, blaming yourself for crimes you weren't even sure had been committed.

The pain wasn't sharp anymore. It was dull and constant, like the throb of an old wound you kept picking at. You weren't crying—but your chest ached like you'd been sobbing for hours. Like you were holding back a dam with nothing but shaking hands and bitten lips. And Ivan just sat there, letting you bleed in silence.

You remembered how it felt to be loved by him—by Sunghoon. How his fingers would tangle in your hair like they belonged there. How he'd whisper your name like it meant something sacred. And for a while, it did. Until it didn't.

There was no goodbye. No dramatic end. Just the slow dissolving of effort, of softness, of presence. One day, you were the girl he smiled at first thing in the morning. The next, you were someone he could leave without a word.

And no one warns you about that. No one tells you that the real heartbreak isn't always in the ending—it's in the drift. In how someone can love you loudly and then leave you quietly. In how their absence echoes louder than their affection ever did. In how you wake up one morning and realize the arms that once held you now hold someone else.

You hated how much you still loved him. Hated how the memory of his voice could make your throat tighten. How certain songs still made your stomach drop. How you couldn't even hear his name without feeling something in your chest collapse in on itself. It was pathetic—and you knew it—but knowing didn't make it stop.

You'd given him the softest parts of you, and he'd walked away like it meant nothing. Like you meant nothing. And now you were left trying to stitch yourself back together with trembling hands and strangers' kisses. But none of it worked. Because he'd taken parts of you that no one else knew how to hold.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to see Ivan out of the corner of your eye—his jaw clenched, his brow furrowed, not in anger, but in that quiet frustration that came from watching someone you care about get broken by someone who didn't. He still didn't say a word. But he didn't have to. His presence was a steady reminder that not everyone leaves. That some people show up—even when you're unrecognizable in your grief.

The memories didn't wait for permission. They came like waves, crashing hard and unrelenting. You blinked, and suddenly he was there again—Sunghoon, barefoot in the kitchen, hair messy from sleep, humming some old song as he poured you coffee in your favorite chipped mug. He'd glance back at you and grin like you were everything. Like he couldn't believe he'd gotten so lucky.

You remembered the way he used to look at you from across a crowded room. How the world seemed to hush around you when your eyes met. There was always this little secret smile he gave you, the one no one else got. And when he pulled you aside, his hand on the small of your back, it felt like the whole night existed just for the two of you. Like the universe conspired to make that moment happen.

He had this way of folding you into his chest like home. You could be ranting, crying, half-laughing through the chaos of your day, and he'd just pull you close, murmuring, "You're okay. I got you." That was the part you missed most—being gotten. Being understood without having to explain yourself. You hadn't realized how rare that kind of safety was until it vanished.

It wasn't a perfect relationship. God, no. There were fights, silences, bruised egos—but even then, there had always been this belief in each other. A trust. And maybe that's what made the end feel like such a betrayal—not that it ended, but that he stopped believing in you first.

You remembered the last time he kissed you. Really kissed you. Not out of habit, not out of obligation—but with that slow, sweet ache like he still meant it. And then after that... he didn't. His lips still touched yours, but it felt mechanical. Like a door slowly closing.

The drift had been silent, almost imperceptible at first. Fewer texts. Less laughter. Shorter calls. Until one day, you realized you hadn't heard him say "I love you" in weeks—and when you did, it sounded like punctuation, not a promise. Like a line rehearsed too many times to mean anything anymore.

The worst part? He didn't fight for you. Not once. He let you walk away like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like you hadn't peeled yourself open for him. Like you hadn't handed him your heart and said, "Be gentle."

You often wondered if he felt even a fraction of the wreckage he left behind. If he ever laid awake, haunted by the sound of your voice cracking mid-argument, or the look on your face the night everything crumbled. But you knew better. People like Sunghoon don't lose sleep over the girls they abandon—they just move on, leaving you to clean up the mess alone.

Ivan shifted slightly beside you, drawing you back to the present. You didn't look at him. You couldn't—not with your eyes glassy, throat tight, body filled with the ghosts of what once was. But you felt him there, solid and still. And for tonight, that was enough.

Even with the solace that Ivan's presence provided, tonight was drifting into one of those nights where the silence felt louder than any sound. Jay's words still ringing in your ears. The kind that curled around your ankles and pulled you under like smoke, dense and consuming. Outside, rain tapped the windows in a tired rhythm, the sky painted in navy and violet bruises. Inside, your apartment was dim, lit only by the blue hue of your phone screen and the flickering candle you'd forgotten to blow out.

You were three glasses of wine deep—not enough to blur the edges, but just enough to make the loneliness shimmer. You should've gone to sleep, but instead, you laid back against the couch, thumbs hovering over your screen, rereading the old messages. Not the ones filled with sweet nothings or blurry photos at 2 AM, but the ones that mattered. The ones where he said he was proud of you, that he liked your laugh when it cracked at the end, that he hated how time always ran out when he was with you.

Sunghoon.

You hadn't talked in weeks. Not since you broke things off. Not since he cheated. Not since your body curled into his bed again like it belonged there. You typed out a message; "Hey. I know it's late but... I was just thinking about you. I guess I just wondered if you're okay. Or maybe I'm just drunk. Idk." as your thumb hovered over "Send."

Then, like some cruel twist of fate, you saw it. His story. You shouldn't have tapped it. You should've closed the app. But your finger moved before your sense could catch up. It was the dimly-lit room that you once shared with him, warm with amber light. A record spun in the background, low jazz filtering through. A brief video first—just the room. Two wine glasses on the table. Someone's giggle off camera. Then the next slide. A photo. Minji.

She sat across his lap, one arm draped lazily around his neck. Her head tilted back in laughter, his eyes crinkled like they always did when he was genuinely smiling. His hands were on her thighs, intimate and so fucking familiar it made your skin crawl. Her dress hiked up just enough to show he didn't care who was watching.

No caption. None needed.

You stared. Blinked. Your throat burned. That raw heat behind your eyes stung before the tears even welled. You went back to your unsent message. Deleted it. Locked your phone. Tried to breathe. But every breath dragged against the sharp edge of something that used to be soft—used to be yours.

You buried your face in your hands, trying to will the image away. But it stuck. It rooted itself into the back of your eyelids, blooming behind your vision like a bruise every time you blinked.

You slept restlessly that night, if you could call it sleep. Mostly just shifting under the covers, staring at the ceiling, thinking about all the ways people choose someone else. And how it feels when they never choose you.

Wonyoung let herself in like she always did—no knock, no warning, just the sound of keys jangling and the door creaking open. "Don't kill me, but I brought smoothies instead of coffee," she called out as she stepped inside. You were still curled up on the couch, same hoodie from the night before, eyes swollen in that tell-tale way. She didn't say anything for a second. Just stood there, her glittery nails wrapped around two smoothie cups, looking at you like she already knew.

"Oh babe," she sighed, walking over and setting the drinks down. She crouched in front of you, brushing your hair back gently. "Please tell me you didn't check his story." You said nothing. She clicked her tongue, not angry—never angry—just disappointed in that way only best friends can be. She knew what you'd seen. Everyone did. Minji had reposted it too, adding a white heart over the photo like that made it sweeter. It didn't.

"Why do you even still check his page?" Wonyoung asked softly. You gave a weak shrug. "Habit, I guess." She sighed again, standing up and handing you the smoothie. "Drink. We're going out tonight." You blinked. "What? No, Ivan really—" "Ah-ah," she cut you off, hands on her hips. "You're not sitting here and letting another girl's thigh photo ruin your weekend. You need a reset. And the best place for that?" You stared at her. She grinned. "A frat party." You groaned. "Wony—" "No. You're coming. I already picked your outfit. We're summoning your slut era, whether you like it or not."

This time, with a friend named Wonyoung in tow—your designated guardian angel in a glittery dress. She had promised to keep a watchful eye, to be your benevolent ally in case the scent of beer whispered too sweetly in your ear again. Wonyoung never drank much, claiming she liked to remember the night rather than piece it together the morning after.

She looped her arm through yours the moment you stepped inside the house, eyes scanning the crowd, lips tugged in a half-smile that almost said, I know why you're really here. And maybe she did. Maybe she saw the way your gaze flickered, the way your breath hitched when someone laughed in the same timbre as his, or how your fingers twitched like they were looking for something familiar to hold. But she didn't say anything. Just squeezed your arm gently and tugged you toward the kitchen, like a silent pact had been made: no chaos tonight—at least, not the kind that breaks you.

Scanning the crowd, you hoped you'd see a familiar mop of jet black hair. Not Sunghoon's soft ones, but a certain someone's sharp undercut. Alas, the place was filled as hell, given that this specific frat always threw the craziest parties. You were quick to give up on your little search for the man, heading to the little kitchen island where some rando was serving a concoction of assorted liquors.

Still, even after your disappointment, a small part of you genuinely wished that he'd somehow show up in front of you again. Maybe if you got damn near blackout drunk again, he'd bring you to his room to sober up again. You don't know why you're suddenly seeking him out. That is to say, you did know. You relished in the thought of someone wanting you again, not just after one night, but someone who fucking wanted you for years. You wanted to leave it to fate, yet you feared if you didn't act now, your chance with him would slip further and further away. Like how Alice desperately chased the rabbit she caught glimpses of, you wanted to make an escape to chase Jay.

Slipping away under Wonyoung's gaze when a friend of her hooked her into a juicy conversation, your feet guided you to where your heart (and pussy) was begging you to go, stopping at his door, as your hand hovered over the knob, hesitating. What if he had a girl in here? Flashbacks of the time you caught Sunghoon with Minji raced through your desperate mind. Then again, Jay seemed more than willing to kick out that girl from that morning just to get you to rest. Fuck it. 

Quickly swinging the door open, you were met with Jay who was laying on his bed, guitar in hand, eyes darting to you at the sound and comotion you made for your entrance. Raising a brow in amusement, he asked, "Oh? If it isn't little miss single. How may I help you?" His teeth flashed when he gave you that grin of his, confident. Cocky. 

Your eyes flicked down to the guitar on his lap, but the smirk on his face pulled you in harder than any melody he could strum. You stepped inside, shutting the door behind you with a click that felt heavier than it should've. Jay's eyebrow quirked again, this time curious, but his fingers stilled on the strings. "Didn't peg you for the barging-in type," he teased, voice low and playful, but something sharp lingered behind it—like he already knew why you were here. You didn't respond, only moved closer, drawn like a moth to a flame you knew could burn you alive.

You swiftly hovered above him now, straddling his lap like you belonged there, but Jay didn't move—not yet. His hands rested at your hips, not gripping, not pushing, just... waiting. And suddenly, in the silence that stretched too long, that memory from the morning before pushed itself to the front of your mind. The way you had slumped through the dorm halls, barely able to see straight, and how Jay—so annoyingly cool and unaffected—had wordlessly carried you to his room. You'd cried, not even knowing why, but he'd stayed through it, brushing your hair back, muttering something about how he and his mom had watched you skate, how you "floated like you weren't even human."

And maybe that was the moment something shifted. Not the words themselves, but the way he said them—quietly, like they were a secret he'd been holding onto for too long. "I never made a move 'cause you were his," he'd whispered, eyes trained on the wall like he couldn't bear to see your reaction. "But I wanted to. Since that night I saw you perform." You remembered laying there, half drunk, half crying, but fully aware that Jay had meant it—and that he hadn't touched you. Not even then.

Now, he looked at you like he might finally let himself want something. His breath brushed your lips as he murmured, "So what's this, then? Rebound? Or revenge?" It wasn't bitter—just cautious, curious. Testing if this was about Sunghoon, or if maybe... it was finally about you and him. And honestly? You didn't know either.

Your fingers curled around the collar of his shirt, grounding yourself as you tried to steady your breath. "I'm tired of choosing people who make me feel small," you whispered, your voice cracking like a window opened just enough for honesty to slip in. "You saw me. Even when I was a mess. You didn't take advantage of it. And now?" Your gaze locked with his, and you let the rest out on an exhale, almost pleading—"I want you to want me."

Jay's expression shifted—just barely—but enough that you noticed. His usual smirk faltered, replaced with something quieter, heavier, like he could see right through you. You were still smeared with the night's makeup, your mascara a ghost of last night's sobs, your mind hazy from too much longing and not enough love. He didn't move to kiss you or undress you; instead, he looked at you like he was afraid you'd shatter. "You're still a mess," he said, low and blunt—but not unkind. Just honest, in a way that made your stomach twist.

You pulled back slightly, suddenly cold despite the weight of him beneath you, the warmth of his palms still gentle at your hips. "I know," you said, like it was a confession, your voice breaking in places you didn't know were still cracked. "But I still came here, didn't I?" You hated how pathetic it sounded, how desperate you were to be wanted—even if it wasn't clean, even if it wasn't fair. And Jay, for all his cockiness, didn't gloat.

Instead, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against your chest like he was the one who couldn't take it anymore. "I wanted to be your first choice," he murmured, his voice muffled, raw. "Not your soft place to crash after he wrecked you." You felt your heart seize at that, because wasn't that the truth? You weren't here with clean hands and a clear head—you were here with baggage and bruises, hoping someone else could carry the weight for just one night. Jay's arms tightened around you, though, and for a moment, you let yourself believe it was okay to fall apart here.

"I'm not gonna fuck you just because you're broken," he said, finally lifting his head, his voice rough with restraint. "But if you're gonna let me touch you, I need it to be real." His eyes, usually so teasing and unreadable, burned into yours now—vulnerable, exposed. "No ghosts between us. No Sunghoon. No revenge." You blinked, hard, and the tears that came weren't from heartbreak—they were from the fact that someone was finally asking for you.

He held you like he meant it. Like there was something sacred about the way your breath hitched, about the way your thighs clenched around his hips as if they belonged there. And you—so stupidly hopeful, so newly heartbroken—let yourself believe it. That maybe Jay had been waiting for the right moment. That maybe his words from that morning—how you "captivated" him, how he'd "held back"—meant something deeper than lust masked as poetry.

In truth, he remembered that routine of yours not because of the artistry or grace, but because your ass looked too good in that tight velvet skirt. He'd watched with his mom, sure—but while she commented on your triple lutz, Jay had been fixated on the way your chest bounced when you landed. The only reason he kicked that girl out of his bed that morning was because you walked in, drunk, pretty, and just vulnerable enough to be pliable. But he didn't mind playing the long game—letting you cry it out, pretending to care, just waiting for your heart to split wide open. And tonight? It finally had.

Jay's touch shifted now—just barely, but enough. A little firmer on your hips. A little less hesitation in the way his hand slipped under your shirt. He kissed your jaw like he had all the time in the world, but there was a hunger there, growing sharper. You were unraveling in front of him, aching for affection—and he'd make you think he was giving it. That's what made it fun.

And you? You whispered his name like a plea, not knowing you were feeding into everything he wanted. Your body leaned into his like it remembered something he never actually gave you—safety, maybe. Love, even. He didn't have to tell you sweet lies, not when you were already doing it for him in your head. "You don't know how long I've wanted this," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, letting the words drip like honey. And you believed him.

You breathed in sharp when his lips brushed your collarbone, skin tingling under the heat of his mouth. His fingers ghosted over the hem of your shirt, not rushing, just lingering, like he was feeling out where he ended and you began. The pause was maddening, your breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat, chest rising like your ribs were trying to break free. You could smell him—warm, faintly smoky, a mix of cologne and something uniquely him—and the scent alone made your legs tighten around his waist. "Jay..." you whispered, barely audible, but loud enough to make his gaze flick up and catch on your face again, your voice cracked and trembling.

He didn't answer right away. Just looked at you with that same unreadable softness, the kind that made your chest ache more than it soothed. His fingers traced slow circles against the small of your back, not coaxing you closer or pushing you away—just there, steady, grounding. You almost hated how quiet he was being, how still he was letting this be. Like he was giving you every opportunity to change your mind, to pull back before it turned into something real.

But you weren't going to. You couldn't. Not when his hands felt this warm, not when your body had been aching for someone to see you the way he did now—like you weren't a burden, a breakup, a mess. He slid one hand up the center of your spine, slow enough that your back arched to meet it, your body moving before your brain could catch up. And when his palm landed between your shoulder blades, he guided you down—inch by inch—until your chest pressed against his, your forehead resting against his cheek.

"I've got you," he murmured, and it was the first thing he'd said since you gave yourself to the moment. Three simple words, but they made your throat close up, made tears sting behind your eyes like a fresh slap. You didn't want to cry again—not now, not when things were soft and quiet and full of possibility. But your body remembered how it felt to be discarded, to be replaced, and now that you were held like this, it was all pouring up from beneath your skin. You turned your face, brushing your nose along the curve of his jaw just to breathe.

Jay's hands were careful, always careful, like he knew how close you were to unraveling. His thumb swept the underside of your ribs, fingers spanning the width of your waist like he was keeping you tethered. You hated how good it felt to be touched like this—like you were precious, like your skin was something to memorize instead of own. You let out a soft sound you didn't mean to make, a broken sigh that fell against his throat. He made no comment on it—he just kissed your temple, like a silent I heard you.

You found yourself shifting without thinking, your hips pressing down against his slowly, like your body had finally caught up with what your heart had already decided. The contact sent heat skittering through your spine, made your legs quake just a little from the sensitivity of it all. His breath hitched—barely—but you felt it, and it made you braver. You threaded your fingers into his hair, anchoring yourself there, gripping just hard enough to feel something solid beneath your shaking hands. "Jay..." you breathed again, and this time it came out needier, lower, like a prayer.

He kissed you then, properly this time—slow, warm, and devastatingly patient. His lips didn't rush or demand; they asked. They lingered. They learned you. And you kissed him back like you were starving, like you'd been waiting for someone to finally taste you with meaning.

The kiss deepened, but not wildly. It was still tender, still restrained, his hand brushing up your ribs as if memorizing the curve of you was more important than anything else. Your chest pressed flush against his as you tilted your head, and you could feel the beat of your own heart pounding like it wanted out. Every inch of you was awake now—painfully, electrically aware. Aware of the weight of his body beneath you, the heat pooling in your stomach, and the dangerous idea blooming in your chest: that this might matter.

You pulled back just slightly to breathe, your forehead resting against his again, eyes fluttering shut as you whispered, "Don't hurt me." It slipped out like a secret you didn't mean to tell, like a wish you were scared to say out loud. Your voice was small, the kind you reserved for moments you didn't think anyone would catch. But Jay caught it. And he didn't say anything—just ran his thumb across your lower lip like he was sealing the words there.

He kissed you again—slower this time, deeper, like he meant to give you something and not take it. Like he knew the cracks in you and was kissing around them, not through them. Your hand moved instinctively to his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt like it could hold you together if you clung hard enough. His body moved with yours, gentle, guiding, patient—drawing out every ounce of ache you had left inside you. And for now, even if it wasn't real, even if you were still a mess... it felt like it could be enough. 

Your chests pushed against one another, heaving from the intense yet intimate makeout session. Jay's hands moved again, this time slipping beneath the waistband of your pants with a slowness that bordered on cruel. Not teasing exactly—just deliberate, like he wanted you to feel every second of this, to be fully present in every inch he touched. His fingers brushed against the soft skin of your lower stomach, warm and steady, drawing your breath up sharp into your chest. You looked down at him through heavy lashes, lips parted, and for once, he wasn't smirking—he looked focused, like he was studying you. Like he wanted to earn your unraveling, not rush it.

His palms swept over your hips, thumbs pressing just enough to make you gasp, and you lifted your hips in silent permission, letting him slide your pants down slowly. They pooled at your knees first, then your ankles, and you kicked them off blindly, too busy watching the way his eyes never left your face. You were trembling now—not from fear, but from the sheer weight of it all, the way this felt like the first time someone was actually seeing you naked. Not just your body, but all the rawness underneath. Jay trailed his fingers up the outside of your thighs, settling at your hips again, grounding you in the middle of the storm you'd walked into.

He leaned up to kiss your stomach, just below your navel, soft and open-mouthed. Your breath stuttered in your throat at the contact, the gentle warmth of it making your legs twitch around his body. "Still with me?" he murmured, his voice low and hoarse, but you could feel the restraint in it—like it was taking everything in him to move this slow. You nodded wordlessly, hand threading tighter into his hair, as if answering with your body was safer than speaking. Words felt too heavy here, too vulnerable.

He moved up again, finally helping you peel your bra off with the same quiet care. The fabric slid from your shoulders, and suddenly you were fully bare under his gaze. You almost reached to cover yourself, instinctively, but he caught your wrists gently, just holding them there for a moment. "Don't," he whispered, kissing one of your palms. "Let me see you." And you let him, your arms dropping to your sides like surrender.

His hands found your waist again, and this time he pulled you flush against him, bare chest to bare chest, the heat of his skin a soft brand across yours. The contact made your breath catch—your nipples brushing against him, your thighs brushing the denim still clinging to his hips. Every inch of you buzzed under the weight of his body, but he still moved with agonizing patience, letting you feel the shape of him without taking anything too fast. His lips found yours again, slower this time, deeper, tongue brushing yours with a lazy hunger that made your toes curl. You melted into it—into him—your body all too willing to give, your heart trailing behind somewhere in the haze.

You reached for the button on his jeans without thinking, your fingers fumbling just a little from nerves. He caught your hand, not to stop you, but to guide you—his voice low as he whispered, "Go slow." There was something in the way he said it, something that made your spine tingle and your eyes flick up to his. You felt like you were learning something dangerous about yourself in this moment—how much you wanted to be told what to do, how much you wanted to trust him to lead. And when you undid his jeans and felt the heat of him beneath the denim, your stomach dropped in anticipation.

He slid them off himself, taking the last bit of space between you with them, and then he was there—solid and heavy and pressing against your thigh, the reality of it grounding you more than any words could. You could barely breathe as he leaned over you again, his hand sliding down the length of your thigh before hooking under your knee and drawing it up around his waist. The closeness made your body tremble, nerves fraying from the tension pulling tight inside you. Jay rested his forehead against yours, breath heavy, lips brushing yours as he whispered, "You sure?" And for once, you didn't hesitate.

"Yes," you breathed, almost too soft, but he heard it. His hand dipped between your legs, testing, finding, and the first contact made your hips jerk beneath him. You bit down on your lip hard to keep from moaning, but he didn't let that go unnoticed—his mouth slid to your ear, murmuring, "Don't hold back." His fingers moved slow, spreading you open, slick and ready, and you gasped, clinging to his shoulders as your head fell back into the pillows. He watched you the whole time—watched you fall apart one breath at a time.

And when he finally lined himself up with you, it wasn't rushed—it was reverent. Like every second before had been building to this one, and neither of you wanted to miss a beat. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, letting you feel all of him, the stretch of it both overwhelming and perfect. You clutched at him, breath catching in your throat, your legs tightening around his waist as he finally settled inside you. And then he just held still, letting you breathe, letting you feel, forehead pressed to yours while the world outside ceased to matter.

He began to move, just barely—his hips rolling with a careful rhythm, slow enough to let your body adjust, but firm enough to make you feel every stroke. The pressure built with each glide, thick and full, filling you in a way that made your legs shake even as they wrapped tighter around him. You held on—arms looped around his neck, fingers digging into his skin—because the heat of it, the stretch, the intimacy of it all was almost unbearable. You gasped when he bottomed out again, his chest brushing yours with each breath, slick skin sliding together in a mess of sweat and heat. "You feel so fucking good," he murmured against your throat, and you whimpered from how true it felt.

Every thrust came with more confidence, but he never lost that pace—that slow, dragging pressure that made you crave more even as it gave everything. His mouth found your jaw, then your collarbone, his lips and teeth ghosting over your skin like he was trying to map you with them. You could feel him watching you between kisses, eyes flicking up to your face, taking in every change in your expression. Your eyes fluttered shut when his hips rolled just right, dragging across something that made your thighs tremble and your nails claw down his back. "Jay—oh my god," you gasped, breathless, and he answered with a low groan, like your voice alone did something to him.

You buried your face in his neck, overwhelmed by how full you felt—not just physically, but in a way that made your chest burn. His arms tightened around you, one hand splayed across your lower back, the other buried in your hair as he held you close, like you were something to protect and claim at the same time. The air between you felt heavy with everything you hadn't said—everything that was spiraling out in the rhythm of your bodies. Every thrust was slow but deliberate, like he was pressing something into you beyond just pleasure. And you could feel your walls fluttering around him with every drag, your body getting too close too fast.

He noticed—of course he did—and one of his hands slipped between you, fingers finding that bundle of nerves and rubbing soft, slow circles that made your entire spine arch off the mattress. "Shit—Jay," you cried out, and your voice cracked right through the haze. He didn't let up, just kept fucking into you like he knew exactly what your body needed, whispering things you couldn't even process anymore—words that melted into your skin and made your head spin. Your legs started to shake, every breath harder to hold, every sound louder than you meant it to be. "That's it," he whispered, breath hot in your ear. "Come for me."

Your body answered before your mind did—everything coiled tight, impossibly tight, before unraveling all at once in a wave that had you crying out into his neck. Your back arched, thighs clenching around his hips, and he didn't stop—just kept moving, slower now, working you through it as your body trembled against him. You held him like you might fall apart without something to ground you, your hands clutching his shoulders like lifelines. He kissed the side of your face, your temple, your cheekbone—anywhere he could reach. "Good girl," he murmured, and it made your chest ache even more.

Jay's rhythm faltered then, his breathing ragged and sharp as he chased his own edge, the grip on your waist tightening. You blinked up at him, still dazed, and met his eyes—and god, they were so dark, so focused on you like nothing else existed. "Fuck, I'm close," he panted, the tension in his jaw almost shaking. You kissed him then—hard, messy, needing—and that was what finally pulled him over. He groaned deep into your mouth, hips stuttering as he came inside you, the sound of it raw and real, like he hadn't meant to lose control like that.

He collapsed against you for a moment, not crushing you, but enough to feel the full weight of him—his heart racing against yours, skin flushed and slick. The room was quiet except for your breathing, and the occasional twitch of your muscles trying to come down from it all. He stayed inside you, unmoving, and you didn't ask him to pull away. You just kept your arms around him, eyes closed, chest heaving as the high settled into something warm and quiet. Jay pressed one last kiss to your shoulder and breathed, "You okay?"

You nodded slowly, brushing your fingers through the back of his hair, grounding yourself in him, in this. You didn't speak—you couldn't yet. The silence between you wasn't awkward; it was full. Heavy. And for the first time in a long time, you didn't feel alone in it. 2 months of sleepless, alcohol-induced nights, now replaced by the lulling intimacy only Jay has managed to bring you. You wished time could just freeze on you, keeping this moment still for eternity. 

Except, that's not how it works. You woke up, rolling on your side and expecting to curl up into Jay's tender embrace, but all that came in contact with your body was air. Cold, empty air. Propping yourself up by your elbows, you surveyed your surroundings. You were butt naked, Jay's thin, gray blanket barely covering your cunt, and totally revealing your nipples. If anyone were to walk in, they'd get a perfect view of your perky assets, so you covered it up with said blanket and hopped off the bed to find two things: your clothes and Jay. One was easier found that the other, since it was just thrown on the floor in a messy puddle. 

Walking out the corridor that led to the rest of the dorm, you began your search for Jay, asking around the drunk zombies that littered everywhere, yet none of them had any idea where he was. You thought he was just busy, probably went out to buy you morning-after pills or something. Yeah. That's what you wanted to believe. So, you stayed in until person after person slowly cleared from the dorm. Hours passed, and there was still no sign of Jay, even when his other fratmates had already arrived home. When asked about Jay's whereabouts, you'd only get knowing smirks and shrugs. Maybe even get catcalled while you were at it too. 

Eventually, you stopped asking. What was the point when they all looked at you like you were just another story to laugh about, another girl who got lost in the shuffle of Jay's bed? You sat back down on the edge of the mattress you'd once moaned on, blanket clutched tight to your chest like it could shield you from the humiliation. The air felt colder now, biting at your skin like even the room was reminding you of how disposable you'd just been. The ache between your legs had shifted—no longer pleasure, but a dull soreness that throbbed with each passing second he stayed gone.

Your phone buzzed once. A message. Your heart leapt, praying it was him. But when you opened it, it was just Wonyoung, checking if you got home safe. You didn't even know how to respond—did you say yes? Did you admit you were still here, curled up in Jay's empty bed like a fool who actually thought he'd stay?

You laid back down, blanket tucked under your chin, staring blankly at the ceiling. The scent of him lingered in the sheets, his cologne mixed with sex and skin and sweat—something that had felt so intimate hours ago, now curdled into something sour in your throat. You shouldn't have stayed the night. You shouldn't have searched for him like some lovesick idiot, shouldn't have clung to the idea that maybe this meant something to him too. The reality was harder to swallow than the alcohol you'd drowned yourself in the night before.

Eventually, you forced yourself to get dressed, even though your limbs felt too heavy, your hands trembling as you pulled your clothes back on. You didn't bother fixing your hair, didn't check the mirror—what was the point? You already looked like what they thought you were. Jay's little one-night stand, the next notch on his bedpost. You pressed your fingers against your temple as you slipped on your shoes, trying to stop yourself from crying.

The apartment was quiet now, eerily so, the chaos of the party faded into an oppressive stillness. You peeked one last time around the corner—his room, the kitchen, even the bathroom. Nothing. No note, no call, not even a shitty text. It was like he'd vanished the second you fell asleep.

You found yourself orbiting around him in the days that followed, like some desperate moon hoping he'd notice the tide it stirred inside you. You didn't have the strength to pretend indifference—every time you saw him leaning against some hallway wall, laughing with his friends like nothing happened, your chest caved in a little more. You'd approach him sometimes. Quiet. Hesitant. Just hoping he'd say something—anything—that proved that night had meant even a fraction of what it meant to you.

One afternoon, your voice broke before your will did. "Why did you leave?" you whispered, eyes glossy and throat tight. "I woke up alone, Jay. You didn't even say goodbye." He looked at you, annoyed, like your hurt was inconvenient. "You're really gonna get all dramatic on me now?" he scoffed. "It was just a night. Chill out."

His words sliced through you, hot and clean. "It wasn't just a night to me," you said, louder this time. "You held me. You looked at me like—like I meant something." Your voice cracked, and you hated how pathetic you sounded. "I thought you cared." Jay tilted his head, a mocking smile playing on his lips. "I did. For about five minutes."

Then he stepped closer, leaning in like your pain was an invitation. "You want me to say I'm sorry?" he murmured, voice low, almost sweet. "Or do you just want me to make you forget again?" You tried to resist. You really did. But the scent of him, the sound of his voice, the ghost of that night—it all drowned you. You didn't answer. You just let him kiss you.

He pinned you to the wall, hands already exploring like he knew he'd won. "You talk too much," he muttered against your mouth. "Let me remind you how good I make you feel." You mumbled his name, your eyes wet with something too complicated to name. And still, you dropped to your knees. You wanted to. As twisted as it is, you loved the thought of him using you, right here in this public space. "Will you let me?" 

Nodding, you let him hush your pain the only way he knew how—by turning it into something physical, something rough, something empty. Your body obeyed while your heart screamed. There was no tenderness in the way he held your jaw, no apology in the way he filled the silence. Just control. Just the unspoken rule that if you gave him what he wanted, maybe—just maybe—he'd stay a little longer. 

Shoving a harsh thumb into your mouth, he let your drool coat it, and later on drip all the way down unto the dirty floor. He unzipped his pants, releasing the bulge in his pants, his musk instantly blocking all your other senses from breaking free of his trance. When he finally deemed your mouth as wet enough to accommodate his dick, he thrusted forward, not letting you adjust anyway whatsoever. The gentle movements of his from your first night together, gone. 

He kept right on with his merciless assault on your throat, not giving a damn whether or not someone sees him literally gag you with his dick. Hell, he maybe hoped someone could see how you looked right now. You looked fucking beautiful.

Jay couldn't help but think back to the first time he saw you perform, the memory catching him off guard in the midst of everything else. The haunting melancholy of the song you danced to still echoed in his mind, a sharp contrast to the fire he saw in you that night. Your movements were fluid yet full of weight, as if you were channeling every ounce of pain and beauty into each step. But it wasn't just the dance that had caught his attention—it was the way you held yourself, your eyes dark, but flickering with something deeper, something unreadable.

He'd always been drawn to that darkness in your gaze. It was like watching the world unfold through someone who had seen too much, yet still had so much to give. And when that warmth flickered across your face in the form of a smile, it hit him harder than it should have. It was the kind of smile that made you forget all the sadness, all the weight, just for a moment. It reminded him of what it felt like to be human, to want, to feel. And maybe, just maybe, that was when he started to realize that you weren't like anyone else.

He'd never admitted it to himself back then, but something in that moment made him want you in a way he couldn't fully grasp. It wasn't just about your beauty, or how effortlessly you captivated an audience. It was the depth of you, how you seemed to wear your emotions like armor, and yet still remained open to the world. It fascinated him. And now, as he watched you from the edge of everything, his thoughts tangled up in a mix of guilt and desire, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was standing on the brink of something he'd already broken.

He wondered if you ever felt the same pull toward him. He thought back to all the times he'd been close to you, close enough to reach out and say something, do something, but always holding back. Always waiting for the right moment, or maybe just for you to make the first move. But now, all he could do was watch as you crumbled. And maybe it was his fault. Maybe he had been so consumed by his own desires, by the allure of what if, that he had never seen the fragility underneath your strength.

And yet, every time you looked at him, every time his gaze met yours, there was a part of him that felt like he was falling into something deeper. Something more complicated. He wanted to fix it. Wanted to be the one to pull you out of this mess, but he didn't know how to fix what he had broken. Not yet.

He couldn't decide whether he was doing this to you because he was scared to admit how much you meant to him, or if it was something darker—that he never truly believed you'd let him have anything real. But there was no denying that every moment with you left him with an ache in his chest, one he didn't know how to fill. You were like the pull of gravity, always keeping him tethered to something he couldn't fully reach.

Jay couldn't bring himself to believe that you wanted him for him. Every time you were near him, every glance, every touch, it felt like you were just grasping for something to fill the emptiness Sunghoon had left behind. He had convinced himself that your attraction to him was just a side effect of heartbreak, a temporary fix. You needed someone to distract you, someone who could make you feel good enough to forget the person who had hurt you so badly.

And yet, as much as he tried to convince himself that was all there was to it, there was this gnawing feeling deep in his chest, one he couldn't shake. He knew that when your eyes met his, there was something deeper in them—something that called to him in a way he couldn't explain. And that terrified him.

It wasn't just the fear of being a rebound, of being a speedbump on your way to healing. It was the raw, intense feeling of wanting something real. Real intimacy. Real connection. Something he hadn't let himself believe in for years. Something he had always kept at arm's length. But with you, it felt different. It was the way you listened when he spoke, the way you cared about his words. It was the way you made him feel seen, even when he didn't want to be. And maybe, just maybe, it was the way you made him want to be someone better.

But even in the midst of all that, he couldn't let go of the fear. What if he was just another temporary fix for you? What if he let himself fall for you, only to realize that when you healed, you would move on, leaving him behind like everyone else? The thought of losing you, of being just another person who didn't matter enough, felt like it might break him in a way he wasn't sure he could come back from.

And so he kept his distance. He stayed away, told himself it was for your sake, for both of you. But inside, he was battling with a war he didn't know how to win. He was too afraid to get close, too afraid to let himself fall for you in a way that might just hurt worse than anything he'd ever known.

Every time he saw you, every time your voice reached his ears or your touch brushed against his skin, he was reminded of everything he couldn't allow himself to have. He couldn't have you. Not like that. Not in a way that meant something.

But damn, the way your eyes lingered on him when you thought he wasn't looking... it made him wonder. Just once. What if he could let himself be vulnerable with you? What if it wasn't about Sunghoon anymore, but about the two of them—about you and him? These were the thoughts that clouded his mind while he made you gag, until he couldn't handle it anymore. He coudln't even focus on cumming, so he just pulled you off his dick and left you there, alone. Confused. Furious. He just left you there again?

Afterward, you sat in the stairwell, still trembling, still gagging on everything unsaid. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, eyes blank. "I hate you," you whispered, to no one. To yourself. But you knew it wasn't true—not yet. The quiet after everything was worse than the act itself. It left you hollow, like a shattered vase that had been hastily put together, but the cracks remained. You could still feel the ache in your throat, the sting in your chest, the warmth of him fading from your skin. The worst part wasn't the physicality of it—it was the feeling of being used. Of being reduced to something disposable. A fleeting moment of pleasure for him, and an emptiness for you that clung to your bones.

You wanted to scream. Wanted to run away from the weight of what had just happened. But you stayed rooted there, in the cold silence, replaying the look on his face when he walked away. It wasn't just the kiss—it was everything after. The way he left without a word, without even a glance backward, like you meant nothing at all.

But why did you let him do it? Why did you let him use you, let him take without giving anything real in return? The answer burned in your chest as you pushed yourself off the floor. You craved something he could never give. You wanted reassurance, affection, comfort. Something beyond his touch. But that was never going to come from him. He had no tenderness to offer, no real connection. He just had control, and you let him have it.

"Why the hell am I like this?" you muttered to yourself, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "I should hate him. But I still... I still want him to care." You wrapped your arms around yourself again, trying to bury the cold emptiness that threatened to drown you. It wasn't just the physical act—it was the aftermath that left you raw. The way he dismissed you. The way his touch was only ever about his needs, not yours. But somehow, in this messed-up cycle, you found yourself still longing for something that didn't exist.

In the months that bled into years, it became a cycle so familiar it might as well have been muscle memory. You and Jay, orbiting each other like two stars caught in a gravitational standoff—too close to fully detach, too volatile to stay bound. You'd chase after him, every time telling yourself this was the last sprint, the last desperate attempt. But it never was. Because he'd let you. He always did.

He let you play with him—tease him, flirt, push him just enough to blur the line between casual and cruel. And for a while, he played along. His guard would come down inch by inch, and you'd start to think maybe—maybe—this time, something real would break through. Something unspoken would finally be named.

But Jay never let things go that far.

Eventually, always, he would retreat. Disappear behind a carefully timed silence, or an excuse that didn't need to make sense. He'd ghost you for days, weeks. Not because he didn't want you—but because he wanted you too much, and that terrified him. The way you got under his skin, wrapped around his thoughts, lived in his mouth even when he wasn't speaking your name—it was too much. And so, he'd run. Because facing that pull meant admitting that you had power over him. And Jay didn't like feeling powerless.

He told himself he was just your convenience. A placeholder. That you came to him not because he was your first choice, but because he was always there. The easiest yes. The least resistance. He didn't believe he was what you really wanted—just what was available. And maybe you didn't know how much that belief of his cracked the foundation beneath your every interaction. Because no matter how close you got, no matter how raw or open you were, he never believed it was about him. Just about what you needed in the moment. That he was a fix, not a home.

And you? You couldn't stop. You hated how much you needed him—hated the silence more. You'd go weeks without him and then break, sending some half-ironic message at 2AM. Something casual, something stupid. A breadcrumb he never failed to follow. Because he missed you too, even if he'd never say it.

The worst part wasn't the chasing. It wasn't even the rejection. It was the fact that in those rare, stolen moments when everything felt almost right—when his hand brushed yours without pulling back, when his voice went soft, like it only did with you—you believed it. You believed it meant something. And then he'd vanish again, like it hadn't.

You cancel each other out.

You, desperate for something you can't quite define. Something steady. Something that stays. And Jay, who thinks he's just the safe bet when you've run out of other options. Who can't believe you're reaching for him because you want him—only him. It's a cruel, intimate kind of limbo. Not lovers, not strangers. Just two people tangled in a war of almosts and what-ifs, neither brave enough to call it love, neither willing to walk away.

Especially since you go to the same uni, even in your last semester, it didn't take much for you to see him again, that smug grin of his still plastered across his face as if nothing had changed. He didn't even acknowledge the weight of what he'd done. To him, you were just a part of his collection—another notch in the belt. And it made your stomach churn. You couldn't keep doing this. You couldn't keep letting him pull you in with empty promises and desperate touches. But how do you escape when every part of you is screaming for something that feels real? How do you move on when the hole inside you feels too deep to fill?

You turned away from him slowly, as if every movement required more strength than you had left. Each step felt like a rebellion against every instinct inside you—every impulse that screamed to turn back, to run into his arms, to beg for something that deep down, you knew would never come. You could already feel the tears building again, prickling at the corners of your eyes like they had so many times before. But this time… you didn't let them fall.

No. You'd cried too many times for him—over him. This time, you chose resolve over ruin. You wouldn’t let yourself be the fallback option anymore, the quiet standby in the wings while he chased after everything but you. You were done being his backup plan, done being the soft place he landed when his world crumbled but never the world he chose to build.

Still, your heart didn’t get the message. It pulsed with the ache of loss—of longing that refused to fade just because you decided it should. The truth was, you didn’t know what life looked like without him in it. You didn’t know how to unlearn the way your heart skipped when he laughed, or the way your body instinctively leaned toward his even when you hated him. You didn’t know how to stop feeling like you’d given him a part of yourself that he never asked for, and worse—never cared to keep.

But what you did know—what you had to know—was that you couldn’t keep doing this. Couldn’t keep breaking your own heart hoping he might eventually piece it back together. You were exhausted from the cycle of hope and disappointment, the slow death of dreams that were only ever yours. You were ready to walk away.

Even if your body still trembled with the desire to turn around. Even if your chest felt hollow without him. Even if the ghost of his touch lingered on your skin like something you’d never be clean of. You held your composure. It was time—past time—you chose yourself. Loved yourself. Enough to stop settling for scraps.

And maybe—just maybe—it was in that very moment, when your back finally turned for good, when you didn’t flinch or hesitate or look over your shoulder one last time—that Jay truly noticed. Or rather, finally accepted what he had spent so long running from. Your absence hit him like a wave—sharp, cold, and consuming. It was louder than all the times you’d raised your voice in frustration, more piercing than the door slams and bitter silences. The space you left behind wasn’t just quiet—it was hollow. Deafening in a way that made his ears ring and his chest tighten, like the world had muted itself in your wake.

He used to think he loved the sound of your crying. The way your voice cracked when you pleaded with him to meet you halfway, when you asked—again and again—why he couldn’t just choose you with both hands instead of holding you with one and pushing you away with the other. He’d give anything to hear it again. Just to know there was still something to fix. Some thread left to hold onto.

Because the truth was, he never thought you’d really leave.

He thought you’d bend, like always. Break, maybe—but stay. That you'd show up at one more party. Respond to one more text. Keep the cycle spinning just a little longer. He never thought you'd actually stop. That you'd put yourself first.

But now, here he was. Standing in the ruins of all the chances he squandered.

And it haunted him—the way you didn’t scream this time. The way you didn’t beg or fight. You simply walked away. And in doing so, you said everything he was never brave enough to hear.

He realized then that your love had always been loud. Loud in the way you cared, the way you tried. Loud in the second chances and the space you gave him to grow in—space he mistook for convenience. He thought your devotion would last forever. That you’d wait for him to come around.

But love isn’t endless when it’s one-sided. And your silence now? It was permanent. Echoing. Like the aftermath of something sacred that had been shattered and left unrepaired for far too long. He called your name under his breath once, as if that might summon you back. As if maybe your heart was still close enough to hear. But there was no reply. Just wind. And regret.

The echo of your sad eyes—the ones that used to beg for a version of him that didn’t exist—refused to fade from his memory. And in their absence, he felt it: emptiness. He realized then that your time together hadn’t just been chaotic or passionate—it had been hell. Not the kind that scorches the skin, but the kind that slowly chips away at your soul. The two of you were like magnets with the same polarity: constantly pulled near, only to be flung apart. Over and over. Drawn together by something neither of you could explain, but never able to make it work. Always repelling. Always clashing.

Because in the end, your flaws weren’t just incidental—they were the very thing that kept you apart. Jay’s polarity was his distrust. His inability to let you in without building walls the size of his wounds. He never truly believed he could be loved, and so he ruined the love you gave—pushed it away, distorted it, tested it until it broke.

And yours?

Yours was mistaking desire for devotion. Yours was offering your body in place of your worth. Letting him take pieces of you under the pretense of passion, hoping that if you gave enough—of your time, your soul, your body—he might just decide to stay. But love built on wounds is still broken. And now, as he stood alone, finally stripped of your presence, Jay wondered if maybe the problem hadn’t been that you loved each other too little—but that you both didn’t know how to love yourselves first.

Worried—no, desperate—Jay did what Sunghoon never had the courage to. He fought. He finally fought for you. He stood at your doorstep, a mess of emotions, hands trembling at his sides. Gone was the usual arrogance in his eyes, the pride that once kept him from admitting fault. All that remained now was a boy undone—raw, vulnerable, and soaked in the kind of tears that only come when you realize you’ve ruined the one thing that ever truly mattered.

He didn’t come with your favorite flowers—because truthfully, he didn’t even know what they were. He never asked, and you never told. There hadn’t been enough soft conversations, enough idle moments between kisses and chaos to exchange details like that. He knew how your lips tasted when they trembled and how your body curled into his when it was cold, but not the color of the petals that made your eyes light up.

So he came with nothing but remorse, standing at the edge of your world hoping that maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t too late. But you weren’t at the door. You hadn’t been coming out much lately, not since you retreated from everything that reminded you of him. Not since you stopped showing up at his frat’s parties, the ones he threw under the guise of celebration but really, always, for you. As an excuse. A trap, almost. A way to lure you out so he could pretend the universe had brought you together again. So you could pretend you hadn’t been dying to see him too.

One good thing came from your self-induced quarantine. That was the improvement of your dynamic with Ivan. Realizing your problem meant being a bit more able to talk about it to help with coping. He understood your situation better and offered a crying shoulder when you needed. You didn't act angsty anymore, only accepting his help, which was actually much needed. You got in contact with your family again, little by little. At first, it was just your sister, and then you kept checking the family group chat more often.

Back to the matter at hand, Jay was outside. In the rain. Or maybe it was just cold. Everything about the moment felt like it came out of a movie, except the kind where everything ends well. This felt real—painfully, bitterly real. Ivan stood beside you, peeking through the blinds with a scoff that was half amusement, half disbelief. His arms crossed, his head tilted in that way he did when he thought the world was being especially stupid.

Your absence hit him like a wave—sharp, cold, and unrelenting. It was louder than all the times you’d raised your voice, more jarring than the nights you left crying, your words trailing behind like dying sparks. The silence you left in your wake didn’t feel peaceful—it felt final. Like a door slamming inside his chest.

His fists hung uselessly at his sides as he stared at the closed window, breath fogging in the cold night air, voice catching in his throat. “Please,” he said softly at first, almost afraid to hear himself beg. “Please just… open the door.” Nothing. “I know I don’t deserve it. I know that.” His voice cracked, and the next words came faster, like a dam breaking. “I pushed you away. I—I acted like I didn’t care, like you were just… something temporary. But you weren’t. You never were. And I didn’t realize that until you left.”

Still, no sound from inside. Just the harsh wind and the dull throb of silence. “I didn’t know how to let you love me,” he continued, blinking back tears. “And I hated myself for that. I still do.” He paused, the weight of his own confession staggering. And then, in the quietest voice: “I miss you.” He laughed bitterly under his breath, brushing the wetness from his cheeks, unsure whether it was rain or tears.

“You used to cry for me. All the time. And I never really heard it. Not until now.” He stepped closer to the door, pressing his palm to it gently as if he could reach through. “I was a coward. I needed to break you to feel like I was worth something. But you—you were always brave enough to stay. And now that you’re gone…” He hesitated, biting down the next sob. “Now that you’re gone, I finally understand what love sounds like without words.”

But the door stayed shut. And that, more than anything, told him the truth: you weren’t going to save him this time. You were saving yourself.

“You’re really gonna let that poor dude stand there like that?” he asked, brows raised, lips curled into a slight sneer. You didn’t answer right away. You crossed your arms tighter around yourself instead, tensing. “He’s not some poor dude,” you muttered. “You don’t know what he did.” It was a deflection. Weak. Even you knew it.

Ivan gave you a look—somewhere between pity and frustration—but he didn’t push. He didn’t need to. The way your voice cracked ever so slightly at the end was enough. You sounded angry. But you weren’t. Not really.

Because the truth was, seeing Jay out there—alone, with no armor, no pretenses, just him—it shattered something in you. Or maybe it revived something. You weren't sure. Your heart ached like it had missed him this whole time and only now dared to hope again. It fluttered, stupid and soft, at the sight of his desperation. At the way he kept glancing at the door like it would open on its own. Like love alone might be enough.

You had imagined this moment a hundred times. Him coming back. Him apologizing. Him choosing you. But reality didn’t feel victorious. It felt complicated. Painful. Hopeful, yes—but laced with fear. Because wanting him was one thing. Trusting him again? That was another. “I’m not letting him in,” you said, more to yourself than to Ivan.

But your feet stayed planted by the window. And your eyes stayed on him.

You mustn't relent. You watched him through the narrow slit of the curtain, heart pounding against your ribs like it wanted to leap out and run to him—even if you wouldn’t. Even if you couldn’t. Because this—this sudden display of vulnerability—was too little, too late. A performance delivered after the curtains had already closed.

He looked broken. But so had you. Over and over. And no one stood at your doorstep when your tears fell quietly in the middle of the night. No one had fought for you then. So you stayed behind the window. Silent. Still. Letting him feel, just for a moment, what it was like to reach for something that wouldn’t reach back.

Ivan sighed beside you, giving one last glance at Jay, then turned away with a shrug. “Guess that’s your answer, huh?” he muttered, though not unkindly. Just honest. You didn’t respond. Couldn’t. Your throat felt tight, your emotions coiling in your chest like a storm you refused to let loose. You turned from the window, drawing the curtain shut with slow, deliberate fingers. Out of sight. Out of reach. Out of your life.

Because as much as you wanted to run out there and fall into Jay's arms, to believe in the sincerity behind his tears and the way he looked at you like he finally saw you—you knew better now. You knew that love wasn’t supposed to cost this much of yourself. You had begged once. Stayed too long. Made excuses for the way he never really stayed, even when his body did.

So no—this time, you didn’t open the door. This time, you chose the ache of absence over the illusion of healing.

And that? That was how you finally began to love yourself.

<to be continued>

[extinctlesspains]

𝐒𝐞𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐞𝐫: 𝐊𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐚𝐞-𝐁𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐤 ✧･

»»——⍟——««

»»——⍟——««

ʀᴇǫᴜᴇsᴛᴇᴅ: ʏᴇs ᴏʀ ɴᴏ

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐊𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐚𝐞-𝐁𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐊𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐚𝐞-𝐁𝐲𝐞𝐨𝐤, 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬. 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐧, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐨𝐬.

　 ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

The rules of the games were clear: trust no one, form alliances only if necessary, and never show weakness. Sae-Byeok lived by those principles, but there was one complication she hadn’t accounted for—you.

From the moment she noticed you, something shifted. It wasn’t love at first sight or some fairytale nonsense, but a quiet realization that she found you… distracting. You had a way of carrying yourself, a confidence and calm that stood out in the chaos of the game.

And it wasn’t just your demeanor. You were beautiful, in a way that tugged at her focus. She hated it.

But even more frustrating? You knew. Every time she tried to get close, you seemed to read her like an open book. And instead of playing along, you made her work for it.

It started during one of the few quiet moments in the dormitory. Most of the players were either asleep or murmuring in hushed tones, strategizing or trying to make sense of their situation. Sae-Byeok saw you sitting against the wall, your arms draped lazily over your knees as you stared at the floor.

She didn’t think twice before sitting down beside you, close enough that your shoulders almost touched. You didn’t acknowledge her at first, but she wasn’t deterred.

“You’ve been keeping to yourself,” she said, her voice low.

You turned your head slightly, offering her a faint smile. “Not much worth saying.”

Her lips twitched in a smirk. “So, what’s your plan?”

“Plan for what?”

“For staying alive,” she said bluntly.

You shrugged, your eyes glinting with amusement. “Maybe I’m just waiting for someone to impress me enough to team up.”

It was a challenge, and she knew it. She leaned in just slightly, her voice dipping into a playful, almost seductive tone. “You don’t seem easy to impress.”

“I’m not,” you replied smoothly, meeting her gaze.

Sae-Byeok’s smirk widened. She liked a challenge.

Over the next few games, Sae-Byeok’s interest in you only grew. She’d catch herself glancing your way during tense moments, like the tug-of-war game where you held your ground with surprising strength.

Between games, she made more attempts to talk to you, to draw you out of your shell. She wasn’t subtle about her attraction, either—leaning closer than necessary, finding excuses to brush against you, her compliments laced with an undeniable flirtation.

But you remained frustratingly nonchalant.

One night, as the dorm quieted, she sat beside you again, her tone casual but her intentions clear. “You know, I don’t trust anyone here.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the wall. “Not even me?”

“Especially not you,” she replied, a hint of teasing in her voice.

You chuckled softly, and she found herself staring at the curve of your lips. “Smart move,” you said. “I could be dangerous.”

“You don’t scare me,” Sae-Byeok shot back, leaning closer. Her voice softened, growing almost intimate. “In fact, I think you like the attention.”

You met her gaze, holding it for a long moment before shrugging. “Maybe. But you’re going to have to try harder.”

The opportunity to push things further came late one night. After the lights went out, you slipped away to the bathroom for a moment of solitude. Sae-Byeok noticed and followed, her steps quiet as she slipped inside behind you.

You turned, startled. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you’re not sneaking off to do something stupid,” she said, though her tone lacked any real conviction.

“Right,” you said, crossing your arms. “And this has nothing to do with you wanting to corner me alone?”

She smirked, leaning against the wall. “Maybe it does.”

Her boldness caught you off guard, but you didn’t back down. “You’re awfully confident.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she said, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. Her eyes traced over your face, lingering on your lips. “I know what I want.”

“And what’s that?” you asked, your voice softening despite yourself.

“You,” she admitted, her voice dropping to a whisper. “But you already knew that.”

The tension in the room was almost suffocating. Sae-Byeok was close now, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from her body. She reached out, her fingers brushing against your arm.

For a moment, you considered pushing her away, keeping up the game. But the way she looked at you—intense, vulnerable, and so full of want—made you falter.

“Sae-Byeok,” you murmured, and before you could overthink it, you closed the distance, pressing your lips to hers.

She responded instantly, her hands gripping your waist as if afraid you’d change your mind. The kiss was slow at first, a testing of boundaries, but it quickly deepened, all the tension from the past few days spilling over.

When you finally pulled back, her forehead rested against yours, her breath warm against your skin.

“You win,” you whispered, and she let out a soft laugh, her lips brushing yours again.

“I always do,” she teased, her voice full of satisfaction.

[suyanova]

Could I request a college AU with g!p!nerd! Karina please? She helps you pass your final exam by tutoring you and as a reward you give her her first blowjob(in the library). Thank you!🙏

AFTER HOURS ──── yu jimin.

𝜗𝜚 ┈ (🐽) academics were never your strength—but karina’s always been good. when she offers to tutor you after hours, it starts with textbooks and quiet explanations. but beneath the surface, something begins to stir, but now you’re on your knees in the library.

✦ ݁ pairing: dom!gp!nerd!karina x sub!reader

✦ ݁ warnings: g!p karina, dom!karina, sub!reader, blowjob, virgin karina, praise kink, deepthroating, facefucking, semi-public risk

✦ ݁ word count: 3.2k

you weren’t sure how you made it to the bathroom. one second you were sitting in that suffocating classroom, fluorescent lights humming above, the low murmur of papers being handed back filling your ears, and the next, you were gripping the edge of the sink like it could hold you together.

the mirror in front of you reflected a version of yourself you didn’t recognize—eyes too wide, chest rising and falling too fast, fingers trembling around a crumpled sheet of paper that felt heavier than anything you’d ever held.

the mirror didn’t soften the blow. it showed you exactly what you were: flushed cheeks, lashes sticky with unshed tears, lips pressed tight like they were holding something back. you still hadn’t looked at it. the test was clutched in your hand, edges curled slightly from your grip, and yet your eyes hadn’t dared to meet the mark at the top.

but then you unfolded the paper. and it was right there. D-

your breath hitched. it was so quiet in the bathroom that the sound of the paper trembling in your hands felt deafening.

you read the score again. then again. and again. your fingers curled around the edges like you could crush it into something smaller, less real. your stomach twisted.

you had tried. you had actually tried this time. all the late nights, the review videos you didn’t understand but watched anyway, the scribbled flashcards you kept dropping in your bag—it was supposed to matter. it was supposed to work.

but now all you could do was stand there in silence, the fluorescent lights humming above you and the sinking feeling that nothing was ever going to be enough crawling up your spine.

a tear slipped down your cheek and you didn’t bother to wipe it. you heard the bathroom door creak open before you could finish the thought. your entire body stilled. someone was in here.

you shrunk further into yourself, hoping they’d just wash their hands and leave. but the steps didn’t head for the sink. they paused. right in front of you.

“you okay?”

the voice was soft. familiar.

karina.

you stared down at the floor, blinking hard, jaw clenched. her presence made the air feel warmer—thicker somehow. not uncomfortable, just… too much.

you nodded, barely. it wasn’t convincing.

there was a beat of silence. then a rustle. she sat down next to you, back against the same cold wall, knees drawn up slightly, hands resting on her skirt.

you finally glanced at her. her eyes flicked toward the paper in your hands. she didn’t ask to see it. she didn’t need to.

“mr. hwang’s test?” she murmured. her voice wasn’t pitying.

you gave a small nod. your eyes pacing around the room, avoiding her gaze as her eyes were fixed on you.

“he’s a dick,” she said plainly. “you’re not the only one who bombed that.” the corners of your mouth twitched as she said that, but it wasn’t enough to be a smile.

karina didn’t press. she didn’t try to offer a cliché or brush it off. she just sat there beside you like she belonged there. like you didn’t need to explain yourself.

but your grip on the paper loosened slightly.

after a long moment, she spoke again. “i could help you study for the next one. if you want.”

your head turned before you could think. she wasn’t looking at you—her gaze was fixed ahead, calm and focused. not embarrassed. not joking.

you blinked. “why?”

karina shrugged a little. “because you care. and that’s more than most people do.”

—

the first session was quiet. she had already picked the spot—back corner of the library, pressed against a wall of windows, where the light filtered through the blinds and painted delicate lines across the table. when you arrived, she was already seated.

her books were stacked neatly, pens organized by color, a spare sheet of lined paper already waiting across from her with your name written at the top in small, careful letters.

you sat down without saying much. you didn’t know what to say. the humiliation from earlier in the week still sat heavy in your chest, coiled like something alive.

but karina didn’t bring it up. she didn’t ask why you didn’t understand the material or what your last test score was. she just looked at you with soft eyes and uncapped her pen.

“okay,” she said gently. “let’s start from the top.”

the way she explained things was nothing like your teachers. she spoke slowly, but not in a condescending way.

she asked you questions in between, like she was checking to see how your brain worked, not testing you. she didn’t sigh when you stumbled over a concept, didn’t roll her eyes when you forgot something she’d just said.

she had a way of making you feel like you weren’t failing.

you couldn’t stop staring at her hands. they were always moving—underlining, pointing, brushing across pages as she flipped through the textbook. her fingers were long, nails short and neat, stained faintly with ink. sometimes, she’d reach across the table to guide your pencil or tap lightly on a word she wanted you to focus on. every time she touched your hand, even for a second, your skin burned.

you started to anticipate it.

after a while, the sessions became routine. every other day, same time, same corner of the library. you started dressing better. not obvious at first—just a smaller shirt here, a shorter skirt there. you swapped your hoodie for a tight zip-up once, pulling it low when you leaned forward to reach her notes.

you didn’t even mean to do it. or maybe you did. maybe part of you wanted to see if she’d look.

and she did, just once, but you caught her immediately and noticed how her eyes dipped for a second too long before snapping back up to your face.

her expression didn’t change, but the tips of her ears flushed a soft pink. and that was the moment you knew, you could affect her, and after that, everything shifted.

you stopped trying to hide how close you sat beside her. you started brushing your leg against hers under the table, just to see if she’d move. she never did.

you dropped your pencil just so she’d bend to pick it up. she always did. you leaned in more, spoke softer, acted like you couldn’t read your own notes unless she pointed right at them for you. it wasn’t subtle. it also wasn’t working fast enough.

“wait, i don’t get it,” you said, even though you did.

“can you explain it again? i wasn’t listening.”

“ugh, this is boring.”

every time, she blinked slowly. her patience thinned by the second, but she never snapped. the most she did was narrow her eyes and sigh, pressing her pen a little harder against the page than usual.

“you’re not even trying,” she said flatly.

you blinked up at her, wide-eyed. “i am. i just learn better when you’re, like… strict with me.”

her mouth parted slightly. no words came out. you watched the flush crawl up her neck, slow and uncertain, like she didn’t know what to do with that information.

you turned back to your notebook, trying not to smile, biting the insides of your cheeks while pressing your legs together, pretending to write something on your book.

—

the days blurred together like that. she brought highlighters and worksheets and little diagrams she’d made on her own time. you brought a mini skirt and a lip gloss you reapplied every time she looked away.

it became a game. you wondered how long it would take before she broke. before she stopped pretending she didn’t see what you were doing. but still—she showed up.

she praised you when you answered right, gently corrected you when you were wrong. she sat next to you instead of across, her shoulder brushing yours as she wrote in the margins of your notebook.

sometimes, you let your head drop onto the table, complaining about how “your brain didn’t work,” just to feel her hand settle between your shoulder blades in a quiet, grounding way that made your breath catch.

you started living for those moments. the ones where she wasn’t just your tutor, but something else. something warmer. softer.

something that made your hands shake a little when you packed up your things.

but even through all this, you knew you were getting better—your notes looked cleaner, your answers came faster—but none of that mattered as much as the look in her eyes when she saw you actually trying. like you weren’t a lost cause. like she was proud of you.

and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you might not be failing everything.

—

after countless weeks of tutoring from karina, the day finally came. the day where you would take the exam that determined whether your efforts were all worth it, or not.

the moment the paper hit your desk, time slowed. the rustle of pages, the teacher’s footsteps, the faint hum of the lights above—it all blurred into a background drone, like the world had dipped underwater.

your fingers hovered above the page, too scared to touch it, too desperate not to. your heart felt like it was caught in your throat. one breath. then another. and then you flipped it over.

B+.

your brain short-circuited. you read it again. then again. the number didn’t change. your name was still printed at the top. your answers, your handwriting.

the same questions you had doubted yourself on—correct. checked. marked with faint approval. it didn’t make sense. it didn’t feel real. and yet the weight in your chest cracked open, like something had been holding you underwater and finally let go.

you didn’t even realize you were standing until you felt your desk shift back against your thighs. you didn’t even say goodbye.

your legs carried you down the hallway like you were being pulled, breath shallow, fingers gripping the paper like it might vanish if you let go. it was happening. this was real. and the only person you wanted to see was her.

karina was already there waiting, tapping her fingers on her hips impatiently.

she was leaning against the lockers like she hadn’t just changed your entire world. her phone in hand, hair half-up, cardigan sleeves pushed past her elbows. she looked soft in the morning light, like something out of a dream you hadn’t let yourself have.

your body moved before your brain could catch up. you crossed the hallway, heart pounding so hard it echoed in your ears, and before you could think better of it—before you could remind yourself how dangerous this feeling was—you threw your arms around her.

she startled. her phone dipped slightly in her hand. her body tensed against yours for half a second, rigid and unsure.

but then her arms came up—hesitant, slow, and then firm—and wrapped around your back. you pressed yourself tighter against her chest, burying your face into the crook of her neck like it was the only place you could finally exhale.

“i passed,” you breathed, voice cracking. “karina… i got a B+.”

her breath caught. her grip on you tightened slightly. she didn’t speak right away, but you could feel the tension in her body shift. the warmth of her chest against yours. the steady rhythm of her heart, just fast enough to match yours.

and god—you felt everything. the way your body softened into hers. the way your fingers curled into the fabric of her cardigan. how you could feel her breathing now, chest rising and falling against yours, slow and shallow.

but then—something else, it was a shift. subtle, but unmistakable.

your hips were pressed to hers, closer than you’d intended, closer than you ever thought you’d be. and for a second, you didn’t register it. but then your body did. and you froze.

there was pressure, firm and low, pressed right up against your hipbone.

your lips parted slightly, breath catching in your throat as your heart slammed against your ribs. it wasn’t an accident. it wasn’t a fold in the fabric or a trick of your mind. it was her. and she was hard.

you didn’t move, didn’t pull away—because you couldn’t.

your body was too busy processing the heat that rushed to your face, the flush crawling up your neck, the slow, creeping realization that made your knees feel unsteady. she was trying not to move. she was trying not to react. but her body already had.

you blinked, slowly, cheek still pressed to her shoulder. you could feel her fingers tighten slightly on your back, then go still. like she knew. like she was holding her breath too.

you tilted your head just enough to glance up at her. her face was red. her eyes unfocused, like she wasn’t sure where to look. her mouth opened, then closed again.

you didn’t say anything. not yet. because you were still reeling, from the grade, from the hug, from the undeniable, truth now pulsing between you. her body was reacting to you, because of you, and something hot curled low in your stomach.

you could have pulled away. could’ve laughed it off. could’ve ended it there.

but instead, you reached down. slowly. carefully. fingers brushing her hand until they tangled with yours.

but she didn’t stop you.

you leaned up, close enough to feel her breath against your skin, close enough to let her see the look in your eyes, and without a word, you took her hand and pulled her with you.

—

you didn’t plan to end up on your knees in the back of the library, but the moment her hips jolted beneath your hand, you knew there was no turning back.

the hallway had been quiet, but this place—hidden between forgotten shelves and dusty archives—was nearly sacred in its stillness. karina followed you with hesitant steps, her fingers brushing yours like she was afraid to grip too tightly.

her breaths were shallow, almost shivering as she leaned back against the wall, her eyes wide and unsure, cheeks already flushed pink. you could tell she didn’t know what to expect—her first time, her first everything—but the way her chest rose and fell told you exactly what she needed.

you kissed her to ground her, slow and deep, your fingers holding her waist steady as you pressed your body close. she kissed back, soft and clumsy, her lips parting like a question.

you gave her the answer by trailing your hand down her stomach, slipping past the waistband of her uniform pants. the moment your fingers brushed over the stiff heat beneath the fabric, she gasped so suddenly it broke the kiss.

“wait—” she whispered, already breathless, “i… i’ve never—” her voice cracked like it didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

you just smiled, steady and calm, and leaned in to kiss the corner of her mouth. “i know,” you whispered. “let me show you.”

you dropped to your knees, and the air in her chest seemed to leave her all at once. her hands fumbled for balance as you pulled her pants down, revealing her cock—thick and flushed and twitching, already dripping at the tip. her jaw dropped.

“fuck,” she breathed, barely above a whisper, like the sight of your mouth at her waist was too much to process.

you wrapped your fingers around her slowly, watching the way her body tensed under your touch. “you’re so hard,” you said, running your thumb over the wet head, spreading it down the shaft. “how long have you been like this for me, hmm?”

karina’s head tipped back against the bookshelf. “since… the second you hugged me,” she admitted, voice cracking in the middle.

you smiled, satisfied, and leaned forward to press a kiss to her tip. she whimpered, one hand flying to her mouth.

“don’t hide from me,” you murmured, lips brushing her skin, “i wanna hear everything.”

you licked a stripe along the underside of her cock, slow and firm, and she nearly sobbed.

“oh my god,” she whispered, her knees already trembling.

you wrapped your lips around the tip and sucked lightly, tongue swirling around the ridge, and she lost it—hand gripping the shelf behind her, hips twitching like she didn’t mean to.

“please,” she said, barely audible, “please don’t stop.”

you took her deeper, inch by inch, until your throat stretched around her and her legs buckled from the pressure.

“holy fuck,” she gasped, breath caught in her chest, eyes fluttering shut as your mouth began to move.

you set a rhythm—slow at first, then deeper, faster, your spit trailing down her shaft as you sucked her like you’d done it a hundred times.

your hand stroked what you couldn’t take, and every time your nose brushed her skin, she let out a high, desperate moan that made your thighs clench from how wrecked she sounded.

“feels so good,” she moaned, voice breaking, “i’ve never… i didn’t know it could feel like this.”

you pulled off just long enough to murmur, “you’re doing so well, baby. look at you.”

and then you took her back in, deeper this time, watching her unravel for you.

her hands found your hair, not pulling, just holding on, like you were the only thing tethering her to the ground. you felt her body stiffen. her cock throbbed in your mouth, her hips beginning to jerk uncontrollably.

“i’m—i think i’m gonna—” she gasped, but the words cut off into a cry as you sucked harder, swallowing around her, tongue dragging along the underside.

and the second you heard it—the break in her voice, the warning in her breath—you went in like you were starving. you gripped her thighs tighter, forcing her still as you bobbed your head faster, deeper, your throat tightening around her as you let her fuck into your mouth just enough to push her over the edge.

your tongue moved in frantic strokes beneath the head, lips sealed wet and tight around her, taking everything she gave you with a hunger that made her sob.

her hand was in your hair, useless, trembling, her knees nearly buckling with every slick, filthy sound echoing in the narrow aisle. you wanted her undone. you wanted her to break for you—so you gave her no mercy, just pressure and heat and the relentless drag of your mouth around her cock like it was the only thing that existed.

then, before you knew hot, messy spurts filled your mouth as her body convulsed without a warning, her legs trembling so violently you had to hold her steady by the hips. she was moaning—loud, broken, breathless—trying to apologize and beg and say your name all at once.

you swallowed every drop, and let her ride her orgasm out on your tongue. and only when her grip on the shelf went slack did you pull away, licking your lips with slow, teasing satisfaction.

karina looked down at you like she’d just seen the end of the world. “you—what just happened?” she whispered, her cheeks flushed in a deep red, her eyes glassy and dazed.

you stood up slowly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, and leaned in until your breath tickled the shell of her ear.

“told you i’d ruin you,” you whispered, lips curling into a grin, “that’s what happens when you stay with me… after hours.”

[tikitakatia]

Escape — A. Putellas x Reader

"Getting Caught In The Rain"

WC: 3.8k

Summary: Alexia’s trying again, but it only makes you realize that it’s been a long time since you felt like you were seen and understood.

Pt. 1

Alexia didn’t say anything when she got home. Just dropped her bag by the door, kicked her shoes off with the practiced heaviness of someone trying not to wake anyone up. Even though it was 5:42 p.m. and the hallway light was still on. You were in the kitchen, pretending to read, pretending to care about the last email from work, pretending you weren’t holding your breath for her footsteps.

She walked past you without a word, without eye contact, and you thought, same old story. The sting had dulled by now, like pressing on a bruise out of habit.

Until you heard her voice.

“You, uh… you moved the plant.”

You blinked at the book in your lap. Took a slow breath.

“Yeah.”

“It looks good there,” she added. You could hear the words straining. Trying to sound casual. Normal. Like conversation was still a thing that lived in this house.

You didn’t answer.

“I was thinking,” she tried again, stepping further into the room.

“Maybe we could get a new one for the windowsill? Something low-maintenance. Like… a cactus or whatever.”

A cactus.

You turned the page. “We already have one.”

“Oh,” she said, and you didn’t even need to look to know she was scratching the back of her neck. “Right.”

Silence stretched long and thin.

You looked up. She wasn’t looking at you, not directly, just sort of gesturing toward the counter with a weirdly shy motion.

“I saw this at the airport. Thought you might want it.”

That made your eyes flick up.

She stepped forward, sheepish. Like she didn’t quite know how to be here anymore. She held out a small paper bag, wrinkled from travel.

“It’s dumb. I just saw it and… yeah.”

You took it carefully, like it was a bomb that was about to explode in your face. Inside it was a snow globe.

Small. A little cheap. Inside, a tiny, glitter-dusted coastline and a red kayak.

You stared at it for a beat, then another, your fingers going loose around the base. It was the same coastline you’d kayaked on together four summers ago, the time she got sunburned and made you stop every ten minutes to reapply SPF like a paranoid grandma. The one trip you still couldn’t think about without smiling, even if everything after it had unraveled.

“I remembered it made you laugh,” she said, voice so quiet you almost missed it. “That trip.”

You ran your thumb over the plastic base. “You remember that?”

Alexia shrugged. “I think about it more than you’d think.”

Your chest twisted. Not in pain. Not relief either. Something more complicated, and heavy and unsure.

You didn’t say thank you. But you didn’t hand it back. And that was maybe the biggest thing you’d done all week.

That night, you left it on the kitchen counter. You didn’t know why. Maybe so she’d see you hadn’t ignored it. Maybe so you’d believe it was real.

And in the morning, she was gone again. Off to training. But there was a small plate waiting on the counter. French toast, your favorite marmalade, a halved orange with the rind scored for easy peeling. A mug of coffee with a splash of milk, and whipped cream in the shape of a heart like she used to do.

And a note, scribbled in her hurried handwriting:

Hope today’s kind to you, take care.

— A.

You stared at it for a long time.

Then sat down and ate the toast.

She was in Bilbao this time. Another away game. Another cold bed, another text that never came. The trinket still sat on the shelf, the whipped cream heart a fading memory. You didn’t know what you were supposed to feel. Grateful? Guilty? Hopeful?

So instead, you opened Chattr.

[go4goald2]: Important question: would you rather fight one horse-sized duck or a hundred duck-sized horses.

[lostinthecrowd]: It’s 11pm and this is how you start???

[go4goald2]: You say that like it’s not the most vital debate of our generation

[lostinthecrowd]: I’d take the duck. 1v1. Eye contact. No mercy.

[go4goald2]: Bold. Disrespectful to the mini horses. But bold.

You laughed into your blanket, curled up on your side like a kid at a sleepover.

[lostinthecrowd]: They have tiny hooves. I’m not getting stomped to death by a barbie pony.

[go4goald2]: Tiny hooves, BIG ambition. Don’t underestimate ponies. They´re evil.

[lostinthecrowd]: I feel like there's a story behind this. Also can’t believe this is how I’m spending my night.

[go4goald2]: I can. And it’s perfect. Admit it.

You grinned. Tucked your phone closer like it was a secret you wanted to protect.

The conversation spiraled into weird snack combos, irrational childhood fears (yours: mascots, theirs: escalators), and an intense five-minute tangent on the politics of sock-and-sandal combos.

Your cheeks actually hurt from smiling. And somewhere between their rant about pineapple pizza and your confession that you once tried to cook pasta in a kettle, something softened inside you.

You typed, slower now:

[lostinthecrowd]: My partner did something nice for me today. Out of nowhere.

[go4goald2]: Whoa, plot twist. What kind of nice?

[lostinthecrowd]: Just… a small gift. Not flashy. Thoughtful.

[go4goald2]: You’re being suspiciously vague and I’m incredibly nosy. Spill.

[lostinthecrowd]: It’s tied to a memory. Something small, but really specific to us. A moment we shared years ago.

[go4goald2]: Okay wow. That kind of gift hits like a freight train.

[lostinthecrowd]: Yeah, it really did. Caught me completely off guard, I didn’t know how to react.

[go4goald2]: Because it reminded you what it used to feel like to be known?

[lostinthecrowd]: Exactly that. Like someone woke a part of me I forgot was still there.

[go4goald2]: Do you think it was intentional? Like… a real attempt?

[lostinthecrowd]: I want to think so, but then it just made everything feel more fragile.

[go4goald2]: It’s weird how one small thing can make your whole chest ache.

[lostinthecrowd]: It made me remember how much I miss her, or who she used to be. Or maybe who I used to be when we were still okay.

[go4goald2]: You still deserve those moments even if they’re rare. Even if they confuse the hell out of you.

[go4goald2]: And for what it’s worth… I'm really glad you told me.

You let your phone rest against your chest, pulse kicking up a little. It felt too good. Too soft. Too dangerous.

Because it wasn’t just that they cared. It was that they cared in real-time. Gave you space to unravel and didn’t shy away when the threads got messy.

Your lips tilted into a smile. Tiny, involuntary, like a reflex from some version of you that hadn’t been used in months.

Alexia hadn’t texted once. Not even after the match. Not even a “night.”

But this stranger had stayed up with you.

Held space for you.

Made you feel like a person instead of a ghost someone used to love.

And that flutter came back. Not a rush, just a flicker. A warmth that settled behind your ribs like the beginning of something.

You didn’t push it away.

But god, the guilt that followed.

You weren’t doing anything wrong. You told yourself that. Over and over.

But the truth was, your smile hadn’t looked like this in months.

And your wife hadn’t been the one to cause it.

You didn’t expect anything when you unlocked the door. Maybe a quiet hallway. The faint hum of the fridge. Your own footsteps echoing against the tile. It had become a rhythm now. Come home, drop your bag, exist in silence. You had stopped hoping to be greeted. Stopped wondering what mood she’d be in.

So when the smell hit you: sharp, burnt and unmistakably wrong, it made you pause mid-step. There was a bitter tang in the air, like overcooked garlic and something else. Something sour. A hint of lemon buried under the scent of a meal gone wrong.

You followed it to the kitchen and stopped in the doorway.

Alexia was standing in the middle of it, barefoot, her hoodie sleeves rolled up, her hair pulled back in that messy twist she only did when she was stressed. There was a pan smoking on the stove. A cutting board covered in unevenly chopped herbs. The sink was full of pots. And her face, her face looked wrecked in the most human way.

She glanced up when she saw you, startled. “Shit. You’re home early.”

You weren’t.

You said nothing.

“I was trying to…” she gestured vaguely to the chaos around her.

“Dinner.”

You stepped further in. Looked at the pan. Something once resembling chicken was stuck to the bottom, blackened and curling at the edges like it was trying to leave the scene of the crime.

“It’s your favorite,” she added quickly. “That lemon-herb thing. The one I used to make after we went to the farmer’s market on Saturdays. Remember?”

You did. Back when the kitchen smelled like warm citrus and clean herbs, when she’d dance barefoot to whatever song was playing, bump your hip and kiss your neck while the chicken rested. That version of the dish smelled like comfort. This one smelled like frustration and something sour unraveling.

“Something went wrong with the sauce,” she mumbled. “Or maybe I forgot how to… I don’t know. I was trying.”

And god, she looked so small at that moment. Not physically, Alexia was never small, but emotionally. She looked like a little kid caught drawing on the walls, holding out sticky fingers and hoping it still counted for effort. It knocked something loose in your chest.

Your heart didn’t break. It cracked. Just a little.

You stepped in. Reached past her and turned off the burner before the fire alarm could make things worse.

“We can save it,” you said quietly, even though you knew it wasn’t true.

She stayed where she was, arms hanging a little helplessly at her sides while you opened the fridge and scanned for solutions. There was a half-used tub of ricotta, a jar of pesto, and some leftover stock. You pulled them out without speaking. It was easier this way, fixing things with your hands and not your voice.

“I thought it might be nice if you didn’t have to cook tonight,” she said softly, somewhere behind you. “You’ve been working so much, and I wanted to do something.”

You kept your back to her. “You could’ve just asked me to cook with you.”

“I didn’t want to make you do more work.”

“I don’t want to feel like a guest in my own kitchen.”

There was a long pause. Then the quiet sound of her setting down a spoon.

You poured a little cream into the pan, scraping at the burnt edges while the sauce hissed and fought you. You could feel her watching you closely and carefully. Like if she stared hard enough, she’d understand how to fix it all.

She moved to stand beside you. Too close. Her arm brushed yours lightly, and you flinched. Not because you were scared. Just because you weren’t used to being touched anymore. Not by her. Not kindly. Not like this.

She froze. You saw it from the corner of your eye. Her shoulders tensed. The guilt bloomed across her face. But you didn’t say anything. And she didn’t try again.

Instead, she grabbed plates and set the table while you boiled pasta and tried to coax the ruined sauce into something edible. It wasn’t good. But it was something.

By the time you sat down, the steam had mostly settled. She watched you take a bite, searching your face for any kind of reaction. You chewed. Swallowed. Didn’t make a face.

“It’s fine,” you said.

And she smiled, almost like that was a win.

Not a real smile. But something tired and tentative. Something that said thank you for not hating me tonight.

The two of you sat in that dim kitchen, eating a salvaged dinner that tasted like memory and ash. And for a moment you could almost remember what it was like to share a life that didn’t feel so quiet.

Even if you didn’t trust it just yet.

You didn’t go to bed after dinner.

Alexia did though. She didn’t say it directly, but you saw the way her shoulders slumped after the dishes were done, the way her fingers lingered awkwardly near your elbow like she might touch you and thought better of it. She murmured something like “I’m gonna lie down”, then disappeared down the hall with slow footsteps and a closed door that didn’t quite latch.

You couldn’t follow her. You weren’t ready to share a space that intimate. Not yet. Maybe not ever again.

So instead, you took a half-full bottle of wine from the fridge, grabbed a throw blanket off the back of the couch, and slipped outside. The balcony used to be your favorite spot together. Just two chairs, some tangled fairy lights strung along the railing, the soft hum of the city below. You used to sit out there for hours, her legs tangled with yours, music playing low from your phone while she pointed out constellations she made up on the spot. There was always laughter. Always warmth. That soft, lived-in kind of love.

Now it was just cold metal and silence. One chair is empty. The lights were still up but never turned on. Like the memory of joy had been boxed up and left to fade in the wind.

You curled into the blanket, set the wine between your knees, and stared out at the city that didn’t notice you anymore. This was your nest now. Quiet. Still. Full of grief that didn’t ask for attention, just stayed perched and waiting.

And then, like muscle memory, you opened Chattr.

There was already a message waiting.

[go4goald2]: I tried tonight. Made an effort and still fucked it up.

You exhaled, soft and surprised. A strange flutter of recognition sparked in your chest.

[lostinthecrowd]: That’s more than a lot of people do.

[go4goald2]: Doesn’t feel like enough.

[lostinthecrowd]: What happened?

[go4goald2]: I wanted to do something good, something small. I thought it would matter, but all I did was remind her how long it’s been since I got it right.

You rested your chin on your knee, letting the blanket shift around your shoulders. The night air was cool against your skin.

[lostinthecrowd]: The effort counts even if it’s awkward and late.

[go4goald2]: I don’t know. Sometimes I think it just makes things worse. Like I pop back up trying to play house and she’s already rewritten her life without me in it.

You hesitated before responding.

[lostinthecrowd]: What made you pull away in the first place?

The reply didn’t come fast. A full minute passed. Then two. You thought maybe they’d closed the app.

But then the typing bubble appeared.

[go4goald2]: I got busy. I know it's not an excuse, but it started with wanting to give her everything and to make things easier. Pay the bills, say yes to every work gig and be someone she could be proud of.

[go4goald2]: But then it became… noise. So many meetings, late nights planning the next steps at work, connecting with investors and people wanting things from me all the time. Every time I came home, I felt like a shell. But she was still there, always waiting patiently. I didn’t know how to face her.

[go4goald2]: So I stopped showing up. Told myself I'd come back when I was less tired and more present. But I kept putting it off until it became normal to be gone.

You swallowed hard. Something about the rhythm of it, and the way they said “be someone she could be proud of” twisted in your chest.

[go4goald2]: And now I don't know how to come back. Not without her seeing everything I let fall apart.

[go4goald2]: I'm ashamed.

You stared at the screen.

Because how do you comfort someone whose regret sounds so familiar it might as well live in your house?

[lostinthecrowd]: It’s not too late, not if you mean it. Not if you’re willing to rebuild instead of rewind.

Another pause.

[go4goald2]: What if she doesn’t believe me anymore? What if I waited too long?

[lostinthecrowd]: Then show up anyway, consistency is louder than promises.

A breeze caught your hair, lifting it off your forehead. You tilted your head back and closed your eyes, breathing through the weight in your ribs.

[go4goald2]: I want her to know I see her. Really see her. Not just when she’s upset, not just when she’s slipping away, but every day.

You didn’t respond right away.

Your thumbs hovered, useless, the words sitting heavy on your screen.

There was something about the way they phrased it, quiet and earnest. Like they meant it, even if they didn’t know how to say it out loud to the right person yet.

You sipped your wine and stared out over the city. The lights blurred softly against the dark, the breeze tugging gently at the frayed edges of the blanket in your lap.

You used to be seen like that. Or maybe you just liked to think you were.

You put your phone down for a second, face tipped to the sky, letting the silence settle where something like comfort should’ve been.

And when the tears came, they weren’t loud. Just slow. Private. The kind that don’t ask to be noticed. The kind you wipe away quickly, just in case someone walks out and asks if you’re okay.

But no one did.

The effort started showing up in little things.

Alexia folding the laundry before you got to it. Running to the store to pick up oat milk without being asked. Saying “Want to watch something?” instead of disappearing into the bedroom with her headphones and going on a call with her agent. She didn’t get it all right, she brought home the wrong brand of oat milk, folded the sheets inside out, and picked a movie you’d already seen twice. But she was trying. God, was she trying.

It wasn’t the kind of effort that made your heart swell. It made it ache. Because it felt like watching someone fumble through a routine they used to know by heart and now had to relearn from scratch.

On Wednesday night, she came home with takeout from that noodle place near your old apartment. The one you used to walk to in the middle of summer, sweaty and stupidly in love. She placed the bags on the counter like a peace offering and said, “Thought we could eat together tonight?”

You nodded. She brightened like it mattered.

She talked through most of dinner. Nothing serious. Just training, the new physio, the girl on the team who always forgot her cleats. You let her talk. Let her fill the space. She was trying to be light. Normal. Like maybe if she kept talking, she could talk you back into caring.

And for a second, you let her believe it was working.

After dinner, she hovered. You were rinsing dishes and she leaned against the counter, fingers tapping nervously against the edge. You knew that look. That “I want to say something but I’m scared of the words” look.

“I’ve been thinking…” she started, voice quiet. “About us. About how I’ve-”

Her phone buzzed. Loud. Jarring.

You saw the hesitation. The flicker of conflict.

But she answered it.

“Yeah?” she said, already walking toward the hallway. “No, it’s fine. I’ve got a minute.”

And just like that, the moment shattered.

You turned back to the sink, slowly rinsed out the last bowl. The water ran too hot, but you didn’t adjust it.

She didn’t come back in. You heard the bedroom door click closed a few minutes later.

The next night, she showed up with your favorite wine. The one you used to save for anniversaries or good news. She held it up like a trophy. “Got this on the way home. Figured we could split it and hang out a bit.”

You stared at the label. Something in your chest twisted.

“I can’t drink,” you said, keeping your voice even. “I’m on antibiotics.”

She blinked, thrown. “Oh. Since when?”

You shrugged. “Couple days. I’ve been sick.”

“Oh,” she said again.

She looked like she wanted to say more, but didn’t. Just set the bottle down and muttered something about putting it away for later.

You stood there for a moment after she walked off. Letting the silence settle over your shoulders like a too-heavy coat.

She hadn’t noticed.

You’d been in bed for two days. Tired, congested, barely eating. And she hadn’t noticed.

Not until you said it out loud.

Still. You weren’t made of stone.

There were moments where her effort chipped at something soft. The way she offered you tea that night without you asking. How she turned off the hallway light so it wouldn’t bother you when you tried to nap. How she lingered a little longer at the door when she left for training, like she wanted to say something.

But the thing that hurt most was how she still couldn’t say the one thing that mattered: I miss you.

She tried everything else. But not that.

Later, once the house had gone quiet and the wine sat untouched in the cabinet, you curled up on the couch with a blanket and opened Chattr.

[lostinthecrowd]: You ever feel like someone’s knocking, but it’s on the wrong door?

[go4goald2]: Jesus, yeah. All the time.

[go4goald2]: Weird coincidence… I always feel like I'm on the other side of that.

You smiled. A small one. Just for yourself. Sad. Quiet. The kind that doesn’t touch your mouth, only your chest.

[lostinthecrowd]: Someone brought me something today. Something they thought I'd love, but they didn’t realize I couldn't have it.

[go4goald2]: Ouch. That's… rough.

[lostinthecrowd]: Yeah, it’s like they remembered the old version of me. Not who I am now.

[go4goald2]: I get that. It's like when someone keeps reaching for the person they think you are, and you’re standing there, changed, wondering if they’ll ever notice.

[lostinthecrowd]: Exactly.

[go4goald2]: They probably meant well, doesn’t make it hurt less though.

[lostinthecrowd]: No. It doesn’t.

There was a beat of silence. Only the glow of your phone, the buzz of the city outside the balcony, and the heaviness in your chest that had nowhere else to go.

[go4goald2]: I think I want to want them again but I don't know if that’s the same thing as actually wanting them.

[lostinthecrowd]: I think that’s the loneliest kind of love.

The typing bubble appeared. Vanished. Appeared again.

[go4goald2]: What are you doing right now?

[lostinthecrowd]: Talking to you. Not sleeping. Being dramatic. The usual.

[go4goald2]: Good. Stay.

And so you did. Talking about nothing and everything. How certain smells always bring you back to childhood. How you hate the sound of ticking clocks. How lately, someone’s been trying to come back to you and you want to believe it matters. You really do. But there’s a part of you that keeps wondering if effort can still mean something after the silence has settled in too deep.

You didn’t mean to say that last part out loud. But you did. And they didn’t mind.

Alexia was down the hall. Lights off. Door closed.

You were somewhere else entirely.

Pt. 3

[d0rothydraws]

"Your eyes lit up when you seen my hand. It's dangerous to reveal what you like so easily."

content: f!reader, hand kink, blindfold, mating press, cum play, dirty talk, choking,

w/c: 3k

Ao3: Here

a/n: This is so depraved. I was messing with him last night and he said that line and then the blindfold one and I couldn't stop thinking about it. Buckle up princess

You were laying on the couch as Sylus was cleaning his gun. You were trying to read, for a change. Pick up an old hobby yadda yadda. And you were doing well, it was interesting enough until you became heavily distracted. You tried to not make it obvious. You didn't want to stare too long to catch his attention. But little did you know, you already had his attention at the first glance.

"Something on your mind, sweetie?" Sylus' voice was like ice through your veins. Invigorating but so sudden you almost flinched. "You keep staring." He said, not hiding the smirk as he continued to use the cloth to rub against his gun. The way his long fingers tensed as the gun repositioned, how his thumb brushed against the side every few minuets.

Your silence was telling as you tightened your grip on your book, readjusting your position on the couch slightly before looking back into the pages blankly. "I can see you moving your hand in my peripheral. It's distracting." You lied. His smirk grew as he leaned back slightly, his hand still lazily cleaning the weapon.

"Keep lying and you'll grow wrinkles."

"You sound like a mother." You snorted as you turned the page in an effort to act like you had been reading for the last thirty minuets.

"Fine, I would hate to distract you." He said in a mocking tone as he sat down the gun, moving to the couch as he sat on the edge. You moved your feet to his lap, stretching out on him. He moved to turn on the tv, putting on some old movie.

In a move to supposedly distract you less, you were even more distracted as his hand rested on your leg, tracing patterns and shapes idly. He could feel your leg twitch once in a while as you took a deep breath. You wondered how long you could keep up the charade.

"You haven't turned the page in 20 minutes." He said, glancing at you as he met your eyes over the book. "I'll tell you what. You tell me what's on your mind, and I won't bully you for it. Deal?" He said with a half laugh, those damn fingers still trailing the inside of your leg.

"I somehow don't believe you." You mutter before finally closing the book and setting it aside. Your eye glanced at his hand for a second too long before a deep chuckle rumbled in his chest.

"Your eyes lit up when you seen my hand. It's dangerous to reveal what you like so easily." His voice had a playful tone to it, his eyes locking on yours. "Anything to say for yourself, kitten?"

"Can you blame me? You have nice hands," You said bluntly, sitting up against the arm of the couch as you crossed your arms. Sylus, not expecting you to be so casual about it, had the faintest look of surprise in his eye before his normal smug look returning.

"So you have a thing for my hands, hm?" He said "Why don't we take this a step further." He said before standing, holding a hand out to you. You felt your heart in your throat as you took his hand in yours letting him lead you to the bedroom.

"Sit. I'm going to look for something. But while I'm gone, undress." He said sternly with a smirk on his face, drawing out the last word. You obliged, not knowing what he was planning but you knew it would be worth it. It's always worth it when it him.

As he returned he was holding a thick silk ribbon. His eyes looked over your naked body as if you were his prey before stopping in front of you. His hand moved to cup your chin, making you look up at him. You shivered as you felt the ribbon tickle your neck.

"Very good kitten, you can follow simple instructions. I'm proud of you." He said in a sarcastic tone that made your cheeks burn. "Since you love my hands so much, we're going to heighten your senses so you can feel exactly what they're going to do to you."

As he moved the silk around your eyes, darkness enveloped your sight. In moments, you understood what he meant. His scent was stronger. The sound of his voice stronger. His touch..

You felt as he guided you to lay on the bed, the mattress soft around your body as you sighed slightly. The sound of familiar clothes falling made your ears perk as you tried to listen to where he was. Soon there was no question as you felt the bed dip, the brush of his leg against yours. He was over you, you could tell by how strong his scent was. How heat practically radiated from him with each arms on the side of your body holding him above you as his lips moved to your ear.

"Can you feel it? This is only the beginning." He whispered as his lips moved over your shoulder. Hands moved to brush hair out of your face, cupping your cheek. The moment was fleeting as his hand went southward, cupping your breast.

You knew his hands well, but feeling them like this was a different experience. His hands were rough, the mark of his life long fight for survival. His decades of using weapons, fighting. You could feel every callous in his fingertips as they sunk into the soft flesh of your chest. His hands were massive, everything about him was big but it was even more noticeable when you could only go off feeling.

Your eyes widened under the silk band, still as dark as ever as you felt his tongue against your other breast. Your mouth opened in a gasp as your nipple was brought past his teeth, pulling gently at the nub that hardened instantly. As his hand bounced and felt up your one breast, his lips and mouth worked the other. Every touch, kiss, bite, it sent pleasure through your body. You felt as if your body was in an abyss, only able to feel and hear him.

You didn't know how long passed. Time didn't exist anymore. He pulled back his lips, your nipple stretching slightly before he released you from his mouth. His hands moved lower, thumbs brushing the curve of your ribcage as he looked down at you, enjoying the look of your parted lips, the way your cheeks burned under the blindfold.

One hand rested on the curve of your waist as you felt the other one move back up, drawing fingers over the length of your neck as if he knew the answer to his next question.

"Tell me, kitten." He said, his voice next to your ear suddenly making your breath catch. His words echoing in the abyss of your mind. "Where do you want my hands next?" He knew the answer. But he wanted to hear you say it. Hear the breathiness in your voice as you responded.

"My neck." You breathed, your own voice sounding so loud in your head. "I want to feel them on my neck." You couldn't stop the shakiness of your words, how needy you sounded. Your mouth was watering and yet felt so dry at the same time.

"Good kitten." He purred, the sound moving down your spine as your felt both of his hands graze your neck. His thumbs brushed the pulse point, his fingers circling gently around the entirety of your neck. "Your heart is beating so fast for me." He whispered as he gently applied pressure. The palms of his hand pressing just right into your neck.

One of his hands moved from your neck, thumb trailing your chin as the other repositioned to continue to apply pressure. He was always careful to not hurt you. Especially when dealing with such a vital part of your being. His thumb pressed against the bottom of your lip, your mouth opening slightly as a reaction. One that he was very pleased with.

Sylus' hand on your neck held you with a firm grip, feeling your pulse against his fingers as your breath started to strain. And even as you began to struggle to breathe, you flicked your tongue out over the thumb at the edge of your lips. You heard him take a sharp breath before pushing his thumb against your tongue. His grip on your neck released slowly, the oxygen entering your lungs almost hurt as you took a deep breath before pulling his fingers deeper into your mouth.

"Want a taste?" He said as he felt your tongue brush against his fingers. His eyes watched your lips as his fingers disappeared past your lips. Your teeth grazed his rough skin, making him groan softly.

His legs pushed your knees apart as his other hand trailed down your stomach and past your hips. You moan was muffled by his hand as his fingers suddenly pressed against your sex, your back arching into him as your mouth opened more. You could hear how wet you had become just from the touches he had given you. Your body welcomed his fingers as two entered you, your moans growing louder as his hand moved out of your mouth. His now wet fingers trailing down your chin, past your neck and to your chest again leaving a trail that made you shiver.

"Maybe I should keep you like this." He breathed, voice growing huskier as he watched you wither under him. Clenching around his fingers as he moved them slow. He wanted you to feel every curve, every inch of his fingers inside you. And as his thumb pressed against your clit, the rough pad adding much wanted stimulation, you cried out, head arching back. As you felt your body start to reach it's peak, the movement stopped and suddenly you were empty. You whined, gasping as you started to sit up in protest when he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your hand with one hand.

"I'm not done with you yet, sweetie." He said, his lips brushing over yours, breath hot against your mouth as his hand flexed against your wrists. You felt the wetness of the other hand trail down the insides of your thighs making your legs shake. His kiss was deep, stealing the breath from your lungs. Teeth pulled at your lip before his tongue moved against yours. You kissed back just as eagerly as you arched against his hold on you, moaning as you felt him only just push you back down onto the bed.

His fingers pushed back inside you, his kisses was getting hungrier as you moved your hips against his hand. He pulled back with a growl, panting softly. "That's it kitten. Fuck the hand you love so much. Tell me sweetie, how often do you think about them?"

Your moan echoed as you felt his fingers curl, a third finger making you arch against him as you felt yourself stretch around the thick fingers.

"Every day." You answered, your voice sounded foreign to your ears. Your head turned as you moaned crying out as he stopped moving his fingers making you thrust yourself against them. "Especially when you wear rings. Or use your gun." His teeth nipped at your ear as his knees spread your legs farther apart as you fucked yourself on his fingers. You were close again. And you were praying to any god that would listen that he would let you cum.

None of them answered though as his hand pulled away again. Frustration was beginning to build as you cried out, whimpering as you tried to follow his hand with your hips, feeling so empty without him inside you.

"You've been doing so good kitten. Don't misbehave now." He teased with a soft chuckle as you found the hand on your lips. You could smell your own scent as you coated his fingers that pushed into your mouth. You moaned around him, your own taste making you blush. "Maybe I should let you pick out some rings for me, then. Or perhaps a new pair of gloves. I notice you tend to blush when I wear the leather ones." He said, his voice tense as you cleaned his fingers.

Distracted by the feeling of your own taste, fingers in your mouth, lips on your ear and hands still pinned above your head, you failed to register the feeling of his cock against your thigh. Not until you felt him begin to enter you, your body feeling like it was being shocked with electricity as you heard his groan against your ear. His hand left your mouth, trailing down again to your throat as he once again wrapped around you but didn't apply pressure. Not yet.

He let you feel every inch of him as he pushed his hips deeper and deeper. His cock stretching you out as your legs shook. You felt him throb inside you, twitch as you clenched around him. And then, as he started to slowly thrust, his hips moving slowly as the room filled with the sound of sex, then he applied that much craved pressure.

Every pore, every atom in your body craved him. He wasn't a want. He was a need. As he pulled out, before he could thrust back in you moved your legs, using your body to gain momentum as you slid down the bed a few inches. catching him off guard, his hand holding your wrists loosened as you forced him deeper into you. Putting yourself at an angle where your legs were nearly above your head, yourself on display. You heard a breathy groan, his breath becoming heavy, strained as the hand on your throat tightened.

"Fuck." He whispered, thrusting back into you. A hand moved to the back of your thigh, pushing your legs farther as he started to fuck you harder. "You're a slut, you know that?" He growled, his hand moving from your throat to your chin as he kissed you roughly, the angle pinning you to the bed completely as he fucked you as deep as he could.

Your body twitched as you screamed in pleasure against the kiss. Your entire body swam with pleasure as you felt him fuck into you as if his life depended on it. His thrusts started to become uneven, his moans heavier as he broke the kiss, biting your lip before he pulled away.

"I'm going to fill you up, sweetie. That's what you want, isn't it?" He said, moaning into your neck. "Then I'm going to make you fuck my hand again."

His words pushed you over the edge as you cried out, your body shaking as you felt yourself clench around him as you released, the coil growing in your core snapping. Sylus moaned, feeling you clamp around him which in turn made him cum deep inside you. He fucked you through both of your orgasms, your legs going numb as you moaned and twitched, your hand curling in his hair as you pulled him into a needy kiss.

Slowly he pulled out, breaking the kiss as he watched as his cum leaked out of you. He continued to hold your legs over your head as like he promised, his fingers entered you, pushing his cum back inside with a thick wet sound. You moaned, gasping. He let your hands moved over his body, hearing your moan as you blindly touched his arms, palms moving over his biceps. Moving to his chest your nails and fingers touched him making him moan faintly. You felt your pussy clamp around his fingers, you felt his cum ooze out of you more as he growled softly.

"Keep doing that and I'll have to fill you up again." He growled and you whimpered gasping. Your breath heavy as you felt your body overwhelmed by sensations. His thumb pushed against your clit, his fingers curling inside you as you were spiraled into another orgasm.

Your body arched off the bed as you cried out his name, body shaking as the wave crashed over you. His hand didn't stop, continuing until you were done twitching before he pulled his hand away, slowly helping you put your legs back down on the bed. He pulled you close against him, his fingers once again at your lips as you cleaned the mixture of fluids off of his hand for one last time.

"Keep your eyes closed, let your eyes adjust first." He said softly as he reached to untie the blindfold slowly. His voice warm like a blanket over your numb body. As the silk fell you could see the reflection of oranges and shadows against the inside of your eyelids. You slowly blinked your eyes open, quickly finding his looking down at you. Such a warm expression compared to the things he just did to you.

His lips gently pressed against yours, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb brushing against your lip. As he pulled away his nose brushed against yours, looking into your eyes.

"Later, feel free to use my card to buy some new rings for me. I do quite like your taste." He said as he watched you blush and then he chuckled. "Oh, you thought I was kidding? No, sweetie. I want to give you even more of a reason to be captivated by my hands."

[navybrat817]

Hold You Tight - Part 24

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 23 | Series Masterlist | Part 25

Chapter Word Count: Over 4.8k

Chapter Summary: You're ready for some answers so you can move forward.

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of violence and death, threats, tension, talk of assault, obsession, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight, and thank you for sticking with me! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby and @mumbles411, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-in-darkness . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Natasha didn't say a word after wrapping up the phone call with her sister. Neither did you. What was there to say? Both of you knew Zemo was outside of the club.  As much as you wanted to confront him, it wouldn't be a smart move. Not alone at least. You needed Bucky. 

How would he react knowing you needed him once again?

“You really should try to rest,” Natasha finally spoke. 

“I can’t,” you whispered. It was too overwhelming, your mind too frantic.

“I know it won't be easy to do so and you rightfully want answers, but just try to relax as best as you can.”

It took a moment, but you curled up on the sofa and tried to quiet your mind. Your eyes drifted to the dahlia painting, remembering Bucky’s words. The man was all about loyalty, and he expected you to be loyal to him. You’d give him that. What choice was there?

“May I ask you something crazy?” you asked.

“The question may be more normal than you think, so shoot,” she answered.

“Do you think I could love Bucky?”

Love was about acceptance and understanding, but your situation wasn’t normal. Would it ever be love or a form of Stockholm Syndrome? Were you doomed to accept it at face value, or could you smooth out the path for both of you?

Natasha considered your question. “I think if anyone could grow to love him, it’s you,” she answered, leaning into the cushion herself. “But it should be on your terms, not his.”

Neither of you spoke again after that.

You weren’t sure how much time passed when the office door slowly opened. Natasha moved when you sat up, placing herself in front of you. Was she protecting you because of Bucky or was she looking out for you because she wanted to?

“It’s just me. Well, Ray and Steve are here, too,” Bucky announced, stepping further into the room. Ray and Steve hung back by the door, but both of them looked at you with concern.

Was everyone going to treat you like a porcelain doll ready to break? To be fair, it wasn’t that long ago since your attack. You would’ve looked at anyone else the same way. 

You took in the sight of Bucky once Natasha moved completely out of the way. Gone was his jacket, his hair a mess. Had he changed his shirt? Your eyes searched his and you found lingering darkness lurking. The tension in his shoulders didn’t bode well either. 

He either didn’t get the answers he was looking for or something was still wrong.

“You didn’t sleep, did you?” he asked.

“No,” you answered, giving him room so he could sit beside you. “Did you lose yourself?”

“Not completely. I told you I had you to come back to,” he replied, brushing a kiss to your forehead before looking over his shoulder. “Give us a minute.”

Natasha hesitated. “Zemo is-”

“Outside, I know,” Bucky interrupted, a slight edge to his voice. “Just give us a minute.”

Ray held the door open, silently ordering Natasha to leave. You managed a small smile for her before she left, the shutting of the door sealing more of your fate. “Bucky, what-”

His arms nearly crushed you when he pulled you in for a hug, his face buried in your neck to inhale your scent. Just as quickly as he grabbed you, he released you, like he suddenly remembered what you had gone through earlier and that the sudden touch may have frightened you. “I’m sorry. I just…”

“What?” you asked, telling yourself to relax. He wasn’t going to hurt you.

“He wanted to take you away from me. From your home,” he whispered. You took his hand to inspect it, half expecting to see blood. “You don’t have to worry about me. I cleaned myself up a bit, and I’m fine,” he added.

You hummed, thankful for that as your fingers touched his knuckles. Seeing blood on him may have fried your emotions once again. “What do you mean he wanted to take me from my home?”

Bucky gripped your hand when you tried to pull away and explained what Clark told him- How Clark was involved with Zemo and your instinct regarding the drugging of your friends was correct. How Clark intended to take you to Gotham, giving you a way to start over again away from Bucky. It would’ve put you in another cage. 

Steel blue eyes watched you process the information, a featherlight touch on the top of your hand willing you to take a breath. “He was really going to take me away?”

The thought of being ripped away from your friends, your stability, it made your heart ache. As much as the turn of events in your life terrified you, the city was still your home. If anyone would decide when and if you left, it would be you. Except now you didn’t really have a choice since Bucky would dictate when and if you ever left. 

Bucky’s jaw clenched before he nodded. “He was. He thought he’d be your hero,” he said, practically spitting out the last word.

Clark wasn’t a hero. No hero would’ve done what he did. “But my friends are okay? And Lois, she’s okay?” you asked.

The smile on Bucky’s face stretched to his eyes. “How are you so good?” he asked, rhetorically. “I still need the info on what the driver put in the drinks, but it was likely diluted and they should be okay. Lois…” He took a breath. “She isn’t in great shape, but she’s going to get the best care possible.”

You sighed in relief for your friends and Lois, though it hurt to hear that she wasn’t in the best shape, since she didn’t deserve whatever happened to her. “Thank you, Bucky,” you whispered. Lois wasn’t his responsibility, but it meant a lot to you that he wanted to help her heal. Maybe you could meet her, if only to see for yourself that she would be safe and sound. “What about Cl-”

“Don’t say his name, please.,” he gently ordered. “Whatever happens to him after tonight is still his fault.”

You shuddered. So Clark was still alive. For now. “And Zemo? I want to talk to him.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he said softly. You were doing your best to control your temper since you knew he was trying to protect you. “You’ve been through a lot, especially tonight.”

“Partially thanks to you,” you reminded him, making him wince. You didn’t mean it as a jab, but he had to keep that in mind. “And this is my life they tried to mess with. I think I’m owed some answers.”

He sighed. “Kotyonok…”

Maybe it was a dirty tactic, but you ran a hand through his hair and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Nothing too extraordinary or forward, but you heard the swift intake of breath. “Please,” you whispered, needing him on your side for this.

“Fine,” he conceded, turning his head to give you a proper kiss. As much as you knew he wanted to deepen it, he stopped himself. “But you’re staying right by my side, and we’ll speak to him in the VIP area. I don’t want him in my office.”

“If that’s what you want.” It was his club, his rules, but it was a small victory that he gave in.

And once the conversation took place, you could finally try to get some sleep.

“Wait,” he said, stopping you from standing. He didn’t hide the vulnerability in his expression when he uttered, “I’m going to earn your love, and I’m not giving up until I have it. Even when I have it, I won’t stop earning it. Or your trust.”

Your mouth fell open. Where had that come from? Had Clark said or done something to get under his skin? 

“I haven’t earned yours,” you said, needing to say something. You saved his mother, sure, and he felt a connection after seeing and hearing you at his club, but that shouldn’t mean that his love and trust should be given so freely.

“You earned it a long time ago, but I haven’t earned yours,” he said easily, helping you to your feet. “I’ll start tonight once we’re home.”

You fell in step beside Bucky, ignoring the gazes of the group in the hall. “Ray, bring Zemo to the VIP area. Have Ari and Jax behind him. Steve, I want you there with us.”

“And what about me? I’m not leaving her,” Natasha said as she followed.

“This isn’t your concern,” Bucky said, tightening his grip on you.

“You made it my concern when you called me. She made it my concern when she asked me to be here,” the redhead argued. “And my sister is the one who followed him, so I think I have a right to stick around.”

“I think she should stay,” you said. Natasha had gone out of her way to be there for you. It only felt right that she knew what was going on. 

Bucky swore under his breath. “Hang back with Ari and Jax and keep your sister from shooting him.”

“I make no promises that she won’t shoot him,” she half teased before Bucky glared over his shoulder. “But she won’t kill him.”

You tried not to tremble once Bucky brought you to the VIP area. It was strange seeing the place lit up, but with no music or a crowd. You could almost picture Addison and your friends there with you, laughing and having a good time. 

Briefly closing your eyes, you allowed Bucky’s touch on your arm to soothe you. “This is where you were sitting when I saw you on camera,” he said. 

“It’s come full circle,” you said. The area would become another place fully tied back to Bucky. Not because he owned it, but because you would talk to Zemo there and it would be a reminder of what happened to you.

“And soon you’ll be with me in my office, keeping me company, making memories together,” he said, happy in spite of the circumstances. 

Steve placed a bottle of water in front of you. How was it that a man as dark as Bucky looked so kind? “Buck thought you’d want bottled water instead of a glass,” he said, giving you a small smile. 

You nodded in understanding. If anyone had brought you a glass, you wouldn’t have seen them pour it and you may have questioned what was in it. It was… thoughtful. “Thanks.”

Your heart beat too loud when you heard footsteps, your next breath ragged when Zemo walked toward you like he owned the place. Though he looked put together and at ease, you detected the slightest bit of discomfort when he looked your way. You took small satisfaction in that.

Bucky held up a hand before Zemo could take a seat or speak to you. “If you have any weapons on you, I suggest you set them on the table,” he said, skipping the pleasantries. 

Gesturing to Ari and Jax, he sighed. “Ms. Belova relieved me of my weapons, and your men did another search themselves,” he said. You couldn’t see Natasha or her sister with the men blocking your view, but you sensed them watching. “Now may I please sit?”

Bucky waited until Ray stood by your side and Steve on his. “As much as I’d like to beat the ever loving shit out of you, we do need to talk, so sit.”

“As much as I know you’d enjoy that, I’m not here to speak to you.” Zemo turned his attention to you once he sat down and carefully removed his gloves. “I believe I owe you an apology.”

You placed a hand on Bucky’s thigh, hoping your touch would keep him grounded. “So, you’re aware of what happened to me?”

“I do not know the details, but I knew something must have happened since I hadn't heard from Clark or the driver. And I thought if I hadn't heard from them that James either figured out my involvement or would find out soon enough,” he explained, relaxing in his seat. “Better to show up and explain my side than wait to be dragged in for questioning.”

It surprised you how easily he gave up that information. “I was attacked,” you stated, avoiding Bucky's gaze.

You didn't expect to see sorrow on Zemo’s face. “Where is he?” he whispered.

“Where do you think?” Bucky asked.

The man nodded. “Though I’m not the one who laid hands on you, I am sorry for encouraging Clark.” He shook his head wearily. “I warned him not to lay a hand on you in harm, but he was not one of my usual men, and I must admit I miscalculated this plan.”

“What was your plan exactly?” you asked. Did it align with Clark's plan?

“I wanted James to lose you,” he replied, stating the obvious. “James knows most of my men and he would've caught on if I sent one of them to spirit you away. I thought Clark was enough of an outsider to stay under the radar and convince you to somehow, some way, walk away from your new boyfriend.”

Of course, it all led back to Bucky. “He broke into my home when I refused to go with him and he attacked me,” you said, proud that your voice didn't crack. 

“He was going to rape her,” Bucky said through his teeth. The rage in his eyes was frightening, so you squeezed his thigh. He had to stay calm. 

If Zemo looked sorrowful moments ago, now he looked sick. He recovered quickly. “You must believe me when I say my intention was never for anyone to attack you.”

“But you still knowingly or unknowingly sent some sort of predator to woo me? That's supposed to make me feel better?” you asked. Did he have any shame?

Zemo sighed. “I fear nothing I say will make you feel better.”

“No, it won’t. Everything that happened is going to stick with me, and your apologies aren’t going to alleviate any of the pain,” you said, breathing a bit easier when Bucky put his hand over yours. “Not to mention, it still doesn’t make any sense to me. He came into the shop once a month and until recently he had a girlfriend. Now he stalks and attacks me? Why?”

Zemo tilted his head, amused by the question. “Why did James stalk you?”

Bucky stiffened under your touch before he began, “That’s not-”

“Clark likes to believe that he isn’t like James or I or any of the other men here, but he isn’t a good man either. He has darkness like so many of us and he didn't need much of a push to go after you.” Zemo shrugged. “Your rejection may have been the final push to bring out his darkness.”

Bucky reached for something in his pocket. “If you’re blaming my girl-”

“I’m doing no such thing,” Zemo promised, his hands raised in surrender.

Bile rose to your throat anyway. “Really? Because it sounds like you’re saying that my rejection drove him to this.” How could he blame you for Clark’s actions?

“Your rejection was a tipping point, but it wasn’t your fault,” he assured you. It didn't make you feel any better. “His facade slipped and he showed you who he really is. It is troublesome that I did not notice how far he would go before you were put in harm's way.”

“Because you let whatever hatred you have for Bucky blind you,” you accused. What other explanation was there?

“Perhaps you are right.” Zemo swallowed, but didn’t spare the man beside you a glance. “But as much as I hate him, I still did not intend for you to get hurt.”

“Why does it matter if I'm hurt?” you asked. It wasn't like any of them cared for your opinion regarding your own life. 

“Because it wasn’t about harming you. I just wanted James to be without you,” he admitted without shame. “I wanted him to lose the thing he cherished the most, that’s all.”

You exhaled. He wanted to destroy Bucky. Not through his club, his money, or anything of that sort. Zemo wanted to destroy him by removing you from the equation. 

“It wouldn't have been enough if I took you myself,” he continued. “No, I wanted him to see you thrive with someone outside of our circle. To show him money and power can't buy him what he so desperately desires. I wanted him to suffer knowing how happy you were without him.”

Bucky audibly exhaled, anger rising in both of you. “That's insane,” you whispered. Another puppet master trying to control the strings of your life. “And you really think that Bucky would have allowed that?!”

Zemo finally looked at the club owner with a blank expression. “I’d like to think James would give you anything that would make you happy. That if you truly found happiness with another man, he would let you go. Even if it killed him.”

You almost crawled into Bucky’s lap when you thought he’d stand up. “There will never be another man,” he gritted.

“He won't let me go. You have to know that,” you said, uncaring of who nearby heard it since they knew the truth anyway. “My freedom is the only thing he won't give me.”

“Is it really love if he won’t let you go?” Zemo asked. 

Bucky made a sound like he got punched. “I love her,” he stated, turning toward you. “I love you.”

“I know,” you whispered. He believed so desperately that he did. “Zemo, even if Bucky let me go, do you really think I could give my heart to someone else knowing he will always watch over me?”

If there was even the slightest chance that you’d ever leave him, you’d forever look over your shoulder and wait for him to drag you back. 

“Bruce Wayne wouldn't let the likes of James into his city,” he said. 

Bucky had mentioned the name Bruce to you in his office. You hoped you never met him. “And if he went to Gotham anyway?”

“I wanted to believe that he would start off watching. That if there was a moment where he could swoop in and take you back he would, but would ultimately resist. That over time, it would hurt him too much to keep his eye on you and he would have eventually let you go.” The smile on his face unnerved you. “Your rejection of Bucky and choosing someone else would destroy him from the inside out. He would fall, and his empire would fall with him because why would he want to rule without you by his side?”

“She isn't rejecting me, and I’m not letting her go. Ever,” Bucky spoke for you, that stark possession shining through. “Our souls are entwined. She’s meant to be with me forever.”

A scowl crossed Zemo’s face. “I loved someone like that once.”

“And you lost her,” you said. He lost his wife, and his child. “If revenge was something you wanted, why not just kill me? An eye for an eye.”

He sighed, picking at one of his gloves. “I thought about killing you with my bare hands. To watch the life leave your eyes,” he said, dispassionately. 

Your eyes widened when Bucky got to his feet and took out a knife. Ray tried to shield you when you jumped up, but you grabbed Bucky’s arm before he could move. “Bucky, please, don’t,” you begged. Hearing that Zemo had wanted to kill you scared you, but he was unarmed and you didn't want more blood shed because of you. 

“Listen to her, Buck,” Steve urged. 

“I’m done talking and listening, and I’m going to slit his fucking throat for even thinking about killing her,” he growled. He was going to kill him if you didn’t stop him. And Zemo… He didn’t move. He didn’t flinch or try to move away. Did he want to die?

“Boss?” Ray questioned. If Bucky ordered it, they would kill him. You had no doubt in your mind.

“Please,” you whispered, putting your hand over his so he’d lower the knife. “He could’ve killed me, but he didn’t. He didn’t even want Clark to put a hand on me,” you pointed out. Zemo’s thoughts shifted at some point. That had to mean something. 

“Because the more I thought about it, I realized that you’re a victim, too. Innocent. Another soul tainted by the Barnes family,” Zemo said, making you think of his family again. They were victims. “Death may set you free from his grasp, but I suspect death is not what you're looking for or what you deserve. Killing you wouldn't have brought me peace either.”

It was clear that he was in a lot of pain and projecting it onto others, but killing you wouldn't have filled the void in his heart. “What happened with your family?” you asked. It wasn’t just collateral damage. It was enough to drive him to this.

“Oh, James didn’t tell you?” The scowl was back on Zemo’s face. 

“She doesn't know the whole story,” Bucky said after a moment. 

Your nails dug into his hand. “You said he blamed some of the men you worked with for what happened.”

“Oh, I do blame them and James because it was their fault. They heard about a deal that I made with some dangerous people that would’ve made us all a lot of money. James didn’t like that, so he tipped off the police.” You could see Bucky and Steve hang their heads briefly out of the corner of your eye and Ray blinked a few times, but their shame didn’t lessen the fury in Zemo’s eyes. “For retaliation, these men took something priceless from me- my wife and child. And they didn't just take them. They made them suffer before they died.”

Tears filled your eyes. You couldn’t help it. It was an innocent woman and child. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are.” He looked touched, but it didn't outweigh his anger. “But you see, if James didn't call in that tip and his men hadn't informed him of the deal in the first place, my family would still be alive.”

You glanced around through your tears. No one spoke, but you saw the guilt. And it made sense why Bucky said they were lost in a deal gone wrong, but he left his part in it out of the story. Was it to protect you or himself? “They didn't deserve what happened to them,” you said. No one deserved that. 

Zemo blinked, erasing the ghosts behind his eyes. “No, they didn’t. And I can’t change the past or bring them back.”

“Neither can I,” Bucky said, touching your cheek. He looked hesitant, like you’d hate him for this. “I should’ve told you the whole story. I’m sorry for that.”

But Bucky hadn’t. He hadn't lied, but he hadn't told you everything. It was another hurdle to get across. “So, where do we go from here?” you asked. You weren’t going to continue to be a pawn in their game. 

Bucky still had his knife out. “I want to kill him, but I can’t,” he said, grinding his teeth. You raised an eyebrow. That would be another conversation for later, but you suspected it had to do with their shady politics or whatever they dealt in. “But I also can’t let this go.”

“You want to retaliate,” Zemo said. 

“Yes,” Bucky said. He wanted blood. You could practically smell it. 

“No. No retaliation,” you said, looking at all of the men. “I mean it.”

Bucky’s nostrils flared, but one more glance at you and he nodded. “No retaliation for now.”

“I’m in your debt,” Zemo said not to Bucky, but to you. It surprised you to say the least. “Name your price.”

All eyes were on you and it made you feel faint. You couldn’t be weak since you were in this world now. “You paid the driver to turn on Bucky?” you asked, waiting for him to nod. “Whatever you paid him, I want you to double the amount and donate it to the hospital. The wing that Winifired Barnes stayed in.”

Bucky inhaled, gazing at you like he fell in love all over again. “Kotyonok,” he said thickly.

“And Lois, Clark’s ex-girlfriend. I want you to cover her medical expenses, and throw in a little extra so she can recover in peace once she’s out,” you said. It was the least the woman deserved. 

“Done,” Zemo agreed, a smile touching his lips. “Is there anything else? Perhaps your own flower shop? The things you asked for aren’t for you, but for others.”

“Because that’s the kind of person she is,” Bucky proudly said, slipping an arm around you. “And if anyone’s going to get her her own shop, it’s me.”

“Please, stop with the dick measuring contest,” you said. Even when it was about you, they made it about themselves. Regardless, the truth was you didn’t want anything from Zemo, except for him to leave you be. “Just leave Bucky and me alone, and anyone close to me. If you two have to work together, fine, but don’t interfere with our lives,” you said. 

“And that’s it?” he asked. 

“That’s it,” you replied. You didn't need much, but you deserve a bit of peace from one of Bucky’s enemies. 

“You have my word.” Zemo slipped his gloves back on and stood up. If he didn't keep his word, you were sure Bucky would make him pay. “But I still owe you a debt. When you’re ready to cash in, James can tell you how to get in touch with me.”

Bucky finally put his knife away. “I still want to kill you and I still have questions for you,” he said. You should’ve known he wouldn’t be satisfied, but at least no blood was shed in front of you. “Because you had no right to go after my girl.”

“Be thankful she’s still alive and beside you,” he said with subtle longing. “Truce? Perhaps we can talk next week and bury the hatchet for good? No retaliation. You agreed.”

Bucky didn't offer his hand. Just a smile without any semblance of warmth. “Next week,” he said, his fist flying before you could blink. You gasped when Zemo stumbled back and clutched his jaw. It took him a moment to straighten up, a mark already forming on his face as he lowered his hand. He didn't look at all surprised by the punch, and he was lucky his jaw wasn't broken. “Now get the fuck out of my club.”

“I appreciate your compassion, and I look forward to your call one day,” Zemo smiled at you through the pain. “I truly am sorry for what transpired,” he added in a sincere tone. 

You nodded, not accepting or rejecting the apology, and slowly exhaled while Jax and Ari led him away. He hadn't gotten his revenge, but at least it was over. You had answers. Maybe you’d sleep easier. 

Maybe not. 

You finally spotted Natasha in the distance standing beside a blonde woman. That must be Yelena. And neither of them looked impressed as they stared after the man who put Clark in your path. 

“You sure I can't kill him?” Yelena asked. 

“I appreciate the offer, Yelena, but not today,” Bucky said, turning toward you. Why did he look nervous? Was he expecting you to scream? Hit him? “Are you okay?”

You buried your face in his chest before you could stop yourself, and he took the opportunity to hold you against him. Were you okay? No. But you’d heal. You had to. “I will be.”

But was it really the end of Zemo? What kind of favor would he do for you? Would you take him up on any sort of offer after everything?

“I’m sorry, too. For all of this,” he whispered low enough for only you to hear. “But now we can move forward together.”

Bucky sounded like he wanted to close this chapter and move on, but it wasn't up to him to turn the page. It was your decision. “I might stumble along the way.”

“I'll catch you,” he promised, pulling away and taking your hand. “Are you ready to go home?”

You weren't sure if you’d ever be ready, but you had to believe this chapter of your life was over. Zemo would leave you alone. Clark wouldn't hurt anyone else. It had to be enough for today. 

You could figure out the next step tomorrow. 

“Sure,” you whispered, letting Bucky lead you away. “Let’s go home.”

A moment to breathe. Maybe? I view this as an ending (not the story, I wouldn't do that to you lovelies) and a beginning. Eager to hear what you think will happen going forward! Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[anna--gvf]

Submissive Dae Ho x Dominant GN(?) reader

I'm so sorry to be that girl but imo Dae Ho is NOT dominant. Having 4 older sisters would mean he's more used to women being in charge anyways. COME ONNN. doms moot me? 💔

Haven't posted any type of fic on the internet in years I'm nervy. Pls be nice lmao

Considering this a bday gift to my gf. ily babe <3

Nothing too crazy. Handjob, blowjob, edging, light praise, a lil crying, blah blah blah

Hope you enjoy! Feedback is welcome!

In a life or death situation, you would think you'd be more focused on trying to live, but watching Dae Ho almost effortlessly work his hands on the gonggi during the six-legged race had gotten your mind drifting into places it shouldn't be.

Walking back into the dormitories, you stare down at your feet, mind racing as you walk towards the designated corner of the "X" team, taking a seat on a corner bed.

The rest of the team followed, spreading out on the beds. You gaze off, zoning out and letting your mind fulfill your sick fantasies for you. You imagined how he'd sound.. How he'd react. How he'd feel, and fuck, how he'd look at you.

A quiet call of your name breaks you out of your trance. You come to, analyzing the cold metal container of food sat on the bed in front of you. You look to your side to see Daeho glancing into your eyes carefully, or as much as he could without getting nervous and having to look away for a moment.

"Are you okay?" He quietly asks, assuming it was all of the stress of death getting you thinking, but in reality, you craved him. It wasn't a want anymore, it was a need.

"Hm? Oh, yeah." You reply, taking an extra moment to gaze into his eyes longer than you probably should've.

He nods softly in understanding, eyes scanning the area before leaning in to whisper to you, "Are you sure? Do you need to talk about it?"

His caring demeanor made you want him even more. To know that he actually gave a fuck about you and your well being was very attractive to say the least.

You look back to him, the genuine caring look in his eyes giving you butterflies in your stomach.

You just stare at him for a moment, unsure if you really wanted to go through with the ideas in your mind. His face flushes ever so slightly and he glances down at his lap at your gaze.

"Yeah, maybe." You reply, your stomach churning slightly after coming to the realization that you had just practically finalized the idea. "Meet me in the bathroom?"

I mean, if we were all going to die here anyways I guess a simple confession can't hurt.

Dae Ho nods in response, his demeanor shifting to be more nervous as he sees you stand up above him. He stands up after you, following you towards the bathroom.

You walk into the bathroom, Dae Ho following along. You stand in front of the sinks, Dae Ho stopping in his tracks to be standing near you.

"Was it the game? Are you okay?" He immediately starts, his eyes scanning you for any kind of injury, just in case you were hurt in any way.

"No, It's.." You pause, sighing and glancing around the bathroom to ensure its vacant state. "Well, kinda?" You laugh softly.

Dae Ho furrows his eyebrows in a mix of confusion and worry, quickly trying to read your expression.

You sigh, eyes still scanning for anybody in any of the stalls. "It's.. unusual. Okay?" You warn, looking back into his eyes.

"It's you." You admit, laughing softly, taking in every facial feature as his eyes widened in worry.

"Oh- Oh shit what did I do? Did i upset you?" He immediately worries, taking a small step closer to you, his hands clasped together and already fidgeting nervously.

"No, It's not like that." You assured, his eyes immediately softening from worry to confusion with a slight nod. He stared silently, awaiting an explanation.

"You.." You pause hesitantly. "The way you played Gonggi." You answer vaguely.

Dae Ho's eyebrows furrowed further before speaking. "What, am I doing something wrong?" He questioned, playing back his gonggi gameplay in his head to assure that he did it right.

"No, Dae Ho." You interrupt. "That's just it. You didn't mess up." You mutter, chuckling softly.

Dae Ho stared blankly, tilting his head slightly in confusion as he tried to piece together what exactly you were saying.

"Your hands." You point out, watching as he lifts them up so the both of you could inspect them.

"It was so hot watching how perfectly you moved your hands." You confess, replaying his flawless gameplay back in your head, over and over again.

He didn't know what to say. He had never been so directly hit on by a girl like this before. He let out a shaky breath, breaking eye contact to look down at and fidget with his hands softly.

You analyze his flushed face as he tried to discreetly calm his slightly unsteady breaths. He looked back up at you, a tiny smile evident on his embarrassed face.

You take a step closer to him, practically undressing him with your eyes. He notices.

Dae Ho lets out a sigh, watching you move closer to him, practically mesmerized.

You reach out to touch his shoulders, slowly trailing them down towards his hands. You take his hand in your grasp, gently inspecting it before letting out a quiet sigh. "Fuck." You whisper, a little closer to his ear than you'd intended.

He let out a nearly inaudible breathy whimper at your word. Your stomach tightened at the noise, eyes immediately darting up to meet his.

His eyes were slightly widened, mouth slightly agape as he immediately started to try to explain it away. "I-I'm sorry.. I uh.. I didn't mean to.." He trails off as you move your hand to caress his face gently.

"Can we go in a stall?" You ask, nearly getting lost in his brown eyes. He releases a shaky breath before whining quietly and whispering a quick "Oh fuck.. Yes."

With that, you grasp his hand in yours tighter, immediately leading him to a stall towards the back.

As soon as you're both in the stall, you immediately shut and lock the door, closing the gap between the two of you.

His back is immediately pressed up against the wall as you cup his face in your hands, pulling him into a short kiss. You pull back, gazing into his eyes.

The expression on his face was enough to get you off on its own. With a turned-on sigh, you pull him back into the kiss, this time much longer and much more passionate.

Your hands graze down his body gently, stopping at his thighs and moving back up. His eyebrows furrow, quivering slightly as you do so, letting out deep, needy breaths into the kiss.

You pull away, your hand reaching for the zipper of his jacket. "Fuck, you're so hot." You sigh, slowly unzipping his jacket to give you easier access to his body.

He whimpers quietly at the praise, nervously watching as you pull the zipper down his body.

You guide his head to turn to the left, giving you access to his neck. You start leaving gentle kisses and light hickeys on his neck, your hands sliding under his shirt to touch his bare skin.

He closes his eyes, letting out shaky sighs and gasps at your touch. "Fuck.." He whimpers into your ear.

You pull away, your hand reaching the waistband of his pants, tracing it softly before looking up to him for approval.

He nods frantically, brushing a few loose strands of hair out of his face with a sigh, looking back down at your hand with furrowed eyebrows.

You slowly slide your hand down his pants, your fingertips grazing his dick through his boxers.

Dae Ho's hips stuttered, a slightly louder sigh leaving his lips, his eyes shutting briefly as he bit his lip in anticipation.

He was already half hard. "You're already hard for me. Do i turn you on?" You tease, testing the waters.

He let out a soft groan at your words. "Yes.. Fuck.." he nodded with a shaky breath.

You had barely touched him, and he was already a mess. You apply more pressure on your hand, almost touching him properly now.

The unexpected change in touch got the first moan out of him. It was quiet, slightly whiny, and higher in pitch than you would've imagined from him.

He immediately went to cover his mouth with his hand, embarrassed, his face immediately begins to flush. You let out a shaky breath before speaking softly.

"Fuck, keep doing that." You say with a shaky breath, removing his hand from his mouth as your other hand still worked on him.

You were immediately met with another shaky whimper as you uncovered his mouth. You move to suck rougher hickeys into the side of his neck, pulling another pathetic hum from him.

Moving your hand back up, your fingers reach the waistband of his boxers. He swallowed, taking shaky breaths to steady himself.

You slowly slide your hand down his boxers, a faint whine falling from his lips before you even got a chance touch him.

Gently wrapping your hand around him, you start off slow. He lets out a whine, mouth agape as he moved to place his hands on your shoulders.

Picking up the pace, you move to tease the tip. He throws his head back, back arching slightly and letting out a cry.

He was avoiding eye contact, obviously embarrassed by the vulnerability although he was totally into it.

You guide him to look at you, slightly tightening your grip on him.

He blushes, looking into your eyes and moaning, that familiar tightening feeling already growing in his stomach.

A high pitched moan leaves his lips as he burrows his head in your neck, his breathing picking up as he thrusts his hips into your hand slightly.

More whines and whimpers left his lips, his release rapidly approaching, a lot quicker than usual.

"Yeah? You gonna cum already?" You whisper teasingly.

Hearing your voice in his ear only brought him closer, but the sudden noise of the bathroom door swinging open pulls you two back to reality, making you instinctively pull away.

Dae Ho whined softly at the loss of contact, shifting uncomfortably. You quickly put a hand over his mouth to stop the noise, Dae Ho immediately realizing his mistake.

The sound of running water filled the room. Thank god, at least they were just at the sink. They'd be out quick.

With your hand still over his mouth, you start to kiss on his neck again, your other hand diving back down his pants.

He lets out a small noise, slightly muffled by your hand. Your hand works on him again slowly as Dae Ho tried not to make any noise, or at least to stifle any noise he wasn't able to hold back.

He's letting out shaky breaths against your hand, his thighs quivering slightly as you tighten your grasp the closer you got to his tip.

The sound of the sink shutting off brings the room back to an eerie silence besides the nearly silent noises falling from Dae Ho's lips.

His hand moves to grasp your arm, his head falling back against the wall. He tensed up slightly, his orgasm approaching again.

He digs his nails into your arm, his noises getting louder and harder to muffle.

With a swift movement you take your hands off of him again. He loudly sighs against your hand.

The sound of footsteps moving towards the door rung through the room, followed by the familiar squeak of the door swinging shut.

The two of you were finally alone again. You slowly remove your hand from his mouth, smiling to yourself as he gasped softly, catching his breath.

He gazed into your eyes as he steadied himself. "What the hell was that?" He breathes out, face flushed with a slight smile prominent on his lips.

You just laughed softly before dropping to your knees in front of him, the sight alone enough to pull a moan from him.

He averts his gaze, embarrassed. The sudden touch of your hands trailing up his clothed thighs immediately gained his attention back.

He whimpers, letting out a frustrated sigh and clenching his thighs softly. Your hand gently grazes up his hard dick through his pants before moving to his waistband again.

You slowly pull his pants and boxers down, just taking in the sight of him. Dae Ho let out an uncomfortable shaky sigh, shifting nervously as your eyes practically burned into him.

Your hands travel his up and down his thighs, watching him twitch as he made quiet, needy noises while you teased him.

Dae Ho loudly releases a shaky sigh before muttering a quiet, "Please.." He whines, gazing into your eyes pathetically.

Immediately, you wrap your hand back around him, gradually increasing the speed of your strokes.

A high pitched gasp escapes his lips, followed by a muffled moan. You glance up to find that he's covering his mouth with his hand.

You smile to yourself slightly, increasing your pace again before sliding your opposite hand up his shirt to feel up his body.

He uncovers his mouth, instead grasping the stall's handlebar to steady himself, hissing softly followed by heavy breaths and a whiny mumble of your name.

You lean in to suck a few dark hickeys into his lower stomach, drawing a sharp whimper from him. His noises getting much more frequent again.

You drag your tongue over the hickeys you'd just left, your hand swirling around the tip of his cock gently.

He bites his lip, groaning loudly as he sloppily thrusts his hips into your hand.

You pull away again, his hips stuttering as a long, disappointed whimper leaves his lips as he's denied from his release again.

"Please," He pleads quietly, a bead of precum gathered at the tip of his dick. "Fuck.. It hurts." He whispers embarrassedly, his face flushed, a prominent desperate look in his eyes.

You swipe your thumb over the tip, smearing the precum. You oblige with a few slow strokes, drawing a quiet sobbing whine from him.

Maintaining eye contact, you lick a teasing strip from the base of his cock to the tip.

Dae Ho bites his lip, letting out a stifled cry at the sensation of your tongue against him. He watches intently, his cock throbbing in your grasp.

You lean in, leaving sloppy, open-mouthed kisses against his tip, snatching a very pleased sigh from above you. You slowly take the tip in your mouth, running your tongue along the slit softly.

Dae Ho's hand moves back to cover his mouth, a muffled moan filling the room. You take that as your sign to continue, slowly engulfing him entirely with your eyes locked on him.

A loud exhale leaves his lips, mouth agape, his hand immediately uncovering his mouth again to grasp a handful of your hair. After a second to adjust, he lets out a needy whine, trembling slightly in desperation.

"Oh fuck, please.." He whines out, his grip on your hair loosening as he grounded himself to the best of his ability.

You start off at a teasingly slow pace, your gaze transfixed on him and only him, taking in every little feature on his face, basking in every noise he let slip.

The sound of Dae Ho's unsteady breaths and shaky moans fills the room, only egging you on further. "Ah- Please, faster." He gasps out needily.

You gradually gain speed, deeply analyzing every reaction he made to your touch. You hollow your cheeks around him, drawing another high-pitched groan from the desperate man above you.

Embarrassed, he released his grip on your hair, placing his hand back over his mouth, throwing his head back with closed eyes. Muffled moans and whines rung through your ears, his hips gently rocking forward to meet your mouth.

You bring your hands to grip the side of his thighs, pinning his hips to the wall to halt his movements.

Something about that really did it for him, a strangled moan escaping his lips from behind his hand, louder than the rest. His body began quivering again, Dae Ho practically toppling over himself.

You swallow around him, feeling his cock pathetically twitch in your mouth. He moves his hand back to your hair with a choked sob, his hips bucking as much as they could while they were in your firm grasp.

He perks up with a gasp, his back arching with a pitiful whine, that all too familiar feeling growing in the pit of his stomach again, only growing stronger.

Unsurprisingly, you stop, taking your hands and mouth off of him completely.

A shaky sob leaves his lips, his eyes darting down to meet yours.

"Oh fuck.." Is all he can manage to get out at this point, tears of frustration pooling in his eyes as he gazes at you desperately with furrowed eyebrows, mouth agape as shuddery breaths left his lips.

He sniffles softly, a sinful noise coming from him as you slowly take him back into your mouth. Quiet sobs and exhales bring your attention back up to him, a small tear streaming down the side of his face.

His hand grasps for your hair again, trying to gently push you down further. "Please." He shudders, biting his lip with a groan.

You suddenly started up your movements again, this time a lot faster right away, causing Dae Ho to involuntarily let a loud, pathetic sound.

He was clearly too far gone to care about how loud he was being. He would love to watch you effortlessly please him, but any time he tried to look down at you for too long his knees got weak.

He gasped, whimpering loudly as he felt himself getting closer and closer to his release with each movement you made.

"F-Fuck, don't stop.. Please don't stop." He manages to choke out between filthy gasps and moans.

You grasp the soft skin of his thighs, slightly digging your nails into them as you pushed yourself further down on him.

He trembles, sloppily bucking his hips slightly with a needy cry. Other occasional noises left his lips between sobbing breaths, his grip on your hair tightening immensely.

A string of loud moans and whines left his mouth, followed by one last buck of his hips as he came undone, constant satisfied whimpers filling the room as he came down from his prolonged high.

He sighs out, practically slumped over you as you pull away, standing back up, your eyes locking with his once again.

He gazes into your eyes for a moment before looking away, breathless and flustered, a grin prominent on his face.

"That was.. so good." He mumbles, still catching his breath slightly.

The dreaded sound of the intercom starts over the loudspeakers; "Attention players, lights out will begin in 2 minutes. Please report back to the dormitories immediately."

"Shit, we gotta go." You laugh, Dae Ho immediately straightening himself out, following as you grab his hand and lead him out of the stall.

"What.. What about you?" He speaks hesitantly, looking you up and down as you swiftly wash your hands.

"Next time." You smile, walking out of the bathroom, Dae Ho following shortly after you.

Dae Ho exhaled a shaky breath as he followed you out, his stomach fluttering at the thought of there being a "next time".

[kayewrite]

At the same time, I wanna hug you

(...I wanna wrap my hands around your neck)

seungmin x reader!! enemies to lovers troupe!! genre; fluff. word count: 10.7k (long but still not enough)

summary; if you have teleportation powers you would bring seungmin in the middle of ocean and dump him there. that's how much you hated him. but wait.. why he was suddenly cool?

an: you dont know how much i went crazy seeing seungmin in uniform! like babe! why are my classmate not like him? and.. this was a birthday present cause this man just turn half 50 minus 1!! anyways enjoy reading

Kim Seungmin.

You hated that very name.

You hated his existence.

You hated his smirk.

You hated that he breathes.

You hated how he never failed to make your blood boil.

Like now.

You were practically crawling into the classroom, late again, knowing full well the teacher wasn’t going to let it slide this time. Slowly and quietly, you slipped through the back door, hoping to go unnoticed, but your hopes were dashed when Kim Seungmin turned in his seat and caught your eye. His face slowly morphed into that all-too-familiar smirk.

You already knew your fate.

"Ma'am, someone’s late again."

You clenched your fists, resisting the urge to punch him as the teacher ordered you to stand and endure a scolding. You stood there, bowing your head like a guilty child while Seungmin chuckled at your misery.

You hated him. You hated him so much you wished for teleportation powers—just so you could dump him in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and teleport back home.

The worst part? You were seatmates. In the one subject that made you contemplate dropping the class every week just to escape him. But no, you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. You’d endure, just so he wouldn’t win.

"Why were you late again?" he leaned over, asking in the most casual, condescending way possible.

“None of your business,” you rolled your eyes and shifted your chair further away from him.

“Actually, it is my business.” He smirked again, lifting the attendance sheet. “I’m in charge of marking who’s here today, and guess what? I don’t see your name yet. Got a good excuse for me?”

Damn.

You glared at him, wishing your stare could send him straight to the hospital. “I hate you.”

“Oh, I love you too,” he teased, laughing at your frustration.

--

You were minding your own business, erasing the board, when out of nowhere, a crumpled piece of paper hit you square on the head. Annoyed, you turned sharply, searching for the culprit. Your eyes quickly landed on Kim Seungmin, who very obviously averted his gaze and started whistling—like that wasn’t the biggest giveaway ever.

Glaring at him, you felt your temper rise. Without thinking twice, you grabbed the nearest weapon of choice—the chalkboard eraser—and hurled it with full force.

"Hey—!" Seungmin barely had time to react, his hands flying up to shield himself. The eraser still hit him, sending a cloud of chalk dust everywhere.

Minutes later, there he was, sitting in the clinic, sulking like he’d been gravely injured. You stood over him, arms crossed, rolling your eyes at the ridiculous situation.

“You’re such a kid,” you teased, watching as he winced dramatically. “Crying over a tiny little scratch.”

He glared at you, clutching his arm like he’d survived a battle. “Tiny? You nearly broke my arm!”

You smirked, “If I wanted to break your arm, Seungmin, I wouldn’t have used an eraser.”

You and Seungmin fought like kids, constantly bickering and annoying each other to the point where even your classmates didn’t bother stepping in anymore. They’d seen you two nearly throw punches at each other too many times to care.

One day in the cafeteria, you were finally enjoying a moment of peace, savoring your lunch, when Seungmin suddenly plopped down in front of you. He smiled, but there was something odd about it. Well, Seungmin was always odd, but this felt extra weird. He wasn’t even touching his food; he just sat there, staring at you.

"What are you looking at, ugly?" you asked, scowling.

He leaned back casually. "My friends are coming, and we're sitting at this table. It’s up to you if you wanna leave or not."

You blinked, taken aback. "What?! I got here first!"

"Yeah, well," he shrugged nonchalantly, "I don’t care."

Before you could argue further, the cafeteria exploded with noise. His friends had arrived—there was no mistaking it. They were loud, famous, and had an almost cult-like following at school. You could practically hear the high-pitched squeals from the “fandom” as they entered. Without even turning around, you knew it was them.

Your frustration mounted as they surrounded the table, chattering loudly. You weren’t exactly fond of crowds, for that matter. Sitting there, sandwiched between Seungmin and his friends, you felt like a deer caught in headlights.

Hyunjin—yes, that Hyunjin—suddenly leaned over, flashing a bright smile. "Hey, what’s your name?"

You nearly choked on your food. Of course, the universe had to pick this moment to be cruel. Before you could respond, Seungmin cut in with a smug grin.

"She’s no one. Don’t mind her," he said, not even sparing you a glance.

Your face flushed with embarrassment and annoyance. You stood up abruptly, knocking over your chair. "I’ve suddenly lost my appetite," you muttered awkwardly before storming off, desperately trying to escape the humiliation.

Why does this always happen to me? you groaned internally. I hate Seungmin. And I hate myself for embarrassing myself in front of my crush… Hyunjin.

If I see that KIM SEUNGMIN later, I’m going to kill him.

Later in class, your chance for revenge came. Seungmin was called on for an oral recitation, and—poetic justice—he stood there, stuttering and completely clueless. You couldn’t help but laugh under your breath as he floundered, finally getting a taste of the embarrassment he loved dishing out.

Justice had never tasted so sweet.

---

"I hope lightning strikes him," you muttered, glaring at Seungmin from a distance as you hugged yourself, shivering from the cold. You were stuck in a waiting shed, the afternoon bringing with it a torrential downpour that looked like the start of a typhoon. The weather had been perfect this morning—sunny, with not a cloud in sight. You'd made the mistake of leaving your umbrella at home, thinking it would only weigh down your bag. Now, you regretted every bit of that decision.

Across the street, Seungmin stood dry under his big, obnoxiously bright umbrella, almost laughing as he caught sight of you. His smug grin was practically glowing, and as if to rub salt in the wound, he waved at you.

You flipped him the finger.

‘When will his time come?’ you wondered bitterly. Why am I always the one who ends up miserable?

The shed's roof was doing a terrible job of keeping the rain out. Water dripped from all angles, splashing around you and soaking your clothes. You glanced up at the leaky ceiling and groaned. When will this stop? you thought—both about the rain and Seungmin.

If the two of you were friends, and if he weren’t the spawn of Lucifer himself, you might’ve swallowed your pride and asked to share his umbrella. Your house was literally just a block away. But no! You would not—under any circumstances—lower yourself to envy his dry, smug self.

You would never give him the satisfaction. Even if it meant sitting here the whole night, soaked and miserable.

Seungmin started walking toward you, his big umbrella swaying with each step. He stopped in front of you with the most annoyingly sarcastic smile.

"You wanna share?" he asked, eyes twinkling with amusement.

You rolled your eyes. "No thanks."

"You sure? The news said the rain’s stopping… tomorrow."

"Even if it never stops for a whole week, Kim Seungmin, I would never!" you snapped, glaring at him.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying your misery. "You sure? Last chance."

"Yes!" you practically shouted, arms crossed in defiance.

"Okay." He shrugged, stepping back. "One word is enough for me."

And with that, he turned on his heel and continued on his way, leaving you alone in the rain.

"I won’t regret it!" you yelled after him, though your voice sounded far less confident than before.

Ten minutes later, you were drenched and shivering, cursing under your breath. Regret started to creep in. You glanced down the road—completely empty. Not a single taxi in sight.

"Where are all the taxis when I need them?" you groaned, looking up at the dark, stormy sky.

And so, your day ended just as it began: with Seungmin somehow managing to ruin it.

--

It was Friday, and your first class of the day happened to be the one where your seatmate was none other than him.

Determined not to be late, you arrived twenty minutes early. The classroom was nearly empty, with only a handful of students scattered around. Feeling groggy, you slumped over your desk, letting the quiet atmosphere lull you into a light nap.

Of course, peace never lasted long when Seungmin was involved.

A sharp knock on your desk pulled you from the brink of sleep. You cracked one eye open to see Seungmin settling into the seat beside you, a smug grin already plastered on his face.

"Oh, you’re early today. Were you looking forward to sitting next to me?" he teased, leaning back comfortably as if he hadn't just ruined your peaceful moment.

"It’s still early, Kim Seungmin," you muttered, closing your eyes again. Not today, you thought. You weren’t going to let him ruin your morning. Not this early.

He glanced at his watch with a chuckle. "Well, it’s 10 a.m., and that’s not exactly early, is it?"

"Seungmin, if you’re bored and looking to annoy someone, talk to my hand." Without even opening your eyes, you lazily raised your hand in his direction, palm out.

Just then, Yuna, who sat in front of you, arrived. She took one look at the two of you, eyebrows raised in curiosity. "Why are you guys always fighting the moment you see each other?"

You opened one eye, giving her a pleading look. "Can you please let him annoy you instead?"

Yuna just laughed. "Oh, Seungmin wouldn’t annoy anyone else but you." She gave you a knowing smile. "He likes you."

Your eyes shot open at her words, and you squinted at Seungmin, who was now smirking as if he knew exactly how to get under your skin. "Yeah, likes to annoy me," you huffed, narrowing your eyes in suspicion.

Seungmin shrugged, leaning in a little closer just to provoke you. "Well, yeah, I like it sooo much," he laughed, clearly amused by your reaction.

Yuna, now used to your bickering, just shrugged and turned her attention to the front of the classroom, leaving you to deal with him.

You let out a sigh, hoping that Seungmin would leave you alone for at least a minute. "Is there any chance you’ll be quiet today?"

He pretended to think for a moment. "Hmm, nope."

You groaned, dropping your head back onto your desk. "Why do you even sit next to me?"

"Fate," he said casually, glancing over as if he hadn’t just said the most ridiculous thing ever.

You shot him a disbelieving look. "What?"

"It’s fate," he repeated with a smirk. "Out of all the seats in this entire classroom, I ended up next to you. Don’t you think that means something?"

"Yeah, it means I’m cursed."

He laughed, the sound annoyingly cheerful, and leaned in closer. "Maybe, or maybe you’re just lucky to have me next to you."

"Lucky isn’t the word I’d use."

Before he could respond, the classroom started filling up, and the teacher finally arrived. You sent a silent prayer of thanks, hoping class would be a break from Seungmin’s endless teasing.

“…you will do this assignment by pairs. To speed things up, partner with your seatmate.”

It was nothing new to be stuck with your enemy, but when you realized that the activity involved a short roleplay drama, you felt a surge of panic. Acting alongside him was nowhere on your bucket list of things to do—if you even had a bucket list.

“Maam, can I exchange my partner?” you raised your hand, desperation evident in your voice.

“Ouch, you hurt my feelings!” Seungmin clutched his chest dramatically, feigning offense.

“What’s wrong with your partner?” the teacher asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sometimes you wondered why everyone seemed to love this annoying dog sitting next to you.

With no choice left, you begrudgingly held the script with a scowl. When would you ever have a peaceful day in class? Why did you have to pretend to be in love with this guy?

“Come on, read your line!” Seungmin demanded, his annoyance bubbling over.

Of all the choices in your teacher's fishbowl, you’d drawn the romantic scene everyone praying not to get. You would have preferred a horror script over this.

“I don’t want to!” you protested, crossing your arms defiantly.

“Well, you have to! It’s your fault for picking it!” he shot back, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

“I told you to pick it!” you replied, frustration mounting.

“And then I’d be the one to blame? We don’t have a choice but to do well.” He leaned back, crossing his arms smugly.

“Ugh! I hate you so much!” you exclaimed, slumping back in your seat.

“Well, you have to love me now.” He chuckled, clearly enjoying your misery.

“What did I do in my past life to deserve this?” You groaned, reading the lines again.

“Probably killed someone,” he quipped, shooting you a knowing look.

You glared at him, and he immediately raised his hands in mock surrender, laughing.

“Oh, apologies. Let’s practice! You don’t have a choice; it’s either fail or just accept it.”

“I hate you.”

“I accept it, Juliet.” He grinned, clearly relishing your frustration.

Thankfully, the teacher had given you a week to prepare, which meant you never took practicing seriously after that.

“We’ll practice tomorrow,” Seungmin stated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“I have something to do tomorrow,” you said nonchalantly, hoping to deter him.

“I have things too, but I want good grades, so you have to come.” He started packing his things away.

“Hey, Seungmin!” You both turned at the sound of his friend’s voice. It was Hyunjin, accompanied by Felix and Jisung. You straightened up, suddenly conscious of your appearance.

“Let’s go somewhere!” Jisung draped an arm around Seungmin’s shoulders.

“I have important things to do,” Seungmin replied, and Jisung pouted in response.

“Oh, it was you in the cafeteria the other day,” Hyunjin said, looking right at you. It took you a moment to process that he was talking to you.

“Um…” Your voice faltered. “Yes?”

Hyunjin smiled at you, and you felt your heart race.

“Guys, wait for me outside. You just sneaked into my classroom,” Seungmin laughed, and his friends complied, heading for the door.

You were still catching your breath from the interaction when Seungmin turned back, grinning at you. “So, Hyunjin is your crush?” he asked, his tone teasing.

Oh no! Seungmin had caught on!

“Of course, I’m not!” you blurted out, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Why are you saying ‘I’m not’ in such an awkward way?” He laughed, clearly enjoying this new revelation. “Then it is true!”

“Please don’t tell him!” You pleaded, realizing you were losing this battle.

“Of course I won’t…” He smiled coyly, “…I won’t do what you ask.” Then, with a laugh, he tossed his bag over his shoulder and dashed out the door.

“Oh, damn…” You froze in your seat, panic setting in.

“See you at practice tomorrow!” Seungmin waved annoyingly from the doorway, clearly aware that you had no choice but to comply.

As the door swung shut behind him, you sank back into your chair, contemplating your fate. Tomorrow was going to be a nightmare.

--

You arrived at his house and rang the doorbell repeatedly, knowing he would probably just hear it and take his sweet time.

“You’re late,” he said with a smug smile when he finally opened the gate.

“I’m not,” you insisted, holding your wrist up to show him your watch, the sleek silver face gleaming in the sunlight.

“You’re late by 58 seconds,” he replied, crossing his arms as if he were judging your punctuality.

“What?! It’s not my fault you opened your gate late!” You rolled your eyes, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

He chuckled at your annoyed expression, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “Come in.”

“Not like I have a choice,” you muttered, stepping inside.

It was your first time in his house, and you weren’t surprised by how nice it was. The exterior was already immaculate, and the inside was just as polished—walls adorned with family photos and art that hinted at a cozy atmosphere. But you would never admit that to him.

“My parents aren’t home; they have work,” he said, glancing around the living room as if to check for any potential chaos.

“No one asked,” you shot back, feeling a mix of annoyance and amusement.

“Just wanted to let you know in case you try to kill me; there’s a CCTV camera around,” he said, half-serious.

“Oh, great. Just what I need,” you replied dryly, shaking your head.

He headed to the kitchen, presumably to get something to drink, giving you a moment to explore. You took the chance to glance at the pictures displayed throughout the room. One photo caught your eye—him as a child, beaming with joy as he played in a park.

When he returned, you pointed to the picture near the TV. “Is that you?”

“Obviously,” he said, rolling his eyes, his tone laced with playful sarcasm.

You squinted at the picture, then turned to him, suddenly serious. “I mean… will there ever be a time for us to stop bickering, even just for a bit? I'm trying to start a normal conversation here”

“Will there be?” he countered, sitting beside you with a teasing grin, his body relaxed as he leaned back.

“Yeah, right. Never,” you replied, smirking despite yourself.

He handed you the printed script he’d prepared, the edges slightly crinkled. “Why are we putting so much effort into this? It’s just reading the script, not really acting it out.”

“Because I have a goal grade, unlike you,” he said matter-of-factly, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Have you forgotten I’m an achiever too?” you shot back, crossing your arms defiantly.

When would this bickering ever end?

“Hyunjin is coming,” he announced suddenly, the air in the room shifting.

“No one asked--” You paused, then asked, “Wait what?!”

“So you should behave if you don’t want to scare him off,” he added, the grin still plastered on his face.

“Seungmin, why would you do that?!” You lightly slapped him on the shoulder, half-exasperated, half-amused.

“Because… I can?” He laughed, shielding himself playfully. “I mean, what’s wrong with inviting a friend? He's good at acting he can help”

“I hate you so much,” you groaned, exasperation creeping into your tone.

Hyunjin had been your crush for as long as you could remember, and the thought of him being in the same space as you made your stomach flutter with nerves. He was perfect in every way—charismatic, charming, and completely out of your league.

“Why? What’s wrong?” Seungmin teased, leaning closer with that infuriating grin. “Oh, I forgot—you like him, right?”

You responded by giving him another light shove, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. It was always like this between you two—endless banter, lighthearted teasing, but the presence of Hyunjin added a layer of awkwardness you couldn’t quite shake.

You both settled onto the couch, the printed script between you. Seungmin glanced at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Okay, let’s get this over with. You read Juliet’s lines, and I’ll read Romeo’s,” he said, smirking.

“Fine, but don’t mess it up,” you replied, trying to maintain your composure.

You started reading through the script, your voice steady but laced with a hint of nervousness. “O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright! It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes dramatically. “Wow, so poetic. Just make sure you don’t faint from all that romance.”

You shot him a glare. “Shut up, Romeo.”

Just then, the doorbell rang. Your heart raced. Hyunjin was here.

“See? You should behave,” Seungmin teased, nudging your shoulder.

You threw him a playful glare, then he rushed to open the door. There stood Hyunjin, looking effortlessly cool, his smile warm as he greeted you both. “Hey! Ready to practice?”

“Uh, yeah! Come in!” you said, trying to keep your cool but feeling the heat creep into your cheeks.

Seungmin sauntered over, clearly relishing the moment. “Hyunjin! Glad you could join us! We were just getting to the juicy parts.”

You shot him a warning look, hoping he wouldn’t embarrass you. Hyunjin, however, seemed unfazed. “Nice! I can help you both with the romantic scenes if you want.”

You nodded eagerly. “That would be great! I need help with… you know, acting like I’m in love.” You winced at how obvious that sounded.

Hyunjin grinned, moving to sit across from you. “Alright, let’s try a scene. Here’s the famous balcony part. Juliet says, ‘O, for a falconer’s voice to lure this tassel-gentle back again.’”

You felt your heart flutter. “I’ll try,” you said, taking a deep breath. “O, for a falconer’s voice to lure this tassel-gentle back again!”

Hyunjin smiled, then gestured for you to continue. “And then Romeo responds with, ‘I would not for the world they saw thee here.’”

Seungmin picked up the line, and you both began to read, the atmosphere shifting as you focused on the scene. You felt a playful energy in the air, the tension of performing lifting your spirits.

“‘I would not for the world they saw thee here,’” Seungmin said, his voice low and earnest.

You replied, “Then there’s no need to be ashamed,” trying to put as much emotion into it as possible.

Hyunjin clapped after your line. “That was great! You both looked really good together!”

You and Seungmin exchanged a quick look. “No!” you both said in unison.

Hyunjin chuckled, clearly entertained by your synchronized denial. “Really, it’s just acting! But seriously, you guys have good chemistry.”

“Thanks!” you said, feeling a mix of embarrassment and pride.

“Alright, let’s keep practicing!” Hyunjin suggested, eager to dive back into the script.

You focused on the lines, the playful banter keeping the atmosphere light. As you practiced, you couldn’t help but enjoy the moment, the camaraderie making the task feel less like a chore and more like fun.

With Hyunjin guiding you, you felt more confident as you delivered your lines, ready to tackle the performance together.

--

The days passed in a blur as you and Seungmin practiced again at his house. You settled into a routine, the playful banter punctuating your rehearsals, and surprisingly, you started to enjoy the time spent together.

Finally, the day of the presentation arrived. As you stood in front of the class, you felt a mix of nerves and excitement. When it was your turn to deliver your lines, you poured your heart into the performance, channeling every emotion.

To your surprise, Yuna leaned over after the presentation and whispered, “It wasn’t like you were entering each other’s nerves at all!” Her compliment made you beam with pride.

Seungmin, too, impressed you with his serious demeanor. For once, he seemed genuinely focused, and seeing him so dedicated made you realize how much he cared about doing well. You couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride for both of you.

After the applause died down, your teacher announced, “I’m pleased to inform you all that I have chosen actors for the upcoming school play, and I choose…” She paused dramatically, glancing between you and Seungmin, “…you two!”

A wave of excitement surged through you, quickly followed by a burst of playful competitiveness. “See? You should thank me for picking a role that suits us both,” you teased, nudging him playfully.

Seungmin raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “Oh, I’m grateful, alright. I forgot for a moment how you despise your pick. In fact, I’m so happy I’m going to treat you to cake and coffee.”

“Yes!” you replied enthusiastically, unable to hide your grin. “I deserve a treat after all that hard work!”

“Sure, but only because I can’t let my scene partner go hungry,” he said, winking.

As you both headed out, the bickering continued, light-hearted and familiar, but beneath it was a shared joy that made the moment all the more special. You couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, this experience was bringing you closer, even if you would never admit it.

At the café, the atmosphere buzzed with chatter and the rich aroma of coffee. You and Seungmin settled into a cozy corner, the tension from earlier melted away as you both began to chat more easily.

“So, do you actually love acting?” he asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Absolutely!” you replied, a grin spreading across your face. “I’ve always idolized Emma Watson. I mean, come on, I look just like her!” You struck a dramatic pose, fluttering your eyelashes.

Seungmin looked at you, clearly unconvinced, with a “Are you kidding me?” expression. You burst out laughing, the sound ringing through the café.

“Okay, maybe not exactly like her,” you admitted, trying to catch your breath. “But a girl can dream, right?”

“Sure, if dreaming means torturing the rest of us,” he shot back with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes. “Anyway, I’m planning to major in acting when I get to college. It’s my dream!”

“Nice! I like acting too, but I’m thinking about majoring in music,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

“Wait, you? You know how to sing?” You raised an eyebrow, unable to hide your skepticism.

“Wanna hear?” he challenged, a playful glint in his eye.

“Please no!” you teased, dramatically placing your hand on your heart. “I’d rather sleep forever than listen to your singing.”

Seungmin laughed, shaking his head. “You’re so mean! I think it would be the opposite”

“Mean? I’m just saving you from embarrassment,” you shot back with a grin. “You should thank me!”

"you'll regret what you're saying when I become famous."

As you exchanged playful banter, you realized that this was your way of connecting. The teasing and light insults had become second nature, and somehow, the hurtful words didn’t sting anymore. Instead, they felt like an essential part of your friendship, a comfortable rhythm that made you both laugh.

“Seriously though,” you said, softening a bit, “I think it’s awesome that you’re into music. We’ll be the dynamic duo of arts!”

“Absolutely! Just don’t expect me to duet with you anytime soon,” he joked, raising his cup in a mock toast.

“Deal!” you laughed, feeling lighter than you had in a long time.

--

As the practice for the play approached, your schedule became packed, leaving little time for anything else. Excitement bubbled inside you, especially since Hyunjin, a year ahead of you, was also in the cast. You could hardly wait for the next rehearsal.

One day, while waiting for practice to start, you found yourself lost in thought, staring at Hyunjin as he chatted with some friends. Seungmin, ever the observant one, caught you in the act.

“You look like a lovesick puppy,” he teased, a playful grin stretching across his face.

You quickly snapped out of your daydream, narrowing your eyes at him. “Shut up! I’m not!” You playfully punched his arm, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make your point.

“Uh-huh, sure,” he laughed, clearly enjoying your reaction.

“You’re just jealous that I’m not staring at you like that!”

As partners playing lovers in the play, you often imagined being paired with Hyunjin. But the teacher had chosen Seungmin, and surprisingly, it wasn’t as bad as you expected. You’d gotten used to the banter, and the awkwardness faded as practice continued.

Days passed, filled with rehearsals that drew you closer to Seungmin. The bickering remained, a constant source of amusement.

During one practice, while the two of you were warming up, Seungmin leaned over to Hyunjin, a mischievous smile on his face. “Hyunjin, have you already eaten? This monkey here asks,” he said, pointing at you as if you were some sort of pet.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help but laugh. “I am! Thank you for asking!” you replied, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah, and she also said you were handsome,” Seungmin added, clearly enjoying the moment.

You felt your cheeks flush, and in a mock fit of outrage, you dashed toward him. “Seungmin!” you yelled, but he was quicker. He took off running, his laughter echoing through the practice room.

When you finally caught up to him, you wrapped your arms around his neck in a playful hug, making him squirm. “You’re such a tormentor!” you laughed, shaking him lightly.

From across the room, Hyunjin watched the whole scene unfold, a smile playing on his lips. “Are you sure they hate each other?” asked the director, who was shaking his head in disbelief.

Hyunjin just nodded, clearly entertained. “Definitely yes!” he replied, chuckling at your playful dynamic.

As you and Seungmin continued to tease each other, you realized that despite the playful bickering, there was an undeniable comfort between you—something that made every rehearsal just a little bit brighter.

---

The rain poured down in relentless sheets, and there you were, standing under a shed, glaring at the gray sky as if it were personally responsible for your soaked shoes. You had forgotten your umbrella—again.

As you waited, shivering slightly from the cold, you spotted Seungmin in the distance, standing confidently under a bright yellow umbrella. He was teasingly waving it over his head, a smirk plastered on his face as he called out, “Looks like someone forgot their umbrella again!”

You rolled your eyes and shot him a finger. “Very funny, Seungmin!”

He sauntered over, his grin widening with each step. "You wanna share?"

You rolled your eyes. "No thanks." you replied, crossing your arms defiantly.

“Okay, then. One word is enough for me.” He turned to leave, an exaggerated pout on his lips.

You hesitated for a moment, watching him walk away. “Wait!” you called out, and he turned back, an annoying smile in his lips. “Fine! We can share!”

Seungmin’s face broke into a triumphant grin as he rushed back to your side, positioning the umbrella over both of you. As you walked together, the atmosphere shifted from frustration to lightheartedness, laughter spilling out between the two of you.

“My shoulder is now wet,” Seungmin complained, feigning annoyance as he brushed water off his shirt.

“Is it my fault that you work out so much? Your shoulders are just too broad!” you shot back, unable to suppress a grin.

“Did you just compliment me?” he asked, his eyes lighting up with mischief.

“Ugh, it wasn’t a compliment!” you retorted, trying to keep a straight face.

“Then I’ll just have to embrace this wetness!” he said cheerfully, adjusting the umbrella with exaggerated flair. Before you knew it, he leaned closer, and water dripped off his shoulder, splashing onto you.

You burst into laughter, shoving him playfully. “You idiot!”

Seungmin laughed too, chasing after you as you dashed away, your heart racing with excitement. The rain seemed to fade into the background, the only sound being your giggles and the splatter of water against the pavement.

“You’re going to pay for that!” he yelled, laughter echoing through the downpour.

Just as you turned to look back, he splashed a wave of water right at you, soaking you completely. You retaliated, grabbing a handful of rainwater and splashing it back at him.

The playful battle raged on, and soon both of you were drenched, shivering yet exhilarated.

---

It was two weeks before the big play, and you were laser-focused on perfecting every detail. The pressure was on, and you found yourself spending more time practicing than ever. You wanted everything to be perfect, especially with the role you were playing. Seungmin, of course, was your partner in most scenes, so you had to rehearse together.

But as you delivered your lines, standing face-to-face with Seungmin, it became harder and harder to stay serious. Seungmin kept pulling funny faces behind his lines, causing you to break character and burst into laughter.

“Direct, please, punch him or something!” you whined dramatically, throwing your hands up. “He won’t stop!”

The director, seeing your exaggerated reaction, just chuckled. Meanwhile, the rest of the cast erupted in laughter.

"I’m serious now! I promise!" Seungmin said, shrugging off his antics.

You tried to continue, but the minute you looked at his serious face, you couldn’t hold back your laughter again. His deadpan expression was just too much.

“Okay, okay,” you said, wiping away a tear from laughing too hard. “Let’s take five. I need to compose myself.”

You sat down in the corner, still laughing. Seungmin joined you, shaking his head with a grin.

“Why are you always like this?” you asked, playfully slapping his arm. “We’re supposed to be professional!”

“Hey! I’m doing great! You’re the one laughing!” he protested with a smirk.

You couldn't deny it—something had shifted between you and Seungmin lately. There was this playful, easygoing dynamic now, and to your surprise, you liked it. You weren’t exactly sure when it happened, but the tension between the two of you had somehow dissolved, leaving behind a strange sort of camaraderie. And it felt... right.

---

Late again. You were quietly crawling your way toward your seat, praying that Seungmin wouldn’t notice. Maybe, just maybe, he’d be too preoccupied to see you sneaking in. But no such luck. Just as you thought you were in the clear, you saw Seungmin glancing in your direction, that infamous smirk already forming on his face. You knew that look all too well—he was up to something.

Desperate, you shot him a pleading look, mouthing a dramatic “Nooo,” and shaking your head in an exaggerated fashion. But the smirk only widened as he raised his hand.

“Ma'am!”

You squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the inevitable scolding. This is it, you thought. I’m done.

But instead, Seungmin’s voice rang out casually, “I forgot to give you the assignments I collected from the class.”

Your eyes flew open in shock. What?

“Oh right! Thank you, Seungmin, for the reminder.” The teacher smiled at him, clearly appreciating the help.

Seungmin stood up, cool as ever, handing over the pile of papers. He sat back down, a faint smirk still on his lips as if nothing unusual had happened.

You slid into your seat cautiously, your heart still racing. You glanced over at Seungmin, who met your gaze with a quick wink before turning back to his notebook. That was... new, you thought, utterly confused.

--

Practice resumed as usual, and you started to get into the flow of things. You liked rehearsing for the play more than you thought you would, especially with the creative freedom you were given. The only downside? Seungmin never missed an opportunity to get under your skin.

As you entered the practice room, sporting your freshly cut hair, Seungmin immediately took notice.

He eyed you up and down, a teasing grin already forming on his lips. “You know,” he began, casually leaning back in his chair, “short hair doesn’t really suit you.”

You rolled your eyes, knowing exactly where this was headed. “What are you talking about? I look pretty in it,” you shot back confidently, placing your hands on your hips.

Seungmin raised an eyebrow, the playful grin still firmly in place. “Pretty? More like you look like a monkey who tried to give itself a haircut.”

“Excuse me?” You gasped, pretending to be scandalized. “I do not look like a monkey.”

“Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night,” Seungmin shrugged, clearly enjoying how flustered you were getting. He leaned closer, dropping his voice dramatically. “But just so you know, if we ever put you in a zoo, you’d fit right in.”

You gasped again, this time more dramatically, then pointed at him with a mock serious expression. “You’re just jealous because I’m out here looking cute and you can’t handle it.”

“Cute?” Seungmin laughed, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Keep telling yourself that.”

“Whatever, I know the truth. You’re just afraid to admit that I’m rocking this look,” you teased back, refusing to back down.

“Yeah, yeah. Keep dreaming, monkey,” he said, chuckling softly as you narrowed your eyes at him.

--

Another day in class, you were erasing the board when something hit the back of your head. Startled, you spun around, spotting Seungmin sitting there, whistling innocently. It was the most obvious thing ever—he didn’t even try to hide it.

You glared at him, trying to keep your cool. ‘Let it go’, you thought. ‘Don’t give him the satisfaction’. But then, another paper ball hit you.

"Seriously?" you muttered under your breath, turning to give him a sharp look.

This time, Seungmin didn’t bother pretending. He smiled and pointed to the paper ball on the floor. “Read it,” he said, nodding toward the crumpled note.

You raised your hand, ready to throw the eraser at him with full force.

“Wait!” Seungmin said quickly, holding up his hands in surrender. “Just read it, will you?”

With a dramatic sigh, you picked up the paper, unfolding it. Written in his messy handwriting were the words: “Let’s eat. My treat.”

Before you could react, Jisung, who had been quietly observing the whole scene, burst into laughter. “What kind of lame drama am I witnessing?” he cackled.

You whipped around and threw the eraser at him instead, hitting him square in the shoulder. “Mind your own business, Jisung!”

“Hey! I’m just saying!” Jisung grinned, clearly enjoying the chaos.

Later that afternoon, you and Seungmin found yourselves at a seafood restaurant. Well, it was supposed to be Seungmin’s treat, but somehow the two of you ended up bickering over who would pay. Cause you wanna pay too.

“Let’s settle this the mature way—rock, paper, scissors,” Seungmin proposed, holding out his fist.

“Fine,” you agreed, thinking you had a good chance.

You both threw out your hands, and you won.

“Yes!” you exclaimed, triumph coursing through you for about five seconds. But then Seungmin began to order.

He grinned, shaking his head. “You’re gonna regret that.”

You frowned, confusion creeping in as the waiter approached. Seungmin rattled off an absurd number of dishes—enough to feed an entire village.

“Seungmin,” you hissed, eyes wide in disbelief, “do you really need to order enough food for 30 people?”

Seungmin leaned back in his chair, completely unfazed. “You said it was your treat. I’m just taking full advantage.”

You pouted, crossing your arms defiantly. “This isn’t fair. You’re evil.”

“Evil? No way,” he laughed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I prefer the term ‘strategically gifted.’”

As the waiter left with the long list of orders, you grumbled, “You should’ve thought about that before challenging me.”

In the end, Seungmin ended up paying for most of it, but you insisted on contributing, stubbornly pushing a few bills his way. He didn’t argue too much, shaking his head with an amused smile. “You’re relentless, aren’t you?”

“Of course! If I’m going to be broke, I might as well be happy about it,” you retorted, a grin spreading across your face.

Seungmin laughed, clearly entertained by your determination. “Fair enough. Next time, I’ll just let you win without a fight.”

“Deal! But only if you promise not to order enough food for a small army,” you teased, raising your glass in a mock toast.

“Challenge accepted,” he replied, clinking his glass against yours, both of you laughing at the absurdity of it all.

--

Another rehearsal, and you were sitting on the sidelines, legs crossed as you watched your classmates perform. You had just finished your scene and were still buzzing from the energy of it all. The lights cast a warm glow on the stage, and you found yourself quietly admiring the atmosphere, the stars of the production shining brightly in your eyes.

Suddenly, the director's voice broke through your thoughts. “Seungmin, can you step in as the main character for a bit? Our lead’s absent today.”

“Sure,” Seungmin replied, standing up with an easy confidence. He made his way to the center of the stage, and you prepared for him to be awkward or hesitant. Instead, he surprised you.

As he took his place, he transformed. His movements were smooth and assured, his voice resonating with sincerity. You couldn’t help but lean forward, captivated. He moved across the stage effortlessly, delivering his lines with an authenticity that made you forget you were watching your friend.

Wow, he was really talented.

You shook your head slightly, trying to push the thought away. No way could you think Seungmin was handsome. That was just absurd.

Then came a scene where he had to hug the female lead. As he pulled her into a gentle embrace, your heart gave a small, inexplicable flutter. The warmth of his presence seemed to radiate even from where you sat, and you felt an unfamiliar tightening in your stomach.

You tried to shrug it off, focusing on the performance, but the feeling lingered, swirling with an odd mix of admiration and something else entirely. Watching him, you realized you were seeing a different side of Seungmin—one that was undeniably charismatic and captivating.

The rehearsal continued, but you found it harder to concentrate, your thoughts drifting back to the way he had held her, how effortlessly he embodied the character. What was happening to you? You glanced away, trying to regain your composure, but the strange flutter remained, echoing in your mind long after the scene ended.

You were still lost in thought about the rehearsal when Hyunjin sat down beside you. “You look really pretty with your hair like that,” he commented with a smile.

You blushed at the compliment, glancing down. “Thanks! Seungmin said it doesn’t suit me.”

Hyunjin chuckled softly. “Seungmin? He’s just teasing you. That’s his way of telling you he likes it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You think?”

“Definitely,” Hyunjin replied with a smirk. “He wouldn’t bother teasing you if he didn’t like it.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “He always tease me.”

Hyunjin leaned back, still smiling. “How did you two meet, anyway?”

“We’re neighbors,” you explained. “Since elementary school. We were always competing—who could get the best grades, who could finish their homework first. It’s been like that forever.”

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow. “Do you hate him?”

You laughed, thinking for a moment. “If I could push him off a cliff, I probably would.”

Hyunjin grinned. “Would you really, though?”

You hesitated, suddenly unsure. “...yes,” you admitted, half-joking.

Hyunjin chuckled, clearly sensing something. “Well, I hope I don’t hear about you two pushing each other off cliffs anytime soon.”

You shrugged with a playful smile. “No promises.”

--

Later, you were eating peacefully in the cafeteria, minding your own business, when Seungmin plopped his tray down across from you. He sat down without a word, digging into his food.

You raised an eyebrow, already knowing what was coming. “Let me guess... your friends are coming?”

Seungmin glanced at you lazily, a piece of bread halfway to his mouth. “No, they don’t wanna see you.”

You pouted, pretending to be offended. “I miss Hyunjin.”

“Then ask him out,” Seungmin replied lazily, taking a bite of his bread.

You paused mid-bite, your eyes narrowing as you stared at him. “You think I have a chance with him?”

Seungmin smirked, shaking his head. “No, he hates monkeys like you who throw erasers at people.”

You gasped, glaring at him. “I do not look like a monkey!”

“Sure, whatever helps you,” Seungmin teased, his grin widening. “And for the record, Hyunjin’s probably just being nice.”

You frowned, “He said I was pretty with my new haircut.”

Seungmin scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “Do you know how much he lies? He probably tells that to everyone.”

You didn’t bother arguing. Instead, you decided to change tactics. “Help me get him to go out with me, then.”

Seungmin snorted. “Do it on your own. You’re big enough for that.”

You groaned dramatically, leaning across the table toward him. “If you help me, I’ll buy you something. Anything you want.”

Seungmin looked at you, considering it for a moment before shrugging. “Buy me a house."

You rolled your eyes, giving him a deadpan stare. “Never mind. I’ll do it myself.”

He smirked, clearly enjoying how easily you gave up. “Good luck, Juliet.”

--

It was Friday again, and somehow, you found yourself seated next to Seungmin—again. This time, however, you arrived early, a full thirty minutes ahead of your usual time. Feeling tired, you laid your head on the desk, hoping to catch a quick nap.

Just as you were dozing off, you felt a sharp knock on the desk, startling you awake. You looked up to see Seungmin grinning down at you, clearly enjoying your misery.

“Missing me that much, huh?” he teased. “You’re thirty minutes earlier than usual.”

You groaned, rubbing your eyes. “We basically see each other every day. I’m already sick of it,” you replied with a shrug.

Seungmin chuckled, settling into his seat beside you. “You’ll survive. Anyway, I need to copy your assignment.”

You blinked, sitting up straight. “We had an assignment?”

“Seriously?” Seungmin raised an eyebrow, holding back a laugh. He reached into his bag and pulled out his own paper, handing it to you. “Here, just copy mine before Ma’am shows up.”

You took the paper from him, still confused. “Wait, I thought you said you didn’t do the assignment either?”

“I forgot that I had,” Seungmin said casually, smirking. “Now hurry up before it’s too late.”

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed your pen and started copying the assignment, scribbling quickly while glancing at the door every few seconds to make sure the teacher wasn’t close. As you worked, you couldn’t help but notice the shift between you and Seungmin. There was a time when you would’ve refused to help him—or worse, argued with him endlessly. But now? It felt... different. There was a weird sense of comfort in these small moments.

"What now? does our fighting over who finish assignments first done?" you laugh,

"Then give me back my paper. I've changed my mind."

You didn’t hate it. In fact, you kind of liked it.

--

 Seungmin was sipping on his water bottle backstage when Hyunjin approached him, all casual as ever.

“Seungmin,” Hyunjin started, leaning against the wall beside him. “Do you like her?”

Seungmin paused mid-sip, glancing sideways at Hyunjin with a raised brow. “What are you talking about?”

Hyunjin gave him a knowing look. “I’ve known you for years, dude. I know when you like someone.”

Seungmin snorted, trying to brush it off. “Why would that matter to you?”

“Well,” Hyunjin said with a mischievous glint in his eyes, “if I asked her out, would you get mad?”

Seungmin’s eyes widened slightly before he quickly masked it, his expression turning nonchalant. “Why would I care?”

Hyunjin tilted his head, smirking as if testing Seungmin’s reaction. “Really?”

Seungmin waved his hand dismissively, though his jaw tightened slightly. “What am I, a matchmaker for you two? Why are you even asking for my opinion? I don’t care.”

Hyunjin chuckled and slung an arm around Seungmin’s shoulders. “Thanks, bro. That’s all I needed to know.”

As Hyunjin walked away, Seungmin clenched his water bottle a little too tightly. He wasn’t sure what irritated him more—the fact that Hyunjin seemed interested in you, or the fact that you two were making him feel like some kind of third wheel. Whatever it was, it was starting to get under his skin.

--

Seungmin was making his way back to the classroom, balancing a small box of milk he’d grabbed for you from the cafeteria. He'd overheard you mention wanting one earlier, so without a second thought, he picked one up, hoping to surprise you.

As he neared the classroom door, he paused when he heard your voice. You were deep in conversation with one of your friends, and for some reason, curiosity got the better of him. He stood just outside, hidden by the doorframe, listening.

"Why do you hate Seungmin so much, anyway?" your friend asked.

Seungmin’s ears perked up at the question, his grip tightening around the milk carton. He wasn’t sure why he was still standing there, but he couldn’t move. He just waited.

You sighed before answering, "He's so annoying. Always teasing me, always acting like he’s better than me. He’s infuriating."

Each word hit him harder than he expected, like tiny jabs that made his heart sink deeper and deeper. He already knows this what you felt for him but he doesn't know why it still hurts. He could feel his chest tighten, his breath coming out a little shallower as he stayed rooted to the spot.

But then you added something else, something he missed. A quieter tone followed the harshness of your earlier words. It was softer, almost like you were reflecting on something.

"Lately though... I don’t know. I guess I’ve started to see that maybe he’s not that bad."

But Seungmin didn’t hear those words. He had already turned away, stepping back before he could catch the change in your tone. His heart, now heavier, urged him to walk in the opposite direction, so that’s exactly what he did. The milk, once meant to be a small gesture of kindness, now felt pointless in his hand.

PE class rolled around, and with no rehearsal scheduled, you entered the gym, spotting Seungmin as usual. You both ended up being partners again—something that had become routine at this point. There were no protests, no over-the-top objections. Just quiet acceptance.

The first activity was jogging, but you immediately noticed something was off. Normally, Seungmin would be teasing you the whole time, making snarky comments about how slow you were. But today, he was silent.

"One minute," you said, reading his time on the stopwatch. Normally, this would prompt a laugh from him, followed by some sarcastic remark about how you'd be the first one caught in a zombie apocalypse.

But today, he just nodded and moved on to the next activity without a word. Weird.

The next exercise was push-ups. You barely managed four before collapsing, groaning in exhaustion. Seungmin, on the other hand, breezed through twenty without breaking a sweat. You tried to compliment him in a lowkey way, but he didn’t react—just kept going like a machine.

What is up with him?

Then came the sit-ups. You held down Seungmin’s toes, though it didn’t seem like he needed any help. His form was perfect, and he didn’t even look your way. The proximity of the exercise made you search for his eyes, but every time you tried to make eye contact, he avoided looking at you.

When it was your turn, you felt exhausted by your fifth sit-up, and Seungmin held your toes firmly in place. This time, he watched you more intently, though you couldn’t see him since you were focusing on the exercise. Only when you glanced up did he quickly avert his gaze.

After class, you caught him trying to leave and stopped him in his tracks.

“Seungmin, what’s going on with you?” you asked, planting yourself in front of him.

He gave you a blank look. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re acting... weirdly weird today. Did something happen?”

Seungmin sighed, clearly not in the mood for a conversation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said flatly, brushing past you.

You caught his arm before he could fully walk away. “Hey, you can talk to me. If something’s wrong, just tell me.”

He paused, looking at you for a moment with an unreadable expression before saying coldly, “Why would I? We’re not friends.”

The words hit you harder than you expected. You froze, watching as he walked away, feeling a strange pang in your chest.

Later, you sat next to Hyunjin, watching Seungmin perform his scenes on stage. He still ignored you, going through the motions of his role flawlessly, but there was no denying the distance between you now. The way he looked past you, as if you weren’t there, made you feel... sad.

“What’s up with him?” you muttered to Hyunjin. “He’s been acting strange all day.”

Hyunjin smirked. “He’s probably mad about what I told him.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What did you tell him?”

Hyunjin chuckled softly, leaning closer. “I told him I like you. And that I was going to ask you out.”

You blinked in surprise, staring at him. “Wait... what?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Why else would he be jealous?”

“Jealous?” you repeated, confused. “Why would he be jealous?”

Hyunjin let out a soft laugh. “I don’t know if you and Seungmin are both idiots, or if you’re just blind.”

“Ouch,” you said, feigning offense, though your mind was spinning. Jealous? Seungmin?

Hyunjin’s laugh faded into a small smile, and after a moment of silence, he sighed. “Wow, my confession really flew under the radar, huh?”

You looked at him, feeling a little guilty. Oh... right. His confession.

You smiled awkwardly. “Wait, was it serious? Or were you just joking?”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes. “You think I’m a joker like that puppy?” He nodded toward Seungmin, who was still on stage.

Normally, this would be the moment where you’d blush, stammer, and lose your mind. But something didn’t feel right. There was something nagging at you, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“I...”

Before you could respond, Hyunjin raised a hand, cutting you off. “Actually, you know what? Don’t answer me yet. I’ll wait until after the play presentation.”

He smiled, and you smiled back, though it felt forced.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’m just getting my water bottle,” Seungmin’s voice broke the moment as he stepped between you two, grabbing his bottle.

You opened your mouth to say something, but he was gone before you could. You stared after him, feeling more confused than ever.

-

In the past, this type of bickering was normal between you two. You had always gotten on each other's nerves, and usually, you'd be happy to ignore him, savoring the peace and quiet. But this time felt different. Why were you so affected by his silence? Why did it feel like a hollow pit had formed in your chest, waiting for him to fill it? You hated him, didn’t you? You used to hate him—right? But now, all you felt was a growing sense of confusion and frustration, like you were waiting for something that never came.

Seungmin had been avoiding you for three days now, and at first, you brushed it off, assuming he had something on his mind. But as time went on, the weight of his silence pressed harder. It wasn’t just affecting the play—it was affecting you. His avoidance felt more personal than it ever had before, and it gnawed at you until you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

"Seungmin, let's talk." You caught up to him backstage, your voice firmer than usual, trying to mask the vulnerability you were starting to feel.

"Why?" he responded coldly, not even looking in your direction.

You blinked, taken aback by the sharpness of his tone. "What do you mean, 'why'? We obviously need to talk about something."

"I don't want to," he replied like a stubborn child, folding his arms defensively.

You groaned, frustration bubbling inside you. "Stop giving me that bratty attitude, Seungmin. Let's just talk, okay?" Without thinking, you grabbed his wrist, dragging him toward the exit door for privacy.

Once you were both outside, you turned to face him, still gripping his wrist. "Are you angry at me?" you asked softly, though the edge of desperation in your voice betrayed you.

Seungmin pulled his hand away from your grasp, shrugging. "We're normally angry at each other," he muttered, staring at the ground as if avoiding your gaze would shield him from the conversation.

You furrowed your brows, trying to make sense of what he was saying. "Seungmin, we both know something has changed between us. We’re… sort of friends now, right? Why are you acting like this?"

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "Why? This is normal. We’ve always been like this. Why are you suddenly acting like something's different?"

Your chest tightened, and you swallowed hard. "So I’m still just an enemy to you?" The words slipped out, raw and vulnerable, and you hated yourself for how much it hurt. You could feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back quickly. "Because for me—" Your voice wavered, but you forced yourself to continue. "For me, things changed. I’ll be honest with you. I hated you so much before, Seungmin. I mean, if I could’ve thrown you into the fire pit, I would’ve done it in a heartbeat." You laughed bitterly, trying to lighten the mood, but your heart ached as you realized the truth. "But now, I see you as a friend."

Seungmin's breath hitched at your confession, and for a moment, his walls seemed to crack. But then his jaw clenched, and he shook his head. "No."

You stared at him, bewildered. "No? What do you mean 'no'?"

His voice was strained, like he was forcing the words out. "Why are you doing this to me? Why can’t you just focus on Hyunjin and pretend like I’m not even here?"

"Why would I do that?" you asked, confusion lacing your words.

Seungmin's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing in frustration. "Because you like him," he bit out. "You like Hyunjin, and you’ve hated me since the day we met."

You stepped closer, lowering your voice, "Seungmin… I told you. We're past that stage of hating each other."

His laugh was hollow, bitter. "You’ve hated me since we were kids. Do you have any idea how much that hurt? But you know what? I preferred it that way. I’d rather you keep hating me than whatever this is."

You were silent for a moment, letting his words sink in. It hit you hard—the realization that Seungmin had always been more affected by your feelings than you’d thought. And now, he was clinging to the past because it was easier to accept your hatred than deal with the uncertainty of whatever you were becoming now.

"But I don't hate you anymore," you said softly, your voice gentle but firm.

His gaze flickered up to meet yours for the briefest second before he looked away again, a storm of emotions brewing behind his eyes. His fists clenched at his sides, and for a moment, you thought he might say something, but instead, he shook his head, taking a deep breath.

"Then what do you feel now?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

It was a question you hadn’t fully answered yourself. What did you feel? What had changed between you two? The hate had faded long ago, replaced by something warmer, something deeper. But how could you put it into words when you weren’t sure what those feelings even were?

"I don’t know," you admitted, your voice trembling. "But I know I don’t want to keep ignoring it. I don’t want to keep pretending like we’re still stuck in the past. I care about you, Seungmin, and I—"

He cut you off, his voice sharp but shaky, "Stop. Don’t say it. Please."

His plea was laced with fear, and you could see it now—the fear of getting hurt, of being vulnerable. Seungmin had always hidden behind his teasing and sharp words, but now, as he stood before you, walls crumbling, you realized just how much he had been protecting himself all along.

"Seungmin..." You took a step closer, your hand hesitating before reaching out to touch his arm. "You don’t have to push me away."

He closed his eyes, his shoulders tense, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away again. But then, he sighed, the weight of his emotions too heavy to bear alone anymore. "You don’t get it," he whispered, his voice raw. "I’m scared. Scared that if you don’t hate me, you’ll realize… I’ve liked you for so long, and I don’t know how to handle that."

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession. The tension, the unspoken words, all of it finally made sense. You felt your chest tighten as you processed his words, the vulnerability behind them cutting deep.

Seungmin liked you.

And somehow, deep down, you’d known.

-

The day of the play had arrived, and for the first time, a tight knot of nerves twisted in your stomach. You'd performed in front of people before, but this time felt different. This time, you weren’t just performing in front of a crowd—you were performing in front of him.

As you paced backstage, waiting for the curtain to rise, you couldn’t help but glance around anxiously, searching for Seungmin. The others were already in place, getting ready for the opening act. But Seungmin… he was nowhere to be seen.

Your heart raced as minutes ticked by. What if he didn’t show up? What if his feelings, the tension between you, had driven him away? You shook your head, trying to focus, but the anxiety clung to you like a second skin.

The stage manager called for the cast to take their places, and you stepped toward the stage, dread settling deep in your chest. The lights dimmed, the curtains rustled, and the play was about to begin. But Seungmin—where was he?

Just as the opening music started and your heart sank, you heard footsteps behind you. You turned and saw him. Seungmin, slightly out of breath, his eyes locking with yours as he walked into place. He gave you a small, reassuring nod, and you felt a rush of relief. He had made it.

You took a deep breath, letting his presence calm you, and when the curtains finally rose, you stepped into your role. The lights blinded you for a second, and the sound of the audience rustled in the background, but none of that mattered. Your focus was on one person.

Seungmin.

You went through your lines, heart pounding in your chest. The audience faded away, and it was just the two of you on stage. But when you looked into Seungmin’s eyes, delivering your lines, it felt too real—like every word you spoke wasn’t part of the play but something deeper.

And then came the moment. The pivotal line.

As you reached the climax of your scene, Seungmin stepped closer, his gaze steady and intense. “I love you,” he said, his voice clear and sincere.

Your breath caught in your throat. The weight of his words, delivered in that moment, felt electric. It wasn’t just a line; it was a declaration that cut through the scripted lines and went straight to your heart.

Tears pricked at your eyes, threatening to spill over. You weren’t supposed to cry here—not in this scene—but it was impossible to hold back the emotion. The intensity of the moment, standing before him as he revealed his feelings, overwhelmed you.

Seungmin’s gaze softened, and for a second, the audience faded away. It was just you and him, wrapped in a moment that felt like the truth finally breaking through.

You tried to respond, but the weight of his confession hung in the air, filling the space between you. You swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to keep the tears at bay.

The play continued, but all you could think about was Seungmin’s words. He had spoken them as part of the script, but they felt so real, so genuine. Something shifted in the atmosphere between you two—something undeniable.

As the final act came to a close, and you took your bow, the audience erupted in applause. But even then, your eyes were only on Seungmin, wondering if he felt the same shift in the air between you two. Something had changed. Something profound. And while you weren’t sure where it would lead, for now, you were content just to hold on to the moment, letting it linger as the lights dimmed and the curtains closed.

For now, the stage had played its part, but what came next was something only time would tell.

-

a reblog, like, and comment is very much appreciated to keep me going. thanks for reading, love!

sorry for being inactive lately and not responding to any of your messages i appreciate you all love you sm!!

part 2 here!

[briefinquiries]

Under the Blood Moon | Peaky Blinders | Chapter 14

Tommy Shelby x Reader: Chapter 14

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14

Fic Summary: You came to Birmingham for a fresh start, to bury the past and keep your head down. As a former nurse in the war, you’ve seen enough blood and death to last a lifetime. But fate (and the Shelby’s) have other plans. After stitching Tommy Shelby back together, you find yourself drawn further into their world, a world of violence, loyalty, and power. When Tommy offers you a job, it comes with more than just good pay, it comes with expectations and lines you never planned to cross.

Chapter summary: As Campbell continues his torment, time is running out and Tommy is left grasping for answers. Just as his fury reaches a breaking point, an unexpected visitor arrives with some information.

Word count: 4.4k

Warnings: Violence, injury, mentions of blood, gore, and open wounds, PTSD and war flashbacks, alcohol use, and mild language, mention of torture and vague, nonconsensual sexualization.

A/N: I didn't imagine I'd be 14 chapters in... yet, here we are. I feel like I could write this forever, but I'm thinking maybe 4-5 more chapters? Idk?? Anyway, thank you all so much for continuing to read, thoughts, comments, and whatever else is always appreciated :)

--

The air in the office was thick with cigarette smoke, frustration, and the weight of time slipping through their fingers.

Tommy stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, jaw locked so tight it ached. Across from him, Arthur leaned against the desk, tapping his knuckles against the wood, restless. John sat in the chair, his knee bouncing, the urge to do something burning through him. And Polly– Polly was standing by the window, arms folded, her face unreadable, but her silence was its own kind of pressure.

Two days.

Two fucking days since Campbell took you.

Forty-eight hours of searching, questioning, threatening– getting nowhere.

The only sound was the low hum of tension until the door creaked open, and Johnny Dogs stepped inside.

“I got somethin’,” he announced, shaking off his coat, water dripping from the ends of it. The rain outside had picked up, turning the streets into a slick, black river.

Tommy’s head snapped up. “Go on.”

Johnny took a moment, rolling his shoulders like he was getting comfortable before he spoke. “That lead from Patrick Jarvis? Someone else confirmed it.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Word’s spreadin’ round the right circles. Campbell’s got a place somewhere near the old factories. A few men have seen movement– coppers that don’t look like coppers, comin’ and goin’ from one of the buildings late at night.”

Arthur pushed off the desk, his body already itching to move. “That’s it, then. We go.”

Johnny shook his head. “Not yet. We don’t know exactly which place it is. There’s a few in that area, and if we charge into the wrong one, we’ll lose our shot.” He exhaled sharply, glancing at Tommy. “But we’re close. Tommy. Real close.”

A fresh wave of tension rolled through the room.

Tommy inhaled slowly, pressing his fingers against his temple. Not close enough.

John ran a hand over his face. “We don’t have fucking time, Tom.”

“I know,” Tommy snapped, the frustration bleeding into his voice before he could stop it. 

Polly, still by the window, sighed through her nose, measured and calm in a way that only made Tommy’s skin crawl. “Then use your fucking head,” she said sharply. “Charging in blind is exactly what Campbell wants.”

Arthur scoffed. “We’re supposed to just sit here, then? Have a drink while we wait for the bastard to put a bullet in her head?”

Polly’s eyes flicked toward him, sharp as a blade. “If Campbell wanted her dead, she’d already be dead.”

Arthur clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring. “So what, Pol? We just hope for the best?”

John, still fidgeting, exhaled sharply. “We’ll keep eyes on it, Tommy.”

Tommy stayed silent, his fingers twitching near the desk, eyes unfocused as he thought.

Polly’s gaze didn’t waver. “If he finds out we’re close, Campbell will move her.”

A muscle in Tommy’s jaw ticked.

Arthur swore under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “So what the fuck are we supposed to do, then?”

Tommy lifted his cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply. Thinking. Calculating.

Then, suddenly, the phone rang.

The shrill sound cut through the silence like a blade.

Everyone froze.

Tommy’s stomach turned.

He already knew who it was.

Polly’s gaze snapped to him, her expression sharp. “Don’t answer it.”

Tommy ignored her.

He strode toward the desk, snatched up the receiver, and pressed it to his ear.

A pause.

Then, “Ah,” came the smooth, smug voice on the other end. “Mr. Shelby.”

Campbell. Tommy’s fingers tightened around the receiver, knuckles white. For a second, he didn’t speak, his breath slow, controlled. Waiting.

Then, Campbell chuckled. “Not even a hello? Where are your manners?”

Tommy’s voice was low, lethal. “Say what you’re going to say.”

Campbell hummed, as if enjoying himself. “You know, I wasn’t sure how long she’d last.”

The words curled in Tommy’s gut like a slow-burning flame, spreading, filling his lungs with heat and rage.

Campbell sighed, almost amused. “But I have to say, she’s tougher than I expected. Even when she cried for you.”

Tommy stilled.

Campbell hummed. “Not out loud, of course. Not at first. But oh, Thomas–” He chuckled. “There’s something about breaking someone piece by piece, isn’t there? The way they try so hard to be brave. The way they tell themselves someone’s coming to save them, when you know it’s not true.”

Something inside Tommy snapped.

His grip on the phone turned iron-tight, his entire body rigid as a sickening, seething kind of rage spread through his veins.

Campbell was bragging.

Fucking bragging.

“She’s bruised. Bleeding, too, of course,” Campbell continued, tone light, as if discussing the weather. “And her breathing, well, it’s a little uneven– probably from the broken ribs. But she’s holding on. For now.”

Tommy inhaled slowly, deeply, forcing the fire down.

Campbell continued deliberately. “She doesn’t say much anymore. Can barely hold her head up. Though,” he clicked his tongue. “I must admit, I expected more screaming.” A beat. “Maybe I’ll just have to push harder.”

Tommy finally spoke. His voice was cold. Deadly. “I greatly look forward to the moment I put a bullet in your fucking skull,” he murmured. 

Campbell laughed.

“Oh, Thomas,” he sighed. “How I enjoy our chats.”

Then, the line went dead.

Tommy slammed the receiver down so hard the desk rattled. His breath came sharp, his rage barely contained, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, pacing. “We have to fucking go–”

John pushed off the wall. “Right fucking now, Tommy.”

Polly’s voice was steady, cutting through the heat. “Go where? We still don’t know where she is!”

Tommy was breathing hard, his mind working through the haze of anger, past the urge to grab a gun and just start burning through the city until he found you.

Arthur stopped pacing, turning back toward Tommy. “Then we find out– now. He’s gonna fuckin’ kill her, Tom.” His voice was sharp, barely contained, a mirror of Tommy’s own fury.

John crossed his arms, jaw clenched. “We get more men out there, we’ve got a fucking lead. We can’t sit on this.”

Tommy’s fingers twitched at his sides, jaw locked tight. He wanted to move. Wanted to run, burn through every fucking building in Birmingham until he found you.

But Polly was right. If he went in blind, he’d be doing exactly what Campbell wanted.

“Campbell wants me to suffer,” Tommy reminded them. “He’s not going to kill her yet. Because then his fun would be over.”

The words tasted like poison in his mouth, but he forced them out, forced himself to stay level.

Arthur muttered a curse under his breath, fists clenching at his sides. “So what? We just sit around here, waiting til Campbell decides to grow a fuckin’ heart and let her go?”

Tommy exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “No.” His gaze snapped to Johnny Dogs. “I want more men on the ground. Quietly.”

Johnny’s brows furrowed, but he nodded. “How many?”

Tommy thought fast. “Enough to cover every road leading out of the quarter. If Campbell gets even the slightest sense we’re coming, he’ll move her. And if that happens, we won’t get another fucking chance.” His eyes darkened. “Make sure no one’s seen. We go in clean.”

Johnny held his gaze for a moment, then gave a firm nod. “I’ll make it happen.” 

Arthur cracked his knuckles. “So, we gonna rock-paper-scissors for who gets to kill the fucker?”

“No.” Tommy’s voice was quieter now, but deadly. He turned to Johnny. “If they see anything– anything– they do not engage. They don’t move. They report back to me. This fucker is mine. Understood?”

Johnny’s expression tightened. “Yeah, I got it.”

With that, he slipped out the door, disappearing into the night.

…

Pain blurred the edges of everything.

Your body felt like one solid ache, a deep, pulsing agony that ran beneath your skin, through your ribs, down to the very marrow of your bones. Your wrists burned where the cuffs bit into your skin, your head heavy, every breath shallow and sharp.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed– hours, days? It didn’t matter.

You barely registered the sound of the door creaking open. You didn’t register the heavy footsteps crossing the room. 

But the sharp, stinging slap across your cheek tore you from the haze.

Your head snapped to the side, white-hot pain exploding across your face. A strangled gasp ripped from your throat, your vision blurring before swimming back into focus.

Campbell’s smug, self-satisfied face loomed in front of you.

“There she is,” he mused, mocking delight dripping from his voice. “Thought I’d lost you there for a moment.”

You swallowed thickly, your lip splitting further from the impact, fresh blood warm against your tongue. You refused to give him a reaction.

Campbell sighed, pacing a slow circle around the chair. “I thought you’d want to know… I’ve just had a lovely chat with your little boyfriend.”

Your fingers twitched.

He grinned at your silence. “It’s such a shame,” he mused. “He really didn’t seem all that concerned with your whereabouts.”

The words slithered into your skull, venomous and deliberate.

“He didn’t bargain,” Campbell continued, voice light, casual, as if sharing idle gossip. “Didn’t try to make a deal with me.” He let out a soft chuckle. “No concern. No desperation.” He tilted his head. 

A sharp pulse of nausea rolled through your gut. 

Campbell crouched in front of you, dropping to your eye level, watching. Your hands curled into fists, fingernails biting into your palms.

“Uh oh,” Campbell’s brows lifted, his smirk deepening. “Did I strike a nerve?”

You kept your breathing steady, forcing your expression blank.

Campbell clicked his tongue. “He’s spent his whole life crawling out of the mud, stepping over anyone in his way. And you?” He exhaled, his breath warm against your bloodied skin. “You’re just another casualty.”

Your stomach twisted. Because you knew what Campbell was doing. He was planting doubt. He wanted you to feel alone. 

Isolated.

Forgotten.

He wanted you to break.

Your breath came slow and steady, even as your ribs screamed in protest.

Suddenly, Campbell reached out, his fingers ghosted over your cheek, tracing the raw, swollen skin where he’d struck you moments before.

A sickening wave of revulsion crawled up your spine, but you stayed still. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t react.

His touch was light, deliberate, mocking– like he was savoring the moment, like he was testing just how much he could make your skin crawl before you broke. His thumb dragged across your cheekbone, slow and uninvited, his breath too close, too warm, too fucking smug as he leaned in, voice low and cruel. 

“Tell me, darling,” he murmured. “When he’s standing over your grave, how long do you think he’ll grieve before moving on?” 

The words slid beneath your skin like a blade, cold and cruel. You had sworn that you wouldn’t let him get to you. But you were exhausted. In pain. Alone. And despite every effort to hold it back, a single tear slipped down your cheek.

Campbell saw it immediately. His lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile, his thumb swiping across your cheek to catch the tear, as if savoring it. 

“You poor thing,” he murmured, like a man offering pity rather than punishment. 

His thumb trailed lower, lingering at the corner of your mouth, where blood had dried, cracked, and split again from his slap. “Perhaps he’ll send a man to lay flowers,” Campbell mused, his voice coated in false sympathy. “Or perhaps, by then, he’ll have found someone new to warm his bed.”

You clenched your jaw, hating yourself for the crack in your composure, hating that he’d seen it– that he was winning.

Campbell sighed dramatically, pulling back just enough to tilt his head, examining you like a man admiring his handiwork.

You swallowed, forcing down the lump in your throat, blinking rapidly to keep any more tears from falling.

But Campbell just smirked. “I must admit,” he mused, stepping back slightly, just enough to give you space to breathe– but not enough to let you feel safe. “I expected more fight.”

His gaze flickered over you, slow and deliberate. “But here you are, crying already. Over Thomas Shelby, nonetheless.”

Campbell watched you, his smirk widening, as if he were enjoying this– watching you swallow back the anger, the revulsion, the fear. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted his hand again.

You braced yourself, but he didn’t strike.

Instead, his fingers brushed softly against your cheek a second time, barely a whisper of contact, the touch mockingly gentle.

Your stomach twisted.

“You always were such a pretty little thing,” he mused, almost to himself. 

His fingers trailed lower, down the curve of your jaw, his nails grazing your skin.

Don’t react. Don’t flinch.

But your body betrayed you– your breath hitched, your shoulders tensing just slightly.

Campbell noticed again. His smirk deepened, his fingers dragging lower, down the column of your throat. A slow, lazy path. Like he had all the time in the world. You forced yourself to stay still, forced yourself to breathe evenly, even as every inch of your skin screamed to shrink away from his touch.

Campbell hummed, tilting his head as if he were studying you, testing, seeing how far he could push before you broke.

His fingers dipped just below your collarbone.

Your chest tightened.

You focused on keeping still, not giving him what he wanted, but the nausea clawing up your throat made it harder with every passing second.

You could feel his gaze on you, watching, waiting for you to crack��� for you to shrink away.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Uncomfortable, are we?”

You forced your expression to stay blank, biting down on your tongue so hard you tasted blood.

Your skin burned where his touch had been, not from pain, but from the sickening weight of it. 

“I have to say I thought about it," he continued, drawing out the words slowly, as if savoring them. "I thought about how it might be, if I took you for myself back then. Before I knew Thomas Shelby had ruined you.”

A wave of nausea rolled through you so violently you almost gagged.

He smiled like he had already won. “Pity,” he murmured, “wasting all that loyalty on someone who’ll never return it.”

Campbell let the silence stretch between you, his smirk widening as if he could feel the unease settling into your bones.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter,” he eventually continued, adjusting his coat as if nothing had happened. “By the time Tommy finds you, if he even bothers to look, there won’t be much left worth saving.”

He gave you one last, lingering look, and then, finally, turned toward the door.

“Get some rest, darling,” he called over his shoulder. “You’ll need it.”

Then the door clicked shut behind him.

The moment his presence was gone, the weight of everything crashed into you all at once.

Your body trembled. Your chest caved.

And before you could stop it, before you could swallow it down and force yourself to be strong, a ragged, broken sob tore free from your throat.

It hurt.

Everything hurt.

Your ribs, your face, your wrists, your lungs, every part of you ached, burned, screamed. But it wasn’t just the pain. It was everything else– the violation. The helplessness. The way Campbell had touched you like you were his to break, his to ruin, like you were nothing more than a pawn in his sick little game.

You gasped out another sob, sharp and ugly, your whole body curling in on itself as much as the cuffs would allow.

Tears streamed down your face, hot and relentless, soaking the raw, stinging skin where he had struck you.

No matter how hard you tried, the sobs kept coming, wrecking you, tearing through your chest like a wound that refused to close.

For the first time since he had taken you, the sheer weight of it all settled like iron chains around your throat.

What if Campbell was telling the truth? What if Tommy wasn’t looking for you? What if you never left this fucking room? 

The thoughts came like a flood, drowning you, pulling you under. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to shut them out, trying to force them away. But it wasn’t working. Your breath came in sharp, shaking gasps, your ribs burning with the effort.

You bit down hard on your lip, trying to silence yourself, trying to hold yourself together, but the sobs kept ripping through you. The room felt smaller now, the walls pressing in, the darkness closing around you.

You had never felt so alone.

…

The office was silent, but inside Tommy’s head, it was fucking chaos.

He stood behind his desk, hands braced against the wood, his head hanging low. His fingers dug into the edge, as if that could somehow crush the thoughts in his own head before they consumed him completely.

He exhaled slowly, shaking.

This was his fault.

Every part of this was his fucking fault.

He should have kept you out of it– should have never offered you a job at the Garrison. He should have never let you get this deep in his world– should have sent you far away from Birmingham the second he realized Campbell had set his sights on you.

Instead, he’d let himself believe, for just a moment, that he could have something. That you could be safe. That he could protect you.

And now…

Now you were alone with that fucking bastard, enduring God only knows what. 

Tommy growled under his breath, fingers tightening. The pressure in his chest was unbearable, a weight so suffocating it felt like it might crack his ribs open from the inside.

His foot nudged the waste basket in front of his desk, and before he could stop himself, he kicked it.

Hard.

The bin went flying across the room, its contents scattering across the floor before toppling over, crashing against the side of the wall.

The sound barely registered.

He was already pacing.

His pulse thundered in his ears, his movements sharp, restless, fucking useless.

He should be out there, hunting Campbell down, burning his entire fucking operation to the ground, tearing apart every building in the city until he found you.

But instead, he was here.

Waiting. Thinking. Doing absolutely fucking nothing. 

And he hated it.

Tommy ran a hand down his face, his breath coming sharp, uneven. He stopped pacing long enough to brace his hands against the desk again, his knuckles white from the force.

Campbell had called him for a reason.

To get inside his fucking head.

To make him feel helpless.

To remind him that no matter how many moves he made, no matter how careful he was, no matter how much control he thought he had– 

He could still lose.

Tommy’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.

Hours passed with no word. 

Tommy sat at his desk, head still in his hands, the weight of his own thoughts pressing harder than anything else. He had paced until his legs ached, smoked until the room was thick with it, but nothing, nothing, had dulled the relentless pressure in his ribs.

The sudden knock on the door was sharp, urgent.

Tommy’s head snapped up just as John pushed inside, still damp from the rain, his face set in something tense. Serious.

“Someone’s outside,” John said, voice clipped. “Says he wants to talk to you.”

Tommy sat back, rubbing his fingers over his jaw, his thoughts snapping into sharp focus. “Who?”

John shook his head. “No idea. Bloke spoke to me through the cracked window like he was a fuckin’ spy, I couldn’t see him. He wouldn’t say who he was.”

That made something in Tommy’s gut tighten.

“Could be a setup,” John muttered, watching Tommy carefully. 

Tommy exhaled sharply through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. “Or it could be the fucking lead we need.”

John shifted on his feet, restless. “What d’you wanna do?”

Tommy stood, grabbing his coat. “Bring him in.”

John hesitated for half a second. “I tried that. Said he wants to speak outside. In private.”

That made Tommy pause.

His fingers twitched at his sides.

A meeting outside, in private– it didn’t sit right.

If this was a setup, if this was Campbell pulling the strings again, he wasn’t about to walk into it blindly.

John let out a slow breath. “You want me and Arthur to follow?”

Tommy thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No.” His voice was low, measured. “Stay inside. Keep your eyes on the place. If I don’t come back, you’ll know where to start looking.”

John let out a humorless chuckle. “Not funny, Tom.”

Tommy ignored him.

With one last glance between his brothers, he turned and strode toward the door.

The cold air hit him instantly, sharp and damp from the lingering rain. The black motor idled near the curb, its engine humming low beneath the drizzle.

Tommy didn’t hesitate.

He strode toward it, yanked open the back door, and slid inside.

The door shut with a heavy click.

Inside, the air was thick with tobacco smoke and the scent of damp wool.

Tommy didn’t look at the driver. Didn’t look at the man sitting beside him.

He already knew.

Moss.

The corrupt bastard was hunched slightly, his face barely illuminated by the dim glow of a streetlamp filtering through the window. His fingers tapped lightly against his knee, his cigarette smoldering between them.

Tommy leaned back, his voice flat, cold. “What do you know?”

Moss exhaled, the smoke curling from his lips. “I know where she is.”

Tommy stilled. The words hit like a hammer.

He forced his expression to remain blank. “Where.”

Moss chuckled under his breath. “You know better than that, Shelby.”

Tommy’s jaw clenched. “What do you want?”

“Two things.” Moss flicked his cigarette ash out the cracked window before turning to face Tommy properly. “Cash. And assurance.”

Tommy inhaled slowly through his nose. “Assurance for what?”

Moss gave him a look. “Campbell.”

Tommy didn’t blink.

Moss sighed. “He’s had me under his boot for months– made my life a livin’ hell. I want him gone. And if I tell you what I know, I want your word that you’ll make sure that happens.” 

Moss shifted in his seat, the dim glow of a street lamp flickering through the car window, highlighting the tired lines of his face. He tilted his head slightly. "He’s got it out for both of us." He let out a quiet chuckle. "But you always find a way to wriggle out, don’t you?"

Tommy finally spoke, his voice flat, unreadable. “So, let me get this straight.” He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearm against his knee. “You want me to put a bullet in him… so you can walk away clean.”

Moss shrugged again, but there was tension in it now. “Call it whatever you want.”

Tommy let the words settle, rolling them over in his mind.

The bastard was desperate. That much was obvious. But it wasn’t just about desperation– it was fear.

Moss knew Campbell was getting reckless. 

Tommy’s jaw flexed. “You think I need any motivation to kill the bastard?”

Moss smirked, just slightly. “No.” He inhaled slowly through his nose. “I just want to make sure you do it first.”

Tommy exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face before resting his forearm on his knee, his sharp gaze locked onto Moss. 

“How much?”

Moss tilted his head. “What?”

Tommy’s fingers twitched. “The fucking money. How much do you want?”

Moss hummed, pretending to think, but Tommy could see it– the greed flickering beneath the fear. He wasn’t just a desperate man trying to survive; he was a man trying to get whatever he could before running.

“Five thousand,” Moss said finally.

Tommy scoffed, shaking his head. “You must think I’m a fucking idiot.”

Moss’s smirk faltered slightly, but he held his ground. “It’s a fair price.”

Tommy’s eyes darkened. “Two.”

Moss let out a humorless chuckle. “You really think you’re in much of a position to be negotiating here? I’m not taking two, Shelby.”

Tommy hummed, dragging a cigarette from his coat pocket, rolling it between his fingers before striking a match. “What I think,” he muttered, lighting the end, letting the smoke curl slow through the cramped air, “is that you’re just another rat trying to climb out of a sinking ship.”

Moss exhaled sharply, shifting in his seat. “Three, then.”

Tommy took a slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling smoke

A beat passed.

Then another.

Finally, he gave a sharp nod. “Three.”

Moss relaxed slightly, but only just.

Tommy tapped the ash off his cigarette, his eyes unreadable. “You’ll get your fucking money. Now tell me where she is.” 

Moss didn’t hesitate. He pulled a folded slip of paper from his coat pocket and handed it over.

“Basement of an old textile mill,” he muttered. “Near the canal. Off the books. No station. No records.”

Tommy took it, fingers tight around it.

Moss exhaled. “Better go quick, Shelby. I overheard Campbell talking today. I don’t think he’s been very kind to her, if you know what I mean.”

The air in the car shifted.

Tommy inhaled slowly through his nose, the only outward sign that he’d registered the words.

Inside, though, the fire was raging. He knew what Campbell was like. Knew how he worked. Every second he was here, every second he let this sniveling rat talk, was another second you were alone with that bastard.

Moss must have noticed the change in his expression because his amusement faltered.

Tommy leaned in, his voice quiet, lethal.

“If I find out you’ve fucked me on this, Moss,” he murmured, “I’ll carve out that smug fucking tongue and nail it to my desk. Do you understand?”

Moss swallowed hard, nodding quickly.

Tommy held his gaze a second longer, then pushed the car door open, stepping out into the cold. The rain hit his skin, slicing through his coat, but he barely felt it. His mind was already moving. Already calculating. 

He strode back toward the betting shop, his breath sharp, controlled.

For the first time in days, Tommy felt a semblance of peace. Because by the end of the night, Campbell wouldn’t live to see the fucking sunrise.

 << Previous Chapter

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[girlgenius1111]

one of your girls

alexia x jenni x leila x reader a celebration is in order after leila makes her return to the national team. smut, 18+. part of the rush verse... for context: Read Part One here Read Part Two here Read Part Three here Read Part Four here Read Part Five here Read Part Six here Read Part Seven here Read Part Eight here authors note: this is very much a co-written fic. it would not be what it is without @vixwritesagain. i can't really say enough about how incredibly & insanely talented vix is. however good you think she is, multiply it by like 10. and you'll feel how i feel after watching her write in real time. for every comment you leave, you better take your horny asses over to vix's inbox and give her all the love. <3

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“I-” You interrupted yourself, pressing a gentle kiss to Leila’s lips. “-Am so proud of you.” 

She grinned bashfully back at you, a rare show of shyness that few got to enjoy. “How proud?” 

“So proud, Lei. You were incredible. I couldn’t take my eyes off you.” 

“Proud enough for a reward?”

You threw your head back and laughed at the hopeful expression on her face. 

“Definitely.” 

Leaning in eagerly, you sank into the kiss your girlfriend pressed to your lips. It only lasted a second, though. Leila’s arms kept you tightly held against her, even when you tried to pull away at the light knock at the door. You broke the kiss, but Leila just shifted, attaching her lips to your pulse point. 

“Lei?”

“Hmm?” Leila hummed. You could feel the grin on her face, and you were pretty sure you knew the answer to the question you were about to ask.

“Who is at the door?” 

Leila pulled back, ignoring the second knock at the door, this one harder and somehow more aggressive. “My reward.” She told you, smiling mischievously as you raised an eyebrow. 

“You… arranged your own reward?” Your lip twitched as Leila refused to look embarrassed. 

“Sí!” Leila said happily, giving you a gentle shove in the direction of the door. With a roll of your eyes, one that was really just for show, you padded over to the door and looked through the peephole. On the other side, Jenni was holding Alexia’s wrist with an amused smile. The blonde looked to be trying to convince her girlfriend to let her knock again. 

Fighting a smile of your own, you unlocked the door and swung it open.

“Hi, cari.” Jenni greeted easily. Next to her, Alexia remained silent, but the small curve of her lips at the sight of you had you fighting a smile of your own. You stepped to the side to allow the two women in, Jenni walking right past to head for your girlfriend. Alexia stopped next to you, though, looking hesitantly at your hand for a minute, before taking it in hers and tugging you further into the room.

“There she is. Ready to celebrate, Lei?" Jenni teased, flopping onto the bed next to your girlfriend, who seemed to be too excited to sit still. "I think you deserve something special for your first game back."

"You scored." Leila pointed out, but her bright grin gave away her delight.

"Jenni always scores." Alexia hummed with an unmistakable note of pride. "And she's always well rewarded for it."

Alexia shifted from your side and took a seat on the other side of Leila. You were left standing while all three women sat on the bed, but you didn’t mind watching them converse. Alexia made it clear that you were still on her mind when she addressed Leila, but spoke English.

“So we can start with you. What do you want your prize to be?” She husked.

“You can have whatever you want, Lei. I am sure you brought plenty of toys.” Jenni added. 

Leila nodded, looking between the two Spaniards on each side of her. Until this point, you weren’t quite sure where you fit into this. When Leila looked up at you, a twinkle in her eye, you were suddenly very sure where this was going. 

“I want you to fuck her.” She said nonchalantly, nodding her head in your direction. Jenni grinned, pulling the other brunette in until their lips met. Alexia turned to you instantly, confusion radiating off her. Even as she reached towards you, standing and pulling you closer by the hem of your shirt, she looked at Leila like she’d grown a third head. 

“For your reward… you want us to fuck your girlfriend? In front of you?” 

Leila tilted her neck to the side, allowing Jenni to begin to leave faint marks on her tan skin. “Sí.” She grinned, looking at Alexia expectantly. 

“That is what you want?” Alexia asked again. She grabbed at your shirt before you could move any closer to her, dragging it up and over your head, even as her attention was still fixed on your girlfriend. 

Leila giggled, and Jenni pulled away from her neck with a smirk on her face. She was highly amused at how Alexia was baffled at Leila’s willingness to share you, whilst simultaneously wasting no time in pawing at your bra. “What, Ale, do you want her to change her mind? Take your toy away from you?” 

At her girlfriend’s words, the blonde frowned. “No,” Alexia all but growled, seemingly looking to prove a point when she turned you both around, and pushed you onto the bed. She was on top of you within a second, and you let out a surprised huff at the sudden movement, raising your eyebrows at Alexia as she settled over you. Her hazel eyes were suddenly just inches from yours, pupils dilated and jaw clenched tightly as she regarded you. Then, her expression softened, just barely. 

“Vale?” She asked, waiting until you nodded to press her body down, her lips capturing yours in what you had come to know as a very Alexia kiss. Once Alexia got started, she didn’t stop. Even when she began running her hand over your bare abdomen, her kisses were demanding. Her mouth moved in sync with yours, anticipating your every move. Before you could part your lips and press your tongue into her mouth, she beat you to it. Before you could let out the content noise building inside of you, Alexia was exhaling harshly into your mouth. Kissing Alexia didn’t give you any space to think about anything but kissing her back. 

You barely heard Jenni clear her throat from next to you, but you did hear the annoyed grunt Alexia let out. 

“Ale,” Jenni called. 

“¿Qué quieres?” Alexia snapped, refusing to look at her girlfriend, instead moving her lips to trail down your neck and chest. 

“Oye. Leila said she wanted us to fuck her.” 

“So fuck her?” Alexia asked impatiently, giving her girlfriend an exasperated look. 

Jenni considered for a moment, before taking advantage of Alexia’s slightly off balance position over you. It only took a single gentle push from Jenni for Alexia to roll off of you with a small gasp. The brunette pulled you closer, and away from Alexia, craning her neck down so she could kiss you. 

You wondered how much time would need to pass before kissing Jenni felt unfamiliar. You’d gone years before, and more recently a few weeks without kissing her, but it still felt like the most natural thing in the world. 

You were rapidly pulled out of that more sentimental thought by Alexia gripping your chin and yanking your face towards hers. You leaned your head away instinctually at the harsh action, a bit startled at the contrast between Jenni’s gentle and Alexia’s rough. You weren’t sure what your hesitance was, but luckily Jenni gave you a moment to think. 

A hand on Alexia’s chest stopped her from moving in again. “What now?” She groaned. 

“Give her a second to catch up, Ale,” Jenni said. Her tone was both comforting and a tad  condescending. 

“I do not remember her needing a second last time.” Alexia grumbled, raising a single eyebrow at you. 

At the mention of last time, you flushed bright red. It was one thing to be between them again, and entirely another to remember the last time it had happened. To suddenly be sent spiralling, full force, into memories of that night. Those hours spent with Alexia, Jenni, and your girlfriend had served as an overwhelmingly hot distraction since. You thought about it in the car on the way to training, in the shower when your mind wandered. You even thought about it when you were with Leila, but seeing as though she was often the one to bring it up, you didn’t feel too guilty about that. A deep breath, in and out. Then, you forced yourself to relax into Jenni’s arms and looked expectantly at Alexia. 

“Get on with it, Putellas.” You said impatiently, refusing to give in to the midfielder’s blazing gaze. Leila chuckled from where she sat on the edge of the bed, smugly grinning at Alexia. The blonde’s gaze flickered to her for a second, then back to your lips. 

Alexia licked into your mouth, hot, wet and demanding. The hand on your jaw slid down until it cuffed your neck. You could feel Jenni’s hand wandering over the swaths of bare skin, then teasing at the waistband of your sweats. 

Groaning into her girlfriend’s mouth, your own palm found Jenni’s bicep. Your legs squeezed together at the tense of her muscles, shifting against the sheets to feel the heat of them both. 

“Needy.” Jenni accused as your hips squirmed when she stroked over them. 

You were quick to pull away from Alexia, twisting to the striker. “More, Jen.” 

Jenni chuckled, lifting her hand to press your stray hairs behind your ear. “Oh, you think you're in charge now?”

Alexia ducked down to kiss at your neck, shifting her hand only a fraction to give herself some space. You could feel her move, kneeling on the bed at your side. 

“Just-” You squeaked as Alexia unceremoniously groped at your covered chest. 

“Just?” Jenni sang, reaching her hand down to pull at the drawstrings of your pants. “Just let us play. Take what we give you and maybe we’ll let you come.”

Alexia pulled at the cups of your bra, exposing both breasts to the cool of the A/C at the same time. The shock was short lived. Half a second, then her hot mouth covered one. 

Gasping, your hand cradled her head to hold her against you. Her tongue swirled around your nipple, feeling it harden with every pointed flick. With the speed of someone who had down this many times, Alexia unclipped your bra with one hand, sliding it away. Her mouth never left your body.

You hardly registered Jenni slipping off the bed to stand. Her fingers made quick work of the knot and before you could so much as whine, she pulled the sweats down your legs. 

You could already feel the wetness between them, but if it wasn’t crystal clear, Jenni made it so when she pressed your thighs open. She let out a breathy groan before bending between them to mouth at the tender skin. 

A sharp bite to your nipple made you jolt. Jenni’s fingers dug in, holding your legs open as your back arched. 

“Again.” The striker demanded. 

Alexia switched sides instantly, gently grazing her teeth over your breast before sucking at the peak. She waited until your nipple was hard and sensitive before biting down. 

“Fuck!” You whined as your eyes tried to focus on the swirls of the hotel room ceiling. 

Then came Jenni’s thumb, stroking up and down your underwear to let you feel how wet you’d grown. Just a few seconds, then the heat of her mouth kissing at the fabric. Your hips bucked against her at the tease. 

Jenni hummed back, pecking at your thighs once more. “Ale. Get behind and spread her for me.” You could feel her hot breath between your legs before her fingers hooked on the waistband of your underwear.

As you helped - squeezing your legs together enough for Jenni to pull the fabric away - Alexia shifted. Strong hands pushed and pulled, manhandling your body until your back pressed against her t-shirt. A peck to your neck, then her hands slid to your inner thighs and spread them wide. 

“How does she look?” Alexia asked as your head dropped back onto her shoulder. 

“So pretty for us.” Jenni hummed. “And so wet. Can you see how wet she is, Lei?” 

You forced your eyes open, scanning the room until you found your girlfriend, comfortably reclined in the armchair in the corner of the room. You recalled the chair being in a different spot yesterday; Leila must have moved it earlier to give herself a better view. 

Your girlfriend didn’t have her signature smile on her face. Instead, she frowned slightly at Jenni, her forehead creasing in what you knew to be faux concern. “I can see.” Leila sighed. “I get her wetter.” 

There was no jealousy behind your girlfriend's words. Just some playful disappointment, and a hint of a challenge. And while you knew if the comment had been directed at Alexia, she would have let her competitiveness take over, Jenni did not. 

“It is more fun to take it slow. Make her beg for us. Right Ale?” 

Alexia hummed in response, one of her hands sliding up your midsection to pinch at one of your nipples. 

“You think I don’t make her beg?” Leila laughed. 

Jenni pulled away, turning her neck slightly to reply to Leila, but you had lost your patience. You grabbed the back of her head and attempted to bring her closer to your core. Jenni froze, showing an enormous amount of neck strength as she fixed her gaze on your face. 

Her hazel eyes stared into yours as she cocked an eyebrow, daring you to keep testing her. You waited a beat before begrudgingly pulling your hand away from Jenni’s head. 

“She just needs to look at you, bebé? And you’ll do whatever she wants?” Leila teased. 

Cheeks turning red, you shut your eyes and relaxed back into Alexia while you flipped your girlfriend off. You felt the blonde behind you smile into your neck, returning her hand to your leg to keep them spread wide.

 Jenni worked with a renewed passion, now, showing that she definitely had taken Leila’s comment to heart. Her tongue moved expertly. It didn’t matter how many times Jenni went down on you, it would always be shockingly good. 

“Tell me how Jenni’s mouth feels.” Alexia demanded. Her voice was quiet but her tone left no room for negotiation. 

“Good,” you breathed. You knew it wouldn’t be enough when Alexia’s hands tightened their grip on your thighs. 

“More. I have heard I am supposed to work on my English.” 

You struggled to force your mind to focus, especially as Jenni’s tongue quickened its strokes over your clit. Your hips rolled against her, picking up her fast rhythm as much as they could with Alexia holding you open.

“She feels… her mouth is hot.” You sighed, not entirely sure you were making much sense. 

“Hot.” Alexia repeated. “What else?” 

“She’s- I’m close,” you groaned, shivering at the harsh licks. “I’m really close.” 

“Sí? Are you going to come all over Jenni’s face?” Alexia cooed. Her tone was mocking and it shouldn’t have pushed you towards the edge the way it did. 

“Yeah,” you managed, your back arching slightly off of Alexia’s body. You were so close, just needing a hint more pressure from Jenni’s tongue, a touch more stimulation. 

“Don’t tell us. Tell Leila.” Alexia whispered, her words hot on your ear. 

“Lei, I- fuck,” You tried. One of your hands found its way to tangle in Jenni’s hair as you tried to bring her closer, make her go faster. “Lei I’m gonna come,” 

“Go ahead, bebé.” Leila sang. You could hear the bright smile in her voice. 

Jenni pressed her face closer, taking your clit into her mouth and sucking. Hard. That was all it took for you to cry out as your orgasm broke. One of your hands tightened in Jenni’s hair, the other frantically grabbing at the sheets as your hips bucked against her face. 

“There you go,” Alexia hummed. “Tan rápido.” You should have been suspicious at how gentle she was being, but you weren’t in the right mindset to do so. Instead, you were completely focused on Jenni’s tongue still flicking against you. You were coming down hard when you felt one of Jenni’s fingers teasing at your tight cunt. You flinched, but Alexia’s strong arms held you firm. 

“Jesus Jenni,” You cried as she pressed inside. 

It was more understandable why Alexia was being so nice. Especially when she banded one arm around your stomach and reached her hand up to grip your throat. She didn’t tighten her fingers. Her hand just rested there, giving a glimpse of the control you knew Alexia was dying to show. 

Hands occupied, Alexia couldn’t stop your lower body from moving. Your legs twitched and squirmed as one finger became two. The stimulation was just on the edge of being too much. Jenni knew what she was doing though, pulling away from your clit for the moment and focusing on pumping her fingers in and out of your pussy. It was a quicker build up this time, and you were getting close to finishing frighteningly quickly. 

Jenni’s fingers curled and twisted perfectly, hitting different spots with every thrust. You could hear how soaked you were, listening to the wet slide of Jenni’s fingers in and out of you. The sound alone was dizzying, and the feeling was otherworldly. 

“Jen,” You moaned again, not sure what you were trying to tell her. It was almost too much, but you definitely didn’t want her to stop. 

“Cari?” Jenni asked innocently, a third finger teasing at your entrance.

“Fuck!” 

“That’s what I’m doing.” Jenni smirked, pressing the third inside. “Now be good and make a mess on my fingers. And then I’ll let Ale have a turn.” 

Alexia’s spare hand danced over your bare skin while her fingers tightened around your throat. It was just enough to restrict your airflow, and an overwhelming sensitivity seemed to take over every nerve ending in your body. You shivered, clumsily reaching up to place your hand over Alexia’s. 

She could feel your rapid pulse under her fingers, hear the quiet whimpers finding their way out of your mouth. “Venga.” She whispered impatiently, “I want to fuck you.”

The hiss of words in your ear did it. A loud whine left your mouth as you came, the muscles in your abdomen tightening as you went hurtling over the edge. The pleasure was mind numbing, blinding, and you were unaware of what your body was doing until it began to ebb.

You practically went limp against Alexia a minute later, a long exhale escaping your mouth as Jenni’s fingers pulled out of your tight centre. 

“Good?” Jenni chuckled. 

You didn’t reply, your attention instead focused on Jenni’s slick fingers reaching up to push into Alexia’s mouth. Alexia parted her lips eagerly, and you noted somewhere in your mind that it was the easiest you had ever seen Alexia comply with what Jenni wanted. You watched as Alexia licked at her girlfriend’s fingers. Her lips closed around them and she began to suck, grunting lowly at the taste of you.

Suddenly, the warmth of Jenni was missing from in between your legs, her fingers extracting themselves from Alexia’s mouth. Together, Jenni and Alexia shifted you over and away, leaving you resting comfortably against the pillows.

You couldn’t help but pout at the loss of contact. Your bare skin left you exposed against the sheets, the only one in the room to be naked.

“You look so pretty waiting for them.” Leila said quietly, more than a hint of affection in her voice. You relaxed into the pillows, feeling your face flush slightly at the way in which Leila’s eyes bore into yours. 

“Leila, ¿así es como se hace su maleta? Es un desastre.” Alexia asked, frowning in disgust as she rifled through the suitcase. 

“She asked you here to fuck her girlfriend, not insult her packing skills.” Jenni flicked her lightly on the ear. “Lei, which is your favourite?” 

The striker held up two dildos, as if she was asking which beverage Leila wanted. As if you couldn’t feel the phantom of both pressing inside of you. 

“Left. But there is another in there she likes more.” 

“Dónde? Debajo de este suéter feo?” Alexia mumbled quietly, ignoring the look Jenni sent her way. 

“Hurry up.” You cut in, your voice embarrassingly whiny.

Frustratingly, neither Alexia nor Jenni even glanced in your direction. They continued to bicker quietly, this time over who got to wear what strap, and you shared an amused smile with your girlfriend. The argument was decided with Alexia silenced by a look you’d never seen on her girlfriend’s face before. 

The two harnesses and two dildos were left on the desk as Alexia reached for the hem of her girlfriend’s shirt, but Jenni swatted her hand away with a roll of her eyes. “This is not about you Ale. Ask Leila if she wants us naked.” 

“I want you naked.” You commented from the bed, sighing in frustration when all you got was an amused look from Jenni. 

“Ouahabi?” Alexia asked impatiently, slowly pulling at Jenni’s shirt as if she was going to sneak it off her. 

The defender hummed. “If you want to come in her pussy, you should take your clothes off, no?”

All was still for a second, then Jenni grinned and slid her hands under Alexia’s shirt. They undressed each other impatiently, not sparing a second to take the other in as more and more smooth skin was revealed. 

You took it all in, though, watching with your jaw hanging open as muscular abs and quads and biceps and everything went on display. You only snapped out of your daze when both women had secured the straps to themselves, turning to you with downright evil grins on their faces. 

You only had time to look fleetingly at Leila, comforted just enough by the warm brown of her eyes that were on you, and only you.  

You were sitting up when Alexia moved across the mattress and settled between your legs. She pushed at your chest, sending you back into the pillows, before she pushed your legs apart. Your eyes were stuck on Alexia’s muscular form. You could have sworn she was flexing as she smirked down at you. 

“Bebé?” Leila called. Alexia frowned when you instantly tore your attention from her, and looked towards your girlfriend. “I want you to be good for them, sí?” 

You nodded, ready and willing to do whatever any of them asked. 

Alexia flicked at your nipple, startling your attention back to her. 

“And I want you to be loud.” She stated, shifting her hips forward so the tip of the strap pressed against you. The heat of her thighs nudged up against your own. “Shouldn't be hard for you. Let Leila hear how well I fuck her whore.” 

------

part 1 of 4 :)

[28harryssunflower]

It was always you

“You know, I think I’m actually cursed.”

Harry barely looked up from his phone as you flopped onto his bed with a dramatic sigh, burying your face in his pillow. “Yeah?” he said lazily. “What kind of curse we talking about? Eternal clumsiness? Never getting the last slice of pizza?”

You groaned and threw a pillow at him, which he dodged effortlessly. “No, you idiot. A love curse.”

That got his attention. He smirked, locking his phone and tossing it onto his nightstand. “Oh, this could be good. Go on, then. Tell me about your tragic, love-deprived existence.”

“I’m serious, Harry!” You sat up, hugging the pillow to your chest. “I’ve never had a boyfriend. Never even had my first kiss. Meanwhile, you’re out here hooking up with a new girl every week like it’s your part-time job.”

“Full-time, actually,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes but continued. “I just… I want someone to love me, you know? Someone who looks at me and thinks, ‘Yeah, she’s the one I want.’”

Harry watched you for a moment, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful. Then, with his usual smugness, he leaned back against the headboard and stretched out his arms. “Well, lucky for you, you’ve already got me. No need to search any further.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious!” he grinned, opening his arms invitingly. “Come on, I’ll even cuddle you, since you’re always so lonely.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are, still talking to me.”

You flipped him off but, despite your protests, you eventually curled up against his side, sighing softly as his warmth surrounded you. It was familiar. Comforting. Safe.

But safety wasn’t love.

And that was the problem.

So when you finally got a boyfriend, you were ecstatic.

Harry had been just as excited for you at first, grinning as you rambled on about your dates, about how sweet your boyfriend was, about how it felt to finally be wanted.

But slowly, things started changing.

It started with little things - canceling plans last-minute, leaving his messages on read. Then, you started avoiding him altogether, barely sparing him a glance in the halls. When he tried to talk to you, your boyfriend would pull you away, whispering something in your ear that made you frown but ultimately follow him without a second thought.

The worst part was, you didn’t even seem to realize what was happening.

And then you forgot his birthday.

Harry spent the entire day pretending not to care, but he did. God, he did. His mum had even asked why you weren’t there - because you were always there. But he just muttered something about you being busy, shrugged off her concerned look, and spent the rest of the day staring at his phone, waiting for a text that never came.

But he didn’t go to your house to confront you. He didn’t text you. He didn’t call you.

This time, he just let it go.

By Monday, he didn’t even bother trying anymore.

You were his only friend - had always been his only friend. Without you, he was alone.

So he leaned into it.

He walked through the halls with his hood up, earphones in, ignoring everything and everyone. He leaned against his locker alone, scrolling through his phone. He was just another body in the hallways now, and maybe that was fine.

Until he heard the laughter.

Harry didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

Your boyfriend and his friends stood at the other end of the hallway, their laughter carrying over the dull roar of students. He was pointing at Harry, smirking as he whispered something to his friends.

Harry clenched his jaw and slammed his locker shut. He wasn’t in the mood for this.

But, of course, your boyfriend had other plans.

“Oi, loser!”

Harry exhaled slowly through his nose but didn’t respond.

“You deaf too?” Another voice chimed in - one of his friends, probably. “Or just fucking pathetic?”

Harry gritted his teeth, gripping the strap of his bag. Just walk away.

But then your boyfriend stepped in front of him.

“You know, it’s sad, really,” he sneered. “You following her around all these years like a lost puppy. Guess she finally got tired of your pathetic ass.”

Harry’s fists curled.

“What?” Your boyfriend smirked. “Nothing to say?” He shoved Harry’s shoulder, making him stumble back a step. “No comeback, huh? Figures. You were always just a waste of space-“

Harry swung.

His fist connected with your boyfriend’s jaw, sending him staggering back. But before Harry could do anything else, hands grabbed him from behind, shoving him hard against the lockers.

And then the punches started.

One to his stomach. Another to his ribs.

A fist slammed into his jaw, snapping his head to the side.

A knee to his gut knocked the air from his lungs, and suddenly, he was on the ground.

More kicks. More fists.

Blood filled his mouth. His vision blurred. His head spun.

And then he heard your voice.

“Harry?!”

The beating stopped instantly.

You pushed through the crowd, your heart stopping when you saw him.

Harry was barely breathing, blood smeared across his face, his lip split, bruises already forming along his jaw. His arms trembled as he tried, and failed, to push himself up.

Your chest tightened, tears blurring your vision as you shoved your boyfriend out of the way and dropped to your knees beside Harry.

“Oh my god,” you choked out, cradling his face in your hands. “Harry, stay with me, okay? Don’t fall asleep. Just- just keep your eyes open.”

He groaned, barely conscious.

You snapped your head up, looking at the crowd. “Someone call a fucking ambulance!”

No one moved.

“Now!”

Finally, someone fumbled for their phone.

Your boyfriend scoffed behind you. “Why are you wasting your time? He’s a loser.”

Then he reached for you.

The second his hand touched your arm, you whipped around, eyes blazing.

“Don’t you dare fucking touch me, you prick.”

He blinked. “What?”

You shot up to your feet, shoving him back. “It’s over.”

He laughed. “Oh, come on. Don’t be dramatic-“

“Piss off!” you screamed, voice breaking. “Get the fuck away from me!”

A few teachers finally arrived, pushing through the crowd. Someone pulled your boyfriend back, while another crouched next to Harry, checking his breathing.

Minutes later, sirens blared outside.

You held Harry’s hand the entire way to the hospital, whispering apologies through your tears, telling him to just stay awake, that you were so, so sorry.

He squeezed your hand weakly. “Told you… you don’t need… anyone else.”

A broken sob left your lips. “Shut up, idiot.”

When his parents arrived, you barely got the words out before breaking down entirely, burying your face in Anne’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” you sobbed. “It’s all my fault.”

Anne just held you tighter. “Oh, sweetheart.”

You didn’t leave Harry’s side. Not for a second.

Because maybe love had been right in front of you all along.

The hospital room was too bright, too sterile, too quiet except for the steady beep of Harry’s heart monitor.

You sat beside his bed, gripping his hand tightly, even though he was barely conscious. The sight of him like this - bruised, battered, barely able to open his eyes - made your chest ache with guilt.

You had let this happen.

And you weren’t leaving him again.

“I want a second bed in his room.”

The nurse blinked at you, glancing between you and Harry’s sleeping form. “I’m sorry, but only family members-“

“I don’t care,” you cut in, voice shaking but firm. “I’m not leaving him.”

The nurse hesitated, clearly torn, but then she sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

That night, they wheeled in a second bed for you.

It was small, uncomfortable, and cold, but you didn’t care. It was close enough to Harry. That’s all that mattered.

You barely slept.

Every time he shifted, every time he let out the faintest groan of pain, you were up, adjusting his pillows, checking his IV, making sure he had everything he needed.

Sometime in the middle of the night, his hand found yours.

“You’re still here?” he mumbled, voice hoarse, eyes barely open.

Tears welled up in your eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His lips quirked up just slightly, the ghost of a smile. “Good.”

And then he fell back asleep, his fingers still loosely wrapped around yours.

The hospital stay lasted a week.

A week of helping him sit up when his ribs hurt too much. A week of spoon-feeding him shitty hospital food because he was too drugged-up to do it himself. A week of pretending not to cry when the doctors explained how much pain he’d be in for the next few months.

A week of never leaving his side.

By the time he was discharged, you had practically memorized his breathing patterns, the way his eyebrows furrowed when he was uncomfortable, the way he clung to your hand every time he fell asleep.

And despite everything, despite the pain, despite the bruises, despite the way you had abandoned him for so long - he still wanted you there.

You didn’t understand it.

But you weren’t about to question it.

The first night at his house was rough.

He could barely move, every breath sending a sharp pain through his ribs. You helped him get into bed, carefully adjusting his pillows, setting his pain meds and water on the nightstand.

“You really don’t have to-“

“Yes, I do.”

He looked at you for a long moment, then sighed. “Alright, Nurse Bossy.”

You rolled your eyes, sitting down on the bed next to him. “Shut up and take your meds.”

He did. But when he winced, shifting slightly, you immediately reached for him, helping him lean back.

His gaze softened. “You’re gonna take care of me, huh?”

You swallowed. “Of course I am.”

Harry studied your face, something unreadable in his expression. “Even after everything?”

Guilt twisted in your chest. “I don’t understand how you can even look at me after what I did,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

He exhaled slowly, his fingers brushing against yours. “Because you’re you.”

You blinked at him, eyes stinging. “I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”

Harry tilted his head slightly. “That’s not for you to decide, is it?”

Your breath hitched.

After a moment, you sighed and carefully curled up beside him, resting your head on his good shoulder.

“I’m still sorry,” you murmured.

“I know,” he whispered. “But you’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

The next few weeks changed everything.

You never left his side. Every morning, you helped him sit up, made him food, made sure he took his meds. You helped him shower, helped him dress, even sat through hours of shitty reality TV just to keep him entertained.

And through it all, Harry changed too.

Gone was the playboy who hooked up with someone new every weekend. Gone was the smug flirt who never took anything seriously.

He still joked around, still teased you endlessly, still acted like the Harry you had known your whole life. But something was different.

He wasn’t looking for anyone else anymore.

Because he already had you.

Neither of you spent a single night alone after that.

If he wasn’t staying over at your place, you were at his. You always shared a bed, sometimes he stayed up late watching movies while you fell asleep against his shoulder.

But no matter what, you were together.

Always.

One night, weeks after everything, he traced lazy patterns on your arm as you lay curled up beside him.

“You’re really never leaving me again, huh?”

You swallowed. “Never.”

He exhaled, pulling you a little closer.

“Good.”

If anyone had told you a year ago that you and Harry would end up like this - tangled together every night, inseparable, happy - you would have laughed in their face.

But now, lying in his bed with his arms wrapped around you, his lips brushing lazily over the top of your head as he mumbled half-asleep nonsense, you couldn’t imagine life any other way.

Everything was just… good.

Better than good.

Perfect.

School was different now.

Where Harry used to be surrounded by girls hanging off his every word, he was now only ever with you. He still had his cocky smirk, still joked around with his old friends, but when it came down to it, he only had eyes for you.

And he made sure everyone knew it.

Whether it was his arm slung over your shoulder in the halls, the way he pulled you into his lap when you sat with him at lunch, or the way he casually shut down any girl who so much as batted her eyelashes at him - it was clear.

Harry Styles was taken.

And he wouldn’t shut up about it.

“My girlfriend’s actually the smartest person in this school,” he’d brag to your teachers when you aced a test.

“My girl made the best fucking pancakes this morning,” he’d tell his friends, even though he had literally helped you burn them.

“My girl,” he called you. All the time. And you secretly loved it.

You rolled your eyes at his antics, but every time, you’d find yourself blushing, hiding your smile as he grinned at you like you were his entire world.

Because, well… you were.

Your families were just as obsessed with your relationship as Harry was.

Anne had always loved you like a second daughter, but now that you were officially dating her son, she took it to a whole new level.

“I knew it,” she’d say every time she saw you two cuddled up on the couch. “Knew you’d end up together. Should’ve placed a bet.”

Harry groaned. “Mum-“

“You two were practically married as kids anyway,” she continued, waving him off. “Might as well make it official.”

You laughed. “We’re still in high school, Anne.”

She just shrugged. “You’ll get there.”

Your own parents weren’t any better.

Your mom practically beamed every time Harry walked through the door, already treating him like a son. Your dad had been a little skeptical at first (probably remembering Harry’s less-than-stellar reputation), but after seeing how much he adored you, he came around quickly.

“Just take care of her,” your dad had told him one evening, clapping a firm hand on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry had looked him dead in the eye and said, “Always.”

That had been the moment your dad fully accepted him.

From then on, family dinners turned into “future planning sessions,” where your parents and his would casually drop comments like, “When you two get married,” and “Your future kids are going to be adorable.”

You’d groan and hide your face in your hands while Harry just smirked, clearly enjoying it.

“You hear that, love?” he teased one night as you lay in his bed, scrolling through your phone while he played with your fingers. “They want grandkids.”

You shot him a look. “You’re literally seventeen.”

He shrugged. “So? You think they’re wrong?”

You sighed, setting your phone down to look at him properly. “Do you?”

Harry didn’t answer right away. He just studied your face, eyes soft, thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

Then he smirked. “Nah, they’re definitely right.”

You rolled your eyes and shoved his shoulder. “Idiot.”

He just laughed and pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “You love me.”

You sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately.”

But he knew the truth.

And so did you.

Being with Harry felt like breathing - natural, effortless, something you didn’t even have to think about.

When you were alone with him, the rest of the world disappeared.

No teasing from your families about marriage and grandkids. No whispers at school about how Harry Styles finally settled down. No past mistakes, no guilt, no fears.

Just him. Just you. Just this.

Nights at his house were your favorite.

It usually started with a lazy movie night, where Harry would let you pick something - though he always found a way to distract you before the ending. Sometimes with kisses pressed against your jaw, other times by burying his face in your neck and mumbling about how you smell so good, love, what is that? until you finally gave in and let him pull you into his arms.

You always ended up in his bed, tangled together, legs hooked over his, your head resting on his chest as his fingers traced slow circles on your back.

Harry loved to touch you.

Not in a desperate, needy way - though, let’s be honest, sometimes it was that too - but in a constant way.

His hands were always on you, even in the smallest ways. His fingers brushing over your knuckles when you walked side by side. His palm resting on your thigh when you sat next to him. His lips pressing against your temple whenever you leaned against him.

And when you were alone, when it was just the two of you wrapped up in his sheets, his touch was even softer.

He’d run his fingers through your hair, whispering little nothings, sometimes teasing, sometimes serious.

“Gonna marry you one day,” he murmured one night, voice heavy with sleep.

You huffed, your fingers lazily tracing patterns on his stomach. “You’re obsessed with me.”

Harry chuckled, shifting so he could press a kiss to your forehead. “Obviously.”

You smiled against his skin, feeling his heartbeat beneath your cheek.

This was home.

Mornings slow and filled with warmth.

Harry was not a morning person. He liked to stay in bed as long as possible, groaning dramatically whenever you tried to move.

“Don’t leave,” he mumbled one morning, voice muffled against your shoulder.

“I have to pee.”

“Pee later.”

“That’s not how it works, idiot.”

Harry groaned, tightening his grip on you. “Fine. But you’re coming back.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled, kissing his cheek before slipping out of bed.

When you returned, he had stolen your pillow, hugging it to his chest like some sort of oversized teddy bear.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, crawling back in beside him.

“Mm.” He tossed the pillow aside, pulling you into his arms instead. “Better.”

You let him be clingy, let him tuck his face into your neck, let him hold you like he was afraid you’d disappear.

Afternoons spent doing absolutely nothing and everything at the same time.

Some days, you stayed in bed all day, wrapped up in each other, talking about everything.

Harry loved to ask questions.

What’s your happiest memory?

If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?

If we were stranded on an island, would you eat me or let me eat you first?

(You didn’t dignify that last one with a response.)

Other days, he’d convince you to go on little adventures with him - late-night drives with the windows down, ice cream runs even when it was freezing outside, sneaking into the neighborhood pool just to float on your backs and stare at the stars.

Everything was better with him.

Even the boring, ordinary moments.

Some nights, you didn’t sleep at all.

You’d stay up talking, whispering under the covers like kids sharing secrets.

One night, after hours of just being with each other, Harry tilted your chin up, eyes soft in the dim light of his bedroom.

“I never really knew what love was,” he admitted. “Not before you.”

Your breath caught. “Harry…”

He swallowed, his fingers brushing over your cheek. “I know I’ve said a lot of stupid shit in the past, and I know I was a dick before, but I-“ He exhaled sharply. “I love you. You know that?”

You stared at him, heart swelling in your chest.

“I know.”

His shoulders relaxed. “Good.”

You smiled, cupping his face in your hands. “I love you too.”

Harry let out a breathy laugh, like he still couldn’t believe this was real.

And then he kissed you.

Slow and deep, like he had all the time in the world. Like he was never letting you go.

And he never did.

You and Harry barely fought.

Sure, you bickered all the time - about who got the last slice of pizza, about his terrible taste in reality TV, about the way he always stole the covers at night. But it was never serious.

Until tonight.

And it was stupid.

It started with Harry forgetting to pick you up from school when he had a day off and you weren’t driving home together.

You waited outside for over an hour, your phone battery slowly draining as you sent unanswered texts, your frustration growing with every passing minute.

By the time you walked home - freezing, exhausted, and pissed off - Harry was sprawled out on his bed, completely oblivious.

“Oh, hey, love,” he greeted casually, grinning. “Didn’t hear you come in-“

“You forgot me.”

Harry’s grin faded, eyebrows furrowing. “Shit.” He sat up, running a hand through his hair. “I- I didn’t mean to, I just-“

“Oh, you just what?” you snapped, throwing your bag on the floor. “Got too distracted being lazy to remember your girlfriend?”

Harry scowled. “I wasn’t being lazy! I was studying.”

You scoffed. “Studying what, Harry? The inside of your eyelids?”

His jaw clenched. “I said I didn’t mean to. What more do you want?”

“I want you to care!”

“I do care-“

“Not enough.”

Harry stood up then, his expression darkening. “Don’t fucking do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like I don’t love you just because I made one mistake.”

Your nostrils flared as you glared at him. “It’s not just one mistake, Harry. You never take things seriously. You’re always so fucking carefree-“

“Oh, I’m so sorry for not being miserable all the time,” he shot back sarcastically.

Your hands balled into fists. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re a pain in my ass,” he snapped, stepping closer.

You stepped closer too. “I hate you.”

His chest was heaving now, eyes burning into yours. “Yeah? I hate you more.”

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t soft. It was desperate, angry, all teeth and heat and hands gripping a little too tight.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush against him, his body pressing yours against the wall.

You gasped into his mouth, nails raking down his back.

He bit your bottom lip in retaliation, his breath hot against your skin as he muttered, “So fucking annoying.”

You dug your nails in deeper. “You love it.”

His response was a growl, his lips crashing back into yours, his hands grabbing, pulling, taking.

You didn’t stop. Not when he lifted you onto the bed. Not when he hovered over you, his hands gripping your wrists. Not even when he smirked and whispered, “Still hate me?”

Afterward, you lay beside him, panting, your limbs tangled together, skin still burning from his touch.

The room was silent for a long time.

“I hate you,” you muttered, turning your head to glare at him.

Harry chuckled breathlessly, rolling onto his side. “I hate you more.”

You both stared at each other, eyes narrowing - until, suddenly, you both cracked.

A laugh bubbled up from your chest, and before you knew it, you were giggling, your forehead dropping against his shoulder.

Harry grinned, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close. “We’re so fucking stupid.”

You nodded, still laughing softly. “Yeah.”

His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back. “But you still love me.”

You sighed dramatically. “Unfortunately.”

Harry smirked. “Guess you’re stuck with me, then.”

You lifted your head, meeting his gaze. His eyes were warm now, soft, all the anger from before completely melted away.

You leaned in, pressing a slow, gentle kiss to his lips.

He sighed against your mouth, his fingers threading through your hair.

After a moment, he pulled back just enough to murmur, “Still hate me?”

You smiled, “Yeah.”

He grinned, kissing you again.

[wroetominter]

Overwhelm - George Clarke

Pairing: George Clarke X FemReader

Warnings: none

Fluff - my fav.

I turned on my side in bed, feeling the relief of the cold side of my pillow against my cheek. Next to me in bed George slept peacefully. There was nothing romantic happening here, simply two good friends who enjoyed each others company. I can’t say that there weren’t feelings there, at least on my end there definitely were.

I peered my eyes at my phone on the nightstand, seeing it was only five thirty in the morning. I tried falling back asleep but couldn’t get my mind to shut off. The last few month had been a whirlwind of emotions.

Deciding since sleep was not happening, I may as well get up. I slowly slid out of bed, careful not to wake George. I grabbed his hoodie on his chair and pulled it over myself, smelling his cologne still lingering in the fabric. A scent I had come to find comforting.

I walked out to the living room, seeing the sun starting to creep over the horizon through the city view. I stepped outside and sat on one of the lounge chairs, pulling my legs up and hugging into them for some extra warmth and comfort.

As I sat there thinking, I began to feel filled with emotions. It wasn’t sad emotion, more so happy and overwhelmed all rolled into one. Tears freely flowed down my cheeks as my thoughts kept racing.

Torn from my thoughts by the door creaking open beside me, my head turned to the side to see who was coming outside. George stood there, his face immediately filled with concern when he took in my appearance.

“What’s wrong?” He came to sit beside me, wiping the tears from my face.

“Nothings wrong Geo, I’m sorry if I woke you.” I apologized. He shook his head.

“No no, well, kinda. I guess.” He scratched his head. “Bed felt empty and when I didn’t feel you beside me I knew something had to be wrong. Too early for you to be up.”

I sighed, looking back at him. His hand lightly rubbed my back in a soothing manner. He was too good to me sometimes. “What’s really wrong?” He pressed. He could read me like a book.

“Well, I was just sort of overwhelmed I guess. Everything I’ve ever wanted happened so quickly and I’m just really grateful I suppose. I have a job that doesn’t feel like work, I live in my favorite city in the world, I have the money to do whatever I want…” I trailed off, unsure if I wanted to break down the barriers further and admit to him that I had feelings for him and that also overwhelmed me.

Plucking up the courage as he stared at me, spilling my guts to him. “And I get to wake up next to the man of my dreams any time I want.” My hands fiddled together, trying to distract myself from the awkward tension I had unintentionally built.

“Man of your dreams?” George asked softly, placing his hand on mine.

I nodded, meeting his gaze. He had a soft smile on his lips and an almost unreadable expression.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you to say that.” He admitted. I stared back at him dumbfounded. “You know I’m not good with the whole admitting feelings thing, I barely even told my friends I loved them until years into our friendship.” I giggled at his all too true comment.

“Well, I guess we’re both at fault for that then huh?” I asked. He nodded, pulling me in for a hug. I embraced his warmth and felt more comfortable than I had in a long time.

“Let’s go back to bed love, we’ll talk about this more when we’ve slept.” He grabbed my hand and led me back to his room.

I slid back to my side of the bed, cozying into the blankets.

“I reckon we’re up to the point you can sleep closer to me yeah?” George reached his arms out, pulling me over to him. I rested my head on his chest, intertwining our legs in a way that was comfortable for both of us.

“Get some sleep love.” He placed a soft kiss on my forehead.

[dreamersworldduh]

Omg hiii, firstly, I really like your two workss so far they're soooo good 😩. Hopefully, you continue writing, and secondly, I want to request for Dick grayson at one of those parties he has to attend with his friend that he liked for a while, and he sees reader getting hit on by a person he hates so he gets jealous, and he holds it for awhile till he couldn't anymore. If you can complete this, thank you for your time spent on my request. If not, it's completely fine. 🙏. Thank you for even reading my request. Keep up the good work, and have a good day/night!

JEALOUSLY, JEALOUSY

• Dick Grayson x Male!Reader

SUMMARY — Jealousy is an evil disease that most people deny having, but it can also be a great motivator if used properly.

WARNING! FLUFF. Suggestive Langauge.

WORDS! 3.6k

AUTHOR’S NOTE! Thank you so much for putting in your request! I appreciate you so so much—I hope you enjoy! 😚

The Titans' Tower was a beacon of light against the night sky, its glowing windows revealing the lively scene unfolding within. Inside, the air was charged with excitement, the kind of energy that came from heroes finally allowing themselves a moment of reprieve. The main hall was transformed into a party space, with colorful lights casting vibrant patterns across the walls, the music pulsing in time with the rhythm of the crowd.

You stood near the entrance for a moment, taking it all in. The sight was almost surreal—heroes you'd fought alongside, legends in their own right, were here in their most unguarded states. Starfire's radiant laughter rang out as she teased Beast Boy, who had just shapeshifted into a parrot to mimic her voice. Raven, ever the observer, sat in a corner nursing a drink, her normally stern expression softening as she watched the festivities. Even Cyborg, the tech genius of the team, was manning a makeshift DJ booth, nodding his head to the beat as he expertly transitioned between tracks.

You weren't used to seeing this side of them, but it was a welcome change. The Titans weren't just warriors—they were people, and tonight, they were letting themselves be exactly that.

When Dick Grayson—Nightwing himself—had invited you, you were a little surprised. Sure, the two of you had been close for a while, colleagues who had become genuine friends through countless missions. You'd spent hours fighting side by side, but more recently, you'd found yourselves sharing moments outside the chaos—grabbing coffee after a long night, cracking jokes about patrol mishaps, or just enjoying each other's company. Yet, an invitation to the Titans' private party felt personal, almost intimate.

As you stepped further into the room, the music grew louder, the bass vibrating through your chest. Dick wasn't hard to spot—he had that presence that naturally drew attention, even when he wasn't trying. Dressed in a simple black button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, he moved through the crowd with an ease that was almost magnetic. His sharp blue eyes scanned the room until they landed on you, and a grin spread across his face.

"There you are," he said as he approached, his voice warm and familiar despite the music. "I was starting to think you weren't going to show."

"Miss a party at Titans' Tower? No way," you replied with a smirk. "Besides, you're the one who said I needed a break."

"And I was right," he said, nudging your arm playfully. "You deserve a night to relax. Just... don't let Beast Boy drag you into one of his dance-offs. He's surprisingly competitive."

You chuckled, already feeling more at ease. Dick had that effect on people—his presence was grounding, even in a room full of larger-than-life personalities. Before he could say more, someone called his name, and he gave you an apologetic smile.

"Duty calls," he said. "But stick around, okay? I'll find you later."

With that, he disappeared into the crowd, leaving you to explore the party. You grabbed a drink from the refreshment table—something fruity but deceptively strong—and started making your way through the room. Everywhere you turned, there were little snapshots of joy: heroes laughing, friends reconnecting, moments of normalcy in lives that were anything but.

It was in the middle of this whirlwind of activity that you found yourself drawn into conversation with Brandon, one of the Titans' newer members. His easygoing demeanor made him instantly likable, and you found yourself relaxing even more as you chatted about everything from patrol stories to how strange it was to see the team like this.

What you didn't notice, however, was the way Dick's gaze followed you from across the room. Standing near the edge of the crowd, he watched as you laughed at something Brandon said, the two of you leaning in closer to hear each other over the music. His smile from earlier had faded, replaced by a subtle but unmistakable tension in his expression.

For the first time in a long while, Dick Grayson felt something unfamiliar twist in his chest—jealousy.

Brandon was mid-story, his hands flying through the air as he described a mission that had apparently gone off the rails in the most chaotic way possible. His voice was animated, carrying over the music and noise of the party as he recounted the moment he had to leap from a collapsing rooftop to grab a fleeing criminal.

"And just as I'm mid-air," he said, his grin wide, "I'm thinking, 'If I miss, this is how they're going to write me off the team.' But somehow, I managed to grab the guy's ankle, and the two of us went tumbling into a dumpster. Starfire still hasn't let me live it down."

You couldn't help but laugh, the image of Brandon sprawled out in a dumpster vivid in your mind. His enthusiasm was contagious, and his self-deprecating humor made the story all the more enjoyable.

"What about you?" Brandon asked, leaning casually against the counter. He took a sip of his drink, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. "What's the craziest thing you've seen out there?"

You paused, your mind flipping through the mental catalogue of wild missions you'd been on. Finally, a grin tugged at your lips as you landed on one that stood out. "Okay, so there was this time I ended up dodging missiles while trying to stop a rogue drone. It was absolute chaos—explosions everywhere, smoke, the whole nine yards. And, of course, Dick was there, just doing his thing, making it all look effortless."

Brandon let out a low whistle, his eyebrows raising in mock disbelief. "Missiles and a rogue drone? That's next level. I swear, with him involved, it always sounds like a movie."

You chuckled, nodding. "It felt like one. But yeah, Dick's like that—calm under pressure, always two steps ahead. It's kind of ridiculous how good he is at this stuff."

Brandon grinned, leaning in slightly. "Must be cool, working so closely with someone like him. I bet you've picked up a thing or two."

You shrugged, a warm smile spreading across your face. "Yeah, it is. He's a good guy—one of the best. I've learned more from him than I ever thought possible."

As you spoke, you glanced over at Brandon, but your words brought Dick to the forefront of your mind. It wasn't just his skill you admired—it was his unwavering dedication, his ability to lead, and the way he always seemed to have your back no matter how dangerous things got. It was easy to talk about him, easy to share the respect and appreciation you'd built for him over the years.

Brandon nodded, clearly impressed. "I get that vibe. You two must make a hell of a team."

You smiled, raising your glass slightly. "We do."

Across the room, Dick leaned against the wall, his silhouette partially obscured by the shifting colored lights of the party. His sharp brown eyes, usually calm and calculating, were locked onto the two of you, his gaze unwavering. In one hand, he held a drink—something dark and untouched, the condensation dripping down the glass as it warmed against his grip. His free hand clenched at his side, the slight twitch of his fingers betraying the tension he was working hard to suppress.

You were laughing at something Brandon had said, your face lit up in a way that seemed to magnify the ease between the two of you. Brandon leaned closer, his posture open and relaxed, his confident smile suggesting he was thoroughly enjoying your attention. You leaned in as well, your head tilting slightly to catch his words over the pounding music, your body language unconsciously mirroring his. It was a small detail, but it didn't escape Dick's notice.

A knot twisted in his chest, sharp and unwelcome. He couldn't pinpoint the moment it had started—this feeling that clawed at him every time Brandon was near you—but tonight, it was undeniable. His jaw tightened as he forced himself to look away, but his eyes betrayed him, darting back to you within seconds. He told himself it was nothing, that he was overreacting, but the rational part of his brain was no match for the jealousy simmering just beneath the surface.

Dick had never liked Brandon, though he'd never said it aloud, not even to himself. He'd brushed it off as a clash of personalities, an instinctive distrust of the newcomer. But as he watched Brandon lean closer, his laugh carrying easily over the music, it became clear: it wasn't just Brandon. It was Brandon with you.

His usual composed demeanor was faltering, the effortless confidence he carried on and off the field slipping away as his emotions bubbled to the surface. His chest felt tight, his thoughts an uncharacteristic jumble. Was it jealousy? Frustration? The fear of something unspoken slipping out of his grasp?

The answer didn't matter, not in that moment. All that mattered was the impulse driving him forward. Before he realized it, his body was already in motion, his steps purposeful and direct. Each stride carried the weight of his emotions, the tension in his shoulders palpable. He weaved through the crowd without so much as a glance at anyone else, his focus entirely on you.

Dick didn't have a plan, no rehearsed words or carefully crafted excuses. All he knew was that he couldn't stand there any longer, watching you laugh with someone else, seeing the effortless connection that wasn't with him. He wasn't even sure what he was going to say when he reached you—all he knew was that he had to do something. Anything.

The music and laughter of the party hummed around you, a lively backdrop to your conversation with Brandon. You were mid-sentence, describing one of your wilder missions, when a familiar voice cut through the noise like a blade.

"Hey," Dick said, his tone even, but carrying an unmistakable edge.

You turned, surprised to see him standing there. He was close—closer than usual—his sharp brown eyes flicking briefly to Brandon before settling on you. His presence seemed to suck the air out of the space, a silent tension rolling off him in waves.

"Mind if I borrow him for a second?" Dick continued, though it wasn't really a question.

Brandon blinked, clearly caught off guard. His usual easy grin faltered for a moment as he looked between you and Dick, before offering a hesitant nod. "Uh, yeah. Sure. Go ahead."

"Dick, what—?" you began, but before you could finish, Dick placed a firm hand on your shoulder and started steering you away. His grip wasn't rough, but it was unyielding, his fingers curling just enough to make it clear this wasn't up for discussion.

You glanced back at Brandon, who shrugged and turned to mingle with someone else, his confusion evident. Meanwhile, Dick's hand remained on your shoulder, guiding you through the crowd and toward the staircase.

"What's going on?" you asked, your voice tinged with confusion and growing irritation.

Dick didn't answer. He stayed silent, his jaw tight, his pace quick. His grip on your shoulder tightened slightly as you reached the stairs, and he led you upward, away from the noise and light of the party. The music and chatter faded with each step, replaced by the steady hum of the tower's systems.

You could feel the tension radiating off him, his normally composed demeanor slipping with every second. It wasn't like him to act this way—so abrupt, so on edge.

When you reached a quiet hallway, you finally pulled free of his grip, stopping in your tracks. "Dick, what the hell?" you snapped, your confusion now mingled with frustration. "What's going on with you tonight?"

He turned to face you, his expression unreadable. His shoulders were rigid, his lips pressed into a thin line as if he were struggling to find the right words. For a moment, you thought he might brush it off, make some excuse and leave you wondering.

But then his expression softened—just slightly—and he stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate. His piercing gaze searched yours, as though he were looking for something, some unspoken reassurance.

"I couldn't take it anymore," he muttered, his voice low and raw, almost like he was speaking to himself.

You frowned, still not understanding. "Take what? Dick, you're not making any sense."

For a second, he hesitated, his breath hitching as if he was caught between moving forward or retreating. Then, as though something inside him snapped, he closed the distance between you in one fluid motion.

His hands came up, gripping your face with a kind of desperate urgency. Before you could say another word, his lips were on yours. It wasn't tentative or uncertain—it was firm, almost overwhelming, the kind of kiss that left no room for doubt.

You froze, your mind racing to catch up with what was happening. The feel of his lips against yours, the heat of his hands holding you in place—it all hit you at once, a wave of intensity that left you breathless. There was a weight behind it, a frustration, a longing that spoke of something he'd been holding back for far too long.

The hallway seemed to shrink around you, the hum of the tower fading into nothing. All that remained was him, the kiss, and the unspoken emotions that seemed to pour out in that single moment.

When Dick finally pulled back, his forehead gently rested against yours, his breath ragged and uneven. The heat of his hands lingered on your face, his thumbs barely brushing your jawline as if he couldn't bring himself to let go entirely. His eyes were closed for a moment, and when he opened them, they burned with an intensity that made your chest tighten.

"I couldn't stand seeing you with him," he admitted, his voice low, raw, and unsteady in a way you'd never heard before. It wasn't anger or frustration—it was something deeper, something vulnerable. "I've been trying to ignore it for so long, but I can't anymore. I like you—more than a friend. I needed you to know."

His words hung in the air, heavy and charged, as if the world itself had paused for this one moment. Your heart was pounding, each beat louder in your ears than the faint hum of the tower around you. You felt like the ground had shifted beneath your feet, your balance precarious in the wake of his confession.

You stared at him, trying to process what had just happened—the kiss, the weight of his words, the raw emotion in his eyes. All the nights you'd spent together came flooding back to you. Fighting side by side in the field, your movements always in sync. Late nights eating takeout, his laughter echoing in your ears as you shared stories. Quiet moments after missions, when he'd patch you up with a care and focus that seemed almost too much for a friend. All of it suddenly took on a new meaning, the threads weaving together into something you hadn't allowed yourself to see before now.

"Dick..." you began, your voice soft, barely above a whisper, your chest tight with the weight of everything you wanted to say. But before you could get the words out, he shook his head, his forehead still pressed against yours.

"I get it if you don't feel the same," he said quickly, his voice filled with quiet resignation. His hands dropped slowly from your face, as if letting go was physically painful. "I just... I couldn't keep it in anymore. Not after tonight. Not after seeing—" He cut himself off, shaking his head again, as if the thought alone was too much. "You don't have to say anything. I just needed you to know."

You stared at him, the man who had been by your side through thick and thin, who had earned your trust in ways few ever had. And for the first time, you saw something behind the confidence and control he always carried—a vulnerability, raw and unguarded. The man who was always so composed, so unshakable, was standing in front of you now, his emotions laid bare.

He wasn't Nightwing in this moment, the hero who always had a plan and a backup plan. He was just Dick—a man who had taken a risk, who had laid his heart on the line for you. And in that moment, as you saw him so clearly for the first time, something inside you shifted.

You stood frozen, your thoughts spiraling as Dick's words echoed in your mind. Your longest, closest friend—someone who had been by your side through countless battles, sleepless nights, and quiet moments—had just confessed feelings you had never seen coming. It felt like the ground beneath you had shifted, leaving you unsure of how to regain your footing.

Your breathing was shallow, your chest tight as you replayed his confession in your mind. "I couldn't stand seeing you with him. I've been trying to ignore it for so long, but I can't anymore." The rawness in his voice, the vulnerability in his eyes—it was all so unlike the Dick Grayson you knew, the man who always seemed so steady, so composed.

You opened your mouth to say something, anything, but the words wouldn't come. How could they? This was Dick—your partner in the field, your confidant, your constant. The person who had always been there, who had stitched you up after injuries and made you laugh when things felt too heavy. And now he was looking at you, his heart laid bare, waiting for a response you weren't sure how to give.

Your mind raced through the years you'd known him. The late-night missions, the quiet moments after a battle, the inside jokes only the two of you understood. You'd always thought of him as your rock, the person you could count on no matter what. And now, he was telling you that he saw you as something more—had seen you as something more for a long time.

The weight of his confession pressed down on you. This wasn't just a casual admission—it was the culmination of something deep, something that had clearly been building within him for years. The thought hit you like a freight train: while you'd been leaning on him as a friend, he'd been feeling this all along. How had you missed it?

Dick's expression was impossible to read now. He was standing there, his forehead no longer resting against yours, his hands hovering by his sides like he wasn't sure whether to reach for you or step back. His eyes, normally so guarded, were wide and searching, as if trying to gauge what you were thinking.

But you didn't know what to think. You didn't know how to react. Part of you wanted to speak, to reassure him, to tell him that this didn't change anything—but that would be a lie, wouldn't it? Because everything had already changed.

Before you could fully register what you were doing, instinct took over. Your mind was still spinning from Dick's confession, from the raw vulnerability in his voice, from the way his hands had trembled ever so slightly when he let you go—as if he'd already braced himself for rejection.

But you couldn't let him walk away—not like this. Not when your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst from your chest.

In one swift motion, you closed the space between you, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. The material was soft but sturdy beneath your grip, grounding you in the moment as you tugged him toward you with a sudden urgency that surprised even yourself.

Dick's eyes widened, his breath hitching, but he barely had a second to react before your lips met his. The kiss was fierce, intense—a collision of bottled-up emotions finally set free. Your fingers clenched tighter in his shirt, pulling him closer as if you were afraid he might vanish if you let go.

For a moment, the world seemed to fall away—the distant hum of the tower's systems, the muffled bass of the music still thumping from the party below—it all dissolved into nothingness. There was only him, only the warmth of his mouth against yours, only the heat of his hands finding your waist and holding on like he'd been waiting for this as long as you had.

Dick let out a sharp breath against your lips, a sound caught somewhere between relief and longing. His arms wrapped around you fully now, one hand sliding up your back, the other cupping the side of your face like he couldn't bear the thought of letting you go again.

The kiss deepened, fueled by everything unspoken between you—years of trust, shared danger, late-night talks, and quiet moments when words had never been enough. Every suppressed feeling, every glance that had lingered too long, every touch that had meant more than it should—everything finally broke free.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, your foreheads rested together, your fingers still clutching the front of his shirt like a lifeline. Dick's eyes were half-lidded, dark with emotion, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with yours.

"...Quite the confession, Grayson," you voiced, your voice low and shaky.

A slow, disbelieving smile spread across Dick's face, softening the sharp intensity of his expression. His thumb brushed your cheek gently, almost reverently. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting to do that."

His words sent warmth flooding through your chest, and before you could respond, his lips found yours again—not desperate this time, but sure and steady, like he was memorizing the way you felt in his arms. This time, there was no hesitation, no fear—only certainty.

[yutarot]

RIDE OR DIE: l.jn smau

012: stay wc: 1k

it has been 1 hour and 19 minutes since you sat, awe-stricken at the tv screen. it’s been 1 hour and 19 minutes since you picked up the panic call from mark. it’s been 1 hour and 19 minutes since you repeatedly asked him what you should do.

it’s been 1 hour and 19 minutes since jeno’s life fell limp at your feet.

someone had leaked jeno’s identity. and it wasn’t you.

which meant, by process of elimination, it must have been chenle.

but it doesn’t matter. because that immediately means the fault is yours.

he trusted you, you betrayed him.

and now the entire world knows his name.

mark was speaking down the phone trying to reassure you, “yn, don’t worry okay, you couldn’t have known chenle would go and do that.”

“i guess… but i still told him.”

even with mark reassuring you, the guilt you feel piles up in your stomach.

and it only intensifies when you put mark on speaker to check your notifications.

99+ messages.

it’s winter.

you skim your eyes past the notifications, the words “traitor”, “can’t believe you didn’t tell me”, “my man???” all jumping out at you. you haven’t just broken jeno’s heart tonight, but winters too. and you can’t even imagine how haechan must be feeling, his friend of a decade suddenly actually being his biggest idol.

and it’s all because of you.

“yn? you there?” mark calls out.

“yeah.. i just, i gotta go do something real quick..”

“what? yn? where are you going? what are-“

“sorry mark.” you say as you press the red hang up button.

switching the tv off and walking to your apartment hallway, you step into your shoes, grab your car keys and head towards the door, with only one destination in mind.

you need to see jeno.

you open the door, one fluid yet guilt driven motion. but much to your surprise, you don’t make it much further.

because your doorway is blocked.

your doorway is blocked by none other than jeno lee.

and his expression is unreadable.

“jeno..” you say, barely even a whisper.

“i have nowhere else to go.” he says, the seriousness in his voice overwhelming you.

you’re confused, “what about jaemin? haechan? even renjun?”

he shakes his head, “jaemins not answering his phone, haechan’s probably in shock and renjun…. renjun hates samo so… he hates me now too...”

“oh..”

the guilt resurfaces.

you try to make sense of everything. “im guessing your father kicked you out..”

he nods.

“and now you want to stay here?”

his features are still, seeming almost resentful. “just for one night.”

you can’t say no. as much as you wish you could, watching this man who’s life you’d just completely and utterly destroyed stand, helplessly at your doorstep, you can’t turn him down. not after tonight’s prior events.

so you let him in.

he walks through your hallway. “i hope im not stopping any of your plans.” he says, referring to the sight of you with your shoes on and keys in hand.

you turn your back to him in order to hang your keys back on their hook.

“no.. i, uh, was actually on my way to see-“

“chenle?” jeno cuts you off, finishing your sentence.

“what? no”

you turn to face him. and when you do, the sight infront of you lets the guilt finally overflow.

jeno’s stood beside your couch, a grey sports hoodie in hand, the words on the back reading ‘zhong.’

“he was just about to come here, wasn’t he? you were going to pick him up.”

jeno is livid. and you’re not entirely sure why chenles hoodie had angered him so much.

so you do the stupid mistake of asking.

“why are you so angry about that?”

his eyes narrow on you, thousands of thoughts running through his head. “you leaked it, didn’t you? to get back at me ending the deal?”

you can’t believe your ears. your mind nearly freezes as the words leave his mouth. he really thinks you did it? that you’re the one who told everyone?

“what?” you ask him for an explanation, any sort of reasoning to his point. it makes no sense, if hes angry at you for exposing his identity, why would he have come to your apartment to stay the night?

“i came over, for a little bit of consolation. but this just… this is enough..” he says, words trailing off in a mix of both anger and annoyance.

“it wasn’t me.” you say, “jeno i promise, it wasn’t me.”

his eyes find yours amidst his cruel state of mind and the air around you stills for a fraction of a moment. a feeling of almost giving up surrounding his features.

he sighs. “i know.”

what?

you open your mouth to ask him to elaborate, but he beats you to it, running a hand through his hair. “im gonna g-“

your instincts overcome you as you suddenly speak up. “stay.”

“what?” his brows furrow.

“stay. you have nowhere else to go. so stay.”

his eyes look at you like you’re speaking another whole language.

and you basically are. you have absolutely no idea what’s going on in jeno’s head at present, and you would bet all your money that he has no idea what’s going on in yours.

but what you both know, is that someone has leaked jeno’s secret.

you’re sure, with all your heart that it was chenle, and you know that jeno undoubtedly probably thinks the same.

so that’s why you let him stay.

no longer through remorse, but now through acceptance— an acceptance of not really knowing the truth, yet, living with it anyway.

“oh and jeno?”

“hm?”

“congrats on your win.”

he smiles, but it looks almost painful.

you wish you could take it all away.

that’s the best you could do.

for you, for samo and for him.

and so you both get some rest, jeno crashing on your couch as you take your bed. you’re painfully aware of the fact that you need a good nights sleep tonight.

because tomorrow, you’ll confront chenle.

previous : mlist : next

notes; ik u guys r gonna be soooo confused by this chapter but this scene is gonna be so important in the future u have no idea 😆😆 this may be the biggest yutarot mystery yet im so excited☺️ all will make sense eventually 🙏 may even be worth going back to read this chapter at the end because WOWIE this hurts me so bad

taglist — open! @jenohyun @jirsungs @do-you-remember-summer-127 @ddolbyong @stqrgr7 @thatsatricky1 @sunghoonsgfreal @nattan127 @ssweetreveries @flamingi @lesuneczka @chenlesfavorite @peterm4rker @snoopyjimin @akunoeyebrows @junviadinho @slayhaechan @f6llsun @multifandomania @cookiehaos @catecita @mrsjohnnysuh @luv4jeno @hyuckies18 @dreamiestay @tangerinelovelees @jjaegyeom @https-yeonjun @nanaxwi @yukisroom97 @nosungluv @mrkleelvr @neocrashed @jaedgemental @apolloxxivmin @kyubing @catdonut657 @dudekiss3r @juyeonshour @hamjwis @antifrggile @mmjhh1998 @ldh0000 @thegracerammy @jenocity23 @honeynanamin @bluedbliss @lampcults @yyangj3lly

[readychilledwine]

Size Kink

✨️Kink Education with Elizabeth✨️

A Size Kink is a general term for being aroused by being smaller/larger than your partner. It can be height, muscle mass/weight in general, cock size, ect. This is generally a kink we associate with subs having, but in my humble 5'1" experience, I've met more Doms with this kink than subs (hence my 5'11" baby daddy who thought he'd never have someone short enough to enjoy this kink with.) This kink has several subgroups that fall into it and sex acts that fall into it, but my personal favorite to write is height difference and body frame difference. So tall muscular male, short female (curvy or lean.)

What I love about size kinks is that it's so focused on specific aspects, and ANY body type gets to play with it. Little hands? Little legs? Luscious curves? Member of the Itty bitty titty committee? There is someone out there with a size Kink who is into your body and thinks you are a piece of artwork and sexiest thing on the planet. It's so beautiful because it is a body type kink that does not discriminate, and as a sex positive and body image positive person, I think that's super important and comforting for some people.

💕Peep the Valentines Day list here💕

As always NSFW below the cut

Azriel x short!reader

Warnings - reader is VERY petite, smut, p in v, slow stretching

A/N - So, I actually have a request for a size Kink with Cassian sitting in my drafts as well from before I decided to do Valentines Day Bingo. Since I picture Cassian as an absolute unit, I used a more Megan thee Stallion vibe for that reader (tall and thick) so I decided to go very short and thinner built for this one to ensure they'd be different. I apologize if that bothers anyone. I will try to get that Cassian request finished asap to post it and make up for this 💙

Ps- with how quickly I am cranking some of these out, and how.... spicy some of them are getting, I don't have my normal outside editing all of the time. Baby daddy proof read this one. Before staring at me and going, "that wasn't fair." So, I apologize for any errors, as always, I will catch them on my fresh reread after it's posted 🫠

Azriel was slowly losing his mind as he watched you use a chair to be closer to Cassian's height and argue with him face to face.

You were just so… small. So little compared to the two Illyrian males. They towered over you. They dwarfed you. Hell, he and Cass had discussed several times how easy you'd be to manhandle, considering they were both so sure their large hands could almost touch if they were wrapped around your waist.

At 6’8” and 7’ it wasn't hard for him and Cassian to own a room or be the tallest males, but Gods when Azriel stood next to your 5’ frame, when he saw Cassian pick you up like you were no more than a doll. It did something to him. It made him feel like a God, like he was powerful, possibly invincible.

He had been further spurred on by over hearing you and Nesta yesterday. She had asked you about how, if the opportunity presented itself, you would manage to fuck an Illyrian, and you, you with your never back down attitude had told Ness, “Mountains were made to be climbed.” He did not know if you had meant that in regards to him, but his hand found his cock quickly that night.

Azriel walked over to where you and Cassian argued over cereal. The fight wasn't serious, but he just needed to remind you that even with a chair below you, you still fell a few inches short.

“Get down before you fall and hurt yourself, angel.” He put a hand to you, offering to help you down. You glared, but put your hand in his.

Offering to help you was a mistake.

He felt the blood rushing to his cock as your little hand sat in his.

He shared a knowing look with Cassian when you looked away to step down and get back on the floor. The argument resumed instantly, your hand still in his.

It stopped as soon as Nesta walked in. Her mate and you going silent and agreeing to disagree.

Well, at least you thought you had agreed. Until Cassian turned around, Nesta in his arms waiting to fly into Velaris. He looked between you and Azriel before smirking. “You know, y/n, you might have shit taste in cereal, but at least you're the perfect height for some things.”

You didn't get it until you turned to Azriel, plush lips parted to ask what Cassian meant.

The blush that spread your cheeks was sinful.

Another image Azriel would save when he imagined it was your mouth around his cock tonight.

Azriel's room was across the hall from yours, so he knew you were being subjected to the same torture he was.

He was sure all of the Night Court could hear Cassian and Nesta. He rolled over to his back, throwing an arm over his face and sighing.

You were so small, so sneaky, he hadn't noticed you come in and shut the door until you were sitting on his bed.

And fuck being in his custom made oversized bed made you look so little. “Hello angel.”

He made room for you, welcoming you under the blanket you laid facing him, watching him. “Do you all never.. get worn out?” He chuckled. “Because humans do. Males typically finish, then they're like, done, and asleep.”

He looked towards you, laughing and smiling so hard his dimples were showing. “Is that your way of telling me you didn't enjoy rolling in the sheets while you were human?”

That blush spread your face again. “I had plenty of fun before Hybern did this to me. Thank you very much, sir.”

You had done it. Azriel shut his eyes, growling at the nickname as he did. “You cannot call me that when you're laying in my bed, y/n.”

You looked at him, snuggling closer to him. You knew what you were doing to him. You had known for a while. You always tracked his eyes when he'd watch you take your heels off, biting his lip thinking no one was looking. You noticed him hide his arousal behind a mask of indifference when you would climb things around the House of Wind. You had also noticed Azriel and Cassian taking every chance they could to lift you.

You had even know Azriel was so sneakily listening to you and Nesta the other day, and you had meant it. Azriel was a mountain you intended on climbing. “Of course, sir. Wouldn't want you to have to use those big hands to keep me quiet.”

The growl that echoed through the room had your thighs clenching. He was on you in an instant arm between your breasts, so it rested on your neck. The other hand sat on your hip, inching forward. “Do not tease me.” You could feel him pressed against your back, mind immediately lost in how that would fit.

You may have been biting off more than you could chew.

But fuck it.

You had never backed down from a challenge. Why start now?

You wiggled further into him, grazing his cock with each movement. “What if I'm not teasing? What if this is an offer, sir?”

“You're going to regret that, little one,” Azriel's hand immediately was in your shorts, his other hand squeezing your throat. A thick finger ran your soaked core, pulling a moan from you. “Going to have to go slow,” Azriel ground his hips into you, needing that friction on his aching cock. “Don't want to hurt you, angel.”

That one finger entered you without warning. It was already a stretch, but one you welcomed.

You loved how everything about Azriel was so big. His hands, his muscled chest and arms, his wings. Of course he'd be big there too. Anticipation began to replace the fear. You relaxed into him, tilting your head and pulling him into a heated sloppy kiss.

Azriel swallowed your moans and cries as his finger opened you up for him. You were tight, so damn tight. His hand moved from your throat to your breasts, loving how they weren't even a handful for him. You were so petite and slim, he reminded himself. He pulled your tank top off, maneuvering the best he could to get you fully below him. He pushed in a second finger, watching as you squirmed so helplessly below him. “So fucking little,” he moaned. “Mother above you're perfect. Just perfect.”

He leaned back, fingers increasing speed the best they could with your shorts in the way while he toyed with your breasts, pinching your nipples and smacking the tender flesh as he saw fit. “Cum for me so I can sit you on my cock, angel. You can do it, y/n. Show me how tight you'll be squeezing around me.”

You felt like you were floating as you came, whimpering Azriel's name as you watched him rut against the mattress for some friction, hazel eyes damn near lost in lust.

He pulled his fingers out of you, wasting no time ripping his sweatpants off and using those juices to coat himself. Your shorts came next, torn to shreds as he pulled you to the edge of the mattress and rested one leg on both sides of his chest.

He was as perfect as you imagined. His cock was long and thick. He was running it along your folds, soaking up at the slick he could before smacking the head of it against your clit.

Azriel could help but to stand with his hips flush against yours, admiring how it looked like his cock would be damn near in your stomach. “Gonna go slow,” he mumbled as he positioned himself at your entrance. “Can't risk hurting my little angel.”

He pushed the head in, keeping an eye on you as you moaned out a long fuck before relaxing into his bed. He sat there, only a few inches inside of you, feeling as your walls stretched out to accommodate him.

He pulled out and slowly reentered, pushing a little more inside of you. Your back arched off the bed, a whimper of pleasure ripping through your throat. The burn of it felt so good. You felt yourself drooling already, mind numb, and lost to anything that wasn't Azriel.

He continued his motions over and over until he was flush against your hips, and you were screaming for him. You had cum just from him slowly getting inside of you, and now he could see the bulge he had created, the slight swelling inside of you as your body made room for him.

Azriel put a hand on the bulge, feeling himself inside of you as he began thrusting. You were squeezing him so tight, hand struggling to find him to hold on to something.

He felt himself losing control, pace growing faster and faster as he watched you squirming and moaning below him. His arms went behind your hips and back, lifting you off the bed and manhandling you in the air for a little while. He brought you to his chest, moving you to be against the wall that shared his room and Cassian's.

A silent brag, and message, that he could now accurrately inform Cassian how easy you were to toss around like a doll.

Your hands found purchase on his shoulders as you became a babbling mess. Your silky core was twitching and tightening around him all over again, indicating to him how close you were, how ready you were. “Az,” you panted. “So fucking big.”

“Yeah,” he kissed the top of your head. “Bet it feels so good stretching you out, doesn't it, baby?” You couldn't respond as a certain angle had you becoming pliant in his arms. “Fuck I know it does.” He was practically lifting you on and off of him, watching as you stretched around his cock. “You're close, aren't you, angel?”

You nodded, eyes glazed over and jaw fallen open to the perfect o. “Gonna cum.”

“Then cum. Squeeze my cock. You wanted to climb the mountain, right y/n? Fucking climb.”

You hit that peak on his command again, clinging to him tightly as he continued using you and stretching you out.

It took Azriel a few more moments, but he stilled inside of you, head thrown back in a loud growl as he came inside of you. He pressed you back against the wall, panting slightly as he stared into your eyes. He lifted you easily, allowing his cock to fall out of you and you to whine at the sudden emptiness that took place where he had filled you.

“This can't be a one-time thing,” his voice was almost desperate as he moved to set you on the desk, forehead finding yours. “I need more of you. All of you.”

You couldn't help but to bit your lip, nodding so quickly with a growing smile. “I like how little you make me feel. How safe you make me feel.”

Azriel's eyes almost rolled back completely as they shut. “Gods you are perfect.” He leaned in to kiss you, only to be interrupted by his door slamming open and Cassian and Nesta barging in.

A massive wing snapped between you and them, blocking your body from their view.

Cassian cleared his throat before speaking. “We want to know how exactly that worked. Show us. Please.”

“Show you?!” Your voice cracked as you turned to a smirking Azriel.

Azriel kissed your forehead. “Bend over the desk, angel. Gotta give him a show since he asked so nicely.”

General tag list:

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Valentines Day Taglist:

@sfhsgrad-blog @amara-moonlight @eternallyelvish @novaksangel @teenageeggscissorslawyer @thisblogisaboutabook @amygdtjhddzvb  

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Azriel Taglist:

@elle4404

[navybrat817]

Ooo Ficlet Friday!

Any chance for something with Nick Fowler, little spicy. Maybe not respecting personal space because you’re his and why should he, even if you don’t know that yet.

Sending all the love and best vibes for the weekend!

I didn't get to add too much spice, and this does go into semi-dark territory, but I hope you like it!

All Nighter

Pairing: Soft!Dark Nick Fowler x Female Reader

Word Count: Over 530

Warnings: Sexual harassment, possessive behavior

Ever since you started working for him, the handsome Director of the CIA had no sense of personal boundaries. The man always found an excuse to touch you whenever possible; the small of your back or your hip whenever he guided you through an open door, rubbing your shoulders while you sat at your desk, brushing up against you when you were at the copier. At first you told yourself he was just a touchy-feely person, but you noticed that he never put a hand on anyone else and kept a respectable distance.

So why was it different with you?

“Sweetheart, where’s that file I asked for?” Nick called from his desk.

You counted to three in your head. It was bad enough that he made you stay late, now he was adding pet names on top of it? You were seriously considering filing an HR Complaint against him. “One moment, Mr. Fowler,” you replied, making sure all the needed papers were in the folder.

Nick didn’t look up when you walked in, too busy reading the piece of paper in front of him. “Set it right here,” he said, tapping a spot close to him.

“Yes, sir.”

That made your boss lift his gaze, his blue eyes glancing at you from head to toe. You almost faltered when you walked around the desk to set the file down, his stare too dark, too lustful. “Did I tell you how nice you look today?” he asked, brushing a hand along your backside. You tensed up when he did it again. “You look nice every day.”

“Mr. Fowler-”

“What happened to ‘sir’?” He leaned back in his chair with a smirk. “I like how that sounds.”

You took a breath. “You can’t keep… doing that,” you said, taking a step back.

His hand gripped your wrist, preventing you from moving back any further. “What exactly am I doing?”

“Touching me and using pet names with me. You’re my boss, and that crosses a boundary,” you explained. Holding a position of power didn’t give him the right to abuse it.

Nick didn’t release you as he stood up, and your heart only raced faster when he tugged you close. “You think I’m crossing boundaries now, sweetheart? I haven’t even bent you over my desk yet,” he smiled, like a wolf about to eat the lamb.

You tried not to let it show how nervous you were, but everyone else on the floor had gone home for the day. “You can’t just-”

Your mouth snapped shut when he gripped your chin and leaned in close. “I can’t do whatever I want because you’re mine,” his breath ghosted your trembling lips before he let you go, your legs shaking where you stood. “You just don’t know it yet.”

Nick sat back in his chair and opened his file like he hadn’t said or done anything. You didn’t understand. Why you? It didn’t matter. You had to quit. You could find another job. Maybe-

“You won’t quit, and you won’t talk to HR. So, why don’t you just relax and order us dinner?” he said, his voice crawling over your skin. “We’re going to be here all night.”

Love and thanks for participating in Ficlet Friday! ❤️