#I was laughing so hard watching this live

[luvsicktyun]

COLLIDE l.hs

synopsis ⤑ Hockey boys were nothing but egoistic man boys who threw each other around, chasing a puck for a living. They lacked sustenance, they lived their lives like barbarians and you hated them, and everything they stand for. So being tasked to tutor the worst one of them all? An impossible task. Lee Heeseung was the poster child for a frat boy disaster and you wouldn't touch him with a ten foot pole. Or so you thought. Damnit. 

pairings ⤑ hockey player!heeseung x fem!reader word count ⤑ 19k

warnings ⤑ smut, loss of virginity, fingering, angst, a little bit of back and forth, frat boy activities, hockey, drinking, parties, tutoring trope, heeseung is a fuck boy and he’s kind of a dick, the reader is up tight, Ft. Yunjin (le sserafim), Soobin (txt), fictional relationships between real life idols, etc

crossing the line series.

You hated hockey. It was grueling and animalistic. Almost barbaric. It was not a hot sport and watching big hunks of men throwing each other around a big ice box was so not how you imagined your friday night would be going. But here you were, in the middle of the packed crowd of your college’s home hockey stadium. The arena is a frozen tundra of noise and chaos, packed with fans draped in red and white jerseys, faces painted and voices hoarse from shouting.

Yunjin bounces beside you, practically vibrating with excitement as she elbows your side for the tenth time in five minutes. Her eyes are fixed on the ice, where players crash into each other like it’s a battle to the death. She lives for the thrill of it. Loves coming to most of the games, i think her super hot boyfriend Choi Soobin being on the team really catapults her love for the grueling sport. And as her roommate and best friend you allow her to drag you along, sometimes. 

“You’re gonna love this, I swear,” she insists, clutching her cup of overpriced soda with both hands. “Just wait until Heeseung scores. He’s, like, magic on skates.” You force a smile, but the sound of bodies slamming into the plexiglass makes your fingers tighten around the edge of your seat. The air smells like popcorn and sweat, and the fans behind you won’t stop shrieking obscenities at the referees. You don’t get it—any of it. The violent crashes, the speed, the way grown men bark and snarl at each other over a puck. Sure, Lee Heeseung was considered a star hockey player, one of the best your school has ever seen, they say. But you were impressed, what was so hard about chasing a puck and shoving each other. The announcer’s voice crackles to life, nearly drowned out by the roar of the crowd. “Goal scored by number seventeen, Lee Heeseung!”

Yunjin screams, leaping to her feet. The arena erupts, deafening, and you flinch as a pack of players smother Heeseung in a mess of helmets and gloves. They slap his back, crush him into the boards, grinning like wolves. You can barely see his face, but his name glows in bold white letters across the screen overhead, followed by a replay of the goal—a blur of motion and ice spray. It was disgusting, and you hated every second of it. You grimace, sinking lower in your seat. “Do they always act like that?” Yunjin was used to your need to abominate hockey and all it was so your question doesn't really phase her much. Yunjin laughs, eyes bright. “It’s called celebrating.” 

“It’s called animalistic,” you mutter, but she doesn’t hear you, too busy cheering with the rest of the lunatics. The game drags on, seconds bleeding into minutes, periods crawling by in a blur of shouts and whistles and obnoxious goal horns. Every time a player crashes into another, you wince. The fights are even worse, gloves dropped and fists flying, the refs standing back like it’s some kind of gladiator match. Your butt is numb from the hard plastic seat, your ears ache, and you’ve never hated anything more. By the time the buzzer finally sounds, you’re half convinced you’ll go deaf before you escape. Yunjin beams at you, cheeks flushed and hair wild from excitement. “See? Wasn’t that amazing?” she gushes, grabbing your arm. “Heeseung was insane! I told you he’s the best.” 

You manage a weak smile. “Uh-huh. Amazing.” Your sarcasm goes basically unnoticed by Yunjin, as she’s too busy celebrating the big win. The crowd around you turn to each other cheering loudly. You have to stop yourself from covering your ears with your palms to drown out the sounds. Finally, mercifully, the game is over. You shuffle out of the bleachers with Yunjin at your side, ears still ringing from the blaring horns and the relentless chants. College kids swarm the exits, jerseys half-zipped and voices hoarse, stumbling over each other as they yell about some after-party to celebrate the big win. You scuff to yourself because of course there is a party. A party you won't be going to. Instead you'll go back to the dorm and relax with a good book and a cup of tea. Lord knows you need it after spending hours in this ice box. 

The hallway is a crush of bodies and echoes, and you’re too busy trying not to get trampled to notice the way Yunjin keeps sneaking glances at you—eyes wide and hopeful, lower lip caught between her teeth. It was painfully obvious she wanted to ask you something and even more obvious that you wouldn't like her question. You sigh. “Whatever it is, no.” shutting down any ideas she had before she could utter a single word. Her face falls. “But you don’t even—” 

“No.” You adjust your bag higher on your shoulder, weaving through a trio of guys who reek of beer and cheap cologne. “I did my time. I sat through three hours of hockey without complaining—much. Can we please just go home?” You craved that night in to yourself. Yunjin grabs your arm, nearly making you stumble. “Okay, but hear me out. There’s a party at the frat house. The whole team’s gonna be there! Come on, it’s not even that far from campus. We can just—”

You cut her off again, rolling your eyes and saying “Absolutely not.” She pouts, eyes big and tragically betrayed. “Please?” begging you. She was begging you. And you couldn't give in. “Nope.” 

“I’ll clean the dorm for a month,” she blurts, and you stop dead in the middle of the hallway. A guy with a blue foam finger scowls as he swerves around you, muttering something rude, but you barely notice. She puts up a tough bargain. Yunjin’s watching you like she’s just offered up her firstborn, palms pressed together in a silent plea. “I’m serious,” she says quickly, sensing you might actually be considering it. “Trash, laundry, dishes—everything. I’ll even organize your bookshelf!” Damn. She was good, she knew how to get you. Your eyes narrow. “Two months.” but you couldn't give up that easily. You had to fight at least a little bit. 

“One,” she shoots back, biting back a grin. “And I’ll buy you coffee for a week.” You groan, already regretting this. “Fine,” you grumble, and Yunjin squeals, throwing her arms around you so suddenly you almost topple over. “You’re the best!” she cries, squeezing tight. “I promise it’ll be fun, I swear! Maybe you’ll even get to talk to Heeseung!” 

​​You snort. “Not interested,” you laugh, prying her off with an eye roll. But your gaze flicks, unbidden, to the ice behind you—where number seventeen is still skating slow laps, head ducked as he talks to a teammate. His laugh is bright enough to catch even from this distance, mouth curved and eyes crinkling at the edges. You turn away with a scuff, no way you’d involve yourself with a man who plays hockey. 

-

The party is already in full swing by the time you and Yunjin squeeze through the front door of the frat house. Music thrums through the walls, loud enough to feel in your chest, and the living room is packed shoulder-to-shoulder with sweaty college kids and empty red cups. Someone’s yelling something unintelligible from the kitchen, and a girl in a sparkly top rushes past, giggling as her friend tries to pull her back by the arm. It was like a playground. You had to stop yourself from cringy as you and Yunjin continued to push through the crowds of people. Your head spinning with irritation at the pure senselessness in the entire house. It was like no one here had half a brain. Yunjin, of course, lights up like a kid in a candy store. Within seconds, she’s weaving her way through the chaos, dragging you along by the wrist. You stumble after her, dodging spilled drinks and people making out against walls, and wonder for the hundredth time how you let her talk you into this. 

Yunjin chats with everyone—absolutely everyone—with a pulse. She flits from one group to another like it’s the easiest thing in the world, tossing compliments and laughter around like confetti. You trail behind her awkwardly, fingers curled around a cup of something you’re too afraid to taste, smiling and nodding when you’re supposed to. Soobin must have not arrived yet so she was filling the gap with randoms until he got here. 

You’re not sure how much time passes—long enough for your feet to start aching and for Yunjin to introduce you to at least fifteen people whose names you instantly forget—when she suddenly gasps, eyes going wide. “Oh my god, Jake!” she squeals, abandoning your arm to dart across the room. “Jay! You guys killed it out there!” You blink, half a step behind as you follow her gaze. Sure enough, Jake and Jay—both still in their team jackets, damp hair pushed back—are leaning against the staircase, laughing about something. Jake grins at Yunjin’s enthusiasm, eyes bright, while Jay salutes her with his drink. 

“Yunjin!” Jake laughs, opening his arms for a hug. “You actually made it! Didn’t think hockey was your roommate’s scene.” His eyes flick to you, warm and teasing. 

“It’s not.” You admit dryly. Jake chuckled, taking a big swig of drink before smirking at you both. “Well still, I bet you enjoyed Heeseung’s killer goal that won us the game. Pretty cool, right?” 

“Sure.” Your answers were deadpan and you could tell you were making them both moderately uncomfortable but you didn't care. You’d much rather be literally anywhere else but here. 

“Aren’t you having fun?” Jay asks, he was more nonchalant than Jake, less outgoing. He leaned against the sink with a lazy look on his face. It almost looked like he’d rather be anywhere else as well. 

“I’m suffering.” Your candor had to have been appreciated because the look Jay sent you was one that screamed ‘i agree’. He definitely wasn’t the party type either. Which was almost unheard of when it came to team captains.  Yunjin rolls her eyes fondly, but she’s already turning back to Jake, leaning in to ask about one of the plays from the game. You’re left to awkwardly clutch your drink, glancing around at the sea of strangers and trying to look less like a lost puppy and more like someone who actually belongs here. After a while of watching Yunjin converse with half the party you had to pee. Finding a bathroom in this massive house would be hard. And asking someone was out of the question, you've had enough socializing for one night. You right yourself preparing to walk among the sea of people in the way of the grand staircase. You clutched your drink in your hand weaving through the crush of bodies. 

Reaching the staircase was no easy task, people were mushed together like a mosh pit. The hallway is somehow even more crowded, people pressed shoulder-to-shoulder and stumbling over each other in varying levels of drunkenness. You mutter apologies, clutching your drink to your chest and scanning the doors for a bathroom sign. There’s a line, of course, stretching halfway down the hall. You bite back a groan and resign yourself to waiting, tapping your foot impatiently and trying to ignore the obnoxious couple behind you sucking face like they might suffocate if they pull apart. You’re glancing at your phone when it happens. One second, you’re minding your own business—the next, someone slams into your side, and your drink splashes straight down your front, soaking your shirt in sticky warmth. 

You freeze, disbelief flaring into white-hot irritation as you look up, ready to rip into whoever’s responsible— only to find Lee Heeseung drunkenly staring back at you with a tight lipped fake apologetic look on his face. It angered you, damn near enraged you. His hair’s mussed, dark eyes hazy and amused, and he’s laughing—actually laughing, low and unbothered—like he didn’t just body-check you into the wall. A girl no taller than you stood beside him hung onto his arm like her life depended on it. Her lipstick slightly smudged and hair ruffled, she looked like a hot mess. 

You blink, rage sharpening like broken glass. “Are you—are you serious right now?” you snap, shoving your empty cup against his chest. “What the hell? Watch where you’re going!” Heeseung just glances down at the cup, brows raising slowly. The girl at his side huffs impatiently, tugging at his arm, but he doesn’t move—just smirks, dark eyes drifting over you in a way that makes your blood boil. “You’re kidding,” you scoff. “Is this funny to you?” 

He tilts his head, grin widening. “Kinda,” he admits, and your jaw drops at his audacity. Where does he get off thinking he's the king of the world? What just because he won himself a game tonight means he’s the hottest thing around? Fuck that. “Oh, screw you,” you snap, swiping futilely at your soaked shirt. “God, just because you’re some hotshot hockey player doesn’t mean the world revolves around you, you know?” 

Heeseung chuckles, a warm, lazy sound that makes you want to punch him right in his stupidly perfect mouth. “Actually,” he drawls, dark eyes glinting, “yeah, it does.” The audacity. Your hands clench, words stuttering uselessly on your tongue, but he’s already turning away—barely even sparing you a second glance as the girl tugs him down the hall, giggling and clinging to his arm. You stare after them, heart hammering with fury, cheeks hot and sticky drink dripping from your clothes. You hate him. You’ve never hated anyone more. 

What seemed like forever soaked in sticky gold liquid, the line to the bathroom started dwindling down until you were the last one to reach it. You storm into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you harder than necessary. The mirror reflects the full horror of your situation—your shirt is soaked, sticky, and clinging to your skin in the most uncomfortable way possible. The scent of whatever cheap drink was in your cup lingers in the air, and no matter how many paper towels you use, the mess refuses to come off. 

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, aggressively scrubbing at the fabric of your clothing. Your mind replays the scene over and over, fueling your irritation. The smug tilt of Heeseung’s grin, the way he had the nerve to laugh in your face, to dismiss you like you were nothing. Yeah, it does. You grit your teeth so hard your jaw aches. Frustration crackles in your veins as you give up on your shirt and push out of the bathroom. The party is still going strong—music blasting, people shouting over one another, the air thick with sweat and spilled alcohol. You need to find Yunjin, tell her you’re leaving, drag her out of here if you have to. 

But as you weave through the crowd, she’s nowhere to be found. Your irritation shifts into mild concern as you make your way toward the last place you saw her—near the staircase where she’d been laughing with Jake and Jay. Jay’s still there, leaning against the railing, casually sipping his drink as he chats with someone. You march up to him, crossing your arms. “Where’s Yunjin?” 

Jay blinks, glancing over at you. His gaze flicks to your ruined shirt, and his lips twitch like he wants to ask, but wisely, he doesn’t. “Uh, last I saw, she went upstairs with Soobin.” 

Your stomach sinks. “What?” 

He shrugs. “Yeah, like ten minutes ago. Looked pretty cozy.” You inhale sharply, your irritation skyrocketing to full-blown fury. So Yunjin dragged you to this stupid party, bribed you into coming, abandoned you in a sea of sweaty hockey fans, and now she was upstairs with her boyfriend, completely forgetting you existed? Perfect. Just perfect. 

“I’m leaving,” you mutter, spinning on your heel before Jay can respond. You shove your phone out of your pocket, pulling up the Uber app as you push your way through the crowd, biting down the urge to scream. By the time you make it outside, the cold air is a welcome slap to your overheated skin. You stand on the curb, shivering slightly, arms crossed tight over your chest as you wait for your ride. Tonight was supposed to be chill instead, you’re suffering through a hockey game, putting up with Yunjin’s antics, dealing with a party full of people you didn’t know. But somehow, he had to make it worse. Lee Heeseung. You scowl at the thought of him, jaw clenching. If the universe had any mercy, you’d never have to see him again. 

-

Turns out the universe had no mercy at all. Not even an ounce. The next day, you’re still in a sour mood. You spent all night scrubbing your shirt, trying to get rid of the sticky residue and the memory of Lee Heeseung’s stupid smirk. Even after showering twice, you swear you can still smell the drink on your skin. But at least you’re back in your element now—your history class, where you TA. The classroom is empty except for Professor Kim, who looks up as you walk in, giving you a polite smile. 

“Ah, good, you’re here,” he says, flipping through some papers on his desk. “I have a favor to ask. I know you tutor in your free time, and we have a student who’s in desperate need of help.” 

You nod automatically. “Of course. You know I don’t mind tutoring.” 

“That’s great to hear,” he says, looking relieved. “Because this student is failing, and if he doesn’t get his grade up, he’ll be ineligible to play.” You barely register his words, still waiting for a name. Then he glances down at his notes and says it. 

“Lee Heeseung.” Your stomach plummets. No. No way. The universe had no mercy. “Wait—what?” You blink at him, hoping you misheard. 

Professor Kim sighs. “Heeseung’s been struggling all semester. I gave him a warning last week, but his last exam was a disaster. If he doesn’t pass the next one, he’s off the team.” You open your mouth to protest, to say literally anyone else but him, but before you can get a word out, the door swings open, and in comes the bane of your existence. 

Lee Heeseung strolls in like he owns the place, pushing his hair back as he yawns. His hoodie is wrinkled, his backpack is barely slung over one shoulder, and he looks every bit like someone who definitely did not wake up in time for his morning classes. “Sorry, sorry,” he drawls, not sounding sorry at all. “Rough night.” 

You scoff before you can stop yourself. “I’m sure it was.” At the sound of your voice, Heeseung’s gaze slides lazily to you, and then—his lips curl. A slow, knowing smirk spreads across his face, and you immediately hate it. 

Wait.” He tilts his head. “You’re my tutor?” He says in a mocking way, he’s making fun of you. 

You cross your arms. “Unfortunately.” Heeseung clicks his tongue, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Damn. Lucky me.” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes straight into another dimension. “Not so lucky for me,” you mutter. Professor Kim clears his throat. “So, you’ll meet twice a week until the next exam. I’ll leave the schedule up to you both, but I strongly recommend you start immediately.” You glare at Heeseung, who doesn’t seem remotely concerned about the fact that his academic career is hanging by a thread. Instead, he leans against the desk, watching you with amusement. 

“Well, tutor,” he says, voice dripping with mock politeness. “When do you want me?” You open your mouth, then shut it. Heeseung’s smirk deepens, clearly enjoying the way you bristle. “Tomorrow at five,” you grit out. 

“Perfect.” He pushes off the desk, stretching before making his way toward the door. Just as he reaches it, he glances over his shoulder, that irritating smirk still in place. “Try not to miss me too much until then,” he says, and then he’s gone. You stare after him, absolutely floored by his audacity. “Oh, I’m going to kill him,” you mutter under your breath. 

By the time you make it back to your dorm, you’re fuming. Your entire walk across campus had been spent replaying your conversation with Heeseung, each smug smirk and cocky remark igniting your anger all over again. Of all people, why did it have to be him? You shove open the door, throwing your bag to the floor with a little more force than necessary. "Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable," you mutter, running a hand through your hair in frustration.

Yunjin and Soobin are sprawled out on the futon, a half-empty bag of chips between them as some random drama plays on the screen. It’s the first time you’ve seen Yunjin since she abandoned you at the party, and the second she looks up at you, she must sense the storm brewing in your expression. “Uh…” She blinks. “What’s wrong?” 

You cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at her. “Oh, I don’t know, Yunjin—maybe the fact that you ditched me last night?” 

Yunjin’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh my God.” She sits up, looking genuinely guilty. “Shit, I’m so sorry. I just—Soobin showed up, and—” 

“Yeah, I know,” you snap, glaring at Soobin, who at least has the decency to look sheepish. “Jay told me you ran off with him ten minutes after we got there. You know, after I suffered through a hockey game for you.” Yunjin groans, dragging her hands down her face. “You’re right. That was a shitty best friend move. I swear, I’ll make it up to you.” 

You roll your eyes, collapsing onto your desk chair. “Yeah, yeah.” You wave her off, still annoyed but too exhausted to keep the argument going. “That’s not even the worst part.” 

She tilts her head. “What do you mean?” You exhale sharply, rubbing your temples. “I have to tutor Lee Heeseung.” 

Yunjin’s jaw drops. Soobin raises an eyebrow. “What?” she asks, sitting up straighter. 

“Yeah. Apparently, he’s failing history, and if he doesn’t pass his next exam, he’s off the team,” you huff. “Professor Kim roped me into tutoring him before I even knew who it was.” 

Yunjin snorts, clearly fighting a laugh. “Oh, that’s hilarious.” 

“It’s not!” You glare at her. “You don’t understand—he’s a dick. He’s entitled, arrogant, and walks around like the whole world revolves around him.” Soobin hums, popping a chip into his mouth. “Heeseung’s not that bad.” 

You whip your head toward him. “Are you serious?” Who asked him? He shrugs. “I mean, yeah, he can be cocky, but he’s actually pretty chill once you get to know him.” 

Yunjin nods in agreement. “Yeah, he’s nice. I’ve talked to him a few times. He’s always been cool.” 

Your mouth drops open. “Okay, no. You guys don’t get it. You didn’t see him at the party last night.”

Soobin raises an eyebrow. “What happened?” You launch into a full-blown rant, recounting every infuriating detail. “I was minding my business, just trying to use the bathroom, when he and some random girl bumped into me. I spilled my drink all over myself because they were too busy making out to notice other human beings existed. And when I called him out on it, do you know what he did?” Yunjin and Soobin both stare, waiting. 

“He laughed. He laughed in my face and said, ‘Yes, it does,�� when I told him the world doesn’t revolve around him!” You threw your hands in the air in exasperation. Yunjin lets out a low whistle. “Oof.” 

“Right?” You throw your hands up. “And now I have to spend actual time with him, tutoring him like he’s some helpless little idiot who can’t read a history book!” Soobin chuckles, shaking his head. “Sounds like he got under your skin.” 

You scoff. “No. He’s just the most infuriating person I’ve ever met.” Yunjin exchanges a look with Soobin before turning back to you with an all-too-knowing smirk. You narrow your eyes. “What?” 

“Nothing,” she singsongs. “I just think this tutoring thing is gonna be very interesting.” 

The next day, you show up at the library exactly at five. You even get there a few minutes early because, unlike some people, you actually value punctuality. You find a table in the back, away from the louder study groups, and start setting up—pulling out your notes, opening your laptop, lining up your highlighters like the responsible student you are. Then, you sit back and wait for Lee Heeseung to show up. 

And wait.

And wait.

You check the time. 5:15. You exhale sharply through your nose, forcing yourself to stay calm. Maybe he’s just running late. Maybe he got held up. Maybe— 5:30. Okay, seriously? You shoot him a quick text, nothing too aggressive. Just a simple: “Hey, you coming?” Nothing. Not a single response. 

5:45. Your patience is wearing paper-thin. You stare at your phone screen, resisting the urge to type out something way more aggressive. Maybe something like: “If you were planning on wasting my time, you could have at least had the decency to tell me instead of making me sit here like an idiot.” Or better yet: “Fuck you.” 

By now, you’re fuming. Your fingers drum aggressively against the table as you glare at the empty seat across from you, debating whether you should just leave. Clearly, he has no intention of showing up. 6:30. That’s it. You’re done. You shove your notebook into your bag, ready to storm out and text Professor Kim that you refuse to tutor an insufferable jackass, when— a voice behind you mutters a simple “Hey.” 

You slowly turn around, already brimming with rage, and there he is—Lee Heeseung, strolling in like he doesn’t have a single care in the world. He drops into the seat across from you, stretching his arms behind his head with the kind of casual arrogance that makes you want to throw something at him. "Sorry I’m late," he says. Not actually sounding sorry at all. 

You slam your laptop shut with way too much force. "You’re an hour and a half late." 

Heeseung just shrugs. "Yeah, my bad. I had practice. Then I had to change. And, y’know, eat. Then I ran into some people…" Your eye twitches at his nonchalant attitude “And at no point did it occur to you to let me know?” 

Heeseung raises an eyebrow like he doesn’t understand why you’re so worked up. "Didn’t think it was that big of a deal." You inhale so sharply your lungs burn. "Not that big of a—" You cut yourself off, pressing your hands against the table to ground yourself because if you don’t, you might actually throw your water bottle at his stupid, smug face.

Heeseung just watches you with lazy amusement, clearly not taking this seriously. “Don’t be so uptight,” he says, flipping open his empty notebook like he actually plans on doing anything. “I’m here now, aren’t I?” 

Oh. oh something inside of you snaps. You can’t help the next words that leave your mouth and to be quite honest you don’t know if you care much anyway. “Oh, fuck off Heeseung.” 

Heeseung pauses, blinks, then smirks. “What?” 

"You heard me." You stand up, grabbing your bag. "I don’t have time for your arrogant, self-important bullshit. If you actually cared about passing this class, you’d take it seriously instead of acting like you’re doing me a favor by showing up." His smirk doesn’t even falter. If anything, it deepens. “Damn,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “Didn’t know you were this feisty.” 

You glare. “And I didn’t know you were this much of a dick. But here we are.” 

Heeseung chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re kinda cute when you’re mad.” oh. That’s it. You’re officially done. 

You shove your notebook into your bag so aggressively you nearly rip the zipper, and without another word, you storm out of the library. You can hear him laughing behind you. Actually Laughing. And you swear—you swear—you’ve never wanted to strangle someone more in your entire life. 

The next day, you’re back at the library, sitting across from Kim Sunoo, a bright-eyed freshman who actually wants to learn. Unlike some people. You tap your highlighter against the open textbook, explaining a key point about the causes of the Industrial Revolution. Sunoo nods eagerly, his face lighting up in understanding. “Ohhh, that makes so much sense now! I swear, I was staring at this for hours last night and none of it clicked.” 

You smile despite yourself. “It’s easier when someone explains it out loud, huh?” 

Sunoo grins. “Way easier. You’re really good at this, noona.” 

You chuckle. “It’s literally just history.” 

“Yeah, but you make it less boring,” he says, scribbling notes as fast as he can. “I actually feel like I might pass this exam now.” Before you can respond, a shadow falls over your table. And suddenly, the lightheartedness of the moment is gone. You don’t need to look up to know who it is. The air shifts, tension creeping in like a slow-moving storm. 

Sunoo notices before you do. His eyes flick upward, widening slightly. “Uh—” 

“Hey” 

You sigh. The last thing you need right now is him. Slowly, you look up. Lee Heeseung stands there, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, looking at you with something that is not his usual cocky amusement. His posture is relaxed, but there’s an awkwardness to it—like he’s not used to whatever he’s about to do. 

You cross your arms over your chest. “What do you want?” 

“I want to talk.” His gaze flickers to Sunoo. “Alone.” Sunoo, to his credit, looks between the two of you and seems to decide that this is not his business. He hurriedly starts shoving his books into his bag. “Oh! Yeah, of course, I—” You shoot Heeseung an annoyed look. “We’re in the middle of something.” 

Sunoo waves a hand. “No, no, it’s fine! I was about to go anyway.” He flashes you a grateful smile. “Thanks for the help! I’ll see you next week?” You nod, still frowning as you watch him scurry off like he just escaped something dangerous. Which, honestly? Fair. Then, you turn back to Heeseung. You lean back in your chair, arms crossed, waiting. “Well?” 

Heeseung exhales, looking almost uncomfortable. He shifts his weight, raking a hand through his hair before finally meeting your eyes. "Look… about last night…" 

Your eyebrows lift. “You mean the hour and a half I spent waiting for you? Or the part where you acted like a complete asshole?” He winces, lowering his eyes to the floor. “Yeah. That.” You don’t say anything. You let the silence stretch between you, let him sit in it. And for the first time since meeting him, Heeseung actually looks nervous. 

He exhales sharply, dropping into the seat across from you. “I was a dick,” he admits. “I know that. And I’m sorry.” You blink. Lee Heeseung, apologizing? Willingly? You half expect the ceiling to cave in. You narrow your eyes, skeptical. “Are you actually?” 

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. I am.” He leans forward slightly, his voice lower now. Sincere even. “Look, I need this. I need to pass. If I don’t, I can’t play.” Something flickers across his face when he says it—something restrained. You get the feeling he’s hating admitting this to you, like asking for help isn’t something he’s ever had to do before. You study him, watching the way his jaw clenches, the way his fingers tap against the table like he’s restless. For once, there’s no arrogance in his expression. No teasing smirk. Just… Lee Heeseung, stripped of his usual bullshit.

You hate that it actually works. That a small part of you softens. But still, you’re not letting him off that easy. “I’ll be on time,” he says, his voice firmer now. “I’ll take it seriously. Just… give me another chance.” 

You tilt your head, considering. “And if you don’t?” He exhales through his nose. “Then you can tell Professor Kim to find me another tutor. You’ll never have to deal with me again.” You hesitate, watching him. You want to say no. Want to tell him to find someone else, that you don’t owe him anything. But at the same time… you do love tutoring. And despite everything, you’d hate to see someone fail because of their own stupid pride. Even if that someone is Lee Heeseung. 

So, against your better judgment, you sigh. “Fine,” you say, and immediately he brightens. But you hold up a finger. “But if you pull that shit again, I’m done. No second chances.”

He nods immediately. “Got it.” 

You squint. “I mean it, Heeseung. One more time, and I’m out.” 

“I know, I know,” he says, lips curling up into something that almost looks like a real smile. “I won’t be late.” You purse your lips, still doubtful. “We’ll see.” Heeseung stands up, stretching. “Five sharp, yeah?” 

“Five sharp.” 

A slow smirk spreads across his face. “Yes, ma’am.” 

You roll your eyes and start gathering your things. “See, this is exactly what I mean.” 

He chuckles, holding up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. No teasing. I’ll be good.” Somehow, you highly doubt that. As he walks away, hands stuffed in his pockets, you watch him go, feeling a mixture of irritation and reluctant curiosity. Because for all his bullshit, for all his cocky, self-important assholery… A small, tiny part of you is curious to see if he’ll actually change. And you hate that. So much. 

That night, you and Yunjin fall into your usual routine—Chinese takeout, pajama shorts, and an unnecessary rewatch of Grey’s Anatomy. The apartment is warm, dimly lit by the soft glow of your laptop screen. The air smells like sweet and sour chicken, and your chopsticks lazily poke at your carton of lo mein as Yunjin lies sprawled across the couch beside you. “I still can’t believe you’re actually tutoring Heeseung,” she says around a mouthful of fried rice. 

You groan, letting your head fall back against the couch. “Don’t remind me.” 

“You hate him.” Yunjin continues. 

“Exactly! Which is why this is actual hell for me.” You huff, setting your carton down on the coffee table. “He’s such a dick. He thinks the world revolves around him just because he’s good at hockey.” 

Yunjin hums, twirling a noodle around her chopstick. “Soobin says he’s not actually that bad.” You scoff. “Oh, of course Soobin would say that. Heeseung’s his teammate.” 

Yunjin shrugs. “Yeah, but like… he really meant it. Heeseung’s just—” She pauses, pursing her lips like she’s debating whether or not to say something. You narrow your eyes. “What?” 

Yunjin sighs, setting her food down. “Soobin told me something about him. A story, actually.” You blink. “About Heeseung?” 

She nods, sitting up a little.  “Do you wanna hear it?” You hesitate, rolling your eyes. “Do I need to?” 

Yunjin grins. “Oh, absolutely.” 

You groan, but you can’t deny that you’re a little curious. You grab your drink, leaning back against the couch. “Fine. Spill.” 

Yunjin sits up even more, tucking her legs beneath her. “Soobin told me that back in high school, Heeseung wasn’t—like—this.” She gestures vaguely. “He wasn’t popular. Or cocky. Or even a star player.” 

​​You raise an eyebrow in disbelief. “What do you mean? He’s insanely good.” 

“I know,” she says, eyes widening. “But apparently, his coach barely let him play. He wasn’t one of the ‘favorites,’ you know? So he rode the bench most of the time.” That… does surprise you. The Lee Heeseung you know is the player everyone talks about, the guy who steals the spotlight like it was made for him. The idea of him sitting on the sidelines, ignored, is hard to imagine. 

“One day,” Yunjin continues, “one of the team’s star players got hurt before a big game. They had to put Heeseung in, and—” she snaps her fingers “—just like that, he destroyed everyone.” You blink. Surprised, this was not what you were expecting at all. 

“He played so well that the entire crowd went nuts. Coaches were watching. He basically stole the game, and after that? He got a full-ride scholarship. Just like that.” Your brows knit together, trying to picture it. “But after that game,” Yunjin says, tilting her head, “he changed. Like, overnight.” 

You frown. “What do you mean?” She exhales, leaning against the couch. “I mean he stopped being the quiet kid. He got stronger, started training harder. And when he got to college? Boom. Whole new personality. He’s loud, cocky, untouchable.” You roll your eyes. “Yeah, well, that part tracks.” 

Yunjin gives you a look. “But don’t you get it? He had to change. He was treated like nothing for years, and the second he proved himself, he made sure no one would ever look down on him again.” You chew on your lip, staring at the flickering light of the laptop screen. You don’t know what to do with that information. Because it’s easier to hate Heeseung when he’s just an arrogant, self-absorbed jock. When he’s just some guy who gets on your nerves. But now there’s a reason behind it. And you hate that it makes you see him differently. 

The next day, when you step into the library, you expect to wait. You expect to sit down, go through your notes, tap your fingers against the table while checking the time, wondering how long you should stay before giving up. But Heeseung is already there And it throws you off.

He’s slouched in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, head tilted down as he stares at his phone. His brows are furrowed, lips pressed together, his thumb hovering over the screen but never quite moving. It’s an expression you’re not used to seeing on him. Tense. Quiet. Serious. It doesn’t suit him. 

You shake it off, forcing yourself to walk over. You pull out your chair with a sharp scrape against the floor and drop your books onto the table. Loudly. Nothing. You fight the urge to roll your eyes and sit down. “Alright, we’re starting with Henry the Eighth today.” 

No reaction. You tilt your head. “You know, the king who had six wives? England’s most dramatic ruler?” Still, nothing. Your patience thins. “What’s more important than not failing?” At that, he finally looks up, but instead of the usual lazy amusement or mild irritation, his expression is sharp. 

“Mind your own business,” he snaps. It hits you like a slap. Of all the things you expected, that wasn’t one of them. 

You straighten, gripping the edge of the table, surprised by the coldness in his voice. Heeseung has been many things since you met him—cocky, arrogant, insufferable—but he’s never been cruel. You inhale sharply, already pushing back your chair. “Okay. If you don’t wanna be here, I’m not wasting my time—” 

“Wait.” The word is rushed, almost desperate, and before you can leave, Heeseung finally puts his phone down. He drags a hand through his hair, exhaling roughly through his nose. “It’s just my dad,” he mutters, like that should be enough of an explanation. You hesitate, watching the way his jaw ticks, the way his fingers tap restlessly against the table. 

“What about him?” you ask, voice softer than before. Heeseung doesn’t look at you. “He was just asking how the season’s going. That’s it.” You study him for a moment, something itching at the back of your mind. This is the first time Heeseung has ever looked like this. Quiet. Withdrawn. Like his thoughts are somewhere else entirely. And last night, you learned something about him—something you never would’ve guessed on your own. 

You shift in your seat, glancing at your open notebook before closing it. “You know…” You trail off, choosing your words carefully. “I heard a story about you.” Heeseung blinks, his gaze flicking to yours. “What?” 

“I heard that back in high school, you weren’t allowed to play much,” you say. “And that when you finally got your shot, you proved everyone wrong.” His entire body stiffens. For a second, you think he’s going to let you keep talking, but then his expression hardens. His lips press together, his fingers stop tapping, and suddenly, the coldness is back. 

“Don’t,” he says flatly. You frown. “I just—” 

He cuts you off with his stern voice. A terrify you didn't want to wander “I said don’t.” It’s sharp, cutting, final. The look in his eyes makes it clear that whatever conversation you were hoping to have? It’s not happening. Your stomach twists, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat, unsure if you should apologize or pretend like you never said anything at all. For a moment, the silence is heavy. Unbearable. 

Then Heeseung sighs, running a hand over his face. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter. “Just… drop it.” You swallow hard, nodding slowly. “Right,” you murmur, flipping open your book again. “Henry the Eighth.” For a second, you think he won’t even pretend to pay attention. But then he leans forward, picking up a pencil and tapping it against the table. And this time, when you start talking, he actually listens. 

Over the next few weeks you and Heesseung began to find some kind of rhythm that worked for the both of you. And after no time Heeseung was back to usual self. Being extremely and unavoidably annoying. But it was clear to you that all your tutoring sessions were starting to pay off, he was actually learning the material and he..seemed to like it. 

The moment stretches—just a second too long. Your hand lingers against his, warmth seeping through the space between your fingers. It’s stupid. It’s just a high-five. Something you’ve done a thousand times with other people. But when you pull away, you can still feel the ghost of his touch, like it left an imprint. Heeseung’s smirk flickers, something unreadable flashing across his face. But then, just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by his usual cocky grin. 

“See? I told you I was a genius,” he says, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. You roll your eyes, forcing yourself to focus. “That was one right answer out of ten, relax.” 

“An improvement, though.” He points at you like he’s proving a point. “You should be proud. I might actually be learning something.” You scoff, gathering your notes, but your stomach twists in a way you don’t quite understand. Something is different.And you’re not sure what to do about it. One Part of you is scared, another part is excited. And that fear continues to grow the more time you spend with Heeseung. 

The study room is too small. Or maybe it just feels that way because Heeseung takes up too much space—not physically, but in the way he leans back in his chair like he owns the place, the way his presence seems to stretch and fill every available inch. The air is thick with the scent of his cologne—something clean, sharp, a little woodsy—and you hate that you notice it. 

It doesn’t help that you’re sitting way too close. Your knees bump under the table every time one of you shifts. His arm brushes yours when he reaches for his pencil. The tiny room makes every movement magnified, every accidental touch unavoidable. 

You try to focus. You clear your throat and point to your notes. “Okay, so if you actually want to pass this test, you need to remember the causes of the French Revolution.” Heeseung hums, leaning forward. “Right. The people were pissed.” You deadpan. “And why were they pissed?” 

“Uh…” He chews the end of his pencil, eyes flicking to the page in front of you. “Something about taxes?” You exhale. “Something about taxes,” you echo, circling the words in your notes. “Yes. Specifically, the Third Estate—” Before you can finish, Heeseung shifts, leaning over your shoulder to get a better look at your writing. And that’s when it happens. His arm presses against yours. His face is too close. And suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of everything—the warmth of his skin, the scent of his cologne, the way his breath fans lightly over your shoulder.

You force yourself to stay still, to not react. “You have really messy handwriting,” Heeseung murmurs, completely oblivious to the absolute chaos in your brain. You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the fact that his voice is lower, softer in the quiet of the study room. “Maybe if you actually wrote your own notes, you wouldn’t have to suffer through mine.” 

“I like yours better,” he says, smirking. You scuff, shoving your notebook toward him. “Then read them yourself, genius.” 

He laughs, finally leaning back, and you exhale—only now realizing you were holding your breath. It was nothing. Just an accidental touch. And yet your heart is pounding out of your chest. You shake it off, clearing your throat. “Okay. Back to the revolution.” Heeseung smirks like he knows something you don’t. But he doesn’t say a word. And somehow that’s worse. 

The party is loud—too loud, too chaotic, too much. You don't even know whose house this is. The bass is thumping through the floor, the air is thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat, and way too much cologne. Yunjin, as always, is in her element, talking to literally anyone with a pulse, dragging you around as she bounces between groups of people. You don’t even know why she drags you along to these things if she’s not even going to stay with you. 

You're scouting your surroundings when you see him. Lee Heeseung. But he’s not like he usually is, No cocky smirk, no playful teasing, no girls clinging to his arm. He looks… different. Closed off even. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, a red Solo cup dangling from his fingers, but his eyes are unfocused, staring off at nothing. The usual arrogance in his posture is missing. He just looks… tired. 

You hesitate. Normally, you’d avoid him. You’re not sure why you don’t this time. Maybe it’s because he’s alone, or maybe it’s because this version of him—the one that isn’t performing, isn’t playing up his reputation—intrigues you. So you walk over, crossing your arms. “No girl hanging off you tonight?” Heeseung barely reacts at first. He blinks, like he’s just noticing you, then shrugs. “Not in the mood.” 

That’s not the response you expect. Usually, he’d fire back with something smug, something flirty, something to get a rise out of you. Instead, his voice is flat. You glance at him, studying his expression. His usual lightheartedness is gone, replaced with something heavier, something clouded. His fingers tighten around the cup, his jaw shifts slightly, and he isn’t looking at you. Something’s on his mind. And for some reason, you care. 

“…You wanna get out of here?” The words slip out before you can stop them. Heeseung finally looks at you. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze—surprise, curiosity, maybe even relief. And for a second, you think he’s going to brush you off, flash you that smirk and tell you not to flatter yourself. But instead, he nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Let’s go.” 

Outside, the night air is cold, but it feels… lighter. You walk side by side down the street, neither of you saying anything at first. The party fades behind you, the music growing distant, replaced by the quiet hum of the night. It’s weird. You’ve never been alone with Heeseung outside of the library. You’re used to him in controlled environments—study sessions, parties where he’s surrounded by people, the ice where he’s the star. Not like this. Not just… walking.

“You okay?” you ask eventually. Heeseung huffs a laugh, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pocket. “Didn’t think you cared.” You roll your eyes. “I don’t.”

He smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Liar.” You bump your shoulder against his without thinking. “Seriously, though. You’re acting different.” Heeseung exhales, looking up at the sky. For a second, you think he won’t answer. But then—

“It’s nothing,” he says. “Just hockey stuff.”

You frown. “You’re always dealing with hockey stuff.”

“Yeah, well.” He pauses. “It’s my whole life.”

You glance at him, watching the way his features harden, his usual carefree exterior cracking just enough for you to see through. And you remember what Yunjin told you—that he wasn’t always the hotshot, that he had to claw his way to the top. You don’t push him. Instead, you say, “Wanna grab food?” He blinks. “At this hour?”

“Diner down the street’s open late,” you say. “And you look like you could use pancakes.” Heeseung huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. But then he looks at you—really looks at you. And something shifts. “…Yeah,” he says, nudging you with his elbow. “Let’s get pancakes.” And just like that, the night takes on a different shape. 

The diner is the kind of place that always smells like coffee and syrup, no matter what time of day it is. The booths are cracked with age, the neon sign outside flickers every few seconds, and there’s a quiet hum of old music playing through the speakers. It’s not fancy. But it’s warm, and right now, it’s exactly what you need. Heeseung slides into the booth across from you, stretching out his legs so they nearly brush against yours. You don’t know if he does it on purpose or if he just takes up that much space. You ignore it. 

A waitress comes by, barely looking at either of you as she takes your order—pancakes, coffee, extra whipped cream. Heeseung raises an eyebrow at you, amused. “What?” you challenge. “I told you. Pancakes fix everything.” 

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. But there’s something softer about him now. Not in the way he usually teases you—this feels different. And then the moment settles into a more calm setting. You lean forward, resting your arms on the table. “So,” you say, tilting your head. “Wanna talk about it?” 

You expect him to dodge the question, maybe throw out some sarcastic remark to avoid actually telling you what’s going on. But for the second time that night, Lee Heeseung surprises you. He exhales, running a hand through his hair, making it even messier than before. When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet. “My dad found out about my grades.” Your stomach twists. You already have a bad feeling about where this is going. 

Heeseung lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “He says if I’m gonna throw my entire hockey career away for some stupid class, then I don’t deserve his financial support anymore.” He pauses, staring down at the table. “Says I should ‘get my priorities straight.’” Your heart clenches. You should’ve expected something like this. It’s not uncommon—parents putting pressure on their kids, pushing them toward success, expecting perfection. But something about the way Heeseung says it, the way his voice drops just a little at the end… You know that feeling. 

“I just—” Heeseung exhales harshly, gripping his fork a little too tight. “I never feel like I’m enough for them, you know?” 

You don’t even think. You just say it. “I do.” 

Heeseung blinks, lifting his gaze to meet yours. You swallow hard, suddenly feeling vulnerable, but you push through. “My mom and I don’t talk anymore,” you admit. “She didn’t approve of me getting a history degree. She wanted me to go into the family business with them.” You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “When I didn’t, she basically—shunned me. Acted like I was a disappointment. Like I wasn’t worth her time anymore.” Heeseung stares at you, expression unreadable. You feel like you should keep talking, should fill the silence, but then Heeseung leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table. His gaze softens. 

“That’s fucked up,” he says, voice quieter now. 

You shrug, picking at the edge of your napkin. “Yeah, well. It is what it is.” There’s a pause. Then— “I don’t think it is,” Heeseung mutters. You look at him, and for the first time since you met him, you realize that Lee Heeseung isn’t just some cocky, aggravating hockey star. He’s a person. A person with his own struggles, his own fears, his own wounds. The realization shifts something inside you. The waitress comes by, sliding plates of pancakes in front of you, breaking the moment. Heeseung blinks, like he’s shaking himself out of whatever just passed between you, and you do the same. 

You don’t kiss. You don’t hold hands. You don’t even bring the topic up again, but the both of you feel it. Something was different. 

You glance at the time on your phone and exhale sharply, tapping your fingers against the table. Heeseung is late. Again. It’s been twenty minutes, and you’ve already convinced yourself that if he’s not here in five more, you’re leaving. To say you were disappointed would be an understatement, you were more sad than anything. You had thought that the two of you had made some much progress. You’re mid-internal rant about how utterly irresponsible he is when you hear the sound of hurried footsteps. 

“I know, I know,” Heeseung says before you can even open your mouth. He holds up both hands in mock surrender, slightly out of breath. “Before you rip my head off, I brought you something.” You narrow your eyes as he slides a coffee cup and a neatly wrapped pastry across the table. 

You hesitate, suspicious. “What is this?” 

“A peace offering,” Heeseung says with a grin. “Your favorite, by the way. Thought it might keep you from murdering me in cold blood.” Your lips part slightly, surprised. “How do you even know my order?” 

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “You get it every time we go to the campus café. Not that hard to remember.” You press your lips together, trying to ignore the fact that your stomach does a weird little flip at that. Instead, you roll your eyes and mutter, “Still an asshole,” before taking the cup. 

Heeseung chuckles, sliding into the seat across from you. “Yeah, yeah. But at least I’m a thoughtful asshole.” You’re about to start the tutoring session when a static-filled announcement echoes through the library speakers. “Attention, students: The library will be closing early tonight due to a scheduled event. Please begin packing up your belongings.” 

You blink, glancing at Heeseung, who’s already stuffing his books back into his bag. He shrugs. “Guess we’re taking this somewhere else.” 

“Wait!” You call out. “Where are we going?” You ask him, beginning to pack up your own things. 

“Just come with me.” He says simply with a shrug of his shoulders. You huff but follow after him like he said, through the crowd of people also leaving the library. 

You’re not sure how it happens, but twenty minutes later, you’re sitting across from Heeseung in a quiet corner of a late-night café, your books barely touched. At first, you try to focus on history. You really do. But for once, Heeseung isn’t the one slacking off—you are. The conversation drifts. It’s not about Henry VIII or the French Revolution anymore. It’s about movies. 

“What do you mean you’ve never seen Interstellar?” Heeseung looks genuinely offended. You roll your eyes. “Sorry, I just never got around to it.” 

He lets out an exaggerated gasp. “Unbelievable. You call yourself educated?” You nudge his foot under the table. “Pretty sure history knowledge is more important than knowing a random space movie.” 

“First of all,” he says, holding up a finger, “it’s not just a ‘random space movie.’ It’s a cinematic masterpiece.” 

You snort. “Didn’t take you for the type to get passionate over movies.” Heeseung sends you a smirk, one that you had to admit made you feel mushy inside. What was happening to you? “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” And for some reason, you find yourself wanting to change that. Then the conversation shifts again. This time, it’s about childhood. 

You tell him about how you used to sneak into your grandfather’s study to read history books that were way too advanced for you, even though you were explicitly told not to. Heeseung tells you about how he used to skate on a frozen pond near his childhood home, even when it wasn’t completely frozen over. “Nearly drowned once,” he admits with a laugh. “Didn’t stop me from going back the next week.” 

You shake your head. “That explains so much about you.” The conversation flows too easily. The barriers that were once so firm between you are now… blurred. It scares yet excites you at the same time. At some point, you notice Heeseung looking at you for a little too long. His eyes flicker over your face, his smirk settling into something softer. Something unreadable. It has your heart pounding and your palms sweaty. You felt like one of those rom com heroines that were head over heels in love with the witty Jock. What were you doing? Lee Heeseung was so not your type. Hockey players were so not your type. 

“You know,” he muses, tilting his head, “this kinda feels like a date.” Your breath catches in your throat. 

You scoff, trying to ignore the sudden warmth in your face. “In what world?” 

Heeseung grins, leaning forward slightly. “Come on. Late-night café, deep conversation, stolen glances.” He raises a brow. “You sure you don’t feel it?” Your heart stumbles. You don’t know what to say. So you shift the topic into something more casual but still you don’t miss the knowing smirk on Heeseung’s face, like he knew the effect he had on you and he liked it. And a part of you liked it too.. 

The next day, you and Heeseung are back at the library, tucked into your usual corner. The energy between you is… normal. The way it always is. You tell yourself that last night at the café meant nothing. That Heeseung’s words—this kinda feels like a date—were just him messing with you, the way he always does. So you push it away, bury yourself in your notes, and act like everything is the same. 

And for the most part, it is. Heeseung slouches in his chair, tapping his pencil against the table in boredom while you attempt to drill historical facts into his thick skull. He groans dramatically when you ask him a question. He teases you when you sigh in exasperation. Everything is normal. Until— 

“What’s this?” Heeseung suddenly reaches into your bag and pulls out a slightly worn copy of Pride and Prejudice. You blink. “Uh, my book?” 

Heeseung raises a brow. “You’re one of those people?” 

You cross your arms. “What does that mean? A person who reads?” 

He grins, flipping through the pages. “Y’know. The ones who are obsessed with Mr. Darcy.” 

You roll your eyes. “I like the book because it’s well-written. Not because I’m obsessed with some brooding 19th-century man.” Heeseung hums, still turning the pages. “Mm. I liked it, too.” 

You stare at him. “What?” No way a guy like Lee Heeseung read and liked Pride and prejudice. 

He looks up, amused. “What?” 

“You read it?” 

He shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Yeah. Had to for a class in high school.” 

You’re genuinely shocked. You don’t know why—Heeseung surprises you more often than you’d like to admit. But for some reason, the image of him reading Pride and Prejudice is not one you ever expected. “What did you think?” you ask, genuinely curious. 

He leans back in his chair, tapping the book against his thigh. “I liked the way Mr. Darcy felt about Elizabeth. That whole ‘I tried not to love you, but I did anyway’ thing? Kinda hits, y’know?” 

Your breath catches. Because the way he says it..It’s not teasing, it’s not sarcastic, it's not a joke. The air shifts between you and for a minute you just stare at each other, saying nothing but so many things all at once. Something pulses in the space between you—something unfamiliar, something dangerous, something you don’t quite know how to name. Then, before you can react— Heeseung laughs, then he leans forward and kisses you. 

It’s quick. Just a press of his lips against yours. Light, fleeting. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s a joke. Something so trivial you do with the everyday person, something with no meaning. And it takes you a second to process what just happened before the reality of it slams into you like a freight train. You shove him back. Hard. “What the hell, Heeseung?” Your voice shakes with anger. 

He just grins, laughing. “Relax. I just wanted to see you flustered.” Your stomach sinks. To him it was a joke, kissing me was a joke to see me– Flustered? That was funny to him? You don’t even realize your hands are shaking until you grab your things and shove them into your bag. Your chest feels tight. Your vision blurs. Because it wasn't a joke to you. You didn't enjoy being the punchline to someone's entertainment. “Hey, where are you—” But you don’t let him finish. You walk out. 

You make it all the way out of the library before the first tear falls. You hate yourself for it. Hate that you’re crying. Hate that you’re letting Heeseung get to you. But you can't help it. That was your first kiss. And he stole it from you. It wasn't special, it wasn't meaningful if anything it was the opposite. It was just a joke. A way for Heeseung to entertain himself. You wipe your face harshly, forcing yourself to breathe. You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. That it’s not a big deal. That it’s fine. But it’s not. 

You’re halfway across campus when you hear footsteps behind you. “Wait—wait,” Heeseung calls. You don’t stop. If anything you walk quicker trying your hardest to get away from him. “Hey—seriously—” He jogs up beside you, still laughing. Like it’s funny. Like it’s just another thing for him to tease you about. And that’s when you’ve had enough. That’s when you break. 

You whirl around, eyes blazing. “You think this is funny?” Heeseung falters, caught off guard by the sharpness in your voice. You scoff, shaking your head. “You don’t get it.” 

Heeseung frowns, finally realizing that you’re actually mad. “I mean, come on. It was just a kiss—” 

“No, it wasn’t!” The words come out louder than you intend. Heeseung blinks. Your throat tightens. You stare at the ground, voice quieter now. “That was…my first kiss.” The words feel like ash on your tongue, burning your inside out. Embarrassment flooding your senses. 

And silence followed, dead silence. Heeseung said nothing at your confession. When you finally look up, Heeseung’s expression has completely changed. He doesn’t look smug anymore. He doesn’t look amused. He looks like he just got punched in the stomach. “Shit,” he breathes. 

You shake your head, swallowing hard. “Forget it.” You turn to leave again, but this time, he grabs your wrist. Stopping you from moving away from him. You want to rip your wrist from his hands, it feels like fire on your skin. You just wanted to get away from him even for just a few minutes to collect yourself, so you could calm down. 

Heeseung, although unintentionally, took something from you. And for some people your first kiss would mean nothing but not to you. You had been waiting for the right time, a first kiss, in your mind, was supposed to be romantic. It was supposed to mean something. Even if you didn't end up with that person in the end. Even if you had the messiest break up it didn't matter because in that moment they were the right person and the feeling was there. 

It was the reason you read romance novels like pride and prejudice. You were a foolish, foolish hopeless romantic and you didn't care. You embraced it but now stuck in front of someone like Lee Heeseung who kissed girls like he changed his clothes you were embarrassed. Because it meant nothing to him, it was a joke to see you red, to see you stutter. You couldn't help but be angry about that and you weren't going to let him downplay it. You had more dignity than that. 

“I—” He hesitates, exhaling sharply. “I didn’t know.” 

You laugh bitterly. “Yeah. No shit.” because of course he didn't. Because in his world silly little romantic gestures and the innocence of waiting for the right time to have your first kiss didn’t exist. Kissing was something you just did for him. 

Heeseung runs a hand over his face, looking genuinely guilty. His usual cockiness is gone, replaced by something that almost looks like… regret. “I—fuck. I’m an asshole,” he mutters, shaking his head. 

You sniff, wiping at your eyes. “Yeah. You are.” 

He looks at you, jaw tight. “I wouldn’t have done that if I knew.” And you believe him. You can see it in the way his lips are pressed into a thin line, the way his jaw clenches like he’s punishing himself for something he can’t take back. A long silence stretches between you. Were you really about to forgive him? 

Then, you exhale, your voice small. “It wasn’t supposed to be like that.” 

Heeseung swallows hard. “I know.” Your throat tightens as you look away, the ache in your chest still present but no longer suffocating. “It was stupid, and it—it wasn’t supposed to be a joke.” 

“I know,” he repeats. And this time, his voice is laced with something heavier. Something genuine. You hate that you can’t hate him for it. You chew on your lip, staring at the ground. A part of you wants to stay mad. Wants to tell him to leave you alone, to let you hold on to your anger because that would be easier. But another part of you—one you’re not sure you like—wants to believe him. 

Because Heeseung might be an arrogant hockey player with a flirty smirk and a ridiculous ego, but… he isn’t cruel. You sigh, rubbing a hand over your face. “I can’t believe my first kiss was with you.” 

Heeseung huffs out a laugh, though there’s no amusement in it. “Yeah. And I can’t believe I ruined it for you.” You look up at him then, surprised by the way his gaze is so… serious. He was being sincere. “I’m really sorry,” he says quietly. “I was just being an idiot. I didn’t think—I didn’t know—” He shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “I swear, I didn’t mean to make you feel like that.” 

You stare at him for a long moment, searching his face for any trace of insincerity. But there’s nothing. You could tell with utmost certainty that he was sorry, that he regretted it. And against all odds, you sigh, your shoulders dropping just a little. “I forgive you,” you murmur. 

Heeseung blinks. “You do?” 

You roll your eyes. “Don’t make me change my mind.” 

A slow, relieved smile tugs at his lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

You shake your head, still feeling a little raw, but… better. Heeseung watches you carefully. Then, after a beat, he hesitates before saying, “You know… if you wanted, I could—” He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly looking almost shy. “I mean, I could give you a proper first kiss.” You freeze, your heart stuttering in your chest. 

Heeseung seems to immediately regret saying it, his eyes widening. “Only if you wanted—and not now! I mean—just, like, someday. If you ever wanted to, uh—” You stare at him. Then, despite everything, a laugh bubbles up in your throat. Heeseung let out a groan, running a hand over his face in embarrassment “Just, forget i said anything.”  

But you’re grinning now. It was your turn to tease him and man it felt good. 

The arena is alive with energy, the kind that shakes the walls and hums beneath your skin. You’re here. At a hockey game. Voluntarily. Yunjin nearly fell off the bleachers when you agreed without your usual dramatic sigh and drawn-out complaints. She had pestered you the entire way here, elbowing you in the ribs, wiggling her eyebrows, making heart gestures with her hands. 

“I know why you suddenly want to come,” she had sing-songed, a smug grin plastered on her face. You had simply rolled your eyes, refusing to entertain her antics. But now, sitting in the middle of the buzzing crowd, you feel… different. 

For the first time, you’re actually watching the game. Not just tolerating it, not just suffering through it for Yunjin’s sake—you’re watching, eyes trained on one player in particular. Lee Heeseung. 

You’ve never really paid attention before, never really noticed the way he moves across the ice like he was born on it. He’s fast, insanely fast, weaving through players with a sharp focus you’ve never seen from him anywhere else. The same guy who saunters into tutoring sessions late, who smirks and teases and never takes anything seriously—here, he’s different. He’s serious. Disciplined. And you suddenly understand why people look at him the way they do. Why he’s not just good—but great. 

Your chest tightens as you watch him skate down the ice, stick-handling the puck with effortless precision before passing it off to a teammate. A minute later, the puck is passed back to him, and in one smooth motion, he winds up his shot. The slapshot is powerful, cutting through the air before slamming into the back of the net. The entire arena erupts. Heeseung’s teammates swarm him, cheering, helmets knocking against each other as they embrace. The student section roars, chants of his name ringing out through the stands. 

And you— You cheer. For the first time ever a hockey game has actually excited you. You let the fact that it was a grueling, animalistic sport slip away from you and you allowed yourself to have fun. To watch the people around you at the edge of their seats and you be a part of it. You weren't sulking in your seat wishing you were anywhere but here, no you were having fun. It was liberating. Why hadn;t you allowed such a simple pleasure before. 

You don’t even realize it at first. It’s small, just a quiet “yes!” under your breath, but Yunjin hears it. Her head whips toward you so fast it’s a miracle she doesn’t get whiplash. “Oh. My. God.” 

You blink, startled. “What?” 

Her jaw drops, hands gripping your arm in a death hold. “You just cheered.” You open your mouth to protest, but she’s already gasping dramatically. “I can’t believe it. You—you like hockey. You like hockey.” 

You shove her off, cheeks burning. “I do not.” 

“You do! You just cheered! You’ve been watching the game, and not in a ‘God, this is so stupid’ kind of way, but like a real fan.” She gasps again. “Oh my God, do you have a jersey under your coat? Are you secretly a hardcore Lee Heeseung fangirl?” 

You glare at her. “I swear to God, Yunjin—” 

But she just grins, eyes sparkling with pure mischief. “You like him.” 

Your stomach flips. “I do not.” 

“You do!” She wiggles her brows, giddy like she’s just discovered the best gossip of the century. “You’re watching him like he hung the moon, and you cheered, and you didn’t even complain when I dragged you here!”  

You shake your head, crossing your arms over your chest. “I just—” You hesitate, glancing back toward the ice where Heeseung is still grinning, fist-bumping his teammates. And for the first time, you admit it to yourself. You like him. You really like him. Even if he stole your first kiss like it was a joke, even if he’s late sometimes, even if he never takes anything seriously with that stupid little smirk on his face. You like him. Lee Heeseung had surprised you. He was nothing you had thought him to be. He was funny, he was kind, he was smart even if he thought otherwise. 

The realization settles over you like a weight you’re not sure you’re ready to carry. Because no way does Heeseung feel the same way about you. Does he? He called your little cafe hang out a date. He’s told you things about himself that i’m sure only his closest friends would know. He kissed you for god sake. Maybe he does like you back? 

“Even if i do like him..” You mutter finding it hard to get the words out. “It’s not like he would like me back?” 

“It doesn’t hurt to find out right?” Yunjin asks with a big dopey grin on her face. 

“That’s the thing..” You trail off “It does hurt to ask, because if he doesn't like me back then it will be awkward, it will ruin everything we've done so far.” 

“Sure.” Yunjin nods “But you can’t walk around with this crush looming over you. Things like this can’t go unsaid..” 

You just nod at her not really wanting to further conversation here of all places. The game was over and everyone was starting to leave, it would be humiliating if someone were to hear the two of yours conversation. 

“Come on.” Yunjin grabbed your arm “We have to wait for Soobin..” 

You stand outside the rink with Yunjin, your arms crossed over your chest as she bounces on the balls of her feet, clearly eager to see Soobin. The energy is still electric from the game, students lingering in groups, buzzing about the win. You’re pretending to listen to Yunjin ramble about some play that Soobin made, but your eyes keep flickering toward the players filtering out of the locker room. Looking for him. But Heeseung’s nowhere to be found. 

You’re not sure why you care. Not sure why your stomach twists in disappointment every time another player walks past and it’s not him. You were sure you looked like a little lost puppy, how pathetic of you really. 

“Looking for someone?” Yunjin cooes, a grin on her face. You shake your head at her relentlessness. She never gives up does she. 

“No.” You deadpan “I’m not.” 

“Sure.” she giggles. But she didn't believe you. And truthfully you didn't believe yourself. 

Luckily, Soobin finally emerges, and Yunjin squeals, launching herself at him. He laughs, catching her with ease, his duffel bag slung over one shoulder. “Did you see my goal?” he teases. 

“I saw everything,” Yunjin gushes. You roll your eyes, but there’s a small, unbidden smile playing on your lips as you watch them. You always admired their relationship and the way Soobin takes such good care of Yunjin. Sure, you weren't the biggest fan of hockey players but Soobin was one of the good ones. Yunjin loved him, so in turn you loved him too. Unless he hurt her. Then he’d had hell to pay. But, they've been going strong for two years now so the chance of that happening was slim to none it seemed. 

The moment is cut short when a group of guys from the opposing team walks past, their presence immediately shifting the air. “Nice win,” one of them says, voice dripping with sarcasm. His eyes land on Soobin. “Lucky, huh?” 

Soobin tenses beside Yunjin, but his expression remains neutral. “Just played our game, man.” 

One of the guys scoffs. “Right. Guess even a broken clock is right twice a day.” Jake and Jay join the group just in time to hear that, their easygoing post-game demeanor sharpening. 

“Problem?” Jake asks, his usual grin gone. It was so unlike Jake to not have a beaming smile on his face. He was almost never this serious from what you’ve seen of him. 

The guy just smirks. “Not at all. Just wondering what your team is gonna do when Lee Heeseung finally crashes and burns.” Something in your chest tightens. 

Jake’s jaw ticks. “Excuse me?” 

“Oh, come on. You know it as well as we do. Without hockey, Heeseung is nothing. Just another dude who peaked in college and has nothing to fall back on.” The guy laughs, shaking his head. “Damn shame, really.” You see red. 

Before you even realize what you’re doing, you step forward. “Excuse you?” The guy turns to you, clearly amused. “Oh? And who are you?” 

“I’m the person telling you to shut the hell up,” you snap, surprising everyone—including yourself. Heeseung might drive you insane. He might be arrogant and cocky and an infuriating flirt. But the way they’re talking about him—like he’s disposable, like he doesn’t matter beyond what he can do on the ice—it bothers you. It bothers you a lot. More than it should maybe. But at this moment you didn’t care. You sure as hell were not going to let sore losers talk down on him when he wasn’t even here to defend himself. 

You keep going, anger bubbling to the surface. “You don’t know anything about him. You don’t know how hard he works, how much pressure he’s under. He’s one of the best players in the league, and that’s why you’re all so bitter.” You let out a scoff. “And if he did quit hockey tomorrow? He’d still be ten times the person any of you are.” The group goes silent for a beat. Then the guy just laughs. He actually laughs. You tense up, readying yourself to really have at them. 

“Damn,” he snickers, looking at his teammates. “She’s got it bad.” Heat rises to your face. Was it really that obvious? Were you just humiliating yourself? You cursed yourself for opening your mouth in the first place. For allowing these assholes to get under your skin. 

You open your mouth to argue, but he just shakes his head, still chuckling. “Good luck with that, sweetheart.” Then they walk off, leaving you standing there, seething and embarrassed for making a scene. 

“Damn.” 

You turn to find all eyes on you. It made you want to sink into yourself and put yourself away for the next year. A closed off hole in the dirt would be a better place for you right now then where you were currently. Jake raises his eyebrows, impressed. “Didn’t know you had that in you.” 

“Neither did I,” Jay adds, smirking. 

Even Soobin is looking at you like he’s seeing you in a new light. Everyone was looking at you like you were a totally different person than who you were. And you didn't know if you liked it. 

But it’s Yunjin who nudges your side, grinning knowingly. “Interesting.” You groan, rubbing your temples. Because, yeah. It is interesting. Because for all the times you’ve denied it, all the times you’ve tried to pretend you don’t care about Heeseung— You just proved, in front of everyone, that you do. 

The next day, you wait for Heeseung at the library, tapping your pen impatiently against your notebook. Five minutes turn into fifteen. Fifteen into thirty. But he never shows. Annoyance bubbles inside you. Typical. Still, something feels different this time. After the kiss, after everything that happened, you expected—no, hoped—things would shift between you. Instead, he’s just… disappeared. And you hate that you care. Everything was ok. He was flirty, so why was he ignoring you? Why was he flaking? 

So, against your better judgment, you find yourself heading toward the frat house. The music is low, a few guys lounging around, but it’s nothing like the parties you’ve been dragged to before. When you ask where Heeseung is, they just gesture upstairs, some of them giving you looks you pointedly ignore. You don’t even knock. You push open his door to find him sitting on his bed, scrolling through his phone. 

He barely spares you a glance. “What do you want?” 

You scoff. “Seriously? You skip tutoring and act like I’m the one bothering you?” Heeseung tosses his phone aside, finally looking at you—but there’s no teasing glint in his eyes, no smirk. Just something unreadable, something guarded. “I didn’t ask you to come here.” 

You frown. “Yeah, well, I didn’t ask for you to ignore me, either.” 

Silence. Heeseung rubs the back of his neck, exhaling harshly. “Look, just forget it.” 

You shake your head, frustration growing. “Why are you being like this?” 

“Like what?” He quips with a sarcastic laugh. It makes your blood boil. 

“Like this. Distant. Rude. A total asshole.” 

He lets out a short, humorless laugh. “Funny. I thought that’s how you always saw me.” 

“That’s not—” You stop yourself, clenching your fists. “What’s your problem?” 

Heeseung stands, suddenly in your space, forcing you to tilt your head up to meet his eyes. “My problem?” His voice is sharp now. “My problem is you making me look like an idiot.” 

You blink, taken aback. “What?” The confusion coursing through you was palpable. You couldn’t remember a time you had made him look like an idiot. The two of you hardly interacted outside of the library and you certainly hadn’t been around each other when your friends were near. So what the hell was he talking about? 

“Last night,” he mutters, his jaw clenched. “You stood there, in front of everyone, and defended me like I’m some kind of fucking charity case.”  Oh. Oh. 

Your breath catches in your throat. “That’s not what I was doing—” 

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me,” he interrupts. “I don’t need you to tell people I’m more than hockey. I am hockey.” His eyes darken. “And just because we kissed doesn’t mean you’re my fucking girlfriend.” 

The words hit you like a slap. You open your mouth, then close it. You don’t even know what to say. The silence stretches between you like a canyon. 

“I wasn’t trying to-” 

“I didn’t ask for you to do that,” he cuts you off. “I don’t need saving.” You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I wasn’t trying to save you, Heeseung. I was just—” 

He laughs, but it’s anything but amused. “You were just what?” 

“Caring,” you snap. “I was caring, okay? God forbid someone actually gives a shit about you.” Something flashes across his face—something raw, something almost vulnerable—but it’s gone as quickly as it came. A beat of silence. Then, softer: “I don't need you to care.” 

And that, somehow, it hurts more than anything else he’s said. You nod, pressing your lips together. “Just drop it.” He says with finality. But you weren't done. No, you were fired up. 

You should. You should just let it go. But instead, you shove his shoulder. “No.” 

He looks at you, startled. “Did you just—” You shove him again. 

He catches your wrist. “You’ve got some nerve.” You glare up at him. “And you’re a coward.”

His grip tightens slightly. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” You take a shaky breath. “You push people away because it’s easier than letting them in. It’s easier than admitting that you actually give a shit.” Heeseung’s eyes flicker with something unreadable. “And what if I don’t?” You swallow. “Then prove it.” His grip on your wrist tightens. And then, suddenly— His lips are on yours. 

This time you don’t push him away, this time you welcome him. Because you wanted this, more than you’ve wanted anything else before. It’s rough, heated, and you should push him away. You should be furious. But instead, you find yourself kissing him back. You barely register him walking you backward until your back hits the wall, his hands gripping your waist, his lips trailing along your jaw, your neck. The argument, the hurt, the frustration—it all melts into something else entirely. Something that has been building since the first moment you met. And you don’t stop him. How could you when this was all you’ve wanted. All you’ve been thinking of. The kiss is hard, almost punishing, like he’s trying to prove a point. But you don’t pull away. You kiss him back, fisting the front of his hoodie, pulling him closer. 

It’s heated, desperate, fueled by something neither of you want to name. His hands find your waist, and before you know it, you’re stumbling back onto the bed. Your heart is racing. This is a bad idea. This is reckless and impulsive and everything you swore you wouldn’t do. But when Heeseung hovers over you, his lips brushing against yours— you don’t want him to stop. And you beg him not to. 

“Don’t stop.” You breathe pulling away an inch to whisper the words. “Please.”

“But-” He stutters his own breathing labored “You’ve never..” 

“I want to.” You nod at him, giving him all the reassurance he needs. 

“Are you sure?” He asks you, his lips leaving a small trail on your neck down to your collarbone. “Tell me you’re sure.” 

“I’m sure heeseung.” You grabbed his face, so his eyes were leveled with yours. “I want you.” 

Heeseung’s hands continued down the expanse of your body. Running his palms up and down your sides until they reached your waist. He pulled at your body until you’re forced down onto your back with a huff. 

“You’re so beautiful” Heeseung mumbles from above you. “I’m so lucky to be the only man to see you like this…” He coos as his hands made quick work of sliding your yoga pants down your legs revealing your white cotton panties to his eyes. “Right baby?” He hummed “I’m lucky right?” 

You could barely form words as you watched drink in the sight of you. You nod at him that being the only form of communication you could offer him. His hands run up your body again, slowly caressing you. Until he reached your tank top covered breasts. His hands squeezed at them causing a broken gasp to leave your lips. 

You had never been touched by a man like this. So sensually, so erotic. Your body felt ablaze with need for him; you didn't know how to contain yourself. “Please.” You whispered, lifting your hips off the bed, showcasing your ever growing need for him. 

“Be patient baby, I want to take my time with you.” Heeseung pulled at the top of your tank top, yanking it down to expose your breasts to him. He smiled at you, a smile that had made you feel warm inside, safe. His hands kneaded the skin of your breasts. Breathy moans left your lips as you watched Heeseung in fascination. He was beautiful like this. You had never seen a more beautiful man before. 

“I’m going to touch you now, okay?” Heeseung asked, and for a second you were confused until you felt his nimble fingers on your most sensitive area. An area that had not yet been explored. It had your breath stuttering, your nerves alight. 

Heeseung’s finger circled your clit, his eyes watching your for any signs of discomfort. “This might feel a little uncomfortable, just tell me if you want me to stop and I will okay?” 

“Okay.” You sigh. Heeseung’s finger dips inside of you and at first the stretch is uncomfortable but not painful and soon..it starts to feel good. A moan leaves your lips before you could stop it. 

“Fuck.” Heeseung hisses eyes trained on your pussy and how well you were taking his finger. “I’m going to add another one..you’re so tight.” 

“Oh my god.” You whispered as the feeling of his fingers going in and out of you became almost too much to bear. 

“Does that feel good, baby?” Heeseung whispered eyes still trained downwards, watching himself fuck you with his fingers. 

“Yes, fuck yes.” Your moans were loudly and could probably be heard throughout the entire house but you didn’t care. It felt too good. 

Suddenly, the feeling was yanked from you when Heeseung pulled his fingers out. His hands immediately traveled to his pants, yanking them down in one fell swoop. “You’re ready for me.” He said, pulling your hips to the end of the bed. 

“Heeseung…” You trailed off “Is it going to hurt?” You asked him. Heeseung looked at you with a softness you had rarely ever seen from him before. 

“It will sting a little..” He admits “But tell me if it's too much and I'll stop right away.” 

“Okay, i’m ready” You give him a little smile and a nod, mentally preparing yourself. You were about to lose your virginity to a guy that wasn’t even your boyfriend. And you wanted to, you were excited to. 

Heeseung lined himself at your entrance watching your face to gauge your reaction, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt you. You felt him run the tip of his cock up and down your folds, collecting your wetness. And finally after what felt like forever he slid in. slowly, inch by inch. The stretch was far more uncomfortable than his fingers. And he was right to say it would sting. But it was not unbearable. And finally when he was fully inside, hips flush against yours you had felt so close to him, more close than you had ever felt to anyone. It was almost romantic. Not almost, it was. 

Heeseung slowly moved himself in and out of you allowing you to get used to his size. 

“God.” He hissed out, his fingers making dents in your thighs as he tried his best to contain himself. “So…fucking…tight.” 

“Yeah?” You asked, your voice light and airy. Your hands reached for his shoulders digging your fingertips into his skin. “Does it feel good?” 

Heeseung groaned at your words pistoning his hips harder inside of you. “Y-yes” He stuttered. “Best pussy i’ve ever felt.” 

You smiled at his crude words but you would be lying if you didn't think his words to be oddly…sweet. 

“Faster.” You moaned, moving your hands down to circle at your clit. “You can go faster.” 

Heeseung let out another deep girdled groan lifting your knees to your chest allowing himself to hit a deeper spot inside of you. It had you gasping for breath. The new angle sends you hurtling to your orgasm before you could even catch your breath.  

“Fuckkkk” Heeseung’s moans were like music to your ears, a sound you had never thought you would have the pleasure of hearing and now that you have you would never give up. 

Your orgasm served as a catalyst to his as he pulled out, leaving you feeling empty. His hand worked himself up and down, his breathing heavy and chest heaving up and down. “Oh my god.” He groaned as droplets of his cum landed on your stomach. You watched him with wide eyes, your own chest falling in tandem with his.

“Are you okay?” He asks after a while, letting you both catch your breath. 

“Yeah..” You sigh. “More than okay.” 

The next day, Heeseung is out of town for an away game, leaving you alone with your thoughts—ones you don’t particularly want to sit with. Over thinking the night the two of you had over and over again. It was perfect, in your mind. And you didn’t regret not one bit. 

When Yunjin suggests another movie night, you jump at the distraction. Wanting a way to calm your raging nerves. An hour later, the two of you are curled up on your respective sides of the couch, Chinese takeout containers balancing on your laps, Legally Blonde playing on the screen. But you’re barely paying attention. Your mind is still tangled in the events of last night—the heat of Heeseung’s touch, the way he kissed you like he couldn’t get enough, the things he whispered against your skin. 

It’s only a matter of time before Yunjin notices. She shoots you a knowing look, pausing the movie. “Okay. Spill.” 

You hesitate, staring down at your lo mein. “Spill what?” 

She scoffs. “Don’t even try that. You’ve been acting weird all night. Like, more weird than usual.” 

You exhale, pressing your lips together. Then, before you can overthink it, you blurt, “I slept with Heeseung.” The silence that follows is deafening. Yunjin just stares at you, chopsticks frozen mid-air. “You what?” 

You groan, setting your food down. “You heard me.” She blinks. “Oh my god.” 

“I know.” 

“Oh my god.” 

“I know!” 

Yunjin drops her chopsticks and grabs your hands, shaking them. “Okay, okay. Start from the beginning. How did this happen?” So you tell her. You tell her about going to the frat house, about how Heeseung was being an asshole again, about the argument that escalated into something else entirely. By the time you’re done, Yunjin is still holding onto you, eyes wide. “So… what happens now?” You bite your lip. That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Because the truth is—you don’t know. 

“I have no idea,” you admit. “We didn’t really talk about it. He had to leave early for the game this morning.” 

Yunjin watches you carefully. “And how do you feel?” 

You hesitate. “I don’t regret it.” That’s the one thing you’re sure of. Yunjin nods, but there’s a flicker of concern in her eyes. “Just… be careful, okay?” 

You give her a small smile. “I will.” She studies you for another moment, then sighs dramatically, flopping back against the couch. “Well, damn. I guess this makes you a hockey girlfriend now.” 

You snort. “I am not a hockey girlfriend.” 

“Not yet.” She waggles her eyebrows. You groan, throwing a pillow at her. She yelps, laughing as she ducks. 

Monday rolls around, and you’re actually excited to see Heeseung again. It’s ridiculous. You know it’s ridiculous. But after everything that happened, after the way things felt so different between you, there’s a small, traitorous part of you that wonders if things have actually changed. But then hours pass. And Heeseung doesn’t text. Doesn’t call. You tell yourself you're not the type of girl that obsesses over whether a boy will call her or not but it’s hard not to. Not when said boy just made you feel like the most special girl in the world. The one who took your virginity and made it the most special moment of your life. The boy you're falling so madly and deeply in love with. 

You’re not that type of girl. By the time evening comes around, you’ve tried convincing yourself a hundred times that you don’t care—that you don’t need to hear from him. So when Yunjin texts you, asking if you want to grab food at the diner, you immediately say yes. A distraction is exactly what you need. A night at a little diner with your best friend who knows about Heeseung. You can get some perspective from a girl who's in a happy and healthy relationship. She’ll tell you that Heeseung is just tired, he was away all weekend playing Hockey he might just want to rest. All your worries will be satiated and then you can focus on having a good dinner. 

The diner is packed when you walk in, the usual buzz of students filling the space. You and Yunjin are making your way to a booth near the back when she suddenly stops short. You follow her gaze—and feel your stomach drop. At a table near the center of the diner sits Heeseung, Soobin, and the rest of the hockey guys, all laughing loudly over burgers and milkshakes like they don’t have a care in the world. And Heeseung—he looks fine. Like nothing happened. 

Yunjin glances at you. “Do you want to—” Before she can finish, you take a breath and start walking. You’re not going to hide from him. That would be pathetic. You’re just going to go over, say hi, and act normal. But the second you and Yunjin reach the table, you can feel the shift in energy. 

Heeseung tenses when he sees you, his usual cocky smirk faltering for a second before he recovers. “What are you doing here?” You blink, taken aback by his tone. “Getting food. What does it look like?” Some of the guys at the table snicker, and your stomach twists. You feel small. You feel helpless. 

Heeseung leans back in his seat, his jaw tightening. “Didn’t realize you were such a fan of hockey hangouts.” 

You furrow your brows. “What?” Your heart drops to your stomach. 

He shrugs. “I mean, I just didn’t peg you as someone who follows guys around, but hey—good to know.” 

The table erupts into laughter, and heat flares up your neck. You cannot believe this. is he seriously—after everything—is he seriously doing this right now? He’s humiliating you. And for what? To look cool? To hurt you? Because it was working, he was hurting you. Soobin, however, notices immediately. His gaze flicks between you and Heeseung, frown deepening. You glance at Yunjin, whose mouth is already set in a furious line. But before you can say anything, she grabs a cup off the table—one full of soda and ice—and without hesitation, throws it straight at Heeseung. 

Gasps ring out. The laughter stops immediately. Heeseung sits there, stunned, soda dripping from his hair and down his face. The entire diner is watching now, but Yunjin doesn’t care. “What the fuck, Yunjin?!” Heeseung exclaims, jumping up, shaking the liquid off his hands. She glares at him with pure, unfiltered rage. “You are such a fucking asshole, Lee Heeseung.” 

Then she grabs your hand, yanking you away from the table before you can even process what just happened. Leaving your heart at the table with him. Shattered for everyone to see. 

The second you’re outside, the cool air hitting your flushed skin, you exhale sharply. “Holy shit.” Yunjin looks just as pissed as you feel. “What the hell was that?” 

You shake your head, anger and humiliation swirling inside you. “I don’t know.” But what you do know? You’re done. Done making excuses for Heeseung. Done thinking that maybe—just maybe—he’s not the person you feared he was. Because he just proved exactly who he is. And it hurts. 

When the two of you are back at the dorm you allow yourself to cry, to feel the emotions as they came. The heeseung you thought you knew would never do this to you. But it was clear to you now that he only used you as a means to pass his class. His sweet personality was only a well executed act that you were stupid enough to fall for. How could you fall for that? Hockey boys were nothing but egoistic man boys who threw each other around, chasing a puck for a living. They lacked sustenance, they lived their lives like barbarians and you hated them, and everything they stood for. 

You yanked your phone out of your back pocket before swiping to Heeseung’s contact. You hovered over his name for only a second before you opened messages and typed out; “Tutoring is done. Don’t text me, don’t call me. Goodbye.” and you wished you could gather the words to hurt him the way he hurt you but you just didn’t have the strength. You wanted to forget Lee Heeseung and hockey all together. 

Days pass in almost a blur. You contine life as usual only Heeseung is no longer a part of it. You avoid him like the plague, if he’s near at all you bolt. There was no talk of hockey in the dorm anymore. Yunjin was just as pissed and hurt as you. She was the best friend anyone could ever ask for really. 

It was Friday night when you finally had time to settle in for the night. You had an old copy of pride and prejudice in your hand and a hot cup of tea next to you. Yunjin was with Soobin for the night so you were finally alone. It was just past ten-thirty when the sound of pounding on your dorm broke you out of your reading trance. You hurried out of your bed, opening the door with a sense of urgency. Only to be met with Heeseung. 

He was holding a piece of paper in his hand, sporting a grin on his face. The audacity of him. To show up to your dorm..grinning. Was it is lifes mission to torture because it sure did feel like it. The look on Heeseung’s face as you slam the door almost makes you falter. Almost. You stand there, heart racing, hands clenched into fists as you try to steady your breathing. On the other side of the door, you hear nothing at first—just silence. And then: “Wait—no. Wait.” 

A loud knock. You squeeze your eyes shut. You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to do this. “Please, just open the door,” Heeseung says, his voice muffled. 

You shake your head, even though he can’t see it. “Go away, Heeseung.” 

“I—no. Not until you listen to me.” Another knock. Then another. “I swear I wasn’t using you.” 

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “Oh, really? Could’ve fooled me.” 

“I mean it.” His voice is closer now, pressed right up against the door. “That night at the diner—I fucked up, okay? I was an idiot. I didn’t want the guys to know about—” He pauses. “About us.” Something about the way he says us makes your stomach twist. You hate that a part of you still wants to listen. “Why?” you ask, your voice sharper than you expect. “Why is it so humiliating to be seen with me?” 

“It’s not,” he says immediately. “That’s not—fuck. That’s not what I meant.” You don’t respond. You don’t know what to say. “Can you—” He exhales, frustration laced in his voice. “Can you at least open the door so I can look at you while I apologize?” You hesitate. Of course, you hesitate. You should just tell him to leave. He doesn’t deserve the chance to explain himself after what he did. But against your better judgement and like a complete and utter idiot, you unlock the door. 

The second it swings open, Heeseung is standing there, wide-eyed, like he wasn’t sure you’d actually do it. He looks… tired. Like he hasn’t slept in days. Slowly, he lifts the crumpled test paper in his hand. “I got a hundred” 

You glance at it, then back at him. “Good for you,” you say again, flatly. “I guess using me was worth it.” 

His jaw clenches. He rubs the back of his neck. “I know you don’t owe me anything. I just—” He shakes his head. “I panicked, okay? I thought if the guys found out about… us, they’d—” 

“They’d what, Heeseung?” You cross your arms. “Make fun of you? Say something stupid? Newsflash—people say stupid shit all the time.” He looks away. “You don’t get it.” 

“Then make me get it.” 

His hands tighten into fists. His lips press together like he’s warring with himself. “I just—I’ve spent years making sure people see me a certain way. That I’m not the same loser I was before.” You stare at him. “And you think being seen with me ruins that image?” 

His head snaps up. “No.” He steps closer, and for the first time since that awful night, his voice is softer. “That’s not what I meant.” He swallows. “You make me feel different. And that—” He shakes his head, frustrated. “That scares me.” You don’t know what to say. Because what do you do with that? What do you do with the fact that this boy, the same one who humiliated you in front of everyone, is now standing here saying things you never expected to hear? 

A lump forms in your throat. “Then maybe you should figure out what you actually want, Heeseung.” He looks at you, something raw in his expression. “I already know what I want.” But you don’t let yourself believe him. Not yet. So you step back. And this time, when you close the door, you do it gently. And you let yourself cry because that’s the only thing you can control right now. 

The next night you're curled up in bed, the soft glow of your laptop screen illuminating your face as a movie plays in the background. You’re not really watching, though. You’re just existing, letting the noise drown out your thoughts. The door swings open, and Yunjin and Soobin step inside, their laughter filling the space. Yunjin glances at you before excusing herself to the bathroom, leaving you alone with Soobin. He hesitates for a moment before sitting down on the edge of your bed. “Hey,” he says gently. “How are you doing?” 

You don’t even look away from the screen. “I’m great.” 

Soobin scoffs. “Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England.” 

You sigh, finally meeting his gaze. He’s watching you carefully, like he’s trying to piece you together. His usual playful demeanor is gone, replaced with something softer. “Heeseung is a mess,” Soobin says after a moment. “He misses you. And he’s sorry.” You swallow the lump forming in your throat. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to care. But despite yourself, a single tear slips down your cheek. 

“He used me, Soobin,” your voice cracks, and you look down at your lap. “How can I forgive him? Why would I?” Soobin sighs, shaking his head. He doesn’t hesitate when he says, “Because you love him. And he loves you.” Your breath catches. it’s so simple, so matter-of-fact, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like he’s just waiting for you to admit it to yourself. Before you can say anything, Yunjin steps out of the bathroom, looking between the two of you. “You ready to go?” she asks Soobin. 

He nods, standing up. But before he leaves, he gives you one last look. “Just… think about it, okay?” Then, they’re gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You sit there long after the door closes, Soobin’s words echoing in your mind. Because you love him and he loves you. 

Your heart clenches, and you wipe at the tear on your cheek, frustrated. It shouldn’t be this hard. You shouldn’t still care this much. But the truth is—you do. You sigh, curling up tighter in your blanket. The movie playing in the background is one you’ve seen a million times, but you’re not paying attention. Your thoughts keep circling back to Heeseung. His face when you shut the door. The way his voice wavered when he admitted you scared him. 

Does he really love you? Or is this just another game to him? You don’t know. And that uncertainty terrifies you. Opening your heart up terrifies you. A soft knock pulls you from your thoughts. Your stomach twists, half-expecting it to be Heeseung, but when you open the door, it’s Sunoo. “Hey,” he says, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “Yunjin texted me. Said you might need company.” 

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. Of course she did. Sunoo plops down next to you on the bed, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl in your lap. He watches you for a moment, chewing thoughtfully. “So. Are we wallowing or plotting revenge?” You huff out a laugh, shoving him lightly. “Neither.” 

“Boring.” He sighs dramatically, throwing himself back against your pillows. “Okay, then what’s the plan? You’re clearly miserable. And I’m pretty sure Heeseung is too.” You don’t say anything, just stare down at the popcorn in your hands. Sunoo sighs again, but this time, it’s softer. “Look, I get why you’re mad. You should be mad. But…” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “I’m not close with Heeseung and I barely know him since it’s my first year, but I’ve never seen him care about anyone the way he cares about you.” 

Your chest tightens. “Then why did he treat me like that?” 

“Because he’s an idiot.” Sunoo shrugs. “And because he’s scared. But mostly because he’s an idiot.” You roll your eyes. “Not helping.” 

He nudges you. “I’m just saying… Maybe talk to him. Really talk to him.” You sigh, rubbing your temples. “I don’t know if I can trust him again.” 

Sunoo is quiet for a moment, then says, “Then make him prove that you can.” You swallow hard, his words settling into your chest like a weight. Heeseung owes you more than just an apology. Maybe if he really wants you, he’ll fight for you. And maybe you, just maybe you’ll let him. 

That weekend, Yunjin had had enough. She wasn’t about to let you wallow in self-pity any longer. “You’re coming to the game,” she announced, standing in front of your bed with her arms crossed. You groaned, pulling your blanket over your face. “Pass.” 

“Not an option.” She yanked the covers away. “You’ve spent all week moping. You need to get out.” 

“I am out,” you deadpanned. “My bed is out.” 

“Not what I meant.” She rolled her eyes. “Get dressed. Now.” Despite your protests, she wasn’t having any of it. Eventually, after an absurd amount of bribery (including the promise of ice cream after), you gave in. By the time you arrived at the arena, the energy in the air was electric—fans were buzzing with anticipation, the scent of popcorn and arena food filling your senses. The rink was already packed, the game about to start, and you felt out of place among the sea of jerseys and face paint. Yunjin, however, was thrilled, chatting with other students and cheering before the puck even dropped. You sat stiffly beside her, arms crossed, doing your best not to look at the ice—because you knew if you did, your eyes would immediately find Heeseung. 

And you weren’t ready for that. A few minutes into the game, Yunjin’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out, eyes scanning the screen before she let out a dramatic sigh. “Ugh. Soobin left his gloves in the locker room. Can you please grab them for him?” 

You turned to her with a glare. “Why can’t y—” 

“Just go do it,” she cut you off, shoving your shoulder lightly. Something about her tone made you pause. She sounded too casual. Too… calculated. You narrowed your eyes. “This feels like a setup.” 

She gasped, all mock innocence. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing?” You weren’t convinced, but the alternative was sitting here and enduring the game, so you sighed. “Fine.” 

Yunjin grinned, and you shot her one last suspicious look before heading down the corridor. The locker room hallway was eerily quiet, the distant sound of the game muffled through the walls. You pushed open the heavy door, stepping inside, expecting to see rows of empty benches and Soobin’s gloves lying somewhere in the mess of gear. instead, standing in the middle of the room, was Heeseung. Your breath caught. He looked different off the ice—less intimidating without his helmet, his hair damp with sweat, curling slightly at the ends. He was still in his jersey, the bold number on his sleeve catching the light, his hockey bag slung over one shoulder. 

And he was staring at you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was heavy, charged with everything that had been left unsaid. You clear your throat, gripping the strap of your bag tighter. “I’m just here to grab Soobin’s gloves.” Your voice is steady, indifferent. Like seeing him doesn’t completely shake you. 

Heeseung nods slowly, then gestures to the bench behind him. “They’re over there.” You walk past him, determined to just grab the gloves and leave, but as soon as your fingers curl around them, Heeseung speaks again. “You’re here.” 

You freeze, but don’t turn around. “Yunjin dragged me.” A beat of silence. Then, softer—almost hesitant—Heeseung says, “I didn’t think you’d ever want to see me again.” 

You inhale sharply, gripping the gloves tighter. Finally, you turn to face him. “You made that pretty easy when you humiliated me.” Regret flickers in his expression. “I know,” he murmurs. “I was an idiot. A complete asshole. I told you, I was scared.” 

You scoff. “Scared of what, Heeseung? That people would find out you actually cared about me? That you weren’t just some player?” 

“Yes,” he admits, and the raw honesty in his voice takes you off guard. “I was scared of how much I cared about you. Scared that you’d realize I wasn’t good enough for you.” Heeseung runs a hand through his damp hair, exhaling shakily. “I never meant to hurt you. I never meant to make you feel like you didn’t matter, because you do. You do more than you realize.” 

Your chest tightens, emotions crashing over you all at once. You want to be mad. You want to scream at him for the way he made you feel. But there’s something in his voice, in his expression—genuine remorse, vulnerability—that makes it hard to hold onto that anger. “You really hurt me, Heeseung,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. He steps closer, carefully, like he’s afraid you’ll run. “I know. And I’ll spend as long as it takes making it up to you.” 

You swallow, emotions warring inside you. For a moment, neither of you move. Then, hesitantly, he reaches out—giving you the chance to pull away—but when you don’t, his fingers brush against yours, light and uncertain. “Can we just… start over?” he asks. “Please?” 

Your heart pounds. A part of you wants to walk away, to protect yourself from getting hurt again. But another part—maybe the bigger part—wants to believe him. You take a deep breath, looking into his eyes. “Okay.” 

“Okay”

reg taglist. (★) @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @filmnings , @dawngyu , @hyukascampfire , @saejinniestar , @notevenheretbh1 , @hwanghyunjinismybae, @ch4c0nnenh4, @kristynaaah

series taglist. (★) @saejinniestar , @chwesun , @vixialuvs , @slut4hee , @xylatox , @ghstzzn @skyearby @m1kkso @jakeswifez @heartheejake @hommyy-tommy @yunverie @lalalalawon

@strayy-kidz @wolfhardbby @kwiwin @immelissaaa @fancypeacepersona @starfallia @mariegalea @adoredbyjay @strxwbloody @lovingvoidgoatee @beeboobeebss @zyvlxqht @weyukinluv @flwwon

@guapgoddees @demigodmahash @cloud-lyy @heesky @ikaw-at-ikaw @shuichi-sama @shawnyle @kwhluv @iarainha @ikeuwoniee @mora134340

crossing the line masterlist coming soon.

[neeeooon]

okay mb i misread the “parents walk in on you” pt 3 as the “find out they have a kid” pt 3 and already wrote half of it so.. here we go !!

when they find out they have a kid pt 3

ex-husband!bllk x fem!reader. angst, cursing, mentions of sex (no smut), barou and karasu’s kids have a name

shidou ryusei

-> “mommy, why are you sad?” your three-year-old asked as you stared down at the news article on your phone. your short-lived marriage to shidou had been just that—short. yet some paparazzi still liked to keep tabs on you

-> now, you were staring down at a photo of you holding your daughter while walking her home from a play date. they didn’t blur her face, leaving her large pink eyes on display. the title, “pxg’s shidou’s secret life?!” was printed in bold lettering that left you feeling sick to your stomach

-> you found out you were pregnant after finalizing your divorce, and though you wanted to tell him, your mother convinced you that a child would ruin shidou’s career and his life. that you’d all be better off keeping the child a secret. you hadn’t wanted to believe her, but after following the rather reckless lifestyle in tabloids following your divorce, you gave in and agreed to keep her from him

-> a gentle knock on your apartment door pulls you from breakfast the next morning, and shidou is there with an almost blank expression on his face. his eyes, though, pink like your daughters, shimmer with unshed emotion

-> “y/n, i… i’m not… can we just—“ the word talk dies in his throat when he sees a tiny human peek up at him from the crack between the door and the wall. “oh my god!” you say, stumbling forward as shidou suddenly drops to his knees

-> he sits there, staring at this child that looks remarkable like him. like you. “are you okay?!” your poor, sweet daughter asks as tears start to fall from shidou’s eyes. she runs forward and grabs his face with her tiny hands now that he’s at her height, moving his head around as she looks for injuries

-> “you don’t have any booboos,” her brows furrow in confusion. “why are you sad?” you feel sick with guilt as you watch your daughter give shidou a hug to try and cheer him up. you can see him visibly shaking as he hugs her back, careful not to squeeze too hard and hurt her

-> when your daughter disappears to show her new friend her favorite stuffed animals, shidou turns his gaze to you. “please tell me why you kept this from me? please make it make sense, y/n, because i’m drawing blanks.” he rubs his temples and sighs. “did i hurt you? did you feel unsafe having me around her? why—“ “it was my mother,” you cut him off. “she… convinced me that you’d be better off. i was emotional and confused and she used that against me. i’m so sorry, ryusei.”

bachira meguru

-> were you ever diagnosed with schizophrenia? you texted your ex-husband after four years of silence. you hadn’t wanted to contact him at all, despite ending on decent terms, but your daughter’s daycare kept calling you to complain that she was talking to “monsters” instead of playing with the other children

-> you weren’t expecting him to call, but answered when he did. “hello?” “schizophrenia isn’t contagious, if that’s what you’re worried about.” “so you got the diagnosis?” “i’m not schizophrenic!”

-> the phone call had you both laughing like old times, and after catching up for nearly two hours, he mentioned that he’d be in town in a few weeks and asked you to coffee. you said yes, figuring now was a better time than ever to break the news that he was a father

-> sitting in a little restaurant together, after chatting lightly for a while, you finally worked up the courage to tell him. “do you know why i suddenly texted you?” bachira looks confused. “i figured it was a flirting tactic. that, or you’ve been seeing monsters, too.”

-> he was joking, but when you placed a photo of your daughter on the table, he stilled. “i haven’t. but she has.” you watch him visibly swallow as he picks the photo up, hands trembling just slightly. “is this a joke, y/n?” “no. i’m so sorry, bachira.”

-> you can tell by his eyes that he’s distraught, but he still attempts a small smile. “she’s mine?” “she’s yours.” “and she sees monsters?” you nod and say, “just one. her daycare is worried that she won’t make any friends…”

-> “she… isn’t getting picked on by the other kids, is she?” he asks in a wavering voice, and you reach across the table to take his trembling hand in your own. “she’s not. she’s the happiest little girl you could ever meet.” “can i? meet her?” “would you like that?” “more than anything, i think.”

-> your daughter isn’t the least bit hesitant or shy when you introduce bachira to her. all she sees is a new friend, someone her monster approves of, and jumps at his legs. “wanna see my lego bat mobile?! it’s pink and has wings!!” he happily agrees, letting her drag him off to play

barou shouei

-> you knew you had fertility issues when you married barou, and you were completely transparent with him about it. he stayed with you, supporting you through treatments as you tried to start a family. after year five of failure, your marriage was in shambles

-> the divorce papers came after your final attempt at ivf treatment, and since the doctors told you it likely wouldn’t stick, you wished barou the best in getting the family he always wanted and signed

-> when your pregnancy test came back positive two months later (you’d been too scared to take an earlier one), he’d already moved on with a model

-> your son was six when he found out who his father was. “mom, why do you have pictures with that soccer player from italy?” you froze and tried to laugh it off, to tell him barou was just an old friend, but your son was too smart for his own good. upset with the fact that you tried to lie, he reached out to barou himself

-> when you get a text the next day asking if it’s true, if you have his son, you’re devastated. “why would you do that, sakuya?” “you lied to me! everyone else at school had a dad, it’s not fair!”

-> with both demanding to meet, you don’t see any other option but to comply. even worse? the boys hit it off immediately. you didn’t realize how similar sakuya was to shouei until watching them communicate together like this wasn’t their first time meeting

-> “i want to stay here,” was the worst thing your son could ever say to you. though barou assured you that it would just be him at the house, that they’d play soccer and watch movies and order food, you felt like your baby was slipping through your fingers. still, all you wanted was to make him happy

-> with tears in your eyes, you told your ex-husband, “i want hourly updates. i’ll send you a list of everything he likes and doesn’t like, what he can and can’t have, and his favorite movies. this is just a test run, shouei, okay? he’s coming home to me in the morning.” “fine. if that’s what he wants.” “he is a child. he will be back home with me in the morning, or he won’t come back here again.” “… fine.”

kunigami rensuke

-> you got married young, when kunigami was still.. kunigami

-> his career changed him, and you both know it. he knew you weren’t happy anymore, but he was never home for you to talk it out. the longer he was away, the easier it was to stay apart

-> the last time you saw him as your husband, you slept together to see if there was anything left to save your relationship. to show you still loved each other. you got divorced a week later, and not long after that, you found out you were pregnant

-> you were very depressed and had to have your family take care of you throughout your pregnancy. you didn’t want to keep it at first, especially since you had no intention of telling your ex-husband, but everything changed once your son was born

-> you got back on your feet. straightened your life up. took care of yourself so you could take care of him. and you were happy. even after two years, you started dating again and settled down with someone who loved your son as his own

-> when you saw kunigami sitting at your mother’s kitchen table, a framed photograph of you and your three-year-old, you could barely force your lips to form words

-> “so… we have a kid.” “i do, yes.” “that’s not fair. i’m his father—“ “he already has a father, and it’s not you.” kunigami flinched at your words. “y/n—“ “tell me the truth, rensuke. if you’d known i was pregnant after we got divorced, would you have wanted anything to do with him? would you have quit soccer for us?” his silence is all the answer you need

karasu tabito

-> “get out! i never want to see you again!” were the last words you said to your husband when you saw photos of him kissing someone else on your phone. he tried to explain that it was a misunderstanding, but you weren’t having any of it. you didn’t know at the time that your hormones were extremely skewed, but it wouldn’t have mattered

-> when your son was born, you dedicated your life to him. you raised him on your own with only the help of a few friends. you wanted nothing to do with your ex because you knew, if given the opportunity, he would find a way back into your heart and your bed

-> as your son grew older, part of you regretted keeping him from having a father figure, but you convinced yourself that it was for the best

-> when he told you that his elementary school was having professional athletes visit, you thought nothing of it, given how excited he was. plus, you knew your ex-husband played for france, so there was no way he’d ever visit your son’s school… until you got the email from the school announcing which players would visit

-> by the time you called to pull your boy out of class, it was too late. you sped into an available parking spot and rushed to the front, only to find your five-year-old sitting on a little bench, legs swinging, as he chatted karasu’s ear off about a book you’d read to him

-> “taichi! what have i told you about talking to strangers?” you quietly but firmly scolded as you scooped your son’s hand up in yours. “but mama, he’s famous! and he says you used to hold hands! he even showed me photos!” “never go with anyone unless i tell you, okay?” “okay..”

-> “he’s a smart kid,” karasu commented from the bench, and you shot him a glare before tightening your grip on your son’s hand. “yes, he is.” “does he know who i am?” “we’re not doing this. not here.” “i think now’s a better time than ever, y/n.”

-> with grit teeth, you kneel down to taichi’s height and give his shoulder’s a gentle squeeze. “baby, remember what i told you about your dad?” taichi’s eyes lit up. “that he’s not home because he’s doing great things across the world!” “well…” you shoot karasu a seething glare, and he steps forward to ruffle your son’s hair. “hey, kid.”

pt 1 // pt 2

[bernardsbendystraws]

You Don’t Own Me

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7 P8 P9 P10 P11 P12 P13

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: mentions of sex, unwanted touching, kissing, crying

A/N: I'm screaming, crying, giggling, and fainting all at the same time.

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

P13: Hostage

My head is pulsing, my mind rushing with endless swarms of questions as I sit in the passenger seat of Matt’s car. 

“Hey, it’ll be okay, we’ll figure something out.” he remarks, shifting the car into park and unbuckling his seatbelt. 

This is frustrating. We can’t change partners. 

We stayed after school to ask the teacher and he didn’t even say no—he just shook his head, pointing to the door for us to leave. I’m stuck with Shawn as my partner for the rest of the class, I’m trapped in an uncomfortable situation with no way to get out. 

I hate it. 

My clammy palms rub together in my lap. I make no movement to get out of the car, biting on my lip a little too hard as I stare at his house in front of us. “This is… this is so stupid.” I groan, rubbing my hand over my face. 

Everything is so confusing, nothing is making sense. 

“Let’s think about something else, what about—”

“I do have a question.” I remark, interrupting Matt. He looks over at me, cocking a brow as he waits for me to continue. “Chris—why haven’t I ever seen him at school?” I ask. 

Matt sighs, running his hand through his hair as he shakes his head. My teeth gnaw into my lip as I watch him gather his thoughts. 

I’ve been assuming that Chris’ schedule didn't interact with mine at all. Maybe his classes were on the other side of the school, maybe he didn’t have a full schedule. 

But that can’t be it. Matt always drove alone—to and from school. 

“I don’t—I don’t know if that’s my place to tell you.” Matt says. I nod slowly, reaching down at unbuckling my seatbelt. “Just, I don’t know. Maybe ask him? I don’t know if he’ll tell you, but,” he sighs, rubbing over his face as he looks out the front window of the car, “-I just… don’t know.” 

Grabbing my bag, I follow Matt as he walks out of the car and to the front door of the house. I shove my shoes off, setting them by the rack of other miscellaneous boots and sneakers, the sight of Chris’s regular shoes making my skin pulse. 

He’s here. 

We haven’t really talked since that night. Our date—well, a date he didn’t really ask me on. 

But it’s the best date I’ve ever had, even if we were just in his room. He showed so much effort—it kinda hurt. 

“You good? Wanna hang out in my room or out here?” Matt questions, sliding off his shoes and tossing his bag to the floor. 

Before I can answer, a familiar trot makes my lips curl into a smile. I look down to see Trevor, his snout twitching as he sniffs my legs aggressively, his tail whipping from side to side with excitement. 

“Out here?” I answer, looking up at Matt with a smile as I feel Trevor nuzzle himself against my calf. “Kinda wanna hang out with Trev too. And he never stays in your room.” I remark. 

“I know,” Matt huffs, walking over to the couch and plopping on the cushion. “It's so annoying. He’ll never stay in my room since Chris practically trained him to only stay in his. He has fuckin’ dog treats stuffed in every corner, I swear.” 

A breathy laugh falls from my lips. I walk over, sitting on the couch about a foot away from Matt, smiling as Trevor jumps up, laying in between the both of us like a loaf of bread. 

“Well, he’s comfy.” I joke, rubbing Trevor’s ears as I hear Matt let out a subtle snort. 

“Yeah, very. He doesn’t have anything to worry about, not some stupid school project either, hm Trev?” he says, his voice in a higher pitch as he baby-talks the dog. 

Fuck. That stupid project. 

My body deflates as I melt into the cushion of the couch. Matt takes notice of my behavior, looking up at me with furrowed brows. “Hey, what’s going on? Is it our project?” he asks. 

I shrug. My chest squeezes as I roll my bottom lip between my teeth. “I mean, not just that, but yeah. I don’t really know what to do. Shawn’s a fucking prick. He had the nerve to—ugh. Yeah, it’s just… frustrating.” I sigh. 

Matt’s eyes soften, his lips plummeting to a sympathetic pout. “Well, what if we still partnered up?” he offers. 

Partner up? 

He was there when the teacher practically shunned us. What part about that gave him any sort of hope that we could still partner up? 

My eyes squint at his suggestion. He sucks in a deep breath, clasping his hands together. “Aren’t you working on the project with him later today?” he asks, his eyes lifting as his forehead crinkles. 

“I mean yeah, but—”

“But,” Matt interrupts, tilting his head towards the side as his hand waves through the air, “-what if he came over here? While me and Cole work on our shit, you guys can do the same, but we’ll be all together. I doubt Shawn will be weird if we’re all together.” he suggests.

Oh. My. God. 

This smart little bitch. 

“Matt.” I state, watching as he looks at me with anticipation. “I fuckin’ love you. You’re so fuckin—ugh, are you sure?” I ask, letting out a sigh of relief as he nods affirmatively, a small smile imprinted on his face. 

Thank fuck. 

“What else is bothering you? You said that wasn’t the only thing, what’s up?” he asks, his lips together in a tight line as he reaches to pet Trevor.

Where do I even begin? 

“My… date? Um, whatever it was—”

“What’d Chris do,” he sighs, interrupting my stumbling words as he stares up at me with sad eyes. 

My lips purse together, my face crawling with warmth as I rub my hands together in my lap. “I just—it’s not him, it’s… ugh.” 

The grunt falling from my lips seems to make Matt lean in closer, his eyes squinting as lips tug slightly downwards. “What do you mean? What went wrong?” he interrogates, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks his lips between his teeth. 

“Nothing went wrong. It’s just—I think that’s the issue.” 

Matt seems to let out a sigh of relief at my statement, relaxing back onto the couch as he fiddles with Trevor’s ear. “I’m glad nothing is wrong, but I—what’s the issue then?” he pushes. 

Ugh. 

My eyes drift across the room, my teeth clamping into the tip of my tongue as I shift my feet closer together, adjusting my position on the couch. 

“Well,” I start, wincing as a loud crack sounds from my fingers twisting together. “I just—I’ve had a boyfriend before, you know? And I guess I’m just kinda hurt that he never showed me that type of effort once. Not even—not even when he was trying to guilt trip me to stay with him.” 

Silence. 

Matt seems to stare at me blankly. His head cocking towards the side as he lets out a long sigh. “Isn’t that a good thing to finally get what you wanted though?” 

His question makes my lips twitch at the corners, a small frown tugging on my face as I blink away the warm tear forming in my eyes. 

I shrug, sniffling quietly. “Yeah, I guess. It’s just… I thought I wasn’t good enough for that type of effort. I mean, I stayed with that guy for way longer than I should’ve. But I stayed even though I was being treated like shit—I… I feel like I don’t deserve it because, well—I—I don’t know—”

“You feel like you don’t deserve it now because you treated yourself so poorly by staying,” he fills in. 

God. Those words seem to dig deep. It’s like he’s answering a question I didn’t even know I had—a question that was too full of shame for me to even ask myself. 

But it made sense. 

“Yeah. I guess,” I breathe, my nose twitching as I feel my eyes flutter with furious blinks. There’s no way I’m crying about this, not anymore. I don’t even miss the guy I once called my boyfriend, I missed the way I had more dignity before him. 

I missed the way I used to want to fall in love. 

“You know, you and Chris are so similar it’s scary,” Matt puffs. 

I tilt my head as I look over at him, watching as he laughs, wiping over his face as he shakes his head with disbelief. “I don’t know, sorry. Just… text Shawn and I’ll text Cole?” he suggests. 

Nodding, I pull out my phone, typing a quick message as my mind loops around our conversation. 

If Chris is just like me, how would that ever work? We’ve already been taking turns pushing the other away. 

A lump forms in my throat from the thought. I swallow, wincing as I feel the discomfort travel down to my chest, creating sensations of pressure that make it feel a little harder to breathe. 

There’s no way it would work. 

___

Awkward is an understatement. Shawn was reluctant to agree to come over to Matt’s house and work on the project, but I didn’t really give him any other choice. I can tell he’s pissed off—and it’s pissing me off. 

Cole, Matt’s partner, is mostly silent, only chipping in a thought every couple of minutes. He’s quiet, but nice. At least he’s not like Shawn—still trying to invade my personal space. 

Thankfully, Matt has been a lot more observant. The second Shawn tried to get closer than he should, Matt asked him to take off his shoes—-which he should’ve done in the first place anyhow, but by the time he came back to sit, Matt occupied the spot next to me. 

It made things tolerable. The four of us working on the project didn’t really seem to speed things up though. Cole wasn’t contributing much and Shawn was just… Shawn—useless and annoying. 

“I, um,” Matt whispers, staring at me with clenched teeth and worried eyes, “I really need to piss, do you–”

“Go,” I urge. 

My brows furrow together as I watch his face contort with an awkward wince. “Oh my god, do not pee on me. Go fuckin’ piss!” I whisper-yell, waving my hand as I watch him immediately get up and rush down the hallway. 

The second I lose sight of him, my stomach drops with an unsettling feeling. I look up, watching as Shawn starts to scoot closer to me, my eyes darting to Cole. He’s buried in his phone, chewing on the strings of his hoodie. 

Great. 

This is just great. 

I flinch as I feel his leg press up against mine. My elbow digs into the arm of the couch, my body leaning away from him as I feel my chest burn with anger. “Shawn—” 

His name barely leaves my lips. My mouth smacks shut as I feel his hand on my thigh. The heat of his skin is touching mine, my mini skirt feeling like underwear as his fingers squeeze right below the hem of my clothing.

My eyes water as I bite into my cheek a little too hard. I clench my teeth together, my jaw tightening as I take a deep breath. 

As my lips open, I feel his hand go just barely underneath my skirt. My body freezes. 

I want him off. 

“Shawn, get your hands off—” 

He looks over at me with an annoyed expression. “Chill out,” he puffs, his hand gravitating to the lower, resting on the middle of my thigh. 

I squint my eyes shut tightly, trying to imagine I’m anywhere but here. Maybe a beach, maybe an isolated cabin—

“Hey, wanna come to my room for a minute?” 

Oh?

My eyes blink open as I see Chris standing in the doorway. He can’t see over the back of the couch, but I can tell by his eyes flickering from my face to Shawn that he knows something isn’t quite right. 

Thank god. His snooping finally came in handy once. 

“I, uh—yeah.” I say, starting to stand up. 

Shawn’s hand lazily falls down my leg, dropping with gravity as I get up and start to walk behind Chris. I don’t bother looking behind me. My eyes stay trained on Chris’ back as he guides us to his room, opening the door and holding it for me. 

He nudges his head, urging me to walk in. “I—thank you,” I mention, striding past him and into his room. 

I hope he knows I mean it in more than one way.

“Mhm.” he hums, pressing on the small of my back, guiding me to sit on the bed. “Just take a minute, I texted Matt. Can’t believe he left you alone with that creep.” I shiver at his words, recalling the sensation of Shawn’s hand on my thigh, the skin itching with annoyance. 

“He just—”

“-needed to pee, I know,” he interrupts, laying on the bed with his arm slung behind his head. “Are you… okay?” he asks, his brows furrowed as he rolls his lips together. 

Am I okay?

“Yeah. I think so?” I remark, my voice raising in pitch as I question my own words. Chris’ face scrunches more. He pats the pillow next to him, nodding his head for me to lay down. 

My head swivels towards the closed door. 

Matt. 

I can’t just leave, I need to go back out there. 

“Don’t worry.” I turn my head back towards Chris, listening as he continues to speak, “I texted him and just told him you’re done for the day. You’re not going back out there.” 

The lump in my throat seems to ease as I swallow. I twist my hands in my lap for a second, hesitantly crawling up to lay next to him, my head resting on his only pillow. A deep sigh leaves my lips. 

I feel safe at least—comfortable enough to truly breathe. 

“You good?” 

My eyes blink open as I look towards Chris, seeing him staring at me intently. I nod. The subtle shift of his arm under his head makes me scoot further to the side on the pillow. 

“Come lay down,” I suggest. 

The statement seems to make his eyes wander around the room. He contemplates the offer, slowly rolling onto his side and facing me before resting his head on the other side of the pillow. 

I can feel his breath, the subtle drift of his hair brushing above my eyebrow. 

I can feel how much I ache to touch him. 

“You can come closer, you know,” I mention. 

Chris shakes his head. “No, I’m fine. I doubt you wanna be touched right now.” 

“Come closer, it’s okay—”

“No,” he cuts off, “I’m comfortable, really. Don’t worry about me.” 

Ugh. 

Why can’t he take the hint?

“Chris.” His eyes blink open as he stares at me. I scoot up slightly, holding open my arms. “Please,” I sigh. 

He licks over his lips as his face scrunches. “Are you sure? I don’t wanna touch you and make you uncomfo—”

“You won’t,” I say, my eyes peering into his with intent. “You don’t.” 

Silence washes over us. I feel my bottom lip quiver, my emotions rolling over me as my cheeks grow warm. “I just—hold me. I like when you touch me.” 

His face relaxes as he gulps, nodding before scooting into my hold. I wrap my arms around his shoulders, pulling him into my chest and wrapping my leg around his waist. 

This is just what I needed. 

I take a soothing breath, the air exploring deeper in my lungs, like a true breath of fresh air. It smells like him—a warm, clean scent that makes my nose flare for another deep breath before I can think twice. 

“Is this…is this okay?” he asks, his hand loosely lays on my waist, his eyes wide as he stares up at me. 

I want him closer. 

The air seems to get thinner, my eyes dropping to his lips as I imagine them on mine. It seems so enticing, so different. His touch already brings me a lot of comfort, but what would such an intimate touch do? Would it just feel sexual? 

Even his hands on my body didn’t necessarily feel sexual. He held me in a way that made everything feel effortless, a true reassurance that couldn’t be put into words. 

Chris seems to notice my antics, his hand on my waist gliding up my back and pulling me closer. His nose grazes my chin. I feel my heart lurch against my chest, violently pumping as I let out short breaths. 

“Will you kiss–”

“Are you sure?” he interrupts, his eyes flickering all over my face—especially my eyes and lips. 

I swallow, nodding softly. My vision seems to blur, cloudy with stubborn tears as I let my eyes flutter closed, my breath hitching in my chest as I feel his lips hover over mine. 

“Is this—is it still ok—”

His whispered words are silenced by my lips. I feel his hand on my back pull me against him, the sensation of his lips slotting between mine making my hazy mind silent with his comforting touch. 

God. 

This feels like heaven—so light and feathery, almost otherworldly. 

I let myself drown in his mouth, parting my lips for him to hungrily kiss me, his devotion apparent in how he holds me so tightly. 

I’ve never been kissed like this. I’ve never been held like this. 

I’ve never felt like this at all. 

There’s so much emotion pouring out from his lips and his hands—enough to make my tears start to gather in my lower lashes as my hand tangles up into his hair. 

Chris pulls away for a quick breath, staring up at me with concern laced in his furrowed brows. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he coos, his voice softer than ever. 

I shake my head, gathering the words with a shaky breath. “Nothing,” I rush, “Nothing is wrong. I just—I…”

My mouth falls open, words cluelessly trailing off into the air, “I need you to kiss me again. Please.”

A/N: Watch this if you haven't already. I'm literally dying dead.

[kermdoeswriting]

Tell Him

"You'll have to tell him at some point, you know."

Danny watched as Alfred stirred his tea with his favorite spoon before neatly placing it onto the napkin beside him.

He didn't look up once to see if Danny was even paying attention. He just continued to speak, as if he already knew that Danny was.

"It'd be awfully unfair of you not to do so. Knowing how much he trusts you with his own secrets."

Danny hums before taking another sip of his own tea that Alfred had prepared for him earlier. It wasn't as if he had never thought of telling Tim what he was, but the idea of rejection made him awfully nervous.

Dealing with the supernatural was one thing.

Dealing with a manifestation of a concept placed into a human body is another.

It was a hard thing for humans to deal with. When they finally knew who or really what he was.

"I was hoping maybe he'd catch on with context clues." Danny replies eventually, sounding meek as he shrunk into himself.

Alfred chuckled as a response.

"I'm afraid context clues might not be enough for him, Lord Hades."

Danny shrugged off his title, refusing to meet Alfred's eyes as he stirred his tea over and over again. The sugar dissolved ages ago, but he can't stop stirring anyway.

The repetitive motion calmed him from thinking of the inevitable.

"I can still hope, Alfred." He pouted eventually, breaking their silence. Alfred laughed at him.

"Hoping is foolish, but your yearning is even worse for us both."

Danny looked over at the older man, wisdom leaking from his bones after all of his years untouched by his very presence. While Alfred had bristled with death in the past, he had never quite got that singular touched mark until Danny came along.

"How so?"

"You know how," Alfred tutted at him knowingly, eyes back on his tea before taking another sip.

"You are delaying the inevitable by keeping me here. All to keep seeing him."

Danny's silent, the words trapped in his throat for a moment before he speaks.

"Is that such a bad thing? To want to live longer?"

"It is when you've lived all the life you're supposed to live."

The two go silent again. Danny finishes his tea.

"Tonight... after the gala..." He hesitates when he sees Alfred's eyes on him again, looking away towards the Wayne Garden roses next to him. "After I tell him, we'll go."

Alfred hums, sounding unconvinced. He finishes his tea as well after a long moment.

"If you insist."

_ _ _

"You know Danny?"

Tim started off as he walked on top of the cement barrier, Danny walking beside him. The garden was cold tonight, making Tim have goosebumps.

Danny seemed unphased by the chill. Like he always was.

"You never really told us how you're related to Alfred."

Danny hummed in response, already knowing Tim was not done with his train of thought. His hands were shoved into his suit pants, and he was hunched as he walked.

In a way, Tim found it attractive.

"It's just odd. Alfred's never really told us much about his family, except for the occasional offhand thing. And then you're just here. No prior mention or anything!"

At that, Tim watched Danny smile at the floor as if expecting Tim to question such a thing before shaking his head in defeat.

"That's because we're not closely related at all." Danny confirms, finally taking a moment to look up at Tim.

Tim stops abrupt at the admission and stares at him as well. He can't stop the stray, sudden thought that Danny looked so pretty under the Gotham moon.

Danny just continues to stare at him with a small amount of light in his eyes, waiting for some kind of reaction from him but Tim doesn't give him one. "We're actually far from it."

"Who are you then?"

Tim could only really hear the crickets chirping the longer they stood there. Behind him gala guests were chattering away and glasses were clinking together.

Still, despite being so close, it all sounded so far away with the way his ears were drumming.

"I think you know who."

The two just continued to stare at each other, Tim unable to really look away.

"Death...?"

Danny looked even softer, all knowingly even, up at him and didn't answer.

But even then Tim knew he was right. And all he felt was his stomach aching with butterflies as shaking chills changed from the cold, into fear.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Or basically

Danny is Death / The Grim Reaper, and he's been sent to the Waynes to collect Alfreds soul. The only problem is that he fell in love with Alfreds grandson, Tim, at first sight, and has been delaying the inevitable because of it.

[orimuraa]

── ⋆⋅ ໒꒱ིྀ༝⁺ Baby, boo, my sweetie, darling, think i love you more - OT7 𝜗𝜚 earth, wind & fire - boynextdoor

꒰ 𝔖𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ꒱┆adopting a child with enhypen ⨾

۶ৎ husband!enhypen x fem!reader┆too much fluff┆kissing, petnames, mentions of adoptions┆wc

⤷ 𝐲𝐞𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: thank you to the sweet anon who requested this! i hope it’s okay and to your liking!!

꒰ঌ ℬℴℴ𝓀𝓈𝒽ℯ𝓁𝒻 ໒꒱

𝑳𝒆𝒆 𝑯𝒆𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒖𝒏𝒈 - 이희승

as jiyeon was softly curled up in your lap, you couldn’t help but smile at her. she was so precious and you were so lucky to now have her in your life. “she’s adorable, isn’t she?” you speak softly to your husband—heeseung. you look over at him to see his eyes full of love and a tender look on his face. “that she is. and a family we are,” heeseung smiles, leaning in to kiss you on the lips. family. that’s what you are.

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑱𝒐𝒏𝒈𝒔𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒈 - 박종성

“jay!! i have a proposal!!!” you exclaim, rushing into the living room where your husband was sat on the sofa, reading some novel. “yes darling?” he asks, setting his book aside and taking off his reading glasses. “ok..so, i was at the orphanage and i think we should adopt one of the little boys there. we’ve been wanting this for so long! and he was so cute and sweet!” you smile, recalling how dohoon kept on engaging with you and showing off his toys. “that sounds amazing, love. how about we go tomorrow and see from there,” jay says softly. your smile immediately grows and you run over to hug jay. you’ll finally have the family you dreamed of.

𝑺𝒊𝒎 𝑱𝒂𝒆𝒚𝒖𝒏 - 심재윤

“look at her..she’s gorgeous..” you whisper, a smile tugging at your lips. yusu—the baby you and jake just adopted—was finally in her forever home, sleeping soundly. “she really is..and so are you,” jake chuckles, kissing your cheek and pulling you into his embrace with one arm. “is it everything you ever dreamed of? to be a beautiful mother now?” he asks, kissing you head as he sways the two of you side to side. “oh it’s so much more.”

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒏 - 박성훈

“oh hoon he’s perfect,” you say, feeling tears prick at your eyes. after years of paperwork and documents, you finally were able to adopt and bring home the baby boy of your dreams. gyuwan was such a soft hearted boy who loved to smile and laugh. you and sunghoon immediately fell for his laughter and ever since then, you two have worked so hard to bring him home. “indeed he is angel. he’ll really brighten up the house, huh,” sunghoon smiles, his fangs peeking through. now you were a family of three.

𝑲𝒊𝒎 𝑺𝒖𝒏𝒐𝒐 - 김선우

when you had first brought up the idea of adopting a child a couple years ago, sunoo immediately knew that it was a great idea. he lived the idea of starting a family with you and being able to have a little one to look after. so, fast forward 2 years and here she was. a sweet 3 year old girl named jiyu who’s smile was just so infectious that you and sunoo immediately knew that she was the one. now, she was in her forever home with you and sunoo, playing around with sunoo’s hair as you watched with a smile on your face. you couldn’t think of any other scenario more perfect than this.

𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒈 𝑱𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒘𝒐𝒏 - 양정원

the minute your eyes locked with the sweet little girl, you knew she was the perfect one. “won, look at her..she’s so precious..” you pouted, staring longingly at the little girl lying on the ground in star pose. “maybe she’s the one then..looks like she would fit right in with the cats,” he smiles playfully, admiring her as well. “then what are we waiting for? let’s go meet her!!” you cheer excitedly as your husband just chuckles and follows after you.

𝑵𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒂 𝑹𝒊𝒌𝒊 - 西村 力

“little love?” riki’s voice calls out to you before he pokes his head into the living room where you and your new adopted baby boy were sitting. both of your heads spin to look at your husband, causing riki to let out a chuckle. “guess i have two little loves now, huh?” he teases. “which one’s the favorite?…” he ponders jokingly before seeing your glare and surrendering. “i love you both equally as much.”

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬: @en-diaries, @k-films, @k-nets

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ 𝐉𝐢𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @vmpivory, @yuvany, @seozii, @pinknjm, @greentulip, @jomisu, @nxzz-skz, @ancnymcnzjy, @hyukabean, @annybah, @ijustwannareadstuff20, @chaeneu, @17ericas, @firstclassjaylee, @riribelle, @right-person-wrong-time, @cheruphic, @woniefication

[lilangelbud]

“Shh, it’s okay if you cry,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, yet laced with something darker, something hungry. His large hand smoothed over her trembling thigh, the touch both gentle and unyielding. “It’ll hurt less if you just relax.”

She sobbed, her body freezing under his weight, her hands clawing weakly at the sheets beneath her. “Please, no—I don’t want this,” she choked out, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. Her voice was small, fragile, like a child’s, and it only seemed to make him grip her tighter, his fingers digging into her soft flesh.

“You don’t have to want it,” he replied, his breath hot against her ear. “You just have to take it.” His other hand slid between her legs, forcing them apart despite her feeble resistance. She gasped, a strangled sound caught in her throat, as he leaned back slightly to admire her trembling form. “Look at you,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire. “So pure. So perfect. And all mine.”

She shook her head, her hair splayed out beneath her like a dark halo. “Please, Daddy, I’m scared—”

“I know, baby,” he cooed, his thumb brushing over her lower lip. “But Daddy’s here. I’ll take care of you. You just have to trust me.”

---

Earlier that evening, she had been sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, her homework spread out in front of her. The light from the lamp cast a warm glow over her, and she chewed on the end of her pen, deep in thought. He had been watching her from the doorway, unnoticed, his eyes tracing the curve of her neck, the way her lips pursed as she concentrated. She was so innocent, so unaware of the effect she had on him.

“You’re going to strain your eyes,” he said finally, stepping into the room. She looked up, startled, and quickly gathered her papers into a neat stack.

“I’m almost done,” she replied, smiling shyly. “Just one more problem.”

He sat down on the couch beside her, close enough that his knee brushed against her arm. “You work too hard,” he said, his voice soft. “Always studying, always worrying. Why don’t you take a break for once?”

She laughed, a light, melodic sound that made his chest tighten. “If I don’t study, I’ll fail. And then what?”

“Then I’ll take care of you,” he said without hesitation. His hand reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. His fingertips lingered against her cheek, and she froze, her breath catching in her throat.

“Daddy…” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Shh,” he murmured, leaning in closer. “You’re so beautiful, you know that? So pure. So untouched.” His hand slid down to her shoulder, his grip tightening ever so slightly. “It’s not fair, really. The world doesn’t deserve you.”

She blinked up at him, her eyes wide and uncertain. “What are you talking about?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. “I’ve waited so long,” he whispered, his voice low and rough. “I’ve been so patient. But I can’t wait anymore.”

Her heart was pounding in her chest, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. “Wait, what are you—”

Before she could finish, he grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her to her feet. She stumbled, her eyes wide with fear as he dragged her toward the stairs. “Daddy, stop! You’re scaring me!”

“It’s okay to be scared,” he said, his voice calm, almost soothing. “But you’ll see. I know what’s best for you. I always have.”

He led her to his bedroom, her protests growing weaker as she realized the futility of resisting. He shut the door behind them, the click of the lock echoing in the silence. She stood in the center of the room, her arms wrapped around herself, her whole body shaking.

“Take off your clothes,” he said, his voice firm.

She shook her head, tears welling up in her eyes. “No, please, I don’t want to—”

“You don’t have a choice,” he replied, stepping closer. His hands moved to the hem of her shirt, pulling it up and over her head. She gasped, clutching at her chest, but he was already reaching for the button of her jeans. “Let me see you,” he murmured, his voice husky with desire. “All of you.”

She tried to squirm away, but his grip was ironclad. He stripped her until she was bare before him, her body trembling like a leaf in the wind. He stepped back, his eyes roving over her, taking in every inch of her exposed skin. “Perfect,” he whispered, more to himself than to her. “So perfect.”

“Daddy, please,” she whimpered, her hands moving to cover herself. “I don’t want this.”

“You don’t have to want it,” he said again, his voice hardening. “You just have to take it.”

He pushed her down onto the bed, his weight pinning her in place. She struggled beneath him, but he was too strong, his hands easily restraining her. “Shh,” he soothed, his lips brushing against her ear. “It’s okay if you cry. It’ll be over soon.”

---

Now, as he positioned himself between her legs, she could feel the heat of him pressing against her most intimate place. She squeezed her eyes shut, tears streaming down her face as he leaned down, his lips brushing against her cheek.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Do you understand that? I’ve always loved you.”

She shook her head, a sob escaping her lips. “This isn’t love.”

“It is,” he insisted, his hand gripping her thigh. “You’ll see. You’ll understand.”

And then he thrust into her, the pain sharp and searing, tearing through her like a knife. She screamed, her body arching off the bed, but he didn’t stop. He kept moving, each thrust deeper, more forceful until she was certain she would break.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice strained with pleasure. “It’s okay if you cry. Daddy’s here.”

[motorsportbarbie13]

Post It - Part 5 - LN4

when lando stumbles upon a random tiktok of a pretty american influencer, he can't stop himself from sliding into her DMs. what happens next is more than both of them ever bargained for.

warnings/notes: a bit steamy with this one (literally and figuratively hahaha) but not explicit smut. As per usual, special shoutout to the best beta reader on the planet who puts up with my shit @lestapiastrisgirl ❤️❤️❤️ pairing: lando norris x influencer!reader word count: 3k

- Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 -Master List

yourusername posted

498,029 likes liked by lando, hannahstjohn, yourmom, and others yourusername i think we walked a million miles today. lando man, i hope you've got someone who's willing to give you a foot massage after all that walking we did today... >>>user929 EXCUSE ME user101 WEEEEEE? who's 'we' @/yourusername???? user223 'liked by lando' OF COURSE HE LIKED IT, HE'S IN THE POST user019 didn't lando's last .jpeg post also have the bamboo picture? user038 hey @/its_allegra_babes if L is with her, who are you going to visit in Monaco this weekend. >>>user222 her suitcase story is still up with the ticket to Nice clearly displayed. oh my godddddddd

Your first full day in Japan is spent at the Arashiyama bamboo forest, an hour’s train ride away from your hotel in Osaka. According to all of the research you did on the flight over, the best time to see the forest was sunrise, much to Lando’s dismay. While you were also a night owl like he was, Lando was apparently violently against getting up at such an early hour. It had taken you several attempts at 6 in the morning to get him up and out of bed, but eventually you had won. 

Nearly twelve hours later, you and Lando tumble back through the doors of your hotel suite, utterly exhausted. The suite itself is huge with 2 bedrooms and 2 bathrooms, a luxurious living room with widescreen tv and spacious veranda that looked out onto the city center. Lando had asked if you had wanted your own room, telling you that he wanted you to be comfortable and offered to pay for 2 singles instead. 

You had considered the offer for about ten seconds before deciding that the current arrangement would work. Nothing in your gut was telling you that you wanted anything other than what had already been planned. The idea of having Lando sleeping so closely to you sent a delicious shiver up your spine even now. 

Last night, about an hour after you had said goodnight and closed your door, ready for bed (alone), Lando had sent you a TikTok you could hear him laughing at through the shared wall. One text led to another and soon you were slipping beneath the sheets of Lando’s bed before switching on a movie. Nothing more had happened that night, except for you falling asleep cradled in Lando’s arms and Lando waking up in the middle of the night with you still wrapped around him. 

That had been the real reason he hadn’t wanted to get up this morning, he was too content with where you were at. 

But as he followed you through the door after walking what felt like seventy miles that day, he was glad that the had gone. The two of you had bonded on a deeper level, much deeper than Lando had ever thought possible. The connection between you two had sparked that night in February when he had slid into your DM’s but now? Now the connection was a wildfire. 

Lando watches as you drop your bag and flop down onto the couch. The entire time you’d been together today it was like the rest of the world had ceased to exist. He couldn’t remember a time where he had laughed so hard and lost track of time like he had today. He felt so stupid for nearly blowing this back in February but as he joined you on the couch, instantly tugging you closer so he could touch you again, he was relieved the universe had decided to give him a second chance. It was wild to him, how well you two were getting on still. He wasn’t usually someone  who could spend this much uninterrupted time with another person, he normally craved his alone time but with you? It was like he had told Max the night before over text, with you, it was different. 

And Lando knew from the outside looking in, this was moving so fast. No one knew that you had spend hours upon hours just talking, often falling asleep together on FaceTime, back in February. Not that it really mattered to him. If there was one lesson he had taken away from the 2024 season it was that he had to work on giving less of a fuck of what other people said and paying more attention to what those around him that mattered were saying. 

And you mattered to him. 

“I think we walked a million miles today.” You groan, kicking off your shoes before flexing your toes, the ache in the bottom of your instep creeping up your leg. Your calves were on fire from how many hills you had walked up and down in that forest today. The shots you and Lando had gotten had been 100% worth it though. You couldn’t wait to crack open your laptop later tonight and start editing for Pretty Little Lens. Posting them would have to wait, though. You never ever posted onto PLL before you left a location since your real account almost always detailed where you were and what you were doing and you didn’t want to run the risk of anyone connecting you to the account. You often mixed up locations too, posting places out of order or well after you’d left a location. PLL was how you made your money but you didn’t ever want to be the public face the account.

Lando reaches forward to pull your feet into his lap before pressing the pads of his thumbs deep into the arch of your foot. 

“Oh my God.” You groan, head tipping back to rest on the back of the couch. 

Lando chuckles softly before starting to work at the muscles of your feet with deeper strokes. You’re quiet while he massages the ache out of your feet, only making slight whimpering sounds every once in a while. Lando shifts in his seat at the sounds you’re making, hoping how hard he’s getting isn’t as obvious as he thinks it is. He can’t help it though, the sounds you’re making are downright erotic and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say you were teasing him on purpose. 

Which of course, you were. 

Several minutes pass in silence as Lando continues to work at your feed and up your calves before his phone starts to buzz in his pocket. With one hand still on your toes, he reaches for his phone. You crack an eye open to watch as he unlocks his phone and huffs a sigh. 

“Fuck. I forgot a I have a team call in 5 minutes.” He looks up at you, apologies flickering in his eyes. “I’m sorry, this is a post race thing that we do every week and I can’t miss it. It shouldn’t take long though, we’ll be fine for dinner.” 

You grin before swinging your feet out of his lap and onto the floor. “It’s okay.” You lean over before brushing your lips over the shell of his ear. “I need to take a shower before dinner anyway.” 

Lando turns his head before catching your lips with his, pressing his mouth to yours before you can get away. You hum in surprise, caught off guard by the intensity of his kiss. You’re the one to deepen the kiss though, licking your way into his mouth when he doesn’t pull away quick enough. The temptation to climb into his lap is overwhelming but the buzzing of his phone pulls you back down to earth. Tipping your forehead against his, you grin. “I’ll stop distracting you now.” 

“I don’t know,” Lando chuckles as he watches you stand, “The thought of you in the shower without me is more distracting than that kiss.” 

Laughing, you shake your head before rounding the couch to head towards your bedroom. Dragging your fingers across his shoulders as you walk behind the couch, you enjoy the way Lando visibly shudders under your touch. 

Lando watches over his shoulder as you walk down the hallway before he turns back to his phone to dial into the call. It was a routine call that Zak and Andrea held after every race weekend to debrief what went wrong and what they were going to be working on ahead of the next race. They were boring but necessary, especially since things got missed during the hustle and bustle of race weekends. 

Lando listens in as Andrea and a few engineers run through the data from the race, discussing tire wear, the strategy that had worked and what they needed to work on for Japan, and the frustrating near-miss podium finish. As he listens and interjects bits of observations himself, he finds himself distracted. His gaze keeps drifting toward the hallway you’d disappeared down. The scent of your shampoo, a mix of citrus and something with a delicate floral scent, lingers in the air, completely distracting him. 

He found himself rushing through his recap of the race when it was his turn to speak, eager to wrap things up. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the call wraps up and Lando was free to sign off. After a quick goodbye to the team, he sighs in relief, and tosses his phone onto the couch, the screen going dark.

 Lando’s surprised to hear the shower still running but as he passes the room you had claimed yesterday, he found it totally empty. Confused, he spots the white skirt you’d been wearing that day discarded in a heap outside the door to his bedroom. Lando’s heart beat picks up as he follows the trail you had apparently left him. At the foot of his bed was the top you had worn that day, discarded along with a very thin, very skimpy, white and pink lace bra. 

He nearly loses it when he sees the matching thong waiting for him at the doorway of the bathroom. 

Sultry music floats out from your phone that’s propped up on the bathroom sink. The room was humid and fragrant, air heavy with the scent of your shampoo and body wash. Steam wraps itself around Lando as he takes a few cautious steps into the tiled bathroom. It was a large en suite deal, with his and hers sinks, a huge soaking tub, and a large glass enclosed shower tiled with black marble. 

The rhythmic sound of the water mixed with the sultry music created an intoxicating atmosphere that has his heart pounding against his ribs. Lando’s breath catches when he finally spots you, your silhouette a hazy outline through the steam that clings to the glass of the shower door. He could make out the curve of your hip, the delicate line of your spine, the way the water cascaded down your body, rivulets of water doing their best win the race down your body. 

He’d never been more jealous of water in his entire life. 

Lando hesitates, leaning against the cool tile of the wall opposite the shower, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He decides to stay put, enjoying the view and the way his stomach was churning delightfully with anticipation. 

“Are you lost, baby?” Lando teases, pitching his voice loud enough so you can hear him above the soft music and thrumming water. 

You finally turn your head towards him, smirk on your lips, and Lando nearly sinks to his knees then and there. “I figured I’d try out your shower.” You rasp, voice husky with need. “Turns out, the acoustics are much better in here than in my shower.” 

It takes every ounce of control that he’s honed over his racing career to keep from stripping off his clothes right then and there when his gaze catches the swell of your breast as you turn towards him. “The acousitcs are pretty good in here, aren’t they?” He agrees, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches you pick up the loofa that had been hanging from a hook inside the shower. “The view’s not half bad either.” 

“It’s too bad your call took so long, you missed the warm up. ” You say, voice light and teasing as you squeeze the body wash bottle before lathering the loofah up. 

Lando groans as you start in on your arms, lathering them up with he bubbles. You don’t look up but you can feel his eyes on you, a gentle caress that sends shivers down your spine and goosebumps erupting all over your skin. 

“It that so?” He chuckles, moving to sit at the edge of the soaking tub that is on the opposite side of the shower. From here he can still see everything you’re doing to torture him but he can sit and enjoy the show. “Well, I’m here now. I’m sure I can catch up.” 

The rasp in his voice has heat building in the pit of your belly, sparks of electricity traveling straight to that spot between your legs that is aching for Lando’s touch. You drag the loofah up your arms, up towards your neck before stretching out to show off the delicate line of your throat. “Or maybe,” You suggest, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper as you finally lift your eyes to his. “You should just watch.” 

Lando watches, captivated, as your hands move, slow and deliberate, a silent suggestion at what could happen later tonight that sends a shiver down his spine. He could almost feel the the warmth of the water on his own skin, the scent of the body wash filling his senses. 

“I’m never taking a work call while you’re around ever again.” He laughs, his gaze lingering on the curve of your ass as you turn around to wash the bubbles off in the scalding spray or the shower head. He watches as you continue washing, the drag of your hands over your body driving him absolutely mad. As he watched he imagined it was him running his hands up and down your slick body. He was torn between keeping his gaze on you to watch you drag your fingers down the line of your body or close his eyes and pretend it was him doing the touching. 

All you do is smirk in response, enjoying the way Lando’s eyes have gone hazy with desire as he watches you. Your fingers trail down your torso, coasting over your ribcage and down towards the curve of your hip. You’d never been quite this bold before but something about how today had gone, how you’d been so comfortable all day in his presence had you so needy for him in a more physical way tonight. 

Lando chokes on a strangled moan when your fingers continue down your body, teasing their way down towards the apex of your thighs. He wants nothing more than for your hands to be his, to be touching you the way you’re touching yourself but he’s also beyond satisfied watching the show taking place in front of him. You don’t break eye contact when your fingers dip in-between your things for the first time, swirling them around your already sensitive clit. 

You can see the barely restrained control threatening to break from behind Lando’s eyes as you tilt your head back, biting on your bottom lip, while you continue to touch yourself, slipping a finger deeper inside you. 

“Fuck.” Lando whispers, shifting as his own hand drifts unconsciously towards his cock that is achingly hard. “You know,” He manages to rasp out as a gasp tumbles from your lips when you slip a second finger between your slick folds. “I’m starting to think this shower is less about getting clean and more about torturing me.” 

You chuckle, eyes darting from where you’d been watching him palm at his cock back up to his stormy expression. “Torture?” You ask. “Is that what you’d call this? I thought I was just giving you a nice little show.” The innocence in your tone betrays the fact that you’re minutes away from giving yourself a delightful orgasm right in front of Lando. 

He watches as you continue to work your fingers between your legs, the way your head is thrown back driving him insane. “Torture is exactly what I would call watching you touch yourself like that when I can’t do a damn thing about it.” 

“Well maybe next time you should wrap up your work call quicker.” You sass back before dragging your fingers back up your body. “But you’re going to have to wait,” You reach for the shower faucet before turning off the water. The quiet that settles over the room hangs heavy between you. 

Stepping out of the shower, you reach for the towel that Lando holds up for you, the soft fabric clinging to your wet skin. You murmur a quiet thank you before reaching for another towel to dry your dripping hair. When you look over at him again, a shimmer of pleasure flutters over your skin. The way he’s looking at you, his eyes dark and intense, is something that you could see yourself getting addicting too. 

And that feels dangerous. 

Lando groans in response before leaning back against the cool tile, arms crossed over his chest and frown on his face. 

“Impatient, are we?” You tease, a playful glint in your eyes. 

He pushes himself off the wall, his movements confident and deliberate. “Extremely.” He murmurs, his voice husky. He closes the distance between you then, his eyes never leaving yours. 

He reaches out, his fingers tracing your jaw. “You know,” Lando whispers, he breath warm against your lips. “I’ve been thinking of getting you back here so I could have you all to myself all day long.” 

He brings his lips to yours, a tender kiss that quickly deepens into something darker, more intense. His tongue traces the seam of your mouth, silently requesting access. You open for him obediently, sighing against him as he begins the familiar exploration that you find yourself becoming addicted to. You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer so you can deepen the kiss this time. The world around you fades away, leaving one the feeling of his lips on yours, the taste of him, the intoxicating scent of his cologne filling your senses as you lose yourself in the way Lando touches you. 

He pulls back slightly, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Your own chest heaves as you watch the way he watches you. “Fuck.” He whispers, his hands fisting at the white towel still tied around your body. “You have no idea how hard it was to stay out here just now.” 

A shimmer of electricity zaps up your spine at the intensity of his gaze. “Now,” He murmurs, tone still husky. “Let’s get you ready for dinner. I’m starving.” He gives you a playful wink before turning towards the door. “But,” He adds before walking away, his voice trailing off behind him. “I’m going to be honest, I think I’m even hungrier for my dessert afterwards.” 

lando.jpeg posted

987,109 likes liked by yourusername, maxfewtrell, keeganpalmer, and others lando.jpeg more of this please user348 if not hard launch, why hard launch shaped? user122 that is 100% @/yourusername's bracelet in that first picture >>>user889 girl, @/yourusername is literally in ALL OF THEM user988 if he wanted to, he would >>>user212 @/its_allegra_babes, i'm gonna hold your hand when i say this... yourusername looks like you're having fun!!! :) >>>user202 now they're just fucking with us.

yourusername posted

596,029 likes liked by maxfewtrell, lando, hannahstjohn and others yourusername dreamy few days maxfewtrell did you actually get him to set foot in a sushi place??? >>>yourusername i bribed him with kinder maxie >>>maxfewtrell is that what you kids are calling it these days >>>lando and that's a PR meeting for you!!! user000 oh she's max f approved now? >>>user857 @/its_allegra_babes oh girl, it's over now. user929 shes actually so pretty

(posted six months later to PrettyLittleLens)

5,609,298 likes PrettyLittleLens japan, you were a dream user009 bucket list trip! user034 another unreal series! you are so talented! user578 can't wait for these to be up on the website to purchase. That bamboo one is amazing!!!

lando's camera roll lately...

your camera roll lately

Tag list: @alessioayla @addy-lol @changetyre @obxstiles @tvdtw4ever @joaofelixml @vickykazuya @47chickens @magnusstan @joannaln4 @nicooolsstuff @wakasays @slutforcoffein @ajordan2020 @widow-cevans @isagrace22 @simp4f1 @chertik-007vvv @mayax2o07 @scenesofobx @a-beaverhausen @glitteryturtledeer @halleest @sltwins @doesgekouwe @unknownmystery22 @honethatty12 @chaoswithus @sarahsobsession @liz140569 @sinfully-yoursss @ilove-tswizzle @gigicisneros @angelluv16 @majapapaya4 @chaoswithus @raynetargaryan2 @stylesmoonlight12 @maytheforcebewithyousw-blog @formula1simp @henna006 @eugene-emt-roe @landossainz @anayaverse @yesmanbabe @mille-gracie @waywardpersonwerewolf @whistlef0rthechoir @flowergirl1134

[specialgradefckr]

it's been two days, and nerd!gojo is nowhere to be found.

as his one and only bully, you can't help but be worried.

did he get hurt when you shoved him in the locker that one time? did he get sick when you made him eat out of the trash?

weak nerd with his weak ass immune system. you should've been feeding him more dirt.

more importantly, what if you get in trouble for his skinny, frail, weak ass?

not on your watch.

you tell the teacher that you'll deliver gojo's homework to him, which she completely believes for some reason ("oh, how sweet! you two are always together") and she gives you his home address, too, with a wink.

weird, but whatever.

when you get to his house you want to beat his worthless ass all over again. ugh. of course gojo lives in a beautiful, massive house in a super upscale neighborhood you're sort of embarrassed to be seen in.

you think about your clothes, second-hand, not quite fitted right. your worn but comfy shoes. just... ugh.

but there's an intercom, and after you say your name, school, and class that you're delivering gojo's schoolwork for, the door gate opens.

when you get in, it's immediately obvious which room is gojo's - he's got an asuka poster on his door. it's completely out of place in the modern, sleek decor. only gojo could be so tacky.

you don't waste any time striding up there, throwing open the door and glaring at the pitiful wet paper towel of a boy on the bed.

and, well... he is sick, of that you have no doubt.

laying back in bed, half-propped up on pillows. his pale skin looks even paler with the dark circles around his eyes, his red nose, a pile of crumbled up tissues on either side of him.

there's a dampness on his shirt, a graphic tee, and an empty water bottle at his bedside.

"you look like shit," you say, shutting the door behind you and setting his papers on the table.

gojo half-laughs, but mostly it just comes out as a cough.

"no, it's just the flu. been going around. i think i got it from the housekeeper, actually, she took some time off recently."

a housekeeper? fucking gross. you hope he dies. rich people. ugh.

but you can't help but notice. there's no more water, plus you can't see any food around here. and gojo looks absolutely miserable.

you've only been sick once when you were a kid, but it wasn't so bad. things were different back then, though.

"well, since i'm here." you plop the homework in front of him, generously allowing him your pen, "get to work."

he's staring, blankly, at the sheet. eyes scrunching as if in consternation.

before he can insist that you need to work on it together, you stride out of the room.

a faint "wait!" sounds behind you as you shut the door, but you don't mind it.

it's a quick trip to the kitchen. you spend a couple minutes searching through cabinets full of wine glasses (wine glasses? seriously, in his home kitchen?) until you find a cup.

you fill it with water, and then, in a fit of generosity, you fill up a second cup for gojo. let it never be said that you hit a man while he was down.

somehow, when you come back up, gojo is still contemplating the homework sheet as if it held the secrets of the universe.

"hello?" you say out loud. gojo blinks, looking over at you with that blank, dopey expression.

"did you get anything at all done?" there's nothing on the paper. "drama queen."

"ah," gojo says, sniffling, eyes wincing shut, "sorry, it's hard to concentrate... i have a raging headache."

absolutely useless. you set the water down beside him, but gojo slumps back against the pillows.

he looks up at you with big, blue, pleading eyes.

"can't reach... help me?" his voice is high, his expression utterly pitiful. like some kicked puppy.

maybe it's because his throat actually does sound pretty raw. his hair is even more unkempt than usual, in a greasy, scraggly way, his tired eyes and miserable expression squeezing a drop of undeserved sympathy out of your stony heart.

mostly it's because you want him to do your homework that you begrudgingly hold up the water to his mouth and tip it carefully for him to drink.

"what," you grouse, "mommy and daddy not here to coddle you?"

gojo takes a long gulp, swallowing heavily, and letting out an exaggerated ah~ afterwards.

"the housekeeper does that," he says, shifting against the pillows to get comfortable, "but she's not here. i really was dying before you arrived. you saved me," he crows, somehow proud of his utter display of weakness and ineptitude.

you stare at his legs pointedly. "do you have a cold and leprosy? at least go get yourself some medicine."

the puppy dog eyes, again, "i tried! but i got lightheaded and dizzy! it's in the bathroom cupboard, the one closest to my room, pleeeeease-"

"what, now i'm your errand girl?" you snap, already standing up.

something flashes in gojo's eyes, and he keels forward, lurching to grab you by the hand.

"wait, wait! i didn't mean it like that, please don't leave!"

the tone in his voice sends a pang through your chest.

"...i have to leave to get the medicine," your voice comes out awkward, like something's stuck in your throat. "idiot."

gojo's so easy to read, relief on his face clear as day. "oh! okay! we can - we can order delivery, too! my treat! you just have to pick it up for me!"

"i get to choose the restaurant," you grumble, and gojo's already on his phone.

it's a pretty good deal. even though you'll have to endure his presence for a while. and do your own homework without help.

but whatever. it's not like you couldn't do it yourself. you just didn't want to, and it was better having gojo check your answers.

there's just... something weird about this.

"gojo," you ask, hesitant. "i told the intercom i had your homework for you and it let me in. are your parents home?"

he shrugs, "oh yeah, probably."

then why aren't they helping, you want to say - for once in your life, you stop yourself.

why aren't they helping their precious perfect son? what, do they think he's a loser as much as you do?

the thought prickles inside you, uncomfortable, unwelcome. you try to brush it aside. it's none of your business.

maybe gojo's parents find him as unbearable as you do -

even that thought seems a bit too harsh. he's not actually that annoying.

your walk to the bathroom is uneventful. you don't run into anyone, but you do see it - a light under a door at the end of the hallway.

"...if he needs to go to the hospital... no, he won't, a classmate came by with his schoolwork."

the voice is distant, faint. unconcerned.

"...so they want to meet tomorrow night? i'll have to get the reports ready..."

what a drama queen. even his own parents aren't worried about him.

you ignore the bad taste in your mouth as you re-enter gojo's room, where he's looks far too chipper for a sick person.

satoru smiles at you, quickly maneuvering his phone underneath his blanket.

getowo: stop crying, you big baby, i'm on my way over. satoruwu: nvm!!! dont come satoruwu: youll never guess who came to nurse me back to health getowo: so you're hallucinating satoruwu: im not! my bully does house calls <3 we're gonna eat together hehe~ getowo: i'll be there in ten. satoruwu: I TOLD U DONT COME

"gojo?" he drops the phone in his lap, internally cursing.

"yeah?" satoru slumps back, sniffing again, giving you his best pathetic face.

you roll your eyes, "I got your stuff. what did you order?" actually, you don't care. "i want pizza."

"i know this place that makes the best soup," satoru pulls his phone right back out again, "i can get you pizza, too, what kind?"

when you tell him your favorite, he tells you his.

"why are you telling me this? i thought you wanted soup?"

"yeah, but now you know what my favorite is~ we should order some for one of our study dates. we can do halvsies! actually, your fave sounds good-"

you cut him off (so decisive! super hot of you) and tell him to just put in the order. he puts the pizza idea in his notes app, just in case.

"help me take the medicine?" satoru says, half-hopeful, giving you his best puppy dog eyes.

"if you can order delivery, you can drink some water," you say, setting your homework on his desk on the other side of the room.

it's way too high, which makes sense, for his freakishly long limbs -

"oh, it's height adjustable! there's a button, you can lower it!"

you take in his words, leaning back, and you see it. there's an electric whirr as the table falls down. "huh." neat.

"nifty, right!" satoru coughs extra pitifully, "do you think you could help me out? just for a minute?"

you ignore him. it's so obvious he doesn't actually need your help. why is he even asking? it would be faster to do it himself.

whatever. he'll do it when he wants to.

you snatch one of his pens and start working.

it's silent for a bit, the sound of pen scratching against paper filling the air. a little sniffle from the far corner interrupting you.

"...please?" his voice sounds terribly small.

you take a deep, sharp breath. then you stand up and walk over to him.

just to shut him up, obviously. he's so whiney.

only, when you sit down next to him with the cup of water and the pills, his big blue eyes gazing up at you while he gives you a weak smile, that assessment feels a little... mean.

whatever. so you feel a little sorry for him. fine, he's sick. and he's playing it up, too, although his skin does feel a bit feverish when you touch it.

you press the back of your hand - chilled from holding the water glass for him - against his forehead, and gojo sighs in relief, slumping back into the pillow.

he really should be sleeping. he probably needs a shower and a change of clothes, but you're not sticking around for that, and if he needs your help taking meds, he'll need your help with the soup, too.

absently, you run your fingers through his hair. it's so white. and soft, but you can feel some dampness from the fever.

gojo's eyes flutter shut, and he gives out a gentle sigh.

he's quiet for a moment, and you almost think he's falling asleep.

"...can we watch neon genesis evangelion? i have the latest movie."

naturally, his room has a giant flatscreen in it. it's not that messy, either, but you attribute that to the housekeeper.

you roll your eyes, "god, you and your freaky anime. fine, whatever you want."

he's eager, then, lighting up at your words. it's such a weird look on him, all exhausted and sick but still happy.

"we can start from the first one, so you know what's going on!" gojo babbles, "i bet you'll love asuka. she's just like you - "

your cheeks flush, "it's fine! we can just watch your latest movie. i don't need a whole marathon."

you'd looked it up in your free time, just to see what gojo's rambling was about. and maybe you'd gone through some of it online. just to know how bad his taste was.

it's not a bad night, though.

maybe you don't get your homework done - you'll have to get to it tomorrow - but you sit there, next to gojo, on his super comfy (probably super expensive) bed.

the soup arrives before the pizza. you're hungry, and you take great pleasure in blowing on the spoon, pretending to guide it into gojo's mouth, then diverting it to yours at the last moment.

but you're generous enough to feed him, after. it's all with the movies playing in the background.

gojo started with the first evangelion movie, but you're not about to give away that you know.

he likes to narrate over it, and it's fun telling him all the reasons why his takes are wrong. but you have to tell him to shut up once his voice grows hoarse.

then the pizza comes. he looks at you so sadly whenever you head to the door. like a dog watching its owner go to work. ugh.

so maybe... you lose track of time it's a comfy bed, comfy pillows, nice soft blankets once you clean up all his used tissues and the takeaway boxes.

definitely no funny business or anything. you wouldn't be this close to him if he weren't deathly sick.

he says he's deathly sick. maybe this feels like dying for a crybaby like him, you don't know.

but you know, briefly, with your shoulder pressed into his; you're tired. you ate way too much pizza. it's warm in here, safe - gojo is a wet paper towel most days, and today, he's a used tissue, totally unthreatening.

so if you lose track of time and fall asleep... well. nobody will care anyways.

when satoru wakes up, he has to admit - he feels a lot better.

last night was pretty great, even if he'd been sick. it was like a dream! he got to spend all that time with you! just relaxing and watching shows and being hand-fed!

and you even got him water and medicine! and you helped him eat!

it was a while before suguru got out of school, and this night was worse than last night. with the housekeeper gone, he could barely get up for water or food.

even suguru wouldn't have been able to stick around. he hadn't been looking forward to spending the night sick and miserable and all alone in his bed, body full of aches and pains and hunger.

but you saved him! you even stayed the night - heheh. in a way, you basically slept with him, right?

suguru might not ever believe it, but satoru knows. you're really warming up to him. you actually like him, deep down -

when he looks around, though, you're already gone.

[zaunian-lesbian-daddy]

WW2 lesbian love story!!!!

MINORS/MEN DNI!!!!

Hey everyone! If this does well I'm going to turn this into a full short story! I want to see who would be interested in that. This short story is going to be based on the myth that “the face you wear in this life is the face you loved most in your last”. It's going to be a tragic love story with smut mixed in! I left the smut out for verious reasons but it will be in the short story! I promise lots of happy things will happen too! Let me know what you think and prepare for a lesbian love story that transcends lifetimes!

WARNINGS: lesbian content, fluff, mentions of war, sexual content, historical dates, WW2 content, soulmates, multiple deaths, mention of suicide, mention of birth, some swearing. (that's all I can think of right now)

3.2K words

It was June 27th 1940 when I bumped into her in the dairy aisle of the grocery store. I was 18 at the time and she was 19, the wedding ring on her finger glinted in the fluorescent lights when she brushed back her long brown sugar colored hair with her hand. Her warm chocolate brown eyes landed on me, and I felt like I was frozen to the spot, she was so beautiful. I soaked in every tiny detail I could of her; the light brown freckles painting her face and her pink pouty lips. “I’m so sorry, sometimes I'm so in my head I don't see the people around me,” when she spoke it sounded like warm honey.

Being gay was almost unheard of at the time, I knew I liked women, but those words would never leave my mouth. 

“I was the one who bumped into you, I should be the one apologizing,” I laugh a little trying to keep my composure. I keep the conversation going so she doesn't walk away, “My name is Evelyn, what's yours?” I hold my hand out to shake hers, it's as soft as satin. She takes my hand “Rose,” her lips forming into a beautiful smile. 

We talked for a while and ended up doing some shopping together that day. When we went our separate ways, we made sure we could reach each other through the operators who worked the phones back then. 

The next few months were filled with long conversations over the phone, her voice lighting a fire deep within my core. Dinners at her and her husband John’s house, where growing feelings on my end makes the word desire sound pitiful. Little did I know at the time, she felt the same way as I did. 

War was spreading through the European countries, we caught wind of what was happening in Germany here and there. That didn't burst our bubble though, months turned into a year. Tensions were rising and there was talk of a draft for all able bodied men between 18 to 35 years old to join the war. We were in her kitchen late one night, crickets were chirping as we spoke about the news. 

“Do you think John is going to be picked in the first draft?” I keep my voice low so he doesn't hear me over the radio he has turned on. Rose nods her head slowly but I don't see sadness in her eyes, which is strange, because doesn't she love him? “I have no doubt he will be one of the first men to be picked in the draft, it's a gut feeling,” her voice is just as soft as mine was. 

I debated on asking her why she doesn't seem sad about it. As soon as I went to ask, we heard John's footsteps approaching from the living room. We both look towards the door as he walks in. “I’m going to head to bed,” he speaks as he walks over to her. He places a soft kiss on her lips, I watch it happen, I always do. I think about how her lips would feel on mine. 

I snap out of my thoughts as John gives me a nod, I smile at him, then without a pause he leaves. I turn my attention back to Rose, she almost looks sick, her face is slightly pale. I study her for a second before speaking, “what's wrong?” I've known her for almost a year and a half. I can tell when she is thinking too hard about something. 

“I'm thinking about if he gets drafted, how will I support myself alone?” she finally looks at me. Before I can stop myself the words seem to fall out of my mouth, “You won't be alone.. I’ll always be here with you and we can figure it out together,” my mouth goes dry. She looks at me before offering me a sweet smile.

A long pause happens, we just sit and look at each other. It doesn't feel uncomfortable at all, more like something unspoken. She stands slowly while keeping her eyes on me. She rounds the table, my eyes trace every movement she makes. She is now standing next to me, I have to look up at her from my sitting position.

Her eyes are softer, her lips parted slightly. There is a charge in the air that I can't describe. She moves slowly, cradling my cheeks with her hands. My breathing hitches as I stare up at her, she breaks the silence with a soft whisper, “May I kiss you?” 

My mind goes blank, my eyes still locked on hers. I take a deep shaky breath before I end up nodding, she doesn't seem to hesitate once I give permission, she bends down pressing her lips against mine. I melt into her, our lips dancing together in a passionate kiss. When she finally pulls away, we are both breathless.

She giggles a little with a smile, “I’ve wanted to do that for so long,”. I smile back at her, with a laugh of my own. “I’m glad you did it, because I've wanted it too,”. That night we experimented in her kitchen, exploring each other's bodies with our hands and mouths. Doing things God would surely send us to hell for. 

We talked about how we both knew we were attracted to women but it could never be something we did in public. We found solace in each other. Months of us exploring our sexuality, hidden behind closed doors, a dark, sinful, secret. The kisses and touches we shared were warm despite the incoming war. 

Between the passionate nights Rose and I shared, my family often pushed me to find a man who could take care of me and give me children. If they knew what I did behind closed doors I'm sure I would have been disowned and kicked out, since I still lived at home. I did as I was told, filling my days with dates with ugly men who promised me the world. After performing all day, I would go fill my nights with Rose’s sinful touches.

As time went on, talk of the draft became real. John got sent off to Germany, not long after the bombing of Pearl harbor. The dust hadn’t settled yet, when word broke of women entering the workforce to fill the spaces the men had left. Rose and I started doing factory work, producing munitions for the war. 

My family let me move in with her since we were so close and she needed help paying for the house while John wasn't there. I had to promise them to keep looking for a husband to do so.  With the war raging and so few men not fighting in the war it was easier to make excuses for why I remained single. 

It felt natural living and working with Rose, we decided that we could call ourselves a “couple” but it was only meant for behind closed doors. The nights were filled with long talks, making love to each other, and falling deeper in love with each other. I had to remind Rose several times to write to her husband, to keep the act up, so when he did come home he wouldn't think anything improper was happening.

About eight months after John deployed, soldiers showed up at the house, Rose was home and I had picked up an extra shift at the factory that day. They gave her the news that he had been KIA during the Dieppe Raid, he was one of three Americans who died that day. They offered a short, insincere, apology then left her standing there. When I came home that night she didn't say much, gave me a kiss, and handed me the letter. 

I read it over, then studied her closely. She didn't look like she had cried at all, she was acting normal. Over the next few days she seemed completely fine. Maybe it was because she never loved him or maybe it was the fact that we had been in a “relationship” for so long it didn't matter to her. Either way, I celebrated in my head because I knew there was nothing standing between us now. 

The war was making the days fly by, work at the factory was grueling. We even made a hook near the door where we would hang our carabiners that were full of tools we needed to use at our job. One night I was so tired I came home so tired I hooked them together by accident, it became our running joke. 

Rose would always find ways to make coming home interesting, meeting me in the nude, leaving notes telling me to find her and fuck her, or just loving on me. I did the same for her, at one point I left my belt on the counter with a note saying “find me, tie me up, use me however you want”. Life was good, no matter the war raging just outside our door.

I didn't really go see my family anymore, it wasn't important. Everytime I went to see them they would ask about me finding a husband. I couldn't imagine life without Rose in it, it's like God made us for one another in every lifetime.

In April of 1945 we got the news that Hitler had been killed, the entire United States was celebrating. The years of Rose and I being together had been magical. We met other like minded women through our job at the factory, there were other lesbians who we became friends with. Nights filled with gossip, wine, giggles and games. That's until Rose got sick.

The first time she collapsed was about a month after Hitler got killed. She became pale, got sick and collapsed on the floor. Luckily I was home, I rushed her to the hospital but they wouldn't allow me to stay with her because I wasn't family.

Months followed of them running as many tests as they could, multiple trips to the hospital, long nights staying awake to make sure nothing happened to her while I was sleeping. We got word of other women who were getting sick just like Rose was, they all had one thing in common, working in factories around TNT.

There were no answers and she was only getting worse, the life I once saw in her was fading away every single day. I prayed to the God who would surely damn Rose and I to hell for the kind of relationship we had. I hoped he would listen, maybe give the doctors answers so I wouldn't lose the person I've loved most.

I made her quit working when she got sick, whenever I got home, I would crawl into bed and stare at her. Take in her soft curves, the beauty in her face, the lines that formed over the years. I would hold back my tears till I was alone so I could remain strong for her. When I got home tonight I did the same as usual, she was awake this time.

Her warm brown eyes found me, she gave a half hearted smile. “I love you so much,” her voice seemed hollow, I couldn't help the tears welling in my eyes. “I love you more,” my voice cracks as I speak. She turns her body so we are laying face to face. We never had the death talk because it was never on the table, I couldn't lose her. 

“I will find you in every lifetime, my love. If I am a dog in my next life, I will find you and make you my owner. If I am an ant, I will find every drop of sugar in your house just to be close to you. Even if we are worlds apart I will find my way to you.” her smile is weak, tears are welling in her eyes too now. I can't help but stare at her, why does this sound like a goodbye?

“You aren't leaving me in this one by myself Rose..” I have no choice, tears pour out of my eyes as I pull her into me. Hugging her so tight I'm probably hurting her, but I can't let go, not now, what will I do without her? “I don't think we have a choice,” her voice is weak and muffled by my shoulder. 

We cry until we fall asleep in each other's arms. In the morning when I wake up, we are still in the same position. I pull back slowly and that's when I notice, she's gone. It was a goodbye last night, somehow she knew. I just stare at her for a while until I finally get up. I'm numb but I need to get the operator to send the police.

It happens so fast, they take her, and since I’m not family, I don't get to help plan her funeral. Her family takes over, the next week seems to come in a blur. I don't go to work, I sit in the house and look at the things we collected over the years. Our friends come over to help me, but when I see them together all it does is remind me of her. 

I go to the funeral, her family doesn't let me speak. What would I say anyway? How much I loved her? How lonely am I without her? I sit and stare at the coffin till it's over. 

When I get home the days seem to blur, I don't leave, I dont allow people in, I cant even eat. My family wants me to move back in with them but I don't, this is the only thing I have left of her, so I sit and exist in misery. Then I remember her words “I will find you in every lifetime,” I say outloud to myself, hardly recognizing my own voice. 

I stand up slowly and walk to grab a piece of paper and a pen to write my final note. It reads, “I don't know if anyone will care or read this note. This home was shared by my partner and I. Years of love, tenderness and laughs. I loved her more than life itself, that's why I'm saying goodbye too. To my friends I'm sure you'll understand and I'm sorry. To my family, I hope you forgive my sins. Sincerely, Evelyn.”

With that, I take the note and go to the garage. Our car sits there just like any normal day. I climb in and put the note on the dash, grabbing the keys, I start the car. “I hope you are right Rose, if you are, I look forward to meeting you again..” I roll down the window, relax into my seat and listen to the car's engine. My eyes close, my breathing slows, and then, all the pain stops.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I open my eyes again all I can do is cry, fluorescent lights burn my eyes. I can't speak and my body feels weird. I try to move but have no control over my movements. My limbs flail and I can feel tears streaking my face. Then I’m met with a warm body and a soothing voice, something familiar about it. Before I close my eyes again I hear a woman's voice say “Her name is Iris,” it's melodic enough to put me into a deep sleep.

Turns out, I was born again in 1998. Growing up my family didnt have alot but it was enough. I never went hungry, had toys I could play with. I learned to walk, talk, run, explore, build and destroy. My school years went smoothly, I was a solid student, B average. 

I had boyfriends, a girlfriend that my parents had no idea about. They never talked about being against the LGBT but they never mentioned being in support either, so I figured my safest bet was to keep the fact that I found women attractive, quiet.

The years passed, now I'm finding myself standing in front of the mirror looking at myself. Today is my birthday. I'm turning nineteen years old. The person I'm staring at in the mirror seems so familiar. Not just in the way that I know myself, but something more. Like I've seen her before somewhere, this face doesn't seem like mine. Maybe someone else? 

I touch my face, my eyes tracking the movements I make with my fingers. Chocolate brown eyes, my lips are pink, light brown freckles spread evenly over my nose and cheeks. My hair is long, a warm brown color to it. 

I snap out of my trance when my phone dings. I look down to see a message from my friend, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY BITCH!!!”. I can hear her voice through the message, I giggle then text back. “Thank you! Hope you can come to my party tonight!” I exit the bathroom to go sit on my bed as I send the message. 

While I wait for her to text back I open up instagram, the first post I see is a black background with white lettering that says “the face you wear during this life is the face of the person you loved the most in your last”. I pause on it, reading the words over and over, when my friend's text pops up, I ignore it, and head straight to google. 

I type in the words I saw on the post. It comes up as a Chinese myth, so I clicked on the first link. When I open it, my eyes scan over the words. Before I can finish reading the article something flashes in my brain. A memory? I'm looking into a woman's eyes, identical to mine. She looks sick and sad. Actually, her whole face looks identical to mine. “I will find you in every lifetime,” rings through my head.

I drop my phone on the floor, I barely hear the thud. I'm panting heavily as I stare at the article that's still open on my phone. “What the fuck was that?” I say out loud as if someone will give me the answer. 

I hope you enjoyed the story! Let me know if you want me to make this into a bigger story! I promise there will be smut, lesbian love, laughs, cries and so much more! Will Iris find her love again? Will Rose keep her promise? Will it be a lesbian happily ever after?? If you made it this far thank you for reading!

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 21

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

This has literally all the worst things the internet has to offer: Ableism, Sexisms, Toxic Media, horrible journalism, death threats...I am pretty sure I am missing some of it.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Lizzie sat curled up on the sofa in Aunt Lou’s living room, her arms wrapped around a cushion like it could hold her together. Mara was sprawled out beside her, her big brown eyes watching Lizzie carefully, like she knew something was wrong.

Lizzie ran her fingers through Mara’s fur, letting the motion of it soothe her, if only slightly. Her mind kept going over the same thing again and again: all those comments, all those tweets, all those people…they didn’t think she should exist.

They didn’t think, she deserved to exist. 

And her mother…

Tasha was sitting cross-legged on the armchair, arms folded, her expression thunderous, playing with her phone. 

Finally, Aunt Lou turned to Lizzie, hands on her hips. "Enough."

Lizzie blinked. “What?”

“This whole thing.” Aunt Lou gestured wildly. “This self-doubt, this ‘I was replaced’ nonsense. I am not having it.”

Lizzie let out a tired sigh. “Aunt Lou—”

“No. Listen to me, Elizabeth Louise.” Aunt Lou sat down on the coffee table, right in front of Lizzie, her sharp gaze pinning her in place.

“You were never replaced,” she said fiercely. “You were left. And that is not the same bloody thing.”

Lizzie’s throat tightened.

“She left you. She made that choice. And that is her shame to carry, not yours.”

Lizzie swallowed hard, but Aunt Lou wasn’t done.

“You are not a burden,” she said bluntly, hands on her knees, her voice steady and firm. “You were never a burden, you’re just… a little extra work. And if anyone can’t deal with that, they’re not worth your time.” Her eyes softened. “And sweetheart, you are worth it. You’re worth every bit of extra trouble, every hospital stay, every seizure…you are worth every damn second.”

“You know what I did?” Lou demanded. “When your father showed up at my door with you, six years old, confused, scared out of your mind?”

Lizzie shook her head.

“I took you in,” Lou said firmly. “I wrapped you in a blanket, I made you a cup of tea—weak, with too much sugar, because you were a kid and had terrible taste—"

Lizzie let out a weak laugh.

“—and I looked at you and knew right then and there that you were mine.” Aunt Lou exhaled sharply. “And you are mine, Lizzie. I don’t care about biology, I don’t care about paperwork. You are my daughter."

Lizzie bit her lip, trying to blink away the sting in her eyes. “You always treated me like one.”

“Of course I bloody did.” Aunt Lou huffed. “And if you ever doubt that again, I swear I’ll knock some sense into you.”

Before Lizzie could respond, Tasha let out an incredulous scoff from her chair. “I cannot believe we are even having this conversation.”

Lizzie turned toward her, startled. “Tash—”

“No, seriously.” Tasha shot to her feet, pacing like her mother had been earlier. “This is ridiculous.”

Lizzie frowned. “I—”

“No. You don’t get to just let some internet loser make you doubt yourself. You don’t get to do that to me.”

Lizzie blinked. “What?”

Tasha stopped, turning to face her. “You are my sister. You have always been my sister. And I don’t know how many times I have to say it before it actually gets through your stubborn head, but I will not stand here and listen to you act like you don’t belong to this family.”

Lizzie opened her mouth, but Tasha steamrolled right over her.

“You do belong. You always belonged. And I swear, if I hear you say one more word about being ‘replaced’ or ‘not good enough,’ I will fight you.”

Lizzie let out a choked laugh.

“I’m serious,” Tasha said. “I will throw hands. And then I’ll hug you after, because that’s what sisters do.”

Lizzie swallowed hard, overwhelmed. “I—”

Aunt Lou clapped her hands together. “Right. Settled then.” She stood, brushing off her jeans. “No more of this nonsense. You are mine, you are ours, and that is the end of the discussion.”

Lizzie exhaled shakily.

Tasha flopped down on the couch beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and squeezing tight. “Love you, dummy.”

Lizzie leaned into her, her heart aching in a way that wasn’t painful, just full. “Love you too.”

Aunt Lou sighed, shaking her head fondly. “Honestly, this family. Bloody stubborn, the lot of you.”

Lizzie smiled, the warmth of them settling deep in her bones. Maybe her mother had left. Maybe she had a whole new family now.

But Lizzie had hers.

And somehow, as the three of them snuggled up on the sofa together, watching some mindless TV show, Lizzie found herself believing it.

She was never a burden. She was never a problem. Maybe her mother didn't want her, maybe she never had, but that didn't mean Lizzie didn't belong.

She leaned her head against Aunt Lou's sturdy shoulder, Tasha's arm still around her.

She was loved. That was what mattered.

"Besides you got multiple world champions singing your praises," Tasha teased her.

What?

Tasha poked her in the side. “Don’t give me that look. It’s all over the internet. Lando’s got people swooning over how he’s so in love with you that he got the entire grid to release a statement. You’re all over the sports news.”

Lizzie freezed, coffee mug halfway to her lips. “What?”

“Yeah,” Tasha nodded, flipping her phone around so Lizzie can see the screen. “Like, all of them. It’s actually insane.”

Lizzie leant in, blinking at the words on the screen. Lando’s statement—she already knew about that one. But right below it are posts from Max, Charles, Carlos, Oscar—who apparently torched people on Twitter—Lewis, Pierre, Alex, even drivers she barely knew. Some of them are long and furious, others short but biting. But they all say the same thing: the way people treated her was unacceptable.

Lizzie stared. “You’re joking.”

“Nope,” Tasha said, popping a bite of toast into her mouth. “Oscar basically threatened to annihilate anyone who spoke badly about you again. Max said something about how F1 is about competition and not cruelty, —which, considering it’s Max, is actually kind of terrifying. Charles and Carlos both went full ‘we stand with Lando and Lizzie’ mode, and Lewis did this whole thing about supporting people with chronic conditions. Oh, and you got all the wags posting long rants on their instagram stories.’”

Lizzie’s mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. “What the hell?”

“Right?” Tasha snorted. “I mean, it’s actually insane. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them this united over anything. You somehow got an entire grid of stubborn, overcompetitive men to rally behind you.”

Lizzie swallowed, looking back at the screen. The words blur slightly. She hadn’t expected this. She’d expected silence, maybe some awkward avoidance from people who didn’t want to get involved. But this?

This was a statement.

She set the phone down, exhaling. “I don’t even know what to say.”

Tasha watched her carefully. “Are you okay?”

Lizzie hesitated, then nods. “Yeah. Just—” She shook her head, laughing softly. “I didn’t think they’d care this much.”

Tasha smirked. “Well, they do. Lando wasn’t going to let this slide, and clearly neither were the rest of them.”

Lizzie rubbed her face, still processing. “I bet Oscar was unhinged.”

“Oh, completely. That man wrote a dissertation on Twitter. You should send him a thank-you gift.”

Lizzie snorted, finally smiling. “Like what?”

Tasha grinned. “A tiny crochet Oscar with a sword. Y’know, to commemorate his Twitter war crimes.”

Lizzie shook her head, but the smile lingered. “I might actually do that.”

***

Lizzie was curled up on the couch, knees pulled up to her chest, a blanket draped over her shoulders. She’s been mostly quiet since dinner, absentmindedly scrolling through her phone. Lando watched her from the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a bottle of water in hand.

She finally sighed, locking her phone and tossing it onto the coffee table. “I think I’m going to lay low for a little while.”

Lando frowned slightly, coming over to sit next to her. “You don’t have to do that.”

Lizzie gave him a small smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. “I know. But I want to. At least for a bit. Just… keep away from the internet, let everything settle.” She exhaled, rolling her shoulders like she’s shaking off the weight of it all. 

His jaw tightened. He hates that she feels like this—like she has to disappear just to protect herself. “If that’s what you need, then do it,” he said softly. “But I don’t want you thinking you have to.”

Lizzie nodded. “I know. And I appreciate you, really.” She nudges his knee with her foot. “But it’s not forever. Just… a little while.”

Lando reached over, taking her hand and running his thumb over her knuckles. “Alright.”

She squeezed his hand in return, then nods toward his phone on the armrest. “But tell the guys and girls I said thank you. I mean, I’ll message Oscar myself because that man fought a war for me, but… the rest of them, too.”

Lando huffed out a laugh. “Oscar basically nuked Twitter.”

“I know,” Lizzie grinned. “I should crochet him a little war trophy.”

Lando chuckled lightly. “He’d probably love that.”

Lizzie leaned back against the couch, still smiling faintly. Then the exhaustion seemed to hit her again, and she closed her eyes.

Lando watched her, tracing small circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. She looked tired—exhausted, even. Tired physically and emotionally.

“Speaking of messages, though…”

Lizzie narrowed her eyes. “Oh no. What?”

“My family,” Lando said, watching her reaction carefully. “Mum, my sisters… they, uh—” He paused, then went for it. “They’re demanding to meet you.”

Lizzie blinked, “What.”

“They knew I was dating someone named Lizzie,” Lando explained. “But they did not know it was Elizabeth Treshton.” He made a face. “Apparently, that was crucial information I neglected to share.”

Lizzie sat there for a moment, blinking, like she was trying to process the idea of meeting Lando's family.

“They- They want to meet me? Why?” The words came out slightly strangled.

Lando shrugged. “Cause they’re nosy, and they think I’m hiding something, and I’m pretty sure if I don’t let them meet you, they’ll start thinking you’re actually secretly an alien or something.”

“Oh god,” Lizzie groaned, leaning forward until her head almost hit her knees. “Oh god, I have to meet the in-laws now. I have to-oh god I have to impress the in-laws. Oh god they’re probably going to hate me—“

“Whoa, whoa, hold on.” Lando put a hand on her shoulder. “First of all, they aren't gonna hate you."

Lizzie huffed. “How do you know? You can’t know that.”

He tugged at a strand of her hair, grinning. “Because you’re pretty damn lovable. And two… I know my own family. None of them could hate you even if they tried.” He shook his head. “In fact, they might actually be more excited to meet you than me.”

“I haven’t even processed the grid knowing who I am,” Lizzie groaned. “Now I have to face the Norris family tribunal?”

Lando grinned. “Basically, yeah.”

Lizzie sighed dramatically but then peeks up at him. “Your mum… does she like romance books?”

“Oh, she’s a huge reader,” Lando says. “I think my sisters are too. Why?”

Lizzie stared at the ceiling. “Because if they’ve read my books, I might just walk into the ocean.”

Lando just laughed, leaning over to kiss her temple. “Too late now, love. You’re stuck with me.”

[antagonistic-sunsetgirl]

Hm. I too have been struggling with what exactly I want from Star Trek nowadays. I joined in for the TOS brightness, the distraction from our day to day. I'm currently latched onto DS9, which has sparked series of debates over how true it still is to that TOS light. Because it isn't. It introduced Section 31.

However, I haven't watched seasons 5-7 and I'm not planning to. Because I don't want to watch my heroes get traumatized by war and agony. It's really that simple.

So maybe SNW or Next Gen is for me? SNW kicks off with an exploration of the traumatizing events that lead to the Federation. Sure it's mostly an action Hollywood series but I'm talking solely about the TOS vs. DS9 vibe rn. And they're the only ones (I think) to explicitly state that the Fed is socialist (regardless of if you agree with Socialism, that's pretty ballsy for a show). Next Gen sticks to the TOS ideals, but feels new. I think a major component of that is that they simply outsource all the conflict to species outside of the Federation.

So, my thoughts: On the one hand I don't think TOS is realistic and it feels hollow in this world of rising fascism and terror. But I'm sick of 90s grunge-style 'the world SUCKS and our aesthetic is dark and everyone is traumatized.'

So I suggest: Federation fighting tooth and claw for their ideals. It's hard, it's gritty, but it's unified. No sunny sunshine, but no "oh nooo, the Fed has in fact been corrupt and evil all along". I want something dark to crop up (Section 31) and EVERYONE to be like "we hate that. We kill that". I want people to be hopeful be proven right. Tired of unresolved trauma as a cinematic choice. I want Federation to feel like a home. I want some plucky hero to discover corruption, bring it to admirals and them to be like "oh shit, yeah we're killing that with fire. Thanks kid." Unironically.

I don't want Federation life to be easy. I want everyone to be fully aware of where humanity came from and that violence is a part of every species. But I want to see a future succeed in making this live laugh love thing work, goddammit.

That's what I need right now.

One of my issues with modern Trek is that these days, the utopianism of the Federation is an informed attribute — the things the Federation does are good, even when they're not, because it's the Federation doing them. This leads to things like Section 31, a plot device originally introduced to challenge the Federation's utopianism and show how easy it is for even the most well-intentioned social projects to fall to darkness, getting its own movie.

I've seen a lot of people say that what we need to fix Star Trek is a return to TNG-era bright and shiny utopian sensibilities, and I see the merit of that position, but I don't agree with it.

Federation ideals have roots in American exceptionalism (yes, I acknowledge that Trek has a global fanbase but also, it's an American TV franchise with a heavily American sensibility), and the last thing we need is to compound that with "Federation fuck yeah, also black ops intelligence agencies are Cool and Good". I think that we live in an era where we're reaping the consequences of the unacknowledged American capacity for evil. The Federation, too, has a capacity for evil which has only barely ever been acknowledged, because — and this is where I show my entire ass as someone who's mostly a Babylon 5 fan these days — people are always going to be people, and "after a few centuries we just evolved past all human conflict" was never a good premise, as idyllic as it may seem.

So we've been getting what looks from the outside like a subtextual descent into fascism that parallels the one the US is going through right now. Why not make it textual? Why not break the cultural, technological, and political stasis of the Federation by showing how in decline the Federation actually is, how conservative and imperialistic it's become, and— most importantly — that people are fighting it, even where no one would expect them to?

I think, when you come down to it, that's how you fix Star Trek. By allowing the Federation to have a dark and ugly side, showing that dark ugliness for what it is, and then giving the people the opportunity to drag it kicking and screaming back into the light.

[bennyboyfics]

Soft launch gone wrong || Ben Shelton x gf!reader

Summary: when your relationship w Ben is hard launched when he walks behind you in your insta live

Wc: 949

Warnings: none!!

MASTERLIST

-

You prop your phone against the bathroom mirror, angling it so your followers get the perfect view of your setup—your makeup bag spread across the counter, a steaming cup of coffee beside it, and the luxurious hotel lighting making your skin glow. The background is just blurry enough that it looks aesthetic but still natural.

“Okay, we’re live,” you say, tapping a brush against your foundation bottle. “I literally just woke up, so if I look half-dead, no, you didn’t.” The comments start rolling in almost instantly.

— ‘Omg, morning grwm!!’

— ‘Wait, where are you? This bathroom looks fancy AF.’

— ‘GIRL are you in Australia right now??

— ‘Are you in Melbourne for a brand trip??’

— ‘Your skin is insane. Drop the routine RIGHT NOW.’

You fight the urge to smirk. “I am,” you confirm vaguely. “Okay, so this is my holy grail foundation,” you say, holding up the bottle before dabbing more onto your skin. “It just melts in, like—ugh, look at that. Flawless.” As you continue with your routine, the camera subtly picks up details in the background—nothing major, but just enough for your more eagle-eyed followers to start investigating.

A black duffel bag sits partially unzipped on the floor. A watch that definitely isn’t yours rests on the counter. And, most notably, a tennis shirt—crisp white with pink and yellow and the unmistakable On logo—is draped casually over a chair in the corner. You don’t address it, keeping the mystery alive. “I landed in Australia two days ago,” you say vaguely, dabbing concealer under your eyes.

“It’s my first time here, and oh my god, the heat? You guys weren’t joking.” You’re mid-sentence when you catch movement in the mirror’s reflection. Your hand stills. Ben walks past the open bathroom door, fresh out of the shower, with just a towel slung dangerously low on his hips. His skin is still damp, droplets of water clinging to his abs, and he’s rubbing another towel through his curls absentmindedly.

The chat absolutely explodes.

— ‘HELPPPP WE ALL JUST SAW THAT.’

— ‘MA’AM???’

— ‘NAH THAT WAS BEN SHELTON.’

— ‘He was one towel slip away from changing your whole career 💀.’

You press your lips together, trying not to laugh as you pretend nothing happened. With the most nonchalant expression you can manage, you simply blink, pick up your blush, and continue blending. “Anyway,” you say, voice light and breezy, “I’ve been loving this cream blush lately. It just makes your skin look so healthy, you know?”

The comments are absolutely unhinged.

— ‘Bestie, we all saw your man half-naked. Give it up.’

— ‘You’re so unserious for that, LMAO.’

— ‘Soft launch fumbled in 4K.’

— ‘Blink twice if he’s holding you hostage LMAO.’

You giggle, finally breaking. “You guys are insane. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Another flood of messages.

— ‘OH SHE’S PLAYING DUMB NOW.’

— ‘Yeah, okay, we’ll pretend we didn’t see anything.’

— ‘So when’s the official announcement?”

You finish up your makeup, still laughing to yourself at how Twitter is probably already blowing up. But you say nothing, keeping up the act. You’re just a girl in Australia for a brand trip. That’s all.

-

Later that day, the Australian sun beats down on Melbourne Park, the energy buzzing through Rod Laver Arena as fans pour into their seats. The crowd hums with excitement, awaiting Ben’s upcoming match, and you slip into his player’s box casually beside his dad and his team, sunglasses perched on your nose.

Despite the heat, you look effortlessly put together—your outfit a perfect blend of sporty and stylish, camera-ready without being too obvious. The moment you sit down, heads turn. People online had speculated that you were in Melbourne for a campaign or a tennis collaboration, but now, seeing you in Ben Shelton’s box? It fuels an entirely different conversation.

It’s only been a few hours since your Instagram Live, but Twitter is already in flames.

— ‘SHE LIEDDDDD SHE SAID “MOVING ON” AND THEN SHOWED UP IN HIS PLAYER BOX.’

— ‘You mean to tell me we all saw Ben in a towel this morning and NOW SHE’S HERE? IN THE BOX??’

— ‘Ben Shelton winning on AND off the court.’

— ‘WAIT. SHE’S NOT JUST HERE FOR A BRAND DEAL??’

— ‘SHE’S IN HIS PLAYER BOX. CONFIRMED. CONFIRMED.’

— ‘The towel incident makes so much sense now.’

You cross one leg over the other, scrolling through your phone briefly before tucking it away, feeling the stares. The cameras pan across the stadium, and when they land on you, the big screen flashes your face for a split second—long enough for the commentators to take notice. “And there’s a familiar face in the crowd today,” one of them says, amused.

“Looks like someone’s special guest is here.” You smirk slightly, pretending to be engrossed in the match as Ben steps onto the court, his presence commanding attention. The stadium erupts in cheers, but his eyes flicker toward you briefly before refocusing.

And that’s when the tweets really go crazy.

— ‘Nah, she soft launched this man just hours ago, and now she’s sitting in his player’s box like a damn queen.’

— ‘We lost her, boys.‘

— ‘Ben Shelton is LIVING THE DREAM.’

The match begins, and with every point Ben scores, you clap, maintaining a cool composure, but the truth is—you’re trying not to burst out laughing at your phone buzzing nonstop. Soft launch? Yeah, that was a failure. But at this point, you might as well lean into it.

[lazysoulwriter]

coming home drunk. - pedro pascal. (the morning after)

second part for this one, read first. requested. hope you love it! ♡

---

The groan from the other side of the bed was my favorite sound of the morning.

I rolled onto my side, propping my head up on my hand as I watched Pedro slowly wake up, his face buried in the pillow, hair a complete disaster. He looked deeply unwell.

“Good morning, my little buttered toast,” I teased.

Another groan.

I grinned. “Feeling okay?”

“No,” he mumbled, voice muffled against the pillow. “I think I died. This is the afterlife.”

“Oh, really?” I bit back a laugh. “That would explain why you were confessing your undying love for me last night like a tragic Shakespearean hero.”

Pedro peeked one eye open, immediately squinting like the daylight had personally offended him. “… What?”

I rolled onto my back dramatically.

“‘You’re my oxygen! My light! My toast with butter!’” I mimicked.

Pedro groaned even louder and pulled the blanket over his head. “No. Nope. I refuse to believe it.”

“Oh, it gets better.” I pulled the blanket back down just enough to see his tortured expression.

“You made me feel your heartbeat and said, and I quote, ‘Boom, boom, boom! That’s love, baby.’”

He blinked at me in pure horror. “I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“I’m leaving the country.”

I snorted. “Oh, don’t be dramatic. That’s my job.”

Pedro flopped onto his back, rubbing his face like he could erase last night from existence. “Did I at least—please tell me—I didn’t embarrass myself in front of anyone else?”

I hummed, pretending to think. “Well… no, but—”

His sigh of relief was cut short when I added, “You did demand that I move onto the couch permanently because, and I quote again, ‘We live here now.’”

Pedro groaned so hard he rolled off the bed and hit the floor with a thud.

I cackled. “Dramatic much?”

“I can never face you again,” he said from the floor.

“Oh, hush,” I said, reaching down to ruffle his hair. “I think it was sweet.”

He sat up, pouting at me like a big grumpy golden retriever. “I was a fool.”

“No, you were just drunk in love—literally.”

Pedro narrowed his eyes, then slowly shook his head. “I can’t believe I wasted my best poetic material in a blackout.”

I bit my lip, trying not to laugh, but failed miserably. “Well… you did compare me to food several times.”

He groaned. “Stop.”

“You said I was toast with butter, a warm cinnamon roll, and at one point—” I swallowed another laugh, “—you called me your little empanada.”

Pedro fell back onto the floor face-first.

“Oh my God.” His voice was muffled. “Kill me.”

“Not happening, empanada boy.”

He rolled onto his back, glaring at the ceiling. “You’re enjoying this.”

I grinned. “A little.”

Pedro let out the most dramatic sigh yet. Then, very slowly, he propped himself up on his elbows. “Did I at least say anything sexy?”

I tilted my head, pretending to think. “Mmm… well, at one point, you wrapped yourself around me like a human koala and whispered, ‘If you leave me, I’ll shrivel up like a raisin and perish.’”

Pedro collapsed again. “Nope. That’s it. I’m deleting myself.”

I burst out laughing. “Oh, babe, come on—”

“Nope! Don’t ‘babe’ me! I need a do-over!” He sat up, rubbing his temples. “Okay. Okay. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll say sexy things. Like, right now. Hold on.”

I smirked, folding my arms. “Alright. Let’s hear it.”

He took a deep breath, straightened his back like he was preparing for a movie monologue, then met my eyes with his most sultry expression.

“You,” he said, voice deep and slow, “are the most beautiful person I have ever seen.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Not bad.”

“I crave you like oxygen,” he continued, sitting up taller. “Like my first sip of coffee in the morning. Like the warmth of a sunbeam on my face.”

I hummed, pretending to be impressed. “Alright, I’ll admit, this is much better than ‘empanada.’”

“And,” he said, shifting closer, his voice dropping into a whisper, “I will never—never—stop telling you how much I love you.”

That one got me.

I felt my face heat up as he gave me a smug little smirk.

“Oh, so now you’re good at this?” I muttered.

Pedro chuckled, reaching out to pull me onto his lap. “I just needed to be sober for it.”

I rolled my eyes but kissed him anyway, because, well, he was my idiot.

Hungover or not, I wouldn’t trade him for anything.

---

[punkshort]

Don't Give Up On Me

Pairing: Harry Castillo x f!reader (materialists)

Summary: Should you give up on the man you love when he disappoints you, or do you give him another chance?

Warnings: language, tons of angst, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex, hurt/comfort, making men beg and cry

WC: idk I wrote it on my phone - maybe 2K?

A/N: sorry if this is premature. I can't help it. If we got his name wrong I'll just go back and fix it later okay byeeee

Tears that have been burning the backs of your eyes for the last two hours finally threaten to spill down your cheeks now that you're in the privacy of his town car.

Harry sits next to you, still talking on his phone like he has been all night while his driver takes you back to his penthouse. It's nestled in the heart of the city with a breathtaking view, but it's the very last place you want to be right now because you know what you'll have to do once you get there.

You're going to end things, once and for all.

It's been on your mind for a while, but you always talk yourself out of it. You make excuses for him, cover for him, and lie to him when you say it doesn't matter, but it does. It really fucking does.

You know he's a busy man. You've always known this. But foolishly, some part of you believed he would change. That after countless fights, he would eventually understand what's important to you, and it wasn't his money or his things — it was him.

All you ever want is for him to just be there when it counts, and he almost always lets you down. But tonight? Tonight was special. He knew it, too. You told him for weeks how excited you were to receive this award for all the hard work at your firm.

When it came time to accept it and give your speech in front of three hundred people, you excitedly climbed to the stage to take your prize. Your eyes swept around the room, searching for the only person you wanted to see, and your heart sunk when you realized he had stepped out of the room to take a work call.

Again.

It was in that moment you decided you wouldn't put up with it again.

The car stops in the usual spot outside his building. The driver opens your door and you slip out with a tight smile. Harry's right behind you, wrapping up his call, but you ignore him. You charge into the lobby and stab at the call button for the elevator. If he notices your anger, he doesn't let on. He laughs to whoever is on the other end while you adjust the strap of your dress with a huff.

Once the elevator arrives, he finally hangs up. You step inside and he presses in the code for the penthouse on the keypad, then the car smoothly lifts. You stare at the screen above the door while Harry scrolls on his phone, still completely unaware when he asks, "What's your boss's name again?"

You clench your jaw and fight back tears before you answer him. He grunts.

"Thought so. Went to Yale with him. Never liked the guy."

Your award feels so much heavier in your hand now. Like it's trying to pull you back down to the lobby and stop you from doing what you need to do. But you adjust it and lift your chin a little higher — you need to do this.

The doors slide open to Harry's massive, extravagant living room. You step out and walk right past it all — past the ornate kitchen, the priceless art, the expensive marble — through the long, perfectly decorated hallway to his bedroom.

You go right to the closet and grab an empty gym bag, tossing your award inside. You hear him somewhere in the room removing his watch, cufflinks and ring while you stuff your bag with whatever clothes you can think of. It's only when you exit the closet and storm into the bathroom that he notices something is wrong.

"What are you doing?"

You sniffle and sweep your toiletries off the counter, tossing them directly into your bag.

"I'm leaving."

Your voice is a little shaky but it sounds better than you expect. He watches you from the doorway as you move erratically around the room collecting your belongings.

"Wh— why?" he finally asks. You're grabbing your things from the shower when you hear it. He sounds sad, and maybe if it were any other day, you would have felt bad. But that day? That day, it just pisses you off.

You whirl back around and drop your bag on the floor to pin him with a glare. He's in the doorway still wearing the clothes from tonight: pressed black pants and a crisp white shirt, although now the collar is undone and his tie is abandoned somewhere in his bedroom.

"Why?" you repeat. Your tone is so icy, you hardly recognize it. "You — weren't — fucking — there!"

On the last word, you step forward and shove him. He stumbles backwards a bit, but only from shock.

"Baby—"

You shake your head and lean down grab your bag.

"Don't," is all you say when you brush past him. You throw the bag on your bed, half the contents spilling out, but you don't care. You're shaking like a leaf when you round the bed to your side and begin to grab your things from the nightstand.

"I'm sorry," he says softly from the other side of the room. You ignore him and keep working. "It was important. I told you—"

"And this was important to me!"

You snap your head up to yell at him with tears streaming down your face. His expression falls and he reaches out, but you take a step back.

"You're right. I'm — I'm sorry. I'll do better, I prom—"

"No! I'm done! I'm tired of having the same fights with you. I was so fucking stupid to think you'd ever choose me over... over all this."

You gesture broadly around his room but you mean his penthouse in general. He gets it. It's not the first time you've fought over this.

He watches you quietly while you continue to pack with shaky hands. When you're nearly done, he speaks again.

"I do want you," he says, "more than all this. I just — I want to make sure we're comfortable. I want to make sure we have enough so you never have to work again—"

"But I like working! I love what I do! I've never wanted to quit, I've never wanted anything from you... not your money or your cars or your clothes. I just..."

You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose.

"I only ever wanted you," you mumble.

You bury your face in your hands as he crosses the room. You feel him standing in front of you and you know deep down, you're done for.

But still, you try.

"You have me," he says. His hands gently slide up and down your arms, but you keep your face hidden in your palms. "It won't always be like this. It's the busy season, that's all. It's... it's temporary. And then we can do whatever you want. We can go to Paris or Italy or Bora Bora... anywhere. It's up to you."

He takes another step closer and carefully plants a kiss to the top of your head. And you fucking let him.

"I'm so sorry, baby," he breathes. Your hands drop to your sides. "I should've been there, you're absolutely right. I'll never do something like that again, you have my word."

You sigh and finally tip your chin up to look him in the eye. It's kind of not fair how handsome he is on top of everything else: a thick head of wavy dark hair, gorgeous brown eyes, a greying beard he's self-conscious about but you find absolutely endearing. If there was one man on the planet who had it all, it's Harry Castillo.

He gives you a small smile and pinches your chin between his fingers when he sees your resolve crumbling.

"Can I make it up to you?" he asks.

You take a deep breath and try to scrape together what dignity you have left.

"No," you reply. His smile falters but otherwise he doesn't move. You take a step back but it's not far enough.

"I told you. I'm done."

Right when you go to turn and pick up your bag, he drops to his knees and wraps his arms around your waist.

"Please," he begs, gazing up at you from the floor. Your eyes widen with shock at this man who is quite literally worth billions falling to his knees, pleading with you to stay. "Don't go. I'll do anything. Please, I-I can't — I won't be —"

"Harry—"

"Please," he says again, urgently. You see his throat bob and his eyes fill with tears. "I'll do whatever you want. I-I just— I don't think I can do this—"

He swallows and presses his face against your stomach. His eyes slide closed and he breathes in deep while you're still struggling to catch up.

"I'll do anything," he whispers, but this time, his hands tighten around your waist. His jaw falls open and he mouths at your middle while a tear sneaks down his cheek.

It shouldn't affect you. You should push him away, take your bag, and go. Instead, you find yourself leaning forward into his hold.

"Harry..."

Your voice holds no conviction. His hands begin to move. They slide down your legs and push up the hem of your dress. He leaves feverish open mouthed kisses across your clothed stomach and over your hips. Your eyes fall shut and you gasp when his palms slide up your bare legs, pushing up the fabric of your dress until his fingers grab hold of your ass and he gives you a rough squeeze.

"Please," he's murmuring, over and over. Your jaw is slack and you give in. You just fucking give in when he pulls down on your panties until they drop to the floor. With shaky legs, you step out of them and crack open an eye when he tosses the lace over his shoulder.

You're weak. You know that. But you really thought this time was the last straw. Instead, he somehow has you underneath him once again. Your dress is in a sad little pile on the floor, along with his pants. His tongue is dancing hungrily with yours as you push his shirt over his shoulders.

You know you should have stood your ground, but you also know he's hurt. He's so broken and you want to fix him. You want to be the one who shows him what it's like — what it could be like. You want to prove that love can heal old wounds and can be beautiful, if you let it.

He groans when he first enters you. It's low and deep and it makes you gasp. His teeth graze your jaw and he whispers everything you want to hear: that he loves you, that he would do anything for you, that he's sorry. You let those words fill you up and mend the wounds he caused, just like all the other times before.

"Never again, okay?"

You nod and wrap your arms tightly around his shoulders. You say his name with a breathy moan and his hips flex faster, deeper.

"I can be good for you. I— I — fuck—"

He pushes your knees to your chest and you cry out. The angle is so much more intense. It has you clawing at the sheets and mumbling unintelligible curses under your breath as he splits you open, reminding you just how good it can be.

"I won't hurt you ever again," he babbles. Your chest aches. Your eyes water. He keeps fucking you so deep that it has you making noises you never heard yourself make before.

"I don't think — don't think I can d-do this without — you," he groans into your neck. Your nails scrape down his back. You throw your head backwards into the sheets and let him do what he does best: make you feel good and forget all the pain.

His mouth finds your jaw, then your cheek, and finally your lips. You moan and his tongue slips inside, licking past your teeth. He's so close. Your bodies practically melt together as one with each steady rock of his hips.

"Feels good, right?" he groans into your mouth. You nod and gasp when the muscles in your stomach begin to pull.

"Yes," you whine, all earlier anger forgotten.

"Yeah, I know," he coos. His hips snap faster, cock plunging deeper until the room is filled with your helpless moans and the sounds of your soaked pussy gushing all around him. He makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat when you clench tightly around his thick cock.

"Gonna come for me?" he asks. You whimper, cheeks blazing hot and body slick with sweat. He chuckles breathlessly and continues to drive himself into you, over and over. "Yeah, c'mon, it's alright. I wanna feel it — I need to feel it. C'mon, baby, just—"

Before he can finish his sentence, your muscles spasm and you scream out his name. A litany of curses falls from your lips as you pulse around his painfully hard length. He grinds his teeth and keeps fucking you through it until your body goes limp and you melt into the silk sheets.

His arms circle around you and he really begins to fuck you — hard. Each thrust is paired with a deep grunt until his cock swells and he comes inside you with a loud, strangled groan.

He collapses on top of you in relief. He occasionally jolts forward, giving you more of his release with each weak roll of his hips until he's spent. His head falls to your chest and he closes his eyes to catch his breath. Your fingers come up to gently rake through his hair and you lay just like that, silent and panting for air while his cock softens inside of you.

"I mean it," he rasps. You peel your eyes open and stare at the ceiling. He presses a soft kiss in the spot between your breasts when he says, "I'll be better. I won't fuck up again. Please, just — just don't give up on me."

Your arms coil around his neck and you hold him close as tears fill your eyes, now for an entirely different reason. You know he's been hurt before. Know what he went through and how badly she broke his heart.

But to his credit, he didn't give up. He kept searching for love, despite it all.

Nobody's perfect. You're far from it. But you know Harry has a good heart. He just needs a little extra care to heal it.

"Okay," you whisper.

You feel his grateful, hot tears pool silently against your chest and you hold him a little tighter.

Everyone makes mistakes, you think. Even the ones who love you the most.

It'll take time. It might hurt. But you'll keep trying. Because what happened wasn't his fault, and you both deserve to have a happy ending.

Some people just have to work a little harder for it.

[eartharcangel]

SELF CONTROL(M) s.jy

ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ᴊᴀᴋᴇ ɪꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ, ʙᴜᴛ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʜᴇ ʟɪᴋᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴇꜱᴛ ʜɪꜱ ʟɪᴍɪᴛꜱ ᴏʀ... ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇꜰᴜꜱᴇ ᴛᴏ ꜱᴘᴇɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴀᴛ ᴊᴀᴋᴇ'ꜱ ᴅᴏʀᴍ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴇʟʟ ʜɪᴍ ᴡʜʏ

It was a regular night like any other. The time reads 10:00PM, and X, Tumblr, and Pinterest were getting boring; it's time to go home.

The sounds of Jake playing HALO with Heeseung—which he promised wouldn't take long—still grate at your ears. You grab all of your belongings and start heading towards the door. Jake's voice sounds slightly urgent when he tells his friends he has to go, followed by laughs and the usual name switch up of Jake Sim turning into Jake "The Simp".

"Don't even try it Jake, I have to go, and you clearly have better things to do than hang out."

He bites his lip, always the charmer. The way he looks you up and down tells you what is planning in his mind.

"You could just," he twists his mouth and looks nowhere in particular. "Stay the night here, but..."

"But we both know I won't, so why even bother asking?"

He raises his arms in surrender and watches you turn to the door, but he pushes it closed when you open it. The look of frustration on your face is enough to make his dick incredibly hard, not that you're oblivious to your best friend trying to get with you in the slightest.

"Why you gotta be like that now? I only made a suggestion."

"Jaeyun."

Your tone is full of warning, but it isn't carrying its usual intimidation. Jake was always quick to behave whenever you said his true Korean name, but tonight he didn't seem to be phased with the way he grabbed your hips and pulled you into him more.

"Yes?"

The smile on his face may be sweet, but only to an unsuspecting victim. Those pearly whites always knew how to break a girl down, but not this time. Not this time they won't. You push him aside and try to leave again, only for him to stop you again.

"Jaeyun, what the hell?"

He gets so close to your face, the cologne you bought him is unmistakable; Givenchy. Now why was he wearing that on a gaming night? That's supposed to be for picking up women or something.

"You keep saying my government name like it makes a difference on what I think or say. Newsflash, it doesn't."

You roll your eyes and click your tongue. "Jake, I don't have time for these games."

"Oh, so now I'm Jake now."

You tell him he's about to be dead meat if he doesn't let you go home, but he still tempts you to stay the night with him. Were your reasons truly founded or was it all just a load of shit? Jake wondered. Why not stay the night with him? You were besties, after all. Is that not what best friends do?

With your back to the door, you push off and sit down on his dorm room bed. He follows you and stands in front of you, and it doesn't look like he is about to let this go, is what you think. You lean back on your elbows and cross your legs. This position always makes his eyes dance on your body; you've known this since you first met.

"Yes, Jaeyun. That's what friends do. You look at me differently than just a female friend. I'm not one of your little chicks."

That name again. His jaw clenches, but only when he nests his tongue into his cheek. Oh look, he's mad. Not like you give a fuck. You know how this ends, and you'll do anything to avoid blurring some lines. He asks what you mean, and it's very simple.

"Unlike your other hoes, I have self control. You see, Jaeyun—"

"Jake."

"Whatever. Look, I'm not like those other girls you talk to, all sweet that lets you hop right into their beds or vice versa. You'll never have me like that. I'm just too balanced. You get me?"

The way your fingers run through your high ponytail makes his eyes dance indeed. He would always ask what he would do without you as his bestie and you'd always say live under a rock. You gave him something the other girls didn't. Who else would allow him to play games for hours and not get mad at him for it?

But this? This was just bullshit and you know it. You get up from the bed and flip your ponytail around before adjusting your shorts and making a snide comment about seeing what kind of action there was on a Friday night. Just as quick as you said that, you ended up back on the bed within 10 seconds.

"You done?" Jake says as he grips your ponytail in one hand and squeezes one of your breasts in the other.

"Let me go, Jaeyun, or else..."

"Now, now, you need more self control. Let me teach you, what real self control is."

The sounds of flesh smacking has been going on for at least 2 hours. How did it turn into this? Did you miss something? It wasn't supposed to be this way, but here you are. Jake's grip ruined your ponytail, and his tongue licking your tears wiped away your makeup. There was also the copious amounts of sweat that accumulated after the many times you tried to run from Jake, but finally his fingers made you give in. His words were so dirty, so filthy.

"You like it when I'm knuckles deep in that pussy, don't you? Filthy fucking girl."

His hands were like magic, and his tongue was the wand. You couldn't keep it together anymore, but you knew it wouldn't be that easy. He's been trying to make you beg but you refuse because of your self control. He flung your shorts across the room onto his gaming chair, which is also covered in your essence, and pulled your shirt over your head, but not all the way off. The spot he hits inside you makes you flutter around his fingers and he can't help but hover over your form.

He looks into your eyes and revels in your fucked out expression.

"You're really something, aren't you? Say the fuckin' word, baby."

You shake your head frantically, but Jake's not having it. He touches your g-spot and brings out a truly pornographic moan that makes both you and him say fuck self-control.

The sun rises on you and Jake, but you are doing anything but sleeping. How it ended up with you bent over for and feeling him deep in your core for what was probably the 5th time since last night was truly a mystery.

"Say my name now. Say it now."

"J-Jaeyun. Oh f-fuck!"

"Yes, give me what's mine. Finally, you're mine. Fuck baby. So much for your self-control."

[lilangelbud]

Could you please do a 4-some with mom dad son and daughter? I’m in the mood for mom-son and dad-daughter but all together

family entanglement coming right up! (used a bit of a different writing style for this one. Hope you enjoy it!) ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆──

The living room was bathed in the dim glow of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the plush carpet. The air was heavy with the scent of wine and something else—something electric, unspoken. The mother sat on the couch, her legs curled beneath her, a glass of red wine perched delicately in her hand. The father lounged in his armchair, his eyes flicking between his wife and his daughter, who stood by the window, her slender silhouette framed by the fading light.

The daughter—lithe, with hair that fell like a silk curtain down her back—turned to face her father, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “Dad,” she said, her voice low and teasing, “you’re staring again.”

He raised an eyebrow, his fingers twitching as if they longed to tangle in her hair. “Can’t help it,” he replied, his voice a low rumble. “You’re hard to look away from.”

The mother set her wine glass down with a soft clink, her gaze sharp as it darted between them. “Careful,” she murmured, her tone laced with something unspoken. “You two are playing with fire.”

The daughter laughed, a sound that was both light and dangerous. “Fire’s always been my favorite element,” she said, stepping closer to her father. Her hips swayed with each step, her movements deliberate, calculated. She stopped just inches from him, her breath warm against his ear as she whispered, “Isn’t it yours, Daddy?”

The father’s hand shot up, his fingers threading through her hair as he pulled her closer. “You’re testing me,” he growled, his voice thick with desire. “And you know what happens when you test me.”

The mother’s eyes darkened as she watched them, her own desires stirring beneath the surface. She rose from the couch, her dress clinging to her curves as she crossed the room. “Enough,” she said, though there was no bite in her words. “If we’re going to do this, we’re doing it together.”

The daughter glanced over her shoulder, her smile widening. “Mom,” she purred, “I didn’t think you had it in you.”

The mother’s lips curved into a sly smile as she reached out, her hand brushing against her daughter’s cheek before trailing down to her neck. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she said, her voice a sultry whisper. “But you’re about to find out.”

The father watched them, his heart pounding in his chest. This was wrong—so wrong—and yet, it felt so right. His hand tightened in his daughter’s hair as he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that was both tender and demanding. She responded eagerly, her hands tangling in his shirt as she pressed herself against him.

The mother stepped closer, her fingers sliding down her daughter’s back as she leaned in to kiss her husband. The taste of wine still lingered on her lips, intoxicating and sweet. She deepened the kiss, her tongue teasing his as her hands roamed over his chest.

The daughter broke the kiss, her breath coming in short gasps as she looked between her parents. “This is…” she began, but her words trailed off as her father’s hand slid down her side, his fingers brushing against the curve of her hip.

“This is what we’ve all wanted,” the father finished, his voice rough and low. “And we’re not stopping now.”

The mother nodded, her eyes dark with desire as she reached for her daughter’s hand. “Together,” she said, her voice firm despite the tremor of excitement that ran through her. “We’ll do this together.”

The daughter hesitated for a moment, her heart racing as she looked between her parents. Then, with a slow, deliberate nod, she stepped back, her hands moving to the hem of her dress. She pulled it over her head in one smooth motion, revealing the smooth, pale skin beneath.

The father’s breath caught in his throat as he took her in, her slender frame illuminated by the fading light. His hands itched to touch her, to explore every inch of her. He stood, his own clothes falling to the floor as he stepped closer, his chest pressing against hers as he kissed her again.

The mother watched them, her own desire burning hotter with each passing moment. She reached for the zipper of her dress, pulling it down slowly, her eyes never leaving her husband and daughter. The fabric pooled at her feet, revealing the tight, toned body that still turned heads even after all these years.

She stepped closer, her hands sliding over her daughter’s shoulders as she pressed her lips to the back of her neck. The daughter shivered, her breath hitching as her mother’s hands moved down her body, her fingers tracing the curve of her breasts.

The father groaned, his hands gripping his daughter’s hips as he pulled her closer, his arousal pressing against her. He looked at his wife over their daughter’s shoulder, his eyes dark with need. “Together,” he repeated, his voice a low growl. “All of us.”

The mother nodded, her lips curving into a smile as she stepped around to face her husband. She kissed him deeply, her hands moving over his chest, his shoulders, his arms. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she sank to her knees before him, her eyes locked on his as she took him into her mouth.

The daughter watched them, her heart pounding as she felt her father’s hands tighten on her hips. She turned to face him, her lips curving into a sly smile as she reached for him, her fingers wrapping around his length. “Daddy,” she whispered, her voice a sultry purr, “let me take care of you.”

The father groaned, his head falling back as his daughter’s hand moved over him, her touch sending sparks of pleasure through his body. He reached for her, his hands tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that was both desperate and tender.

The mother looked up at them, her lips still wrapped around her husband as her hands moved to her daughter’s hips. She pulled her closer, her mouth leaving her husband’s length as she pressed her lips to her daughter’s stomach, her kisses trailing lower and lower.

The daughter gasped, her hands tightening on her father as she felt her mother’s lips between her legs. “Mommy,” she breathed, her voice trembling with need. “Oh, god, Mom…”

The father watched them, his heart pounding as he saw his wife’s head moving between his daughter’s legs. He reached for his wife, his fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her back, his lips crashing against hers in a kiss that was all teeth and desperation.

The daughter stumbled back, her chest heaving as she looked between her parents. “I want more,” she said, her voice trembling with need. “I want all of you.”

The father nodded, his eyes dark with desire as he stepped closer, his hands gripping her hips as he lifted her onto the edge of the couch. He positioned himself between her legs, his arousal pressing against her as he looked down at her, his breath coming in short gasps.

The mother moved behind him, her hands sliding over his back as she pressed herself against him, her lips brushing against his ear. “Take her,” she whispered, her voice low and sultry. “She’s yours.”

The father groaned, his hands tightening on his daughter’s hips as he pushed himself into her, his body shuddering at the feeling of her tight warmth around him. The daughter gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as she arched against him, her body craving more.

The mother watched them, her own desire burning hotter as she saw her husband moving inside their daughter. She stepped closer, her hands sliding over her daughter’s breasts as she leaned in to kiss her, her lips claiming hers in a kiss that was both possessive and tender.

The father groaned, his thrusts growing more urgent as he felt his wife’s hands on his daughter, her lips claiming hers. He reached for his wife, his fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer, his lips crashing against hers in a kiss that was all teeth and desperation.

The daughter gasped, her nails digging into her father’s shoulders as she felt him moving inside her, her mother’s hands on her breasts, her lips claiming hers. She arched against him, her body trembling with pleasure as she felt herself getting closer, closer, closer…

“Mommy,” she gasped, her voice trembling with need. “Daddy… I’m so close…”

The mother smiled, her hands moving down her daughter’s body as she pressed her lips to her ear. “Let go,” she whispered, her voice low and sultry. “We’re here with you. Let go.”

The daughter gasped, her body shuddering as she felt herself tipping over the edge, her pleasure crashing over her in waves. She cried out, her nails digging into her father’s shoulders as she arched against him, her body trembling with pleasure.

The father groaned, his thrusts growing more urgent as he felt his daughter clenching around him. He reached for his wife, his fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer, his lips crashing against hers in a kiss that was all teeth and desperation.

The mother watched them, her own desire burning hotter as she saw her husband and daughter coming together. She stepped closer, her hands sliding over her daughter’s body as she pressed herself against her husband, her lips brushing against his ear. “Take her,” she whispered, her voice low and sultry.

The father groaned, his hands tightening on his daughter’s hips as he thrust into her one last time, his body shuddering as he spilled himself inside her. He leaned over her, his breath coming in short gasps as he looked down at her, his heart pounding in his chest.

The daughter gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as she felt him moving inside her, her body trembling with pleasure as she felt herself getting closer, closer, closer…

---

The living room was thick with the scent of sweat and desire, the air electric with the kind of tension that could only come from crossing lines that had long been drawn in the sand. The father was still catching his breath, his chest rising and falling as he leaned over his daughter, her body still trembling beneath him. The mother stood close, her fingers trailing down her husband’s back, her lips curving into a satisfied smile as she watched them.

But then, a creak from the doorway broke the silence.

All three turned their heads to see the son standing there, his eyes wide with shock—and something else. Something darker, more primal. He’d been drawn to the sounds, curious and unable to resist. Now, he was frozen in place, his gaze flickering between his parents and his sister, his heart pounding in his chest.

The mother was the first to break the silence. Her voice was low, almost teasing, as she spoke. “Come here,” she said, her eyes locking onto her son’s. There was a challenge in her tone, a dare. The son hesitated, his hands clenching at his sides, but then he took a step forward. And then another. And another.

The daughter turned her head to look at her brother, her breath still uneven, her cheeks flushed. “Join us, big bro” she whispered, her voice husky with need. The son’s eyes darkened, his body responding to her words even before he could process them. He moved closer, his hands twitching as though he wanted to reach out and touch but wasn’t sure where to start.

The father straightened, his eyes narrowing as he looked at his son. There was a flicker of something in his gaze—competition, maybe, or approval. He stepped back from his daughter, giving his son room to approach. “She’s yours,” he said, his voice rough with something that wasn’t quite a command but wasn’t a suggestion either.

The son’s breath hitched as he looked down at his sister, her body still glistening with sweat, her lips swollen from their father’s kisses. He reached out, his fingers trembling as he brushed a strand of hair from her face. The daughter looked up at him, her eyes heavy with need, her lips parting as if to speak. But before she could say anything, the son leaned down and captured her mouth with his.

The kiss was hesitant at first, tentative, as though they were both testing the waters. But then the daughter let out a soft moan, her hands reaching up to tangle in his hair, and the son’s restraint shattered. He kissed her deeply, his hands roaming over her body as though he couldn’t get enough of her.

The mother watched them, her lips curving into a smile as she stepped closer to her husband. Her hands slid over his chest, her fingers tracing the lines of his muscles as she pressed herself against him. “Does it excite you?” she whispered, her breath hot against his ear. “Watching them together?”

The father groaned, his hands gripping her hips as he pulled her closer. “You know it does,” he growled, his lips crashing against hers in a kiss that was all hunger and possession.

Meanwhile, the son’s hands were exploring his sister’s body with a kind of desperate urgency, as though he was afraid she might disappear if he stopped touching her. His fingers slid between her thighs, and she gasped, her body arching against his. “Please,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need.

The son didn’t need to be told twice. He lifted her in his arms, carrying her to the couch and laying her down gently. He knelt between her legs, his hands sliding up her thighs as he leaned down to kiss her again. This time, the kiss was deeper, more possessive, as though he was claiming her in a way he’d never dared to before.

The father and mother watched them, their own desire growing hotter as they saw their children coming together. The mother reached down, her fingers trailing over her husband’s length, and he groaned, his hands tightening on her hips. “Take me,” she whispered, her voice low and sultry.

The father didn’t hesitate. He turned her around, pressing her against the back of the couch as he lifted her dress. She let out a soft moan as he slid into her from behind, his hands gripping her hips as he thrust into her with a kind of desperation that made her knees weak.

The room was filled with the sounds of their pleasure, mingling together in a symphony of need and desire. The mother’s moans were soft and breathy, her back arching as she pressed herself against her husband. The daughter’s cries were louder, more urgent, as her brother’s mouth and hands worked her body with a kind of hunger that left her trembling.

The son’s tongue swirled around her clit, his hands gripping her hips as he devoured her. The daughter’s hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as she cried out. “Oh God, yes,” she moaned, her body shaking with pleasure as she felt herself getting closer, closer, closer…

The father’s thrusts grew more urgent, his hands tightening on his wife’s hips as he felt his own climax building. He leaned over her, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered, “You’re mine.”

The mother shuddered, her body trembling with pleasure as she felt him moving inside her. Her eyes fluttered shut, her lips parting in a silent scream as she came, her body clenching around him.

The son felt his sister’s body tighten around him, her cries growing louder as she came, her nails digging into his shoulders. He didn’t stop, his tongue and fingers working her until she was trembling with aftershocks, her body writhing beneath him.

The father groaned, his thrusts growing more urgent as he felt his own climax approaching. He leaned over his wife, his breath coming in short gasps as he whispered, “Come for me.”

The mother shuddered, her body trembling with pleasure as she came again, her nails digging into the couch. The father groaned, his thrusts growing more urgent as he spilled himself inside her, his body shuddering with release.

The son finally pulled back, his breath coming in short gasps as he looked down at his sister, her body still trembling with pleasure. He leaned down, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that was soft and tender, a stark contrast to the hunger of before.

The father stepped back from his wife, his hands sliding over her body as he whispered, “You’re so beautiful.”

The mother turned to look at him, her lips curving into a smile as she reached up to brush a strand of hair from his face. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she teased, her voice low and sultry.

The daughter reached up to pull her brother closer, her lips brushing against his as she whispered, “Don’t stop.”

The son groaned, his hands tightening on her hips as he leaned down to kiss her again, his body responding to her words even before he could process them.