#I will go over it with pen when I have the time

[gyutopia]

temptation | lee heeseung pt 2

⟶ summary: having just completed your graduate work in psychotherapy, you’re eager to begin a career as a marriage counselor. you land a job as a counselor at a matchmaking firm for millionaires and meet heeseung, a charismatic client who makes no effort to hide his attraction to you. the only catch is...he’s engaged.

˗ˏˋpairing: billionaire!heeseung x f!reader ❀ genre: marriage counselor au ❀ word count: 19.0k ❀ staring: chisa (22)- xg, yunho(23)- ateez, jaehyun(22)- bnd, heeseung (23) + jake (22) + jay (22) + sunghoon (22)- enhypen, sakura (24)- le sserafim, karina (24)- aespa, danielle (20)- new jeans. ⟶ warnings:mentions of anxiety and depression, therapy speak, lots of swearing, cheating, soft dom!hee, sub!reader, oral (f + m receiving), p in v intercourse, protected sex, dirty talk, praise, brief breast play, fingering, vanillaish sex, slight body worship, talk about childhood trauma, consumption of alcohol, mentions of abortion (not reader), invasion of privacy, inappropriate relationship dynamics, talk of assisted living, mention of a suicide attempt, allusions of starving yourself, mentions of anti- depressants, vague talk of ptsd, mentions of verbal abuse, heeseung doesn’t have good parents, physical altercation, online bullying (knets have a field day with u), heeseung is v insecure and has some emotional trauma. please let me know if i’ve missed anything!

✎୭: the full version, uninterrupted can be found on my ao3 here. thank you so much for reading this monster of a fic! i love and appreciate every single one of you!

SATURDAY FEBRUARY 22ND, 2025

It’s been a week since the kiss. A week since everything spiraled out of control.

You’ve been rotting away in your bed, hidden beneath blankets like a child hiding from monsters only this time, the monster isn’t under your bed—it’s in your chest, clawing at your heart every time you think about him.

The first thing you did the morning after was log into your work account and cash in some of your sick days. You needed a way to avoid the office, a way to avoid him. Dani emailed you a few small assignments, things you could complete from home so it was easy to play the role of someone mildly under the weather. A few sniffles over the phone and vague mentions of a stomach bug and Miss Min didn’t even question it.

Sakura still being in Japan has worked to your advantage. With her busy filming schedule, the usual meetings and updates have been sparse. Miss Min has been surprisingly lenient, perhaps assuming that you’re taking this time to recover before things pick up again.

But you’re not recovering. If anything, you’re unraveling.

You haven’t stepped out of your apartment in days, let alone made an attempt to eat properly or take care of yourself. The bare minimum—replying to work emails and completing small tasks—is the only thing tethering you to reality.

You know you’re running out of time. Eventually, Miss Min will expect you back in the office and when that day comes, you’ll have no choice but to face the truth. You’ll have to tell her to reassign Heeseung and Sakura’s case to someone else.

The thought of it paralyzes you. Once you remove yourself, that’s it. You’ll have no reason to see him anymore. No excuse to hear his voice or watch the way he absentmindedly taps his pen against the desk during meetings. No more pretending that you’re just doing your job when deep down, you know you’ve already failed at keeping your feelings in check.

Heeseung hasn’t reached out. Not once. No calls, no texts, no emails. Nothing.

It shouldn’t hurt this much. You’re the one who left his home without a word, too embarrassed to face what you’d done. You’re the one who’s been avoiding him like the plague hoping that the distance will make it easier to let go. But his silence feels like a confirmation of your worst fear—that he regrets everything.

The memory of that night replays in your mind on a loop. The way his lips felt against yours, the way he held you, the way he took care of you.

It’s torture, and you’ve trapped yourself in it.

Your friends have noticed, of course. How could they not?

It started with Yunho.

He texted a few days ago, saying he’d made a big batch of jjajangmyeon and that you should come over for dinner. Normally, you’d jump at the chance to eat anything Yunho cooked—he has a talent for cooking. But you declined claiming you weren’t feeling well.

His reply was immediate. 

5:25pm | yuyu💫: u never turn down food…are you sure ur okay?

You typed out a response. Deleted it. Typed out another. Deleted that one too. Finally, you settled on:

5:36 pm | you: i’m fine. just tired. thanks for the offer.

Then there was Jaehyun.

He called the following evening, his tone light and casual. “Hey, want to grab drinks after my shift? It’s been a while since we caught up.”

Normally, you’d agree in a heartbeat. Jaehyun’s presence was easy and comforting, and nights out with him always left you feeling lighter but the thought of facing anyone, even someone as laid-back as Jaehyun, felt impossible.

“I’m not in the mood,” you said, your voice quieter than usual.

“Not in the mood for drinks?” he repeated, his tone disbelieving. “Since when?”

You forced a weak laugh. “Rain check?”

He didn’t press, but the concern in his voice lingered long after the call ended.

Finally, there was Chisa.

She didn’t bother with subtlety. One afternoon, she stormed into your room, keys in hand. “Get dressed,” she said firmly. “We’re going to the mall.”

You blinked at her from your cocoon of blankets, confused and slightly annoyed. “I’m good,” you muttered, burrowing deeper into your bed.

“I’ll buy you makeup,” she added, a note of bribery in her voice. “Whatever you want.”

Normally, you’d jump at the offer. You loved makeup, and free makeup was even better. But the idea of standing under bright store lights, pretending to be okay, was unbearable.

“I already have more than enough makeup,” you said, turning away.

Chisa didn’t argue. She just stood there for a moment, watching you with an expression that made your chest ache, before leaving the room without another word.

That was two days ago. It’s now past midday and you’re still in bed. The room is dark, save for the faint light filtering through the curtains. Your stomach growls but you don’t have the energy to cook let alone eat.

You’re about to close your eyes again when the door to your room bursts open.

“What the—?” You sit up abruptly, squinting against the sudden intrusion.

Your friends stand in the doorway, each of them wearing expressions ranging from concern to frustration.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice hoarse from disuse.

Jaehyun strides forward without answering, grabbing the edge of your blanket.

“Jaehyun!” you protest, clutching the fabric tightly. “What are you doing?”

“Taking care of you since you clearly can’t do it yourself,” he snaps, his voice sharper than you’re used to.

“Stop it!” You tug back on the blanket, growing annoyed but Jaehyun doesn’t let go.

“Hey, hey,” Yunho interjects, stepping between the two of you. “Let’s all calm down.” He turns to you, his voice softer. “We’re just worried about you. You haven’t seemed like yourself lately.”

You sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I’m fine, just—”

“Sick,” Chisa interrupts, crossing her arms. “Yeah, we know. That’s what you want us to believe.”

Jaehyun scoffs. “You rarely missed a day of class in college, even if you were sick so excuse me if we’re not buying that excuse this time.”

You stare at them blankly unsure of how to respond.

Chisa steps closer, kneeling in front of you. Her voice is gentle as she says, “We’re just worried about you, ____. This isn’t… normal. Please, just tell us what’s going on so we can help.”

Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them away. “I just needed a week off. I’ll be okay.”

Yunho sits beside you on the bed, his presence warm. “We can’t force you to talk about something you’re clearly not ready to share,” he says. “But at least let us help you.”

Jaehyun sighs, his frustration melting as he sees the tears threatening to fall. “We don’t have to talk about it. We can just order takeout and binge-watch early 2000s shows… just stop icing us out. Please. We love you and want to help you.”

The dam breaks.

You start crying, the sound raw and unrestrained. Your friends don’t say anything—they just surround you, pulling you into a group hug.

Yunho is the first to pull away, sniffling quietly as he stands. “I’ll order the food,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.

Jaehyun follows, mumbling something about not wanting to cry in front of you.

Chisa stays, holding you until your sobs subside. She rubs your back soothingly and says, “Whatever it is, know that you’ll overcome it.”

You nod weakly, more out of instinct than belief. Deep down, you don’t think you’ll overcome this—not when “this” is Lee Heeseung. How could you possibly move on from him?

You don’t think you’ve ever felt this way about anyone before. It’s not just the heartbreak—it’s the way he made you feel so seen. You’ve spent so much of your life hiding parts of yourself, keeping your scars neatly tucked away but Heeseung made it feel safe to let them show.

Most people don’t know why you became a marriage counselor. You’ve always lied whenever the question came up, saying you “just love love,” but the truth is messier and darker. Your father’s infidelity, your mother’s quiet suffering and your own helplessness in the face of it all shaped you. You wanted to help people in ways you couldn’t help her. But it’s not something you ever talk about—not until Heeseung.

He was the first person outside of your friends whom you willingly opened up to. The first person you wanted to open up to. And when you did, his response wasn’t pity or judgment. It was understanding. He didn’t tell you to move on or let it go. He simply listened, offering quiet reassurances. His words didn’t just soothe your present self…they reached that fractured little girl you used to be, the one who just wanted someone to tell her it wasn’t her fault.

And Heeseung… he understood because he’d been there too. Despite living in the aftermath of his brother’s attempted suicide, enduring his father’s suffocating demands and his mother’s overbearing love, he hadn’t become some cold-hearted monster. He had every reason to, but he didn’t.

Sure, he has his flaws. He’s scared of vulnerability, keeps people at arm’s length and hides behind a playboy persona. But you see through it—it’s all armor. He doesn’t want people to see the cracks, to know he has weaknesses they could exploit. And yet with you, he tore all those walls down. He let you see the version of himself that never got to exist when he was younger.

The version he even hides now.

You’d give anything to make sure he’s never hurt again. To ensure he never has to hide or water himself down. To guarantee he can just be himself—happy, unburdened and free. But you can’t.

Because you’re not from his world. You’re not the person he’s supposed to choose. And even if you were, some part of you thinks this love—this all-consuming love—might be too much. Too much for Heeseung.

But not because he doesn’t deserve it. No, Heeseung deserves the kind of love that heals, that lets him breathe, that doesn’t ask for anything he can’t give. But it’s the weight of it, the enormity of what it would mean to truly care for someone like him that gives you pause.

You haven’t forgotten about him forcing his ex-girlfriend to get an abortion, it’s stuck with you since you overheard it. You never brought it up, never asked Heeseung to clarify but it lingers. It colors how you see him, even if you don’t want it to. You don’t believe Heeseung is the kind of man who would demand something so cruel, so selfish but the seed of doubt is there. And it terrifies you.

Because if you’re wrong, if he really did that, what does that say about him? About you for wanting to believe in him so badly?

But even without knowing the truth, you can feel how carefully Heeseung treads around the idea of vulnerability. It’s in the way he deflects, the way he keeps people at a distance, the way his sharp words mask the pain he doesn’t think anyone notices. Loving someone like that would require patience…endless patience and you’re not sure if even that would be enough.

Heeseung doesn’t halfass anything, he said so himself. He doesn’t know how to. If he let himself fall for you, it would be all-encompassing. Consuming. He would give you everything he has, every vulnerable piece of himself he’s spent years hiding away. And that’s what scares you. Not that he wouldn’t love you enough, but that he’d love you too much.

That kind of love comes with expectations, with vulnerabilities Heeseung might not be ready to face. It’s one thing for him to care for someone in theory, to keep his emotions safely compartmentalized, but to truly open himself up? To risk that kind of pain again? You’re not sure he can.

And then there’s the other part, the part you don’t want to admit even to yourself: what if it’s not enough? What if you’re not enough? What if he gives you everything and you still can’t reach him? What if the walls he’s built are so strong that even love can’t break them down?

So you hesitate. Not because you don’t want him, but because you do. Because the thought of not being enough for him is unbearable.

You lean into Chisa’s embrace, letting the tears spill over again silent now but no less heavy. The weight of it all, the longing, the guilt, the hopelessness—feels unbearable.

You don’t think you’ll ever overcome Lee Heeseung.

Chisa helps you out of bed and into the living room, where Yunho pats the spot next to him on the couch. You sit between him and Chisa, feeling their warmth on either side.

Chisa boots up the TV, scrolling through the options. “How far away is the food?” she asks.

“Another twenty minutes,” Yunho replies, checking his phone.

Jaehyun comes into the living room, handing you a bottle of water. You smile softly and thank him. He nods, taking a seat beside Yunho.

Chisa selects That’s So Raven and hits play. As the theme song fills the room, you glance around at your friends, your heart swelling with gratitude.

You don’t deserve them.

But as you sit there, surrounded by their love and support, you realize you can’t keep this from them forever. You’ll tell them about Heeseung—once you’ve removed yourself from the case.

For now, you let yourself enjoy the moment knowing it might be the last bit of peace you have before everything falls apart again.

THAT SAME DAY ON THE OTHER SIDE OF TOWN

The ball bounces high off the court, cutting cleanly through the crisp afternoon air. Jay slams it back toward Jake and Heeseung’s side with enough force to make Jake grunt, barely managing to return it. It ricochets toward Heeseung—his racket is raised and ready, but his reaction time is too slow. The ball whizzes past him, landing well within the lines.

Jay pumps his fist triumphantly. “Another point for us!”

Jake groans, marching toward Heeseung with his racket pointed accusingly. “Yah! What’s wrong with you? We’re losing!” His aussie accent is stronger than ever, laced with the kind of playful exasperation only a best friend can get away with.

Jay and Sunghoon dissolve into laughter at Jake’s fiery outburst. It’s Sunghoon’s first time joining their tennis matches—Jake had invited him earlier that week, saying, “He fits the vibe, trust me.” And so far, Sunghoon had been keeping up, much to Jay’s delight and Jake’s annoyance.

“Sorry,” Heeseung mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “My head’s… everywhere today.”

“Yeah well get it together!” Jake huffs, gesturing dramatically with his racket. “We’re not losing to these two.”

“Hey!” Jay protests, offended. “These two are crushing you.”

Sunghoon smirks as he twirls his racket. “Not my fault Heeseung’s got his head in the clouds.”

Jake groans, pushing Heeseung toward his side of the court. “Come on man! Get out of your head and play!”

Heeseung exhales heavily, adjusting his stance to serve. He tosses the ball into the air, his focus sharpening as he swings his racket. The ball zips across the net, hitting the opposite side perfectly.

As the game resumes, Heeseung speaks, his voice low but clear: “I made out with my therapist.”

Jay misses his swing completely, the ball bouncing away. Sunghoon whistles in surprise. Jake freezes, staring at Heeseung like he’s grown a second head.

“You what?” Jake finally blurts out.

Heeseung shrugs, keeping his expression neutral even as a knot tightens in his chest. “You heard me.”

Sunghoon fiddles with his racket, clearly intrigued. “Well, this just got interesting.”

Jake recovers first, shaking his head. “Wait, wait. Back up. How did that happen?”

Heeseung exhales, running a hand through his hair. “It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got time,” Jay says, walking over to grab the ball.

Heeseung hesitates, but when he sees the curiosity—and concern—in their faces, he decides to tell them everything. “Okay, so you know how my parents forced me to go to that matchmaking firm?”

Jay snorts. “Forced is putting it lightly.”

“Exactly,” Heeseung mutters. “They were tired of the tabloids making me look like a… well, you know.”

“A whore,” Jake supplies helpfully.

“Thank you, Jake,” Heeseung says dryly before continuing. “Anyway, I wasn’t taking it seriously at first. But then I met her—____. She’s one of their counselors. The minute I walked into that consultation room and saw her…” He pauses, the memory of that moment flickering in his mind. “She wasn’t like anyone I’d ever met. She was professional but kind. She didn’t look at me like I was some project to fix. Didn’t associate me with what the news was saying….she just… listened.”

Jay raises an eyebrow. “Listened?”

“Yeah.” Heeseung nods. “Like, really listened. I don’t think anyone’s ever done that before. Not the way she did.”

The game pauses as the four of them linger on Heeseung’s words. Jake twists his racket, visibly intrigued. “So, what happened?”

Heeseung shifts uncomfortably. “We had dinner last week…don’t ask…She didn’t judge me. Didn’t push. We talked about everything—work, family, life… even stuff I don’t usually talk about…like Heejoon.”

Sunghoon frowns. “Who’s Heejoon?”

Heeseung hesitates before explaining, “My brother. He lives in an assisted living facility.” His voice is quieter now, tinged with a sadness he doesn’t often show.

Jake and Jay exchange a look. They’ve known about Heejoon for years but they also know how rarely Heeseung brings him up.

“She didn’t pry,” Heeseung continues. “She just… let me talk. And when I didn’t want to talk, she let me sit in silence. Do you know how rare that is?”

Jake whistles softly. “Sounds like she really gets you.”

“Yeah,” Heeseung says, almost to himself. “She does.”

Jay watches him closely, his expression thoughtful. “It sounds like you like her.”

Heeseung’s grip tightens on the racket, his jaw clenching. The idea strikes a nerve, one he’s not ready to confront. He tried to ignore his feelings when they first started surfacing—during that one-on-one meeting at the hotel bar.

He brushed it off as professional interest, convinced himself it was just admiration for your work. But then you started slipping into his thoughts more often than he liked to admit.

And now, standing with his friends on this tennis court, the reality of it feels inescapable.

He doesn’t want to like you. The idea terrifies him. Liking you would mean opening himself up and he’s learned the hard way what happens when he lets someone in. Vulnerability is a risk he’s not sure he’s willing to take again. It’s safer to keep things on the surface, where emotions can’t dig too deep, where people can’t get close enough to hurt him.

But this… this feels different.

The way you listen to him without judgment, the way you genuinely seem to care—it’s unlike anything he’s experienced in years. You don’t expect him to be the perfect son, the unshakable CEO, or the carefree charmer everyone else sees. You let him be Heeseung—messy, flawed, and real. And somehow, that’s scarier than anything else.

"I don’t like her," Heeseung replies, his tone sharper than he intended. "It’s not like that."

Jay shrugs, setting up another serve. "Hate the message, not the messenger."

The ball flies across the net, but the tension remains. Jake eventually breaks the silence. "Okay, but Jay’s right. This is the most attention we’ve seen you willingly give someone since... well, you know." He stops abruptly, glancing at Jay as the ball falls flat in front of Sunghoon.

Jay glares. “Don’t.”

“What?” Jake says innocently. “I didn’t say her name.”

Sunghoon frowns, looking between them. “Who are we talking about?”

Heeseung exhales heavily, his shoulders sagging. "You can say her name. It’s not the end of the world."

Jake takes it upon himself to explain, filling Sunghoon in as they continue their game. "Heeseung dated this girl, Karina, back in college. She was the first person who got through to him during his...experimental phase." He dodges a stray ball from Heeseung before continuing. "He actually wanted to be monogamous with her."

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, surprised. Jay adds, "Shocking, I know."

Sunghoon serves, the ball whizzing over the net. "So, what happened?"

Heeseung remains silent, his jaw tightening. Jake picks up where he left off. "Heeseung was still... figuring things out and Karina got self-conscious about all the attention their relationship got."

Jay continues, his tone more measured. “It wasn’t just the attention. Karina was…insecure. Heseung was the only person she had ever been with, but she wasn’t his first anything. All those other girls he’d been with? It got in her head. She started wondering if she was good enough.”

Sunghoon nods slowly. “So what, she wanted a break?”

“Yeah,” Jay says. “She said she needed to figure out what she really wanted. Heeseung knew what that meant but he didn’t think she’d actually sleep with someone else.”

Jake takes over, his tone blunt. “She got pregnant by another guy.”

Sunghoon’s jaw drops. “Seriously?”

Jay snickers. “And lover boy over there,” he tilts his head in Heeseungs direction as he prepares to serve,  “didn’t care, he offered to help her raise the baby.”

Jake bursts out laughing, striking the ball back. “The dad that stepped up!”

Heeseung rolls his eyes. “Very funny.”

Sunghoon studies him quietly. “So… what happened?”

“She said it wouldn’t be fair to me,” Heeseung says quietly. “That I deserved more than being tied down to someone else’s mistake. So we ended things.”

Jake adds, “But her friends didn’t see it that way. They told everyone Heeseung dumped her because she wouldn’t get an abortion. People thought the baby was his. Karina transferred schools to get away from the mess.”

Sunghoon whistles, shaking his head. “That’s… a lot.”

“Yeah,” Jake says. “We had to pick up the mess she left behind. Heeseung was a wreck.”

Jay nods. "It was a mess. Heeseung didn’t bother correcting the narrative. He figured it was better to let people hate him if it meant they’d leave Karina alone."

Heeseung fixes his gaze on Jay’s new serve but his mind is far away. Jake’s words echo in his head dredging up memories he’s tried to bury.

It all started so innocently. Karina had crashed into him in the hallway outside their dorm rooms, her lab manual and papers went flying across the floor. She was in such a rush, barely looking at him as she muttered a quick “sorry” and darted off after Heeseung helped pick up her notes. He’d laughed it off at the time, figuring she was just another busy college student.

But then he started noticing her more. She was his next-door neighbor after all. He saw her leaving for early classes, hair in a messy ponytail, coffee cup in hand. He caught glimpses of her in the common areas, always with her head buried in a textbook or her laptop.

The first real conversation they had was late one night when he came back from a party. She was in the dorm lounge, slumped over her laptop, tears streaming down her face. He didn’t even know why he’d stopped—normally, he would’ve just kept walking. But something about the way she looked so defeated and alone made him pause.

He found out she was locked out of her room, freezing, starving, and overwhelmed by a cell bio lab report she had no idea how to write. Heeseung hadn’t planned to stay. He told himself he was just being nice when he ordered Mexican food for them and offered up his room for her to work in. But as the hours passed, as he stayed up helping her find sources and cracking jokes to make her laugh, something shifted.

That night, he realized he wanted to see her again. And he did—again and again. Their friendship grew and somewhere along the way he fell for her. Hard.

He didn’t even notice at first. It wasn’t one big moment, but a series of small ones: the way she’d scrunch her nose when she was concentrating, how her laughter lit up a room, the way she listened when he talked, like he was the most interesting person in the world. Heeseung started skipping parties, hanging out with her instead. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel the need to impress anyone or put on a front. He could just be himself.

When they started dating, it felt like a dream. But dreams don’t last.

Karina wasn’t like him—she wasn’t used to the attention, the whispers, the gossip. His past flings made it worse, their snarky comments and passive-aggressive stares feeding her insecurities. He tried to reassure her, to show her she was the only one who mattered, but it wasn’t enough.

When she asked for a break Heeseung gave her space even though it tore him apart. He told himself she’d come back, that they’d work things out. Heeseung still remembers the night she told him. She’d shown up at his door, tears in her eyes, her hands shaking. He thought she was there to reconcile, to tell him she was ready to try again. Instead, she told him about the baby.

He could’ve walked away. A part of him wanted to. But the love he felt for her, the kind that makes you want to stay even when it hurts—kept him rooted in place.

Heeseung argued and pleaded but she wouldn’t budge. She told him she loved him too much to let him sacrifice his future for her mistakes.

When the rumors started—that the baby was his and he’d dumped her because she wouldn’t get an abortion—Heeseung didn’t correct them. What was the point?

She transferred schools soon after, and that was the end of it. The end of them.

Heeseung exhales sharply, his chest stinging at the memory. He’s not in love with Karina anymore, he knows that. But what they had, how it ended, left scars he’s still dealing with.

She was his first love, the first person he let himself be vulnerable with and she left.

Now, the idea of letting someone in like that again terrifies him. What if they leave too? What if he’s not enough?

Sunghoon glances at Heeseung, who is unusually quiet. The tabloids had painted a picture of him as a careless playboy, but this version of Heeseung—reserved, contemplative—didn’t fit that image. As Heeseung serves again, Sunghoon’s perspective shifts. Heeseung isn’t aloof; he’s guarded, carrying the weight of past scars and unspoken emotions.

“Point is,” Jay finally says, breaking the silence, “you deserve to be happy, Heeseung. And it sounds like this girl—____, makes you happy. Maybe it’s worth giving it a shot.”

Heeseung’s grip on his racket tightens, his gaze distant. “I know. But that’s what scares me.”

Jay frowns. “Why?”

Heeseung hesitates, then sighs. “Because people like her don’t exist in my world. Genuine, kind… It’s easier to push her away than risk losing her.”

The silence stretches between them as the weight of his words settles.

Jake tilts his head, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “What’s worse? Losing her because you didn’t try, or losing her after you gave it your all?”

Jay nods, his expression softening. “Whatever makes you happy, man. You’ve spent years doing what everyone else wants. Maybe it’s time to focus on what you want. You deserve to be happy.”

Heeseung looks at Jay, his jaw clenching as he processes his friend’s words. He knows they’re right. They always are. But admitting what he wants—admitting that he wants you—is the hardest part.

Sunghoon, who has been quietly observing, finally speaks. “You should go for it, man. You’re right, there aren’t a lot of genuine people in our world but it sounds like you’ve found someone who cares about you...why pass that up?”

Jake grins, the humor creeping back into his tone. “Plus, she’s a therapist. I’m sure she can help you sort through those deep-seated mommy and daddy issues.”

Heeseung snorts, shaking his head. “Fuck off.”

As they pack up their equipment, Heeseung lingers, his mind replaying the events of the past week. The kiss, the way you’d looked at him, the vulnerability in your eyes—it had all felt so real. But the morning after, you were gone. No explanation, no goodbye. Just... gone.

He remembers waking up, hoping to talk things out, to figure out what the kiss meant for both of you. He’d wanted to kiss you again, to tell you that he didn’t regret it. But your absence had said it all. You regretted it. You didn’t want him.

That’s why he hadn’t reached out. He’d convinced himself that you needed space, that pushing you would only make things worse. But now, after hearing his friends, he’s starting to question that logic. Maybe he’s been using your disappearance as an excuse to protect himself. Maybe it’s time to take a risk.

As the sun sets, Heeseung sits in his car, gripping the steering wheel tightly. The echoes of Jay’s words ring in his ears: "You deserve to be happy."

For the first time in days, he pulls out his phone, his fingers hovering over your contact. His heart pounds as he considers what to say, what to do. He doesn’t call—not yet—but the decision is made. He’s going to reach out. He’s going to try.

Because Jay is right: he deserves to be happy, and maybe you’re the person who can help him find that happiness.

MONDAY FEBRUARY 24TH, 2025

You’re standing in front of the glass doors to your office building clutching your bag with both hands as if it might slip away and drag you with it. The week you took off feels like a fever dream now—blurry and surreal but undeniably real in the toll it’s taken on your body and mind. You’ve barely slept, barely eaten, and every fiber of your being wants to turn around and leave. But you can’t.

You exhale shakily, willing your feet to move. The lobby is bustling as usual—faces you don’t recognize weaving in and out, some rushing to catch elevators, others lingering by the café for their first caffeine hit of the day.

For a moment, you imagine Jaehyun here, waiting in the corner like he offered. He had insisted on accompanying you today, his day off but you turned him down. “I’ll be fine,” you’d said, more to convince yourself than him. The truth is, you don’t feel fine. Not even close.

Your resolve wavers as you step into the elevator, but you clutch your bag tighter and remind yourself of your plan. Drop off your things, go straight to Miss Min and request to be removed from the case. That’s it. That’s all you have to do. You don’t have any sessions today so you’re free to do paperwork in the comfort of your office alone.

The elevator dings, the doors sliding open to reveal the familiar hallway. Your heart pounds harder with each step, dread clawing at your chest.

The firm feels unfamiliar after just a week away. You round the corner to your office but stop dead in your tracks.

Sakura is standing there, waiting for you. The sight of her sends your heart plummeting into your stomach.

Her outfit is immaculate as always, a Dior top tucked into high-waisted jeans, a fluffy tote bag slung over one shoulder. She looks stunning, almost as if she just stepped out of a magazine spread.

What is she doing here?

You don’t have a scheduled meeting with her today and the possibilities racing through your mind only make the anxiety worse. Did Heeseung tell her about the kiss? Is she here to confront you?

You swallow hard and force a polite smile, hoping it doesn’t look as strained as it feels. “Sakura, hi. What brings you here?”

Her smile is warm and genuine, completely disarming. “I finally found an opening in my schedule,” she says. “I know it’s last minute and I’m sorry but I really wanted to have that one-on-one time with you.”

Your heart sinks further.

Oh.

She’s not here to accuse you of anything. She’s here because she thinks you’re someone she can trust.

Staring into her kind eyes feels unbearable knowing what you’ve done.

“Oh, um…” You hesitate, glancing at the door to your office. “Actually, I don’t… I can’t today. I’m sorry. I don’t have time.”

You try to sidestep her, desperate to escape into the relative safety of your office but Sakura gently places a hand on your arm, stopping you.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly, her tone almost pleading. “I really don’t mean to impose, but this is my only free day off. Please?”

There’s something so sincere in her voice, something that twists the knife of guilt even deeper. You have no right to deny her this. It’s quite literally the least you could do.

You nod reluctantly, forcing a small smile. “Okay. What did you have in mind?”

Sakura’s face lights up as she lifts her tote bag slightly. “Crocheting! I brought some of my materials.”

You smile softly remembering her mentioning it was a hobby of hers. “Crocheting?”

“Yeah!” she says, her excitement palpable. “I thought it might be a fun way for us to spend time together.”

“Sure,” you say quietly, nodding toward your office. “We can work in here. We’ll have it to ourselves.”

You lead her inside, offering her the seat across from your desk. She immediately starts unpacking her supplies—rolls of yarn in soft pastels, a variety of hooks, and a pattern book.

“Have you ever crocheted before?” she asks, glancing up at you with a smile.

You shake your head. “No, never.”

Sakura grins. “Perfect. I’ll teach you the basics.”

She’s patient as she explains each step, showing you how to hold the hook and yarn, how to make a simple chain. Her enthusiasm is infectious and for a brief moment you almost forget the fact that you kissed her fiancée.

When she hands you a pattern she’s already started—a small flower, you thank her and begin carefully following her instructions. Meanwhile, she starts on a new project.

“What are you making?” you ask after a while, glancing at the soft gray yarn in her hands.

“A scarf,” she says, her voice light. “It’s getting colder, and I want Heeseung to stay warm.”

Your hands falter, the hook slipping from your fingers. You force yourself to recover quickly, pretending to focus on the flower in your lap.

“Do you…” You hesitate, your voice barely above a whisper. “Do you have feelings for him?”

Sakura blushes, her fingers pausing for a moment before resuming their work. “I know it probably sounds stupid because, well, why would the ‘perfect princess’ want the messed-up playboy?”

She sighs, her voice soft and contemplative. “I don’t know. I can’t help but like him.”

You nod slowly, understanding all too well how easy it is to fall for Heeseung, especially when he lets his guard down.

“You don’t have to rationalize why you like him,” you say quietly.

Sakura smiles faintly, her gaze focused on her work. “I see myself in him, you know? Spending your whole life in the spotlight…it forces you to become someone else. I see that with Heeseung. He hides so much of himself but I know there’s more to him than what he lets people see.”

You nod again, unsure of what to say. The conversation feels like walking a tightrope.

Sakura continues, her voice softer now. “I think he’s very guarded. He keeps me at a distance but I believe if we keep working with you, he’ll learn to open up. He can be a good husband, I know he can.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. You have no doubt either that Heeseung would make an amazing husband. You swallow the lump in your throat and force a small smile. “You’re…good at seeing the best in people.”

She looks up at you, her expression thoughtful. “Do you think that’s a bad thing?”

“No,” you say quickly looking back at the flower. “But…do you think you like him for who he is now, or for who you think he could be?”

Sakura tilts her head, considering your question. “Can’t it be both? Can’t I like him and also want to help him become the best version of himself?”

You hesitate, your fingers tightening around the yarn in your lap. “Maybe. But sometimes, when we try to ‘fix’ someone, we end up falling for the version of them we’ve created in our heads, not the person they really are.”

You don’t know why you’re saying this—or maybe you do. Maybe it’s because you’ve seen the real Heeseung. There’s no need for you to imagine who he is or who he could become because you know. You know his flaws, his frustrations, the way his voice sharpens when he’s annoyed, and how his smile softens when he talks about the things that matter to him. And despite all of it—no, because of all of it….you still like him.

Heeseung doesn’t need fixing. He deserves to be loved unconditionally, not molded into someone else’s ideal.

You glance at Sakura. She doesn’t seem like the type to love with limits. She’s earnest, kind, and patient in a way you’ve never been. If Heeseung allowed himself to get to know her, you could see them being happy together. She would lay her life down to ensure his happiness.

But you?

You’d let the world burn if it meant keeping him safe. You’d tear the universe apart just to put him back together.

It’s an unbearable truth, one you wish you could erase from yourself because no matter how much you care for him, you know that it’s unfair to Sakura.

Sakura nods slowly, her gaze distant. “I guess that’s something I’ll have to figure out. But…I care about him. And I want to see him happy, whether that’s with me or not.”

“Do you mean it?” you ask hesitantly.

Sakura looks up, confused. “Mean what?”

“When you say you wouldn’t mind if Heeseung chose someone else,” you clarify. “Do you really mean that?”

Her fingers pause mid-stitch, and she looks thoughtful. “It would hurt,” she admits. “I’ve come to care about him but I think we both deserve to be with someone who loves us completely. Don’t you?”

You nod slowly.

“I believe he could be that person for me,” Sakura continues, her voice soft. “But if he isn’t, I won’t force it. I’ve spent too much of my life trying to fit into roles that weren’t meant for me. I deserve someone who loves me for who I am and so does he.”

“Thank you,” you say softly, your voice barely audible.

“For what?”

“For trusting me with this.” You respond.

Sakura smiles warmly. “You’re easy to talk to. I can see why Heeseung respects you so much.”

You lower your gaze, unable to meet her eyes. “I’m just doing my job.”

The conversation drifts back to lighter topics as you continue crocheting, but the weight of your guilt never leaves. When the hour is up, you see Sakura out and close the door behind her and lean against it, exhaling shakily. You need to remove yourself.

Crossing the room, you settle into your chair and reach for the files neatly stacked on your desk. Your fingers tremble as you sift through the documents; session notes, progress reports, everything you’ve meticulously prepared over the past month for Heeseung and Sakura.

This was supposed to be just another assignment, your first major case as part of the matchmaking firm’s elite team. You were supposed to help them establish trust, lay the groundwork for a successful marriage and ensure the media viewed them as the perfect couple. But somewhere along the way, it became personal.

You can’t do this anymore. Not when you’ve crossed lines you swore you wouldn’t. Not when you’ve let yourself feel things you shouldn’t.

Gathering the files into a tidy stack, you take a deep breath and stand. You’ll bring these to Miss Min and request to be removed from the case. It’s the only way to salvage what’s left of your integrity and maybe even your sanity.But before you can take a step, there’s a knock at your door.

“Come in.”

The door opens to reveal Dani with a bright smile plastered across her face. She steps inside, holding a clipboard in one hand and a tablet in the other.

“Hey, just the person I was looking for!” she says cheerfully.

You blink, setting the files back down on your desk. “What’s up?”

“Miss Min wanted me to stop by and let you know something,” Dani says, her tone chipper. “She saw Sakura in your office earlier and said you’ve been doing a great job with this case. And since there hasn’t been any bad press with Heeseung lately, she thinks tomorrow’s the perfect day to announce their engagement!”

The words hit you like a freight train. Tomorrow.

You knew this day was coming—it’s what you’ve been working toward. But now that it’s here, the reality of it is suffocating. You force yourself to nod. “That’s…great news.”

Dani’s smile widens. “I know, right? This was your first major case and you killed it! Miss Min is definitely going to put you in charge of more high-profile clients after this.”

“Yeah,” you say quietly, the word feeling hollow. “I’m happy.”

Dani doesn’t seem to notice the strain in your voice. She beams at you one last time before turning to leave but then she pauses and looks back over her shoulder.

“Oh, and Miss Min said you’ve earned a day off tomorrow. Just be on standby in case Heeseung or Sakura need anything.”

You nod again, managing a faint smile. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“No problem! Enjoy your night!” Dani chirps before disappearing out the door.

The moment she’s gone, you sink back into your chair, the files still sitting in front of you. Tomorrow. It feels like a death sentence.

You’re supposed to be proud of yourself, supposed to feel accomplished for guiding Heeseung and Sakura to this point. But all you feel is empty.

Your gaze drifts to your phone on the desk and as if on cue, the screen lights up with a text notification.

9:12 am | heeseung: hey, can we talk?9:14 am | heeseung: please come over tonight.

Your heart pounds as you stare at the messages. You know what you should do. You should say no, maintain the little professional boundaries left and keep your distance. You should focus on preparing yourself for tomorrow, for the inevitable. But you can’t.

You’ve always been selfish when it comes to Heeseung, unable to deny him anything. So you type out a reply before you can think better of it.

9:22 am | you: i’ll stop by after work.

Setting the phone down, you try to convince yourself that this will be the last time. You’ll go over there, tell him the kiss was a mistake and tell him about the engagement announcement. You’ll encourage him to give Sakura a real chance.

Yeah, you’ll do the right thing.

You spend the rest of the afternoon finishing up paperwork, your mind elsewhere the entire time. By the time the clock hits 7 p.m, you’ve packed up your things and are preparing to leave when your phone buzzes with an incoming FaceTime call.

It’s Yunho.

You sigh softly before answering, his smiling face filling the screen.

“Yo,” he greets. “You up for game night at mine? Chisa’s already on her way.”

You hesitate, “I can’t tonight. My first day back was a bit overwhelming. I just need some sleep.”

Yunho frowns, clearly not convinced. “You sure? I don’t want you falling back into a slump.”

“I’m fine. I promise. Just tired. I’ll stop by tomorrow—I’m off, so I’ll spend the whole day with you.”

He studies you for a moment before nodding reluctantly. “Alright. But you better not flake on me.”

“I won’t,” you say softly. “Thanks, Yunho.”

“Anytime,” he says before ending the call.

You exhale slowly, setting your phone aside. You gather your things and head to your car. The drive to Heeseung’s home feels excruciatingly long, your thoughts racing the entire way. By the time you pull up to his home your nerves are frayed but you force yourself to get out of the car and head inside.

This is it. One last time.

You make your way up the familiar stone steps to Heeseung’s front door. Your hand hovers for a moment before you knock, three soft taps against the wood.

A beat passes. Then another. Then another. For a moment, you wonder if he changed his mind about wanting to see you, but then you hear the faint shuffle of footsteps on the other side. The door opens, revealing Heeseung. His expression is unreadable.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice a little raspy.

“Hey,” you reply.

He steps aside to let you in and you hesitantly cross the threshold, the warmth of his home doing little to soothe the chill in your bones. The atmosphere is tense and awkward in a way that neither of you seems to know how to address.

The last time it felt like this was the first time you met him, when you were still trying to figure him out and he was sizing you up in return. That day, you were both strangers, carefully tiptoeing around each other. And now…now, things couldn’t be more complicated.

Heeseung leads you into the living room and gestures for you to sit and you do, choosing the far end of the couch. The space you put between you feels significant, like a boundary you’re desperately trying to maintain.

Heeseung watches you for a moment before sitting down as well, leaning back slightly but keeping his eyes fixed on you. You clutch the strap of your bag, running your fingers along the leather in an attempt to calm yourself. The silence is thick, and you don’t know how to start.

You break first. “Miss Min is announcing the engagement tomorrow.”

The words hang in the air. You glance at him but his expression doesn’t betray much. Heeseung’s gaze shifts away for a moment then back to you. His jaw tightens and he exhales deeply.

“I’m calling it off,” he says suddenly, his voice steady and sure.

Your heart stops. You stare at him, certain you misheard. “W-what?”

“I’m calling it off,” he repeats, turning to face you fully. His eyes are locked onto yours, and the intensity in them makes it impossible to look away. “I’m done prioritizing everyone else’s happiness over my own. I can’t keep pretending to be okay with this.”

You blink at him stunned. Your mind races, trying to make sense of his words. “Heeseung…you can’t just—”

“I don’t want Sakura,” he interrupts. He leans forward slightly, closing some of the distance between you. “I want you.”

The confession feels like a punch to the gut. You shake your head, your hands gripping the strap of your bag even tighter. “No. Heeseung, you don’t mean that.”

“I do,” he says without hesitation. “I’ve tried to deny it, to push it down but I can’t anymore. I can’t lie to myself—or to you.”

“Heeseung—”

“I know this isn’t how things were supposed to happen. I know the way this started was unconventional but none of that changes the way I feel about you.”

You’re frozen, unable to respond.

“I like you. I’ve spent the past month trying to ignore it, trying to convince myself that it was just…a passing thing. But it’s not. I can’t stop thinking about you. About the way you challenge me, the way you see through all the bullshit, the way you care.” He says, his voice trembling just slightly. 

His words are a direct hit to your heart. You swallow hard, your throat tight as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “I want you too,” you admit, your voice barely audible. “But we can’t.”

“Why not? Who says we can’t?” He asks, his tone almost desperate now. He scoots closer to you on the couch, his knees brushing against yours.

You shake your head, trying to find the right words. “Because…because it’s messy and wrong, Heeseung. You’re engaged to someone else. Someone kind and sweet who doesn’t deserve to be hurt.”

Heeseung reaches out, his hands cupping your face gently forcing you to look at him. His touch is warm. “I don’t want her. I want you.”

“Heeseung…” you choke out.

“I don’t care how messy it is. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. All I care about is you and I need to know if you feel the same.”

You hesitate, your heart conflicting with your mind. Every rational part of you is screaming that this is a mistake, that you’re walking into dangerous territory. But your heart…your heart is begging you to take the leap.

“I…” Your voice falters, and you look into his eyes, the sincerity in them making it impossible to lie. “I do. I feel the same.”

His lips part slightly, relief washing over his face. “Then that’s all that matters.”

You shake your head again, tears slipping down your cheeks. “But it’s not that simple.”

“It is,” he insists, his hands still cradling your face. “It is if you want it to be. Just say yes.”

“Heeseung…”

“Please,” he whispers, his voice breaking slightly. “Just say yes.”

Your heart feels like it’s going to explode. You know you shouldn’t, you know this is dangerous, but you can’t bring yourself to deny him. You’ve never been able to deny him and you don’t think you could now, not when he’s looking at you like this, like you’re the only thing that matters in the world.

“Okay,” you whisper, barely able to get the word out. “Yes.”

Heeseung exhales sharply, like he’s been holding his breath this entire time. And then before you can second-guess yourself, his lips are on yours. The kiss is soft at first, almost hesitant, but it quickly deepens, his hands sliding to the back of your neck to pull you closer.

You melt into him, every doubt, every fear fading away as his warmth envelops you. In this moment, nothing else matters. Just him. Just this.

You part your lips slightly, letting him deepen the kiss. His tongue brushes against yours and a quiet whimper escapes your throat, the sound swallowed by his kiss. Heeseung’s grip tightens, one hand sliding down to your waist as he pulls you impossibly closer.

You barely register the moment when he tugs you into his lap, your knees straddling him as his hands settle on your hips. You instinctively brace your hands on his shoulders. His warmth radiates through the fabric of his shirt, his broad chest firm beneath your palms. You can feel his heart pounding just as wildly as your own.

It feels right; this moment, his touch, the way he holds you. For a fleeting second, you remember all the things you need to address. All the unanswered questions about how this will work, what it will mean for both of you. But right now, none of that seems important. Right now, you focus on the way his lips move against yours, the way his hands hold you as if he never wants to let go.

Your breath hitches when you feel him harden beneath you, the unmistakable evidence of his desire making heat pool low in your belly. The realization sends a flush of warmth spreading across your cheeks, but Heeseung doesn’t give you a moment to linger on it. His grip on your hips tightens slightly as he kisses you deeper.

Without breaking the kiss, he stands, his hands sliding under your thighs to lift you effortlessly. A gasp escapes you, muffled against his mouth as your arms wrap instinctively around his neck. He carries you through the house, navigating the short distance to his bedroom with ease.

When he sets you down on the bed his movements are slow and deliberate. His lips leave yours for a brief moment, and you’re left catching your breath as he pulls back just enough to look at you. The way he gazes down at you makes your chest tighten and pussy clench. There’s so much emotion in his eyes, all mixed together in a way that makes you feel both shy and hot under his gaze.

You look away for a moment, heat rising to your cheeks but Heeseung gently tilts your chin back to face him. “Do you want this?” he asks. His hands fall down to your hips, pushing up your blouse to feel the softness of your stomach beneath his palms.

You look at him through your lashes and stare at his face for a minute trying to decipher what he’s thinking. He’s always been a person who wears their emotions on their face, and now, as you look up into his eyes searching for any hesitation— you find none. You find nothing but pure want and admiration.

“Yes,” you whisper. “I want this. I want you.”

The corners of his lips lift in a small relieved smile and then he’s leaning down again, capturing your mouth in another kiss.

Heeseung pulls back just slightly, his hands still resting on your hips as his eyes search yours. His fingers trail lightly along the hem of your blouse and he murmurs, “Raise your arms for me.” You do as he asks, lifting your arms above your head and Heeseung takes his time peeling your shirt off, his knuckles brushing your skin as he tugs it free. The fabric falls to the floor and he pauses for a moment to take you in. His gaze sweeps over you with such hunger that you lose your breath.

Heeseung pulls his own shirt off in one smooth motion and you can’t help but stare. His chest rises and falls steadily, his toned muscles illuminated in the dim light of the room. He catches your gaze and offers you a small reassuring smile as he leans closer again.

You bite your bottom lip suddenly feeling self-conscious under his intense gaze but Heeseung seems to notice. He cups your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “Don’t be nervous,” he whispers, his voice gentle, soothing. “I’ll be gentle.”

You nod slightly, your lips parting as he leans down to press another kiss to your lips. His hands trail down to the clasp of your bra and he pauses for just a moment, giving you time to stop him if you want to. When you don’t, he deftly unhooks it and slides it off your shoulders.

Your breath hitches as the cool air grazes your skin and Heeseung takes a moment to admire you, his eyes softening as if committing every inch of you to memory. His tenderness feels almost overwhelming, and your heart beats wildly as he gently lays you back down on the bed.

He leans in again, placing a soft peck on your lips before his mouth begins a slow descent. His lips trail kisses down your collarbone, lingering for a moment before continuing down the center of your chest.

When his lips reach your navel he pauses, his warm breath fanning over your skin. “Can I taste you baby?”

You shyly nod at the question and use of pet name not used to it. Heeseung shakes his head though, “no baby. I need to hear you say yes. C’mon, let me hear that beautiful voice.”

You lift your hips off his bed not able to voice your wants. He smirks and kisses your naval again. “C’mon baby, tell me what you want.”

You huff frustrated. “Heeseung please…I need you.”

“There we go.”

He helps you unbutton your slacks and slides them down your legs and tosses them onto the growing pile on the floor. Heeseung grips onto the band of your panties and slides them down. Once you’re completely naked, he dips his fingers into your sticky dripping pussy. 

He hisses at the feeling of your warm cunt wrapped around his fingers “Mmm, you’re so wet, baby,” he says, a pathetic whimper escapes you in response. 

Heesueng dives his head in between your thighs and kisses your clit just once before pulling his head back again. There’s a few seconds of silence, of anticipating what he’s going to do next.

You gasp as you watch him lock eyes with you before spitting directly onto your clit. You bite your lip to keep in the moan that wants to escape at the feeling of his spit dripping from your clit down your pussy, making a mess of you and his sheets beneath you.

Heeseung leans back down and latches onto your clit, sucking harshly.  Pleasure shoots through your veins and your stomach clenches. Heeseung groans, the vibration making you shake underneath him. His eyes flutter closed, savoring the feeling of your legs thrown over his shoulders and the taste of you.

His tongue laps up your juices, he’s slurping loudly enjoying every drop of your sweet arousal on his tongue. He licks fast up and down your pussy, parting your folds with the tip of his hot tongue. Your legs are shaking, your right hand tangles in his hair to make sure he stays down. "H-heeseung," you hiccup, starting to grind your hips for added pleasure. 

Heeseung moans, flicking his tongue on your clit quickly. You feel his fingers at your entrance again, playing with your slick, stroking up and down your folds. Your breath quickens more, you can hear your heartbeat in your ears.

“Fuck,” you whimper, wincing at the slight burn as he inserts two fingers into you slowly. You haven’t had anything inside of you for so long, you welcome the pain that comes with it.

“Gonna stretch you out nice and good,” Heeseung growls against your sopping cunt. “Make sure you’re ready to take my fat cock, isn’t that right baby?” 

You nod dumbly at his words, grinding your hips onto his fingers as the tightening feeling in your lower stomach keeps building.

"Oh, f-fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum." You’re starting to babble, moans becoming increasingly higher in pitch. You try pushing yourself higher up on the bed trying to escape his grasp, it’s all too much. Your thighs start shaking and Heeseung takes it upon himself to grip a little tighter to keep you in place.

He practically buries his face in your pussy, stimulating you with his tongue and the tip of his nose whilst still fucking you with his fingers. He grunts, sucking on your pussy whilst flicking his tongue over your swollen clit, his fingers curling deep inside of you. 

“Cum for me doll,” Heeseung begs, desperate to pull an orgasm from you just to lick it all up. “Be a good girl and cum on my face.”

"Oh fuck," you choke out, your hips bucking. 

Your legs close up on him, nearly crushing his head. Your fingers pull on his hair but Heeseung  keeps on licking and sucking the whole time. With the pressure on your clit and the fullness of his fingers scissoring deep in your core you can’t help it, the budding tightness unraveling as you come onto his tongue. Your body shakes lightly, trembling in his grip as you let out loud needy moans.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” He confesses as he watches you ride out your orgasm.

Heeseung pulls back and exhales shakily, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your hip as he leans down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. “I’ll be right back,” he murmurs, his voice tender.

You nod still, catching your breath, watching as he pushes himself up from the bed. He moves to his bathroom and disappears behind the partially open door. You hear the faint rustle of a cabinet being opened, and your heart races when you catch sight of him returning with a small box in his hand.

Heeseung sets the box down on the nightstand and pulls out a single foil packet. His movements are deliberate but unhurried, as if giving you all the time in the world to change your mind.

When he settles back beside you he cups your face with one hand and kisses you softly, his lips conveying reassurance and care. “We don’t have to go any further,” he says, his forehead resting against yours. “We can stop here if you want.”

His sincerity makes your heart flutter and for a moment all you can do is stare into his eyes. But then you lean in, your lips brushing his as you whisper, “I don’t want to stop.”

You don’t let the kiss last long, pulling away to look Heeseung in his eyes as you slowly sink to your knees in front of him. He gulps as he watches you with hooded eyes, lifting his hips so you can remove his sweats and boxers. The moment his cock springs out, your jaw nearly drops to the floor. Not only is he long, but he’s also thick and veiny. Your mouth waters at the sight of it, he twitches in the air, red and angry waiting for attention.

You flick your eyes up to meet Heeseung’s impatient gaze before wrapping your dominant hand around the base and slowly tugging. Heeseung groans at the feeling and spreads his legs a bit more to give you better access. You kiss the tip of his erect cock, slowly opening your mouth to suck at the tip of his dick. You wrap your lips around his head, slowly sucking the tip into your mouth as precum drips out and coats your tongue.

Heeseung lets out a breathy moan, thrusting into your mouth slightly as he urges you to take him deeper into your mouth. You willingly swallow more of him, tongue swirling around his head, groaning at the taste of his precum.

You begin bobbing your head, taking more and more of his hard length into your mouth. Heeseung grips on to your hair and slides you further down his length. “That’s it, princess. Take this big dick down your throat.” He begins thrusting his hips gradually, forcing more and more of his cock into your mouth until you take in his whole shaft, your face pressed against his lower abdomen.

Heeseung thrusts harder into your mouth, losing himself in the feel of your lips wrapped tightly around him, letting out a small groan whenever you flick your tongue against his slit, licking the precum.

“F-fuck just like that.” You’re slowly coating his cock in your saliva, the mixture of your spit and his precum turning him into a sticky mess.

Wet sounds of gagging resound through the air, mingling with the sounds of Heeseung thrusting into your mouth. You feel his cock twitch inside you before he says. “Gonna swallow all my cum like a good girl? Hm?”

You hum around him, eager to bring him over the edge. “Oh, oh fuck, I’m cumming.” Heeseung groans, gritting his teeth. He thrusts his hip one last time before cumming. You feel his cum shoot down the back of your throat and you make sure to swallow the warm liquid, not wasting a single drop.

“Fuck. You’re amazing” Heeseung mutters, pulling you off of his dick before kissing you, tasting himself. You kiss him back fervently, your fingers burying into his red locks.

“I need you Hee,” You whimper.

Heeseung nods and picks you up to lay you flat on your back. “Anything for you princess.” He leans over to grab the condom from earlier and opens the foil. He tosses the wrapping and slowly slides the condom down his shaft. Once he’s sure it’s secure he hovers over your body just taking you in.

You blush but whine, spreading your legs a bit more. “Heeseung….please.”

He smirks at the desperation in your voice before leaning down to close his lips over your right nipple. You whimper at the feeling of his tongue on your nipple, sucking it into his mouth before pulling back and blowing cold air on it.

You lay still, anticipating his next move. His eyes flick down. “Your pussy looks so fucking good.” Heeseung says, letting the pink tip of his dick rub against your wet folds. You both moan at the sensation.

With one more rub of his head, he lines himself against your entrance and slowly pushes his hips forward. You think you could come instantly.

Heeseung shifts above you, moving so his hands cage you between both his arms. You moan as he slowly enters you, his girth stretching your pussy out. He buries his face into the crook of your neck and places a kiss at the juncture of your jaw and neck at the feeling of your walls clamping around him. Finally, when he’s completely in your pussy, his head grazing cervix, he stills and shifts his head to meet your eyes. You look up at him through hazy, half lidded eyes, completely lost in the way he opens you up. Heeseung stills for a couple moments, allowing you to get used to his size before pulling out and thrusting in once again, this time in one smooth glide. You let out a choked-out moan, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

The intimacy is overwhelming, a closeness that feels as though it’s unraveling you and putting you back together all at once. He holds you like you’re something precious, something fragile, as if he’s afraid you might slip away if he isn’t careful.

His gaze never leaves yours. The way his eyes search your face, looking for any sign of discomfort fills you with a warmth you’ve never known. There’s no urgency in him, no impatience, just a steady gentle rhythm.

“Right t-there” You mewl, slowly losing yourself in all the pleasure. Heeseung tucks his head under yours and grins against your skin, biting your collarbone gently before sucking a hickey on your skin. He trails kisses down to the valley of your breasts, pressing a kiss against your sternum before taking a nipple into his mouth, suckling gingerly. “P-please Hee, can’t…gonna cum” You babble, unable to form a coherent sentence.

You faintly acknowledge Heeseung grinning against your chest, his right hand slowly inches towards your own before entwining it with your own. Holding your hand over his sheets. You can feel him pour out all his emotions into each and every action as he thrusts into you over and over again.

“You’re so beautiful.” Heeseung whispers.

All of a sudden you cum without warning, the pressure too much. Heeseung pushes your hips down into the bed, pounding relentlessly into you, chasing his own high. He hammers into you one last time before letting out a loud groan as he empties himself into the condom, spurt after spurt of his cum pouring into you.

The world feels quiet now, the only sound in the room your mingled breaths as you both come down from the high. Heeseung’s forehead rests against yours, his hand still clasping yours tightly as if letting go would somehow make the moment less real. His thumb strokes over your knuckles.

“You okay?” he asks softly, his voice hoarse and laced with concern.

You nod, barely able to gather the words to respond. “I’m okay,” you whisper.

A small, relieved smile touches his lips before he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. Heeseung shifts slightly, careful not to crush you as he pulls out. You wince at the sensitivity and he quickly apologizes.

“Stay here,” he murmurs, reluctantly letting go of your hand. He slips out of bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his movement.

You watch as he crosses the room, disposing of the condom in the bathroom and cleaning himself off before grabbing a warm damp cloth. When he returns, he kneels beside the bed, his touch impossibly gentle as he cleans you up murmuring soft reassurances. “You did so well,” he says quietly, his voice full of affection. “Thank you… for trusting me with you.”

Your cheeks warm, but you manage a soft smile and nod.

Heeseung’s gaze softens even further, and he presses a kiss to your knee before standing to place the cloth aside. He joins you back in bed, pulling the sheets up over your bodies before tugging you into his arms. You rest your head on his chest, your legs tangling with his as his hand strokes your back in soothing circles.

“You’re amazing,” he murmurs, his fingers drawing lazy patterns on your back. “I hope you know that.”

You huff a small laugh, finally finding your voice. “You don’t have to flatter me, you already got what you wanted.”

Heeseung chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Maybe I just like telling you how I feel.” He tilts his head to look at you, his expression soft and unguarded. “Can I?”

You glance up at him, confused. “Can you what?”

“Tell you more about me…The messy parts. The things I don’t usually share.”

Your breath catches slightly at the vulnerability in his voice but you nod. “I’d like that.”

His grip on you tightens just a little, as if you're his own personal stress ball. He doesn’t start talking right away, his thumb brushing along your shoulder as if he’s organizing his thoughts. You don’t rush him content to lie there in his embrace waiting for him to open up.

Finally, he speaks. “When I was fifteen, my brother Heejoon was seventeen,” he begins, his voice quiet but steady. “He was… everything you’d expect from an eldest son in our family—smart, responsible, always trying to do the right thing. But he struggled a lot too. Heejoon always had anxiety. It wasn’t obvious at first; he’d just get nervous about things other people didn’t think twice about. But as we got older… it got worse.”

You shift slightly in his arms looking up at him with concern. Heeseung’s gaze is fixed on the ceiling, his jaw tight as he continues.

“Our dad…he’s a no-nonsense kind of man. Everything is about discipline, results, and maintaining the family’s reputation. That summer, he was preparing Heejoon to start interning at the company. Heejoon was terrified but he didn’t tell anyone. He didn’t want to disappoint our dad. So he just… pushed himself harder. He started focusing on the business, trying to prepare, but his grades started slipping. He was so afraid of letting Dad down that he…he cheated on a final exam.” 

Heeseung clears his throat. “He got caught and Dad had to bribe the teacher to keep it off his record and let him retake the exam. He was livid, but he didn’t hit him or anything. He’s never laid a hand on us. But his words…” Heeseung’s voice falters, and he looks away.

Your heart aches for him, for Heejoon. You reach up, cupping his cheek and gently guiding his gaze back to you. “What happened?” you whisper.

Heeseung closes his eyes for a moment, like he’s reliving the memory. “Heejoon couldn’t take it anymore. The pressure to be perfect, to be something he wasn’t…that night, after Dad tore into him, he tried to kill himself.”

Your heart drops at the confirmation of what you knew all along.

“I was the one who found him,” Heeseung continues, his voice barely audible now. “We got him to the hospital in time, but… he was never the same after that. His will to live was just… gone.”

You sit up slightly, your eyes searching his face. “Heeseung…”

He meets your gaze, his own eyes glassy but resolute. “Heejoon’s alive. But he’s not… He’s not the same person he used to be.”

You gently take his hand in both of yours, your fingers wrapping around his as if to anchor him. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” you say softly, your voice steady but full of empathy. “And I’m so glad he’s still here. Heeseung… You’ve been through so much and you’re still here too. You’re still fighting. That means something.”

Heeseung shakes his head slowly, his grip on your body tightening. “I blamed myself for years,” he murmurs, his voice strained. “I saw how much he was struggling and I didn’t do anything. I was his little brother—I was supposed to have his back and I didn’t. I just stood there, thinking he’d be fine because he was Heejoon. He was always the strong one.”

His voice cracks and you reach up brushing your fingers lightly along his jaw, grounding him. He leans into your touch almost unconsciously, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

“When I see him now…” He pauses, exhaling shakily. “I can’t stop thinking about how different his life could’ve been if I’d just said something. If I’d told someone how scared he was, how much pressure he was under. Maybe… maybe he wouldn’t have felt like he had no other choice.” His gaze drops to yours, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I failed him.”

Your chest tightens at the rawness in his voice, the weight he’s been carrying alone for so long. “Heeseung,” you say softly, “you didn’t fail him. You were a kid too, trying to survive in the same house under the same pressure. You did the best you could with what you knew then. That matters.”

His lips twitch faintly, but the guilt in his eyes doesn’t fade. “Some days, it doesn’t feel like enough,” he admits quietly.

“It is,” you insist, leaning closer your hand still resting against his cheek. “Every time you show up for Heejoon, every time you keep going, you’re proving how much you care. You’re making him proud, Heeseung. I know it.”

Heeseung looks at you for a long moment, his gaze filled with something you can’t quite place. Finally, he nods, his grip on you tightening slightly. “Thank you,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.

“Where’s Heejoon now?” you ask gently.

“He’s in an assisted living facility,” Heeseung replies. “After the incident, Dad couldn’t… He couldn’t live with him anymore. The guilt ate at him so he sent him away to get professional help. Heejoon’s been there ever since. He’s getting better, slowly. His doctors think he might be able to come home soon.”

You smile softly. “That’s good. I’m glad he’s getting the help he needs.”

Heeseung nods, his expression thoughtful. “I visit him every weekend,” he says.

Your brows furrow slightly. “Every weekend?”

Heeseung glances at you, his brows raising in question.

You hesitate before continuing. “The tabloids… They say you sneak off to Jeju every weekend to sleep with a new model,” you say carefully.

Heeseung scoffs, the sound almost bitter. “Heejoon’s care facility is in Jeju,” he explains. “My parents didn’t want anyone knowing what happened so they sent him there to keep it quiet.”

Your heart aches at the weight he must’ve been carrying alone. “So… those rumors?”

“Bullshit,” Heeseung says firmly. “You’re the first person I’ve slept with in years.”

You blink surprised. “Really?”

He nods. “I won’t lie and say I’ve never slept around. I did, but that was during my undergrad days… before I met Karina.”

The name sends a jolt through you, his ex who he allegedly forced to get an abortion. “Who’s Karina?” you ask carefully, playing oblivious to know the truth.

Heeseung’s expression shifts, the room is quiet save for the hum of the heater and the faint rustle of the sheets as he shifts closer. His hand trails absently along your arm, his touch warm “She was… the first person I ever loved,” he admits.

You listen intently as he begins to tell you about her. He shares how their relationship came to be, how she made him feel seen in a way no one else ever had but he also tells you about the heartbreak that followed when she left. About her carrying another man's baby and leaving because it wasn’t fair to Heeseung despite how badly he wanted her to stay.

Heeseung exhales, his voice trembling just slightly. “I should’ve fought harder. I should’ve convinced her to stay. Instead, I let her go. I told myself it was what she wanted but deep down, I think I was scared. Scared of everything that came with loving her, scared I’d mess it all up anyway.”

He pauses, his fingers grazing your back, his gaze distant. “It’s a pattern, you know? People leave me but maybe… maybe it’s because I push them away first. Like I did with her.”

His words hang heavy in the air. You sit up slightly, leaning on your elbow to face him. “Heeseung, listen to me,” you say softly, your right hand resting gently on his chest. “What happened with Karina wasn’t your fault. You need to stop carrying this like it was all on you, like you had the power to change everything. There’s nothing wrong with you, and you’re more than deserving of love—then and now.”

His lips part slightly as if to protest but no words come out. His eyes search yours, filled with doubt and pain, as though he’s grappling with the possibility of believing you.

“She didn’t leave because you weren’t enough,” you continue. “You were both young, and Karina… she was stuck in an impossible situation. That doesn’t mean you failed her, Heeseung. It doesn’t mean you were to blame. Her insecurities, her choices—they weren’t your burden to carry or fix. Just because you had a past, just because you were more experienced, doesn’t mean you pushed her away. Those were her fears, not a reflection of your worth.”

His grip on your waist tightens slightly, his breathing uneven. His eyes glisten with unshed tears as his brows draw together, struggling with the truth in your words.

“You have to let go of this idea that you’re the reason things fell apart,” you whisper, brushing your thumb tenderly along his jawline. “Sometimes people leave not because of anything you did but because they don’t know how to stay. It’s not about you being enough—it never was. And it doesn’t mean you’re not enough now.”

Heeseung swallows hard, his head dipping as his forehead presses lightly against yours. “I don’t know if I can believe that yet,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible.

“That’s okay,” you reply, your voice soft but resolute. “I’ll remind you as many times as it takes.”

For a moment the room falls into stillness, the only sound is the mingling of your breaths. You feel his arm wrap tighter around your midsection pulling you closer, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly.

Then, in the quiet you speak, your voice barely above a whisper. “Heeseung… I already knew about Karina”

His head pulls back slightly, his brows furrowing in confusion as his gaze locks onto yours. “What do you mean?” He asks, his tone cautious, tinged with uncertainty.

You take in a breath gathering the courage to continue. “I knew about her. About what people said. Before you told me.”

His confusion deepens, flickers of uncertainty and hurt shadowing his expression. “How?” he asks softly, his voice low and guarded, his walls creeping back up.

You hesitate, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket draped over you both but you push through the fear because this is Heeseung and he deserves honesty.

“Remember how I told you Chisa is a journalist?” you begin carefully.

Heeseung nods slowly but you can already see it—the way his shoulders tense, the way his eyes darken. His defenses are rising, and it crushes you to watch the vulnerability you’d shared moments ago slip away.

“Chisa is writing an exposé. About your college days. She has a source—someone who knows about Karina, about the rumors that you…that you asked her to get an abortion.”

Heeseung goes still, his body tensing beneath your touch. He’s silent for a moment, his gaze fixed behind you. Then finally he speaks his voice sharp and clipped. “How long have you known?”

You swallow the lump forming in your throat, knowing there’s no point in lying. “Chisa got put on the article the day we first met but I didn’t find out about the rumors until… the day you asked me to dinner.”

Heeseung’s jaw tightens and he slowly pulls away from you, the space between you growing wider as your heart drops. He sits up slightly, running a hand through his hair. His expression is a mix of hurt and disbelief.

You instinctively grab the blanket to cover your bare body, not out of modesty but because the emotional distance feels unbearable. “Heeseung…” you begin softly, but he cuts you off.

“You knew all this time,” he says, his voice low and tinged with disbelief. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“I didn’t know how,” you say quickly, your voice trembling. “Heeseung, you have to understand—Chisa is my best friend. This article is everything to her.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his hair. “And what about me?” he asks, his voice rising slightly. “Did you even think about what that could do to me? About how I’d feel if you believed those rumors?”

“I didn’t believe them. I didn’t, Heeseung but I didn’t know you then. I didn’t know how to bring it up or if I even should! You have to understand—if I said anything to you or Miss Min, it would’ve meant the end of my friendship with Chisa. I didn’t know what to do.”

Heeseung’s gaze is piercing, his silence more cutting than any words he could’ve said. You feel the weight of his disappointment, his hurt and it tears at you. 

You feel tears threaten to spill over now but you don’t bother wiping them away. Instead, you reach for his hand, grabbing onto it tightly even as he stiffens under your touch. The blanket slips from your body leaving you exposed but you don’t care. You need him to understand.

“This wasn’t an easy decision to make. I’ve been stuck between my best friend and her career and the guy I—” You catch yourself, your breath hitching. “The guy I care about. I’m sorry I didn’t say something sooner. I’m sorry I hurt you but I don’t want you to be blindsided by this Heeseung. I don’t want you to be hurt anymore. That’s why I’m telling you now.”

Heeseung stares at you, his expression softening slightly as your words sink in. He exhales deeply, the anger in his gaze giving way to understanding. “Okay,” he says softly after a long moment, his tone laced with exhaustion. “Okay.”

Before you can say anything else, he pulls you into his arms, his hand cradling the back of your head as you bury your face in his shoulder. “Don’t cry,” he murmurs, his voice gentle again. “Please don’t cry. I’m not mad at you.”

“Are you sure?” you whisper, your voice muffled against his skin.

He nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I could never stay mad at you.”

The two of you settle back under the covers, his arms holding you close again not leaving any space between the two of you. After a beat of silence, Heeseung speaks again. “I have to pull the plug on the article… you know that, right?”

You nod against his chest, your heart sinking at the thought of what this will mean for Chisa and your friendship. “Can you at least let me tell her before you make any phone calls?”

Heeseung hesitates, his fingers massaging your shoulder as he considers your request. “Are you sure you’ll be able to do that? To look her in the eyes and tell her you’re the reason her dreams won’t come true?”

You flinch at the harshness of his words, but you understand where they’re coming from. “I have to,” you say quietly. “I owe her that much.”

Heeseung exhales, nodding reluctantly. “Okay.”

He holds you closer, his chin resting on the top of your head as the two of you sit in silence. Despite everything, there’s a strange sense of comfort in knowing you don’t have to carry this secret anymore. As the minutes stretch on, the tension slowly fades, replaced by the steady rhythm of your breaths syncing together. And eventually, the two of you drift off to sleep, tangled in each other’s arms.

THE NEXT MORNING

You wake up slowly, sunlight streaming through the curtains and warming the room. For a moment, you forget where you are, your body pressed against soft sheets and someone warm and firm beside you. Blinking, the events of last night come flooding back and a soft smile tugs at your lips. You hadn’t planned to stay the night but waking up here wrapped in Heeseung’s arms, doesn’t feel like a mistake. It feels… right.

Shifting slightly, you glance over at him. He’s still asleep, his features relaxed and peaceful in the early morning light. His hair is slightly mussed, his lips parted as he breathes deeply. He looks younger like this, the weight he often carries nowhere in sight.

You try to move carefully not wanting to wake him up but the slight shift of your body stirs him. His arms tighten instinctively around your waist, pulling you closer as his eyes flutter open.

“Morning,” he murmurs, his voice husky with sleep and a small smile curving his lips.

“Morning,” you reply softly, your own smile growing.

Heeseung leans in and presses a lingering kiss to your lips, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. When he pulls back, his eyes are filled with a warmth that makes your heart race. “I could get used to waking up like this,” he says, his voice still low.

You laugh softly, brushing a strand of hair from his face, the silky red strands slipping through your fingers. “As nice as this is, I really should get going. Chisa’s probably worried about me.”

Before you can move, Heeseung tightens his hold on you, burying his face in your neck with a dramatic sigh. When he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his lower lip juts out in a pout so exaggerated it almost makes you laugh out loud.

“Stay,” he whines, his voice soft and petulant. “Just for a little longer. Please?”

You blink, momentarily stunned. This side of him is so unlike the composed and confident Heeseung you’ve grown accustomed to. The playful pout on his lips, the slight scrunch of his nose, and the sparkle of mischief in his eyes are all so…unexpected.

And yet, you think to yourself, you’d like to see this version of him more often, this carefree boyish Heeseung who doesn’t seem burdened.

You shake your head, laughing. “Heeseung, as much as I’d love to stay in bed all day, I promised Yunho I’d spend the day with him. And knowing my friends, Jaehyun and Chisa are probably going to tag along.”

At the mention of your plans, Heeseung lets out a resigned sigh, finally releasing his hold on you. “Fine,” he mutters, feigning annoyance. “But only because I’m trying to be supportive of your friendships.”

You sit up, the blanket slipping from your shoulders as you begin gathering your clothes. As you pull your shirt over your head, you glance over at Heeseung. “What about you? What are your plans for the day?”

He clears his throat, his gaze flickering briefly away before returning to you as you move around the room. “I called Miss Min last night,” he begins quietly. “Postponed announcing the engagement.”

Your hands still for a moment, your chest tightening as you think of Sakura and what this means for her. “What are you going to do?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Heeseung sighs, his fingers raking through his hair. “I need to talk to Sakura today. In person, it’s the least I can do,” he says softly.

Your heart sinks a little further, your thoughts drifting to Sakura’s feelings for him and how this will affect her. “Let me know how it goes,” you say gently, folding your arms across your chest. “I’d like to apologize to her too.”

Heeseung hesitates, his brows knitting together. “You don’t have to do that,” he says, his voice firm but gentle. “I don’t mind taking the blame for this. You don’t need to get involved any more than you already are.”

You shake your head firmly. “No, Heeseung. I’m just as complicit in all of this. You shouldn’t have to shoulder all the blame—not after everything you’ve already been through. I need to own my part in it too.”

His gaze softens as he looks at you, and he takes a step closer, his hands brushing gently against your waist.  He studies you for a moment before nodding, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You roll your eyes, trying to mask the flutter of your heart. “Don’t try to distract me with compliments,” you tease lightly, though the smile on your lips betrays your feigned irritation.

Heeseung chuckles softly, pulling you closer for a brief moment before letting his hands fall away. “I mean it,” he murmurs.

Once you’re dressed, you grab your phone from the nightstand, only to find it completely dead. Letting out a sigh, you glance over at Heeseung, who is now standing by the bed in just his boxers.

“You should probably put some clothes on,” you tease, unable to stop the smile that forms as he approaches you.

Heeseung smirks, his hands finding their way to your waist as he pulls you close. “Why? Planning on staying a little longer?”

You roll your eyes but your heart flutters as he leans down to kiss you. It’s slow and unhurried, filled with a tenderness that makes you momentarily forget why you need to leave.

When he finally pulls back, you sigh. “As tempting as that is, I really need to go. I have to tell Chisa about the article.”

“Stay for breakfast, at least?” he asks, his tone hopeful.

You hesitate, but the look in his eyes makes it impossible to say no. “Fine,” you relent, laughing softly. “One day, I’ll learn how to tell you no.”

Heeseung grins, taking your hand and leading you to the kitchen. “Good luck with that,” he teases.

You hop onto the countertop as he pulls out a pan and begins preparing the ingredients for pancakes. Watching him move around the kitchen, you find yourself thinking about how natural this feels—how easy it is to picture mornings like this being a regular thing.

As he pours the batter onto the pan, he slides between your legs, resting his hands on your thighs. “Gimme a kiss.”

“The pancakes will burn,” you say, laughing softly.

“They will if you don’t hurry up and kiss me,” he counters, his lips quirking into a playful smirk.

You roll your eyes but lean in, intending to give him a quick peck. Heeseung has other plans, deepening the kiss until you’re breathless. When he finally pulls back, he’s grinning smugly.

“You’re impossible,” you mutter but the warmth in your chest betrays your words.

“Impossible to resist,” he quips, turning back to the stove just in time to flip the pancake, which, to your surprise, isn’t burnt.

Once the pancakes are done, you help him with the eggs while he cuts up some fresh fruit he had laying around. The two of you work together, the easy banter making the morning feel light and carefree.

When everything is ready, you sit together at the kitchen island, plates filled with food. For a while, there’s nothing but the sound of utensils and quiet conversation.

Heeseung breaks the silence, his tone thoughtful. “I could get used to this.”

You glance at him, your cheeks warming. “Me too,” you admit softly.

He doesn’t respond immediately, just stares at you in a way that makes your heart race.

“Your food’s going to get cold,” you say, laughing nervously under his gaze.

Heeseung shrugs, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Worth it.”

You shove his shoulder lightly, trying to hide your flustered state. “Eat,” you scold, and he chuckles before finally picking up his fork.

As you finish your plate, you take a sip of the orange juice he poured for you, noting how he remembered your preference for sweet drinks. You don’t comment on it but the gesture doesn’t go unnoticed.

When Heeseung finishes eating, he stands and helps clear the dishes, his movements unhurried. You grab your bag and dead phone ready to head out.

Heeseung walks you to the door, his hand resting lightly on your waist. As you step outside, he makes no move to let go.

“You’re just in your boxers,” you point out, raising an eyebrow.

“So?” he replies, a teasing grin on his lips.

You swat his arm, laughing softly. “Go back inside before your neighbors get an eyeful.”

Heeseung laughs, pulling you into one last kiss before letting you go. “Drive safe,” he murmurs, his voice soft.

You nod, smiling as you climb into your car. The drive home is quiet, the events of the morning replaying in your mind.

When you arrive, you park your car and head up to your apartment building but when you step into the space, the atmosphere shifts. “Chisa?” you call out, your voice tentative as you set your bag down by the door.

The apartment is eerily silent, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. You step further inside rounding the corner and your breath catches in your throat.

Chisa is sitting cross-legged in the middle of the living room, her back rigid and her gaze fixed on the wall in front of her. Her hands rest limply in her lap but there’s a tension radiating from her body that makes your stomach twist.

“Chisa?” you try again softer this time, taking a cautious step forward.

She doesn’t respond, doesn’t even blink. The silence stretches heavy and suffocating as you kneel in front of her, your hand hesitantly reaching for her shoulder.

“Hey,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

This time, her eyes shift, locking onto yours with a sharpness that sends a shiver down your spine. Her gaze is cold, unyielding, and when she finally speaks, her voice is low and chilling.

“Did you tell Heeseung about my article?”

You freeze. The words knock the air out of your lungs, leaving you grasping for a response. How does she know? Heeseung promised to give you time to talk to her yourself.

“I—what?” you stammer, the sudden intensity of her glare making your heart race.

Chisa’s jaw clenches as she rises to her feet, looming over you. “I got a phone call from his lawyers in the middle of the night. They said I can’t publish my exposé. Did you tell him?”

Your chest tightens as realization dawns. Heeseung must have made the call while you were sleeping. A flicker of anger sparks within you—why hadn’t he let you handle this? You push it down, trying to focus on Chisa who looks like she’s seconds away from exploding.

“Yes.”

Chisa scoffs, her expression twisting into one of disbelief and fury. She takes a step back, shaking her head. “Unbelievable,” she mutters before spinning around and storming toward the hallway.

“Chisa, wait!” you call, scrambling to your feet and following her. “Please, just listen—”

She whirls around so suddenly that you almost stumble. Her hands shoot out, shoving you backward with a force that knocks the breath out of you.

You stumble, catching yourself. The shock of it leaves you frozen for a moment, your mind struggling to catch up with what just happened. Chisa has never done anything like this before. You’ve argued in the past, of course you have, but even in your worst moments, she never laid a hand on you. Not once.

She’s seething. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, her fists clenched so tightly at her sides that her knuckles turn white. Her eyes, usually warm and filled with love or mischief, are blazing with an intensity that makes your stomach churn.

“Listen to what?” she spits, her voice rising. “To you defending that manwhore? To you justifying why you chose him over me?”

“I didn’t choose him over you!”

“Yes, you did! You sacrificed my career for him! For what? Did he fuck you too?”

The words hit you like a slap and your mouth opens but no sound comes out. Chisa’s eyes widen as she takes in your reaction, her expression shifting from anger to disgust.

“No way,” she whispers, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “You sold me out for some dick? Were you that fucking desperate?”

Your chest tightens with indignation. “It’s not like that!” you snap, your voice rising to match hers. “My relationship with Heeseung has nothing to do with why I told him.”

Chisa stares at you as if you’ve grown another head, her voice dripping with disdain. “Relationship?” She lets out a humorless laugh. “For someone with a master’s degree in psychology, you’re one dumb bitch. He’s not capable of loving anyone. Not his ex, not Sakura, and definitely not you.”

You flinch at the mention of Sakura, your mind racing. “Sakura? What—”

Chisa cuts you off, turning on her heel and storming back into the living room. She grabs the remote and flicks on the TV, jabbing the buttons with trembling hands.

The screen flickers to life, and your stomach drops like a stone when the news anchor’s voice fills the room. Their tone is bright and celebratory.

“Breaking news! A fairytale ending for Lee Heeseung and Miyawaki Sakura.”

A photo of the two smiling together flashes on the screen, and your knees feel like they might give out.

Chisa crosses her arms, her glare burning into you as the broadcast loops back to commentary. “The announcement was made official two hours ago,” she says coldly, her voice cutting through the air.

Two hours ago.

You were sitting in Heeseung’s kitchen, eating pancakes while he talked about getting used to seeing you in his home. He had said he’d told Miss Min to postpone the announcement. He’d promised. Your mind spins, struggling to reconcile the timeline. Did Heeseung lie? Or did something else happen, something out of his control?

“He’s scum. All he cares about is sex. And for you to think he could be happy with you—” She shakes her head.

“That’s not true! Your source lied, Chisa. He didn’t force Karina to have an abortion! He’s not sneaking off to Jeju every weekend to sleep with someone new! It’s all rumors, and the press has it twisted. They’re making his life hell! I couldn’t let you publish that article. It would have ruined him.”

Chisa’s expression shifts, her glare turning into something almost unrecognizable. Hurt mingles with her anger, and her voice trembles as she fires back, “So what? It was better to ruin me?”

You snap.

“Not everything is about you, Chisa! He’s a person too, with real feelings! He’s been through so much and he doesn’t deserve this!” You take a shaky breath, your voice still trembling with emotion. “There will always be another article to write, another person to exploit but Heeseung doesn’t deserve it. Get over yourself.”

Chisa’s face falls, her eyes wide with disbelief but you don’t give her a chance to respond. You turn on your heel and storm to your room, slamming the door shut behind you.

Your chest heaves as you lean against the door, your mind racing. This is not how things were supposed to go. You weren’t supposed to fight with Chisa—not like this.

You take a shaky breath and push off the door, fumbling to plug your phone into the charger. Impatience gnaws at you and you grab your laptop instead flipping it open and opening your messaging app.

Messages flood the screen. Texts from Chisa, Dani, even Miss Min.

7:25 pm | chiz🧸: where are you? game night started!!! 7:50 pm | chiz🧸: nvm yunho told me you can’t make it 10:49 pm | chiz🧸: im back home now where r u loser 12:15 am | chiz🧸: ? 

You close the tab, your chest tightening as guilt seeps in.

4:32 am | danielle: do you know why heeseung called the office to postpone the announcement???

You let out a sigh of relief. Heeseung hadn’t changed his mind. He tried to stop it. You make a mental note to respond to Dani later, opting to read Miss Min’s messages.

4:55 am | Boss: You need to meet with Heeseung and Sakura. Get them aligned again. 10:37 am | Boss: The announcement is moving forward. It’s what his parents want.

So that’s what happened. A new message pings on your screen, it’s from Heeseung.

12:08 pm | heeseung: just saw the news. i’m so sorry 12:08 pm | heeseung: i don’t know what happened but i’ll fix it. 12:08 pm | heeseung: i’m on my way to meet with sakura now.

You don’t respond, instead you fall against your bed frame overwhelmed. Tears threaten to spill but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall. This can be fixed you try to reason, yeah. This can be fixed. Instead of wallowing in tears, you strip off your clothes and head into the bathroom. A hot shower…that’ll make everything better.

The water warms your skin, soothing your tense muscles as you try to wash away the sweat and grime from the night before. But your mind won’t stop racing. You think about Heeseung. About boundaries you’ll need to set with him. About Chisa—her hurt, her anger, the way she shoved you. The memory stings as do her words. You wonder if you’ll ever be okay again.

Steam fills the room, but it doesn’t clear the haze in your mind. All you can do is stand there, letting the water wash over you, hoping it’ll drown out your sadness. You spend over an hour in there, letting the water wash over you and your thoughts consume you.

When you exit the shower, the bathroom is silent save for the steady drip of water from the showerhead as you step out, your skin flushed from the heat. You grab a towel and wrap it around yourself, your hands moving on autopilot as you dry off. The warmth of the shower clings to your skin providing some comfort.

You pull on a pair of soft sweatpants and an oversized hoodie before padding back into your bedroom, you glance at your phone charging on the nightstand. Its screen lights up repeatedly, vibrating with an almost frantic urgency.

Frowning, you unplug it. The moment it’s in your hand, it buzzes again, a steady stream of notifications flooding the screen. Text after text appears, the sheer volume of them making your stomach churn.

Your sister’s name catches your eye, her message buried among others from Dani, Heeseung, and even Jaehyun.

Your breath hitches. Your sister hasn’t spoken to you in months. She claims to be too busy with her husband and kids but truthfully you think she just can’t stomach being around you knowing each conversation you’ll bring up your mother.

Why is she reaching out now?

Before you can open her messages, another text pops up at the top of the screen from Jaehyun.

12:12 pm | hyunie🐶: are you okay?

Your chest tightens. A gnawing sense of dread climbs up your spine as you respond

12:13 pm | you: ??? 12:13 pm | hyunie🐶: you haven’t seen? 12:14 pm | you: seen what?

The three dots indicating he’s typing appear and you hold your breath, dread pooling in your stomach. When the link comes through, you click it without thinking.

Your heart plummets as you read the headline: Heeseung’s Secret Romance: Scandal Behind the Engagement.

The article is a brutal exposé, detailing Heeseung’s past controversies, his relationship with Karina, the lies about the abortion then him trying to rebrand by leeching off of Sakura through an engagement and finally, the revelation of an affair. Chisa posted it anyway. She posted the exposé.

Your breath comes in short, shallow gasps as you skim the article. Chisa’s words are scathing, painting you as a homewrecker and Heeseung as a manipulative womanizer. She leaves you nameless but the implications are clear, this is her firing back at you.

Your phone buzzes again and you almost drop it. Jaehyun is calling.

You answer, your voice barely above a whisper. “Hello?”

“Is it true?” 

“...Yes.”

“Shit. Okay. Look, stay off your phone. Don’t read any more of it, okay? Yunho and I are coming over.”

You nod instinctively forgetting he can’t see you. “Okay.”

“Just… don’t spiral. We’ll be there soon.”

The call ends but you don’t put your phone down. You can’t. The panic bubbling inside you demands an outlet and ignoring it feels impossible. Against Jaehyun’s advice, you open Twitter.

Your name is trending. So are Heeseung's and Sakura’s.

You click on the hashtag, your heart pounding as you scroll through the tweets. Each tweet feels like a slap to the face, but you can’t stop. You keep scrolling, the comments getting worse and worse.

A new post catches your eye, a link to a Naver article. The thumbnail is a picture of you and Heeseung walking out of the hotel bar after your one-on-one meeting. The title is even worse than Chisa’s: Lee Heeseung’s Mistress Revealed: The Marriage Counselor Who Betrayed the Nation’s Princess

The article is a gallery of photos and commentary, each image scrutinizing your every move. This one names you outright, detailing how you entered Heeseung’s life as a marriage counselor assigned to help him and Sakura navigate their engagement.

Instead of counseling the couple, sources claim ____ became romantically involved with Heeseung, undermining Sakura, a beloved actress and national icon. Photographic evidence further suggests a relationship that goes beyond professionalism.

Photographs accompany the text.

Him picking you up for dinner, his hand resting casually on the small of your back.

You walking into the restaurant on valentines holding the bouquet he gave you.

You entering his home late at night.

You leaving this morning, followed by a quick shot of him kissing you goodbye.

The captions are unsavory.

“Caught in the act: ____ leaving Lee Heeseung’s home after a cozy night in.”, “A romantic dinner for two—how long has this been going on?”

You scroll down to the comments, your vision blurring as you read them.

⤑ she’s disgusting. how dare she betray sakura like this? +1,102 ⤑ heeseung’s trash but she’s worse. she’s supposed to be a counselor? what a joke 💀 +874 ⤑ poor sakura. she deserves so much better (╥﹏╥) +2,347 ⤑ omo she’s so brazen 💀 +366

Your chest tightens painfully and your hands begin to shake. The more you scroll, the worse it gets.

⤑ she knew exactly what she was doing. she’s a homewrecker. +613 ⤑ imagine being this desperate. she’s ruined her career for what? a fling? ㅋㅋㅋㅋ +1,209 ⤑ sakura is the nation’s princess. this woman is a nobody. she doesn’t deserve him. +4,102

Your breath comes in shallow gasps as the room seems to shrink around you. Your phone trembles in your hands, and the screen darkens for a moment, forcing you to see your own reflection—tear-streaked and unrecognizable.

You sink to the floor, your back pressed against your bed, the phone slipping from your grasp. A loud creak breaks through the haze.

The door to your room opens slowly and you look up to see Chisa standing there, her expression is unreadable, somewhere between anger and exhaustion.

For a moment, neither of you speaks.

Your lips part to say something—anything—but the words catch in your throat.

Chisa steps farther into the room, her gaze sharp and accusing. “You’ve turned into him, you know.”

You blink, confused. “What?”

Her lips curl into a bitter smile but there’s no humor in it. “Your dad. You’ve turned into your father.”

“I…”

“You always hated him for what he did to your mom,” Chisa continues, her voice rising with every word. “Every time he cheated, every time he lied, every time your mom sat crying in the kitchen, you hated him. You swore you’d never be like him. That’s why you became a marriage counselor, isn’t it? To stop people like him from ruining their families.”

Your heart pounds as memories flood back—your mother’s tear-streaked face, Chisa’s arms wrapped around you as she whispered, It’s going to be okay, I've got you. But now…

Chisa’s voice drops, the anger giving way to something softer, sadder. “And yet, here you are. Sleeping with someone else’s fiancée. How do you think that makes me feel? Watching you become the very thing you hate most?”

You open your mouth to defend yourself but the truth lodges itself in your throat. The excuses you’ve told yourself—Heeseung and Sakura aren’t really in love, their relationship isn’t real, this is different—feel hollow without him here to hold you, to remind you that you aren’t a monster because even if the engagement wasn’t real, Sakura’s feelings for Heeseung are and you knew that, you knew and still went for it.

The thought grips you, your stomach twisting as guilt crashes over you like a tidal wave. You’re no better than your father.

“Chisa…” Your voice is barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean what? To hurt people? To betray the one person you were supposed to help? You think that makes it better?”

Tears blur your vision but you don’t bother wiping them away.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

Chisa shakes her head. “Sorry doesn’t fix this. Sorry doesn’t undo what you’ve done. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re exactly like him.”

For a moment, you think she’s going to leave but she lingers in the doorway, her gaze softening just enough to twist the knife.

“He’s not a good person,” she says finally, her voice quiet but firm. “And neither are you, if you keep letting him drag you down.”

The door clicks shut behind her, leaving you alone in the suffocating silence. The room feels colder after Chisa leaves. Her words play on a loop in your head, relentless and unforgiving.

“You’ve turned into him.”

“You’re exactly like him.”

You press your palms to your eyes, trying to block out the memory but it’s no use. It claws at you.

Chisa had been there for all of it—every fight, every slammed door, every tear your mother cried. She’d been the one who stayed up with you in your room, distracting you with dumb jokes and snack runs when the shouting downstairs became too much. She was the one who held you when you sobbed after catching your father’s texts to another woman, promising you that you’d never have to deal with anything like that when you were older.

Not your sister.

She had her own way of dealing with it. When things got bad, she’d leave, disappearing for days at a time. Spending nights at friends’ houses, coming back only when she couldn’t avoid it anymore. Then she left altogether—first for college, then for her own life, far away from the wreckage of your family.

Chisa stayed.

She was more of a sister to you than your actual sister ever was. She sat through the storm with you soaked in the same despair and somehow managed to hold you together when you thought you might break apart.

And now, after everything, you’ve betrayed her.

The irony tastes bitter, twisting in your gut like a knife. You didn’t just become the thing you despised; you became the thing that broke your family.

Your phone buzzes again from where it lies abandoned on the floor. You glance at it, reluctant to pick it up but the notifications don’t stop. They come in rapid succession, each one a reminder of how far this has spiraled out of control.

Your hands shake as you reach for it, curiosity overriding the gnawing dread. The screen lights up, showing messages from people you haven’t spoken to in years—college acquaintances, coworkers, even distant family.

You clutch the phone tighter, staring at the screen without seeing it. it’s all too much. Finally, you set the phone aside and pull your knees to your chest.

You don’t cry.

Instead, you sit there in silence, replaying everything in your mind. The choice to be with Heeseung, your night spent tangled in his arms, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world. You don’t regret any of it—not the moments you shared, not the feelings that grew despite everything stacked against you. What you feel for him is real and that’s something no headline or scandal can take away.

But you also can’t ignore the fallout. Your career lies in ruins, Chisa, your best friend—your sister in every sense of the word wants nothing to do with you and the trust you’d spent years building with her is gone. You’ve lost her and the weight of that is unbearable.

The word temptation floats to the surface of your mind. It’s what started all of this, isn’t it? The pull of something you can’t have, the magnetic force of wanting someone you weren’t meant to want. 

You don’t regret Heeseung but you do regret everything it’s cost you. Temptation led you here. Desire kept you here.

And for the first time, you’re not sure how to fix it.

➤ taglist: @adoredbyjay @acousarah @fancypeacepersona @lovingvoidgoatee @seungjiseyo @starry-eyed-bimbo @cloud-lyy @lprww @mitmit01 @cupiddolle @heestruck @sol3chu @xylatox  @planetmarlowe @M1kkso @clandestineself @yuniesluv @wonniesdoll @i03jae @aggarwaldrishti @jakesfurry @hanversace @right-person-wrong-time @missychief1404 @iamliacamila @jaems-left-toe @heesngmluv @ssanhwatto @itsyagirll @theothernads

[loverboysturn]

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊ popular!chris and the football team take a visit to the diner when cinderella!reader is on shift !

find all popular!chris and cinderella!reader writings here and everything else here!

note: you might want to read this first before reading the below so some things make more sense :) my au’s are always open for this au! come yap or ask me questions about them!

you normally hated working the late shift.

but for a friday night, it was quiet. the diner was empty, a few regulars sat in their usual seats and some families scattered about but all in all, your shift had been peaceful so far. the constant hum of the kitchen, the clatter of pots and pans, and the sizzling sounds of the chefs at work was comforting to you, you wipe down the counter in front of you for the third time since you started work tonight, pretending to not notice how time was dragging on. it was boring but you were grateful for the calmness of it all, especially after the last week.

the world outside the diner seemed to be moving slowly too, the streets outside empty apart from the occasional cars driving by, it was one of those rare nights where it was quiet enough that you could find the time to think, your mind always going back to the same thing, same person.

but, the peace didn’t last long.

the door swings open, and the group swarm in, instantly filling the diner with their energy. their voices louder than usual, bouncing off the walls as they joked and laughed. the football team walking in first, followed not long after by a cluster of cheerleaders, all of them still hyped up from practice.

you barely have any time to adjust to the sudden change in the atmosphere before they were all over the place. completely taking over the booths at the back of the diner, making themselves known to everyone else already in here. their noise filling every corner of the diner, and the chatter between them growing with every passing second. the peace and quiet you had only just been enjoying was suddenly replaced with noise, and lots of it.

your colleague pops her head from behind the counter quietly calling your name. “honey, can you take the booths in the back for me? i’ll take the tables after, i just need to wrap up what i’m doing”

you didn’t need to look over to know to known which booths she was talking about.

you hesitate for a second, trying to scramble up an excuse as to why you can’t, feeling a familiar knot of dread tighten in your stomach.

“but, i—i” you stutter, brain working overdrive to find an excuse.

“please?” she asks again, giving you a small smile.

you sigh, accepting your fate. “yeah, of course.” you really, really didn’t want to serve them. the teasing, the jokes, it was always the same when they were around, and you weren’t in the mood for it all tonight, but you couldn’t say no to her.

taking a deep breath, you straightened out your apron and forced yourself to look unbothered by them all, the last thing you needed was for them to start making more of a scene, but you knew the moment you walked over, they’d find something to laugh at.

as you make your way to the table, your eyes immediately land on chris sturniolo, and for a second, your stomach flips. the memory of bumping into him in the hallway earlier this week flashes in your mind. your books flying out of your arms, the way your cheeks went a deep red after falling to the floor, rejecting his offer to help you up, you quickly look away, trying to shake the feeling of being in his line of vision for the first time since, even though he hadn’t so much as even looked at you once.

“here she is, diner girl” one of the football team says as he sees you, loud enough for them all to hear. you recognise him as the guy who was rude to you you the other day when you bumped into chris. “don’t forget your service with a smile today.”

you bite your lip, forcing a smile as you click your pen and pull out your notepad to take their order.

it was hard to not feel the weight of all their eyes on you, you had enough going on at the minute, you’d been juggling assignments at school, your stepmother signing you up for shift after shift, and on top of it all, there were the late night texts you shared with someone you still didn’t know the identity of but for you it was easier that way, completely anonymous. there were no expectations, no judgement. just words on a screen, but they were words that were starting to mean a lot to you.

“what can i get you guys today?” you ask, trying to keep your tone professional. you wasn’t in the mood for the teasing from them tonight, but you’d try to just ignore it.

“milkshakes” one of the cheerleaders looks up at you with a fake smile, “the usual, don’t fuck it up.”

as she finishes speaking, another cheerleader giggles at her friends’ rudeness, a sharp, laugh that rings in your ears after, you recognise her as the head cheerleader.. always the loudest, the first to join in with the diner girl jokes. your eyes briefly look over to where she has her arm casually draped over chris’s, trying to gain his attention, but he wasn’t paying any interest in her, not even looking up from his phone, clearly more interested in what was on the screen than the girl bedside him.

they were the stereotypical on-and-off couple. chris, the school’s golden boy and captain of the football team and her, the head cheerleader and the girl all her friends wanted to be. everyone knew their drama, how they’d broken up and gotten back together more times than you could count on both hands. the last you’d heard, they’d broken up for good just before the summer break started but you’d never paid much attention to it, the gossip of the popular crowd had never really interested you, it was always the same boring stories.

“got it” you say, your voice flat as you force a smile. you turn on your heel, rolling your eyes when they could no longer see you, the feeling of frustration brewing in your chest at the way they treated anyone not in their group but you’d gotten good at pretending they didn’t bother you at work, even when they did. you knew they’d leave a terrible tip anyway, that’s if they even left one at all.

you make sure the milkshakes come out exactly as they ordered to prevent any more rude comments from them, a few vanilla, a few chocolate and some strawberry flavoured. you place them carefully on the table, trying your best to avoid eye contact with anyone but as you set the last one in front of chris, he looks up at you, eyes locking with yours.

“you know, diner girl” one of his teammates interrupts the eye contact, a smirk forming on his lips. “i think we shouldn’t have to pay for these tonight, they’re on the house, right? you know.. ‘cause of your little accident running into chris this week.”

the whole table erupts into laughter, a few other comments muttered and fake giggles, a cheerleader chimes in “yeah, maybe you should stay out the way next time and you’d earn your tips.”

you still don’t let your frustrations show, just nodding at them. “enjoy your drinks guys.” you sigh, quickly walking away before any more comments can be thrown your way.

an hour or so later, the group finish their drinks and you notice them all start to make their way to the exit, their noise and laughter still echoing all around the diner. you stand behind the counter, cleaning a coffee mug, hoping they’ll just hurry up and leave.

“thanks for the free milkshakes, diner girl” one of the football team shouts. “you’ll have to bump into our golden boy more often.”

you don’t respond, just waiting for them all to finally leave, bringing the diner back to the quiet you were enjoying earlier.

you turn to grab a rag from under the counter, already bracing yourself for their mess that you’ll now have to clean, but as you’re about to head over, you feel someone standing on the other side of the counter infront of you.

you glance up, half expecting it to be one of the football team or a cheerleader, waiting to throw one last comment at you before they leave for good, but when you look up and your eyes land on chris, you’re taken aback. he’s standing there, his posture is calm, but you can sense the tension in his shoulders and for a second, you freeze, waiting for him to make some kind of snide remark.

but he doesn’t.

“i just wanted to say” he begins, voice softer than you expected. “i’m sorry for how they all treated you tonight. i didn’t like that they spoke to you like that” he looks down, eyes on the counter infront of him. “the thing in the hallway the other day with me and you, that was completely my fault. i wasn’t looking where i was going.”

you blink in surprise, a look of confusion taking over your face. you wasn’t expecting this, you open your mouth to say something, but the words are stuck in your throat.

“i—“ you start, unsure of how to respond. “it’s fine, i—I’m kinda used to it now.”

he shakes his head, finally looking up at you now. “no,” his voice firm, “you shouldn’t have to be used to it, that’s not fair on you but i’m sorry if my stupid clumsiness made it all worse tonight.”

when you saw him stood there just now, you expected the same attitude you receive off his friends, the same dismissive tone in his voice but instead, he’s apologising for them and you can’t quite figure out why.

“honestly, chris” you say, forcing a smile. “it’s fine, you don’t have to apologise.”

his gaze lingers on you, then without warning, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled bill, sliding it over to you. “here,” he says, “for the milkshakes.”

“thank you,” you murmur, voice softer with him now, you take the money, fingers brushing against his making the awkward tension in the air between you become thick enough that you feel yourself becoming flustered.

chris gives you a half-smile, a rare one that feels a lot more genuine than the usual one you see him throw about at football games and in the hallways. “it’s nothing,” he says, his tone softening. “and, uh…you really know how to make a great strawberry milkshake, guess i owe you one now for that too.”

you blink, completely caught off guard but before you can say anything else, chris turns and heads for the door, slipping out with his friends, door swinging shut behind him. you watch him go, still feeling confused by him being nice to you but you can’t shake the feeling that maybe he is still like the rest of them, charming when he wants something, but just as rude as his friends when it doesn’t matter to him.

you push your thoughts aside, just wanting to forget about the whole scene and pretend your shift tonight didn’t happen, you focus on the task waiting for you, heading over to the now messy booth where they’d been sitting that needed cleaning.

as you wipe the table, your mind drifts to your mystery guy and you can’t help but wonder what he’s doing right now. is he thinking about you too? you glance at the clock, a sense of relief running through you when you see there’s only an hour left of your shift.

sixty more minutes, and you’ll be able to talk to him again, the only thing that had been on your mind all night, the only thing that makes the chaos of your life all fade into the background.

little did you know, the guy who was keeping you up at night and consuming your thoughts, was standing just a few feet from you earlier, complimenting you on your strawberry milkshakes and you had no idea.

[phoenixyfriend]

Gather 'round, all ye fuckers. It's time for another AU, let's go.

Time-travel. Obi-Wan from post-RotS (could be early in the Empire, could be as late as ESB, doesn't quite matter) wakes up in the past, as a 12yo, on that fateful trip to join the Agricorp.

He has a few short minutes to think it over, and then scams his way out and towards nearby Mandalore to find Satine.

(Her ghost was hanging out with Qui-Gon's when he was sent back in time, tethered by the Darksaber, and so Obi-Wan is pretty sure she's also somehow in the past?)

(If Qui-Gon's interested in helping, he can track Obi-Wan down. No need to make things easy for him.)

tbf even if he goes back to the Jedi when Qui-Gon comes to fetch him, he needs to plot and scheme with Satine first. Because reasons.

@threebea: Qui-Gon: we were literally five minutes from meeting Obi-Wan: sounds like a you problem Qui-Gon is not having a good mental health day. Like yes he's older and wiser but still.

Satine and Obi-Wan have been busy getting in the way of the Galidraan situation (the Duke is out of his mind with worry because his daughter and heir randomly disappeared in the night.) Obi-Wan figured Qui-Gon could handle Xanatos on his own for a bit

Qui-Gon, suspicious: Have you been kissing? You're twelve. Obi-Wan: On the cheek, sure. Satine: He looks a third of my actual age at death. I look a fifth of his. We are neither of us comfortable with more. Obi-Wan: Also I've been told I need to worry about cooties.

The three of them speed run Jedi apprentice problems since they can't just leave the problems they need to fix unsolved, but way easier when you know who and what the solution is. Like yes they could get someone at the temple to catch Xanatos, but a twelve year old smacking him in the face and getting him in a headlock, and then later saying Xanatos tripped on his cape and knocked himself out oh dear. Also Bruck lives and is weirded out with how Obi-Wan gives him old man advice later.

They're also eager to get to the Real Problems Of Deadly Sith. They can't just SKIP the problems, but man. They sure are hitting fast forward.

Bruck definitely tries to goad Obi-Wan about his "secret girlfriend" that is in no way a secret.

Everyone knows about Obi-Wan having a "pen pal" that he has stated on more than one occasion that he'd have gladly married if not for the tragedy of their stations.

"Padawan Kenobi, you are twelve." "And yet, I shall live my life yearning for the lady who owns my heart, star-crossed as we are."

There's at least one meeting in those early years where Jango is present at an interaction and is abruptly concerned that he's going to have to figure out how to prevent a teen pregnancy without making everything weird. Does he just throw condoms at them? He doesn't know what size they need. Maybe tell their parents? He should tell the parents. He is not qualified to cockblock the 14yos.

[klseay]

╰┈☆ 𝑀𝑦 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 | 𝑆𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑎 𝐵𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑢𝑠 ☆┈╯

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: 𝑠𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑠𝑡𝑦, 𝑓𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓.

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆: 𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑓 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑒𝑑𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑑! 𝐹𝑎𝑟 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑖𝑡'𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑧𝑦 𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒?

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 2,2𝑘

𝒀𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒑𝒐𝒗

It had been about an hour since you stumbled across Stina in a local coffee shop just down the street, while on your way to the training ground for your signing day she accidentally bumped into you and spilled her coffee all over your white button up shirt.

Stina had apologized frantically being the nervous mess she is, whereas you reassured her that it wasn't anything to worry about. The exchange between the two of you were cut short when you realized you had to get going to be on time.

You never exchanged names, and Stina was left thinking that the first person to ever make her eyes glisten was someone she'd never see again.

But little did she know, only in the matter of moments you would be introduced to the team, and her.

The meeting had gone smooth like butter, all the terms and conditions seemed exactly as what you were expecting. So, there was absolutely no doubt behind your eyes when the pen contacted the contract.

After a little hustle with taking photos, getting assigned your number and being left alone to change into club gear, you now stood waiting for the physiotherapist to take you into the gym to be introduced.

Your foot tapped awkwardly onto the floor as you leaned against the concrete wall, arms crossed over the chest, but soon enough he showed up.

"Sorry about the wait, I had to clean up or else they'd be all over my ass about it" he spoke, smiling ever so friendly.

The physio guided you through the building until you reached the gym, as soon as he opened the door and the two of you stepped in, all attention and eyes were shifted directly on to you.

"Girls, our new signing, your new teammate. Take care of her." he had a sense of seriousness in his voice, despite the extremely friendly look on his face.

It certainly didn't take long until all the girls had huddled up around you, introducing themselves one by one, each one being accompanied by a teasing comment from Beth.

Stina was in the back but due to her tall features she could still manage to see you well, her face immediately dropped, reality catching up with her.

Her breath hitched in her throat along with an uncomfortable feeling of stirring in her stomach, Stina gulped harshly trying to ease her nervousness, failing in doing so.

"And this is Stina, she's quite the shy one with new people" Beth spoke, and suddenly all eyes were on Stina, so were yours.

Her thick, long, shiny hair was put up into a neat ponytail, slightly messed up with a few baby hairs sticking to her face. Expected since she had just been working out.

When her eyes met yours all the feelings you had pushed down this whole day came flooding over you, the air in the room suddenly feeling thick and dry.

"Uhm... have you two hooked up or something?" Beth spoke looking between you and Stina, earning a slap to the back of her head from Steph.

Stina's eyes shot over to Beth, as did yours, and by accident you two spoke simultaneously "Of course not." which made the two of you lock eyes again. "But then why do you look-"

Beth was broken off by Stina glaring harshly at her, making her swallow her sentence. "Y/n, good to meet you" you stuck out your delicate hand to Stina, which she moments later took in her bigger, veiny hand. Giving a firm shake and a polite smile, although most of the girls could see how she so desperately faked it.

None of them had really seen Stina act this way, not even Lina who had known Stina for most of her career. You noticed the forced smile as well; it was as if all air had got knocked out of your lungs and for a moment you couldn't remember how to breathe.

The room was so quiet, no one really daring to move, it was clear to everyone of the tension between you and Stina. But the look on Stina's face was scaringly discomfortable.

You couldn't help but pull your hand out of her grip hastily, not bothering to look at her anymore as you shifted your attention to the others.

Never in your life had you been more relieved to hear the sentence "Back to work girls" from a coach as now, almost as on cue you got saved from this awkward interaction.

Time passed and you found yourself forgetting about Stina for a while, for the first time in what felt like forever and could be described as eternity you felt a sense of peace. Truly being enveloped in an environment that immediately felt like, home?

You found yourself by Steph's side most of the gym session, that was at least until you heard someone clearing their throat behind you.

She felt horrible, she really did, but in her defence Stina had truly never felt this was before. Maybe that's a bit too corny but it was the truth, not for a boy, never mind a girl. That being the factor that scared her absolute shitless.

So, she pulled herself together, sighing to herself as she stood up from the floor and walked in your direction until she stood right behind you. Stina cleared her throat not sure what the best way to get your attention would be.

She watched as you spun around quickly, a sense of shock flickering in your eyes for only a moment. "Hey" She spoke quietly, awkwardly rubbing the back of her neck anxiously. "Hi..." you uttered in the same volume as her.

"That's my cue..." Stephs eyes shot between you two before slowly backing away, allowing for you to have some space. "I uh..." Stina began, she didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry, I just felt really shitty about spilling that coffee on you earlier and I wasn't so keen on telling everyone about that."

"No harm done really; I told you that in the coffee shop earlier" you spoke wiping your slightly clammy hands on your shorts subtly. "Yeah, I just... felt bad for acting the way I did. I'm sorry" Her nervousness radiated from her so strongly that you almost felt blinded by it.

With a light chuckle and a sweet smile, you simply shook your head, how could anyone ever manage to stay upset or mad when the swede looked so fucking adorable.

Stina felt her heartbeat rapidly against her chest at the sight of your smile, butterflies erupting in her stomach making it impossible for her not to send a genuine smile back.

A few months later...

During your time at Arsenal yours and Stina's friendship continued to blossom to the point where you became her roommate during away games and camp, as well as being her travel buddy. The two of you were constantly with each other, not seeing you together was now looked upon as unnormal and unusual.

You really loved Stina, she was an impeccable friend, you'd never had that type of closeness with anyone. The feelings you had felt when the two of you first met weren't gone though, not by far. You had tried to bottle them up, push them down and bury them with you, if it so was the last thing you did.

Sure, you were completely oblivious to it but the same applies to Stina, all your teammates could see it, yet they didn't intervene as all could tell someone was bound to burst. It was only a matter of time and who would be the first to address it.

A cold December evening you were cuddled up in Stina's arms on her sofa, it was a natural position, but it always made you feel all fuzzy and excited inside. Her arms were wrapped tightly against you, pulling your body flush against hers as her hands stroke up and down your spine.

You tried to get a sneaky glance at her face but unfortunately, she caught your eyes, looking down at you, making a sheepish smile appear on your face.

She smiled back widely "God you're so cute" she chuckled before turning her attention to the tv again, but you didn't. Your eyes kept studying her face, those soft brown freckles scattered across her face.

The beautiful sky-blue orbs that made you fold every single time, and her soft looking pink lips... "What are you doing?" Stina laughed, only then you snapped out of your trance, meeting her eyes. Fuck... her eyes.

"Huh? what do you mean" you spoke to which she smiled softly before replying "You're staring..."

"Am not!" Oh yes you were, but would you ever admit it to her? Probably not.

"Mhm right, whatever help you sleep at night" She spoke amusedly, clearly finding the whole situation very entertaining. More entertaining than the movie currently playing in front of them.

Stina's hands continued to stroke your spine subconsciously, offering you a lot of comfort which was always greatly appreciated.

As mentioned earlier, someone was bound to burst, and it looked like it would be you.

"Stina?" You spoke quietly, first she only gave a small hum of acknowledgement but when she saw the hesitant expression on your face she immediately shifted all of her attention on to you.

"Yeah? Anything wrong love?"

´love´...

What was she doing to you? You weren't sure but it sure as hell was confusing. "Do you think I'm delusional?" You spoke, Stina furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. Reaching for the tv remote to put the movie on pause meanwhile.

"What? Absolutely not, why are you asking?" She said sweetly, pushing a few of strands that had fallen in front of your face back to its place behind your ear. Her hand stroking your cheek on the way back.

There was no way back now, even if you did back out you knew Stina wouldn't stop demanding you to tell her until you did.

"I just..." you began the words burning in your throat, desperate to come out and release the feelings you carried. "Am I delusional for thinking we're like... I don't know... more than friends?" There it was, the truth, the words you had been begging to find the courage to speak out loud.

"You..." was all Stina could get out, her hands on your back stilled. Fuck... no, no, no, no.... you had messed up "Shit. I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry just forget I said anything. I didn't mean it I-"

"I want you to mean it" Stina suddenly spoke, somehow finding strength inside of her to do so. "I... don't think you're delusional. I feel it too..." her words were like a dagger straight through your chest, you could feel it aching, for her.

"But..." you internally cursed yourself, you should've seen this coming, a 'but'. "I've never... been with anyone. Like-" Stina gulped harshly looking anywhere but your face. "Like ever... or well I had a kiss, but I don't think that counts..."

"I'm not even sure about my sexuality, it's not fair to you, I'm too inexperienced. You should be with someone else-" you were quick to shake your head, your eyes watering ever so slightly. Makins Stina's heart ache so bad.

"I don't want 'someone else'..." the words leaving your mouth were hard for Stina to catch but somehow, she did answer you with a "but-" that you cut off again. "And quite frankly I don't care how experienced you are or not, I only care about being with you..."

Stina couldn't fight it, the tug on the corner of her mouths, so she didn't. She let go al let her lips curve into a heartwarming smile, the one that never failed to make your heart and brain stutter.

"I-" You began but your eyes were drawn to her lips that were slightly parted, soft puffs of air leaving it. She seemed to notice this, tapping you on the small of your back to get your attention again.

A somewhat smirk etched on her face as your eyes met hers again "Sorry... I don't want to make you feel forced or anything, we can take it slow-" you were cut off by a pair of cloudlike soft lips crashing against yours. The feeling making you immediately sigh against Stina's lips, leaning into everything she gave you, like a deprived puppy taking everything it was offered. 

Your lips moved carefully against each other's very careful as to not rush anything by any means, this however only seemed to make the burning sensation in your stomach grow. Making you groan against Stina's plump lips every time the shockwaves ran through you, head to toe.

Eventually the two of you pulled apart, leaning against each other's foreheads, breaths mixing into a damp cloud of air. "First time you said. Not bad at all..." you panted out, no it wasn't bad by far, judging from your rose-tinted cheeks that was.

"Thank you..." Stina was about to speak again but you spoke up again, your head tingling with the sensation of her lips as well as a range of unanswered questions. "Are you sure you wanted me to be your... first kiss?" You said, fiddling with her hands.

Stina seemed to pick up on the guilt in your voice, picking up your chin between her thumb and point finger. "Yeah, I am..." She spoke, and before you could protest, she voiced out words that made you want to jump off a cliff.

"I want you to be my first everything"

This is so rushed I might cry, but I've had this in my drafts for so long. No this is not proof read so I apologize for any spelling errors aswell as sucky and repetitive grammar (I struggled okay????)

Anyways, hopefully will be active and try to push out a Frido smut tmrw. We'll see if I'll actually remember to.

[butchvampireheimerdinger]

the butchfemme sevika post was so cute!!! what about sevika or vi with a femme who's very forward about all their feelings and lowkey shameless

A/N: Thanks! I ended up having to split this into two posts teehee Here’s the one I wrote for Sevika (also with mob wife vibes. I was in a mafia mood when I wrote these if you couldn’t tell)

Pairing: Butch!Pitfighter!Vi X Flirty, femme, and filthy rich!reader who’s sort of a mob princess type

Warnings: Pretty SFW, brief mentions of sex, violence, alcohol, cussing.

You Were Born Tough

By ButchVampireHeimerdinger

⚠︎ Vi is the type of young butch with a lot of audacity, just to get that out of the way

⚠︎ She loves to be the forward one and when you start matching her energy it would get her heart pumping and her palms would start to sweat a lil

⚠︎ Ok basically she’s pit fighter Vi and your family runs the fight club (you have so much dirty money like it’s disgusting. Mob princess baby of the family asf)

⚠︎ But one day a certain pink haired pit fighter captures your eye. You start sitting in the front every time she fights, ogling her cause violence is hot

⚠︎ She notices you and it distracts her enough that she gets her shit ROCKED

⚠︎ But she holds it in for another round and in between people are adjusting their bets. It’s stacking up against her crazily. but suddenly you drop a huge stack on her to win. Over the bet limit but the rules don’t rly apply to you.

⚠︎ She’s like. Floored. and musters up the nerve to go up to your spot in the stands and see what that was all about. She doesn’t know who you are at first, just that she’s seen you before (and would like to see more of you.)

⚠︎ You lean forward on the barricade looking down at her. You cock your head like a fox all curious, and she speaks first:

“So you like to lose money, huh?”

“I like to live fast. And…” You look side to side dramatically as if making sure no one’s listening.

“I have a secret talent.” You beckon her closer and whisper in her ear while gently bracing her shoulder, One of ur moves.

“I can tell, from the first round, the difference between a regular street-thug-bruiser type and a mothafucking champion.” That gets her ego going fosho.

“That’s a bold statement, Princess. Sure you wanna stake your reputation on that? Matter of fact, I’d like to see it in writing.” You let out a cute tinkling little princess laugh.

“Flex for me?” You ask. She obliges, confused but intrigued. You pull out an ink pen from your little designer purse that has a chihuahua inside. The pen is the pink furry kind with a big ass plume. On her bicep in curly cursive print you write:

I, the official supreme dictator of mothafucking champions, hereby declare this here dyke the holy asskicker of the undercity — and may Janna herself strike me down if I am wrong.

You adorn it with hearts and stars because she’s so gothy and serious looking that it looks a little funny.

“You’re quite the artist.”

“I’m actually on my way to the Met after this. Maybe I’ll bring you along, Knuckles. My masterpiece.”

“Gonna sign your work?” She still doesn’t know your name.

You reapply the red lippie you’ve got in ur dog purse and press ur lips to her bicep right under your “contract.” Your “signature.”

“Go kick some ass.” You gesture with your head to the announcer, who is signaling the start of the next round.

And that drives her insane. Like she’s so fired up she could fight god.

⚠︎ Needless to say, she absolutely does kick ass. You take in so much coin and as she looks at you collecting your earnings, you’re fanning yourself with stacks of cash.

⚠︎ She looks for you afterward, you’ve long departed. She finds you at a bar/restaurant: the place a lot of the fighters, their sponsors, and other important people in the pit fighting sphere frequent after the fights. It’s the “upscale” lounge for Zaunites. You’re at a table alone with an espresso martini and she sits down all confident.

⚠︎ Three big dudes immediately stand up all threatening. She’s thinking oh shit, who is this girl? and you signal to your goons it’s all fine.

⚠︎ She puts on the moves, puffing her chest. You put on the moves, touching her arm, paying more attention to your reflection in ur compact than to her. She finds it intimidating. And hot.

⚠︎ Somehow the idea that you become her official sponsor comes up. You get one of ur goons to get a contract out and as you sign it with that ridiculous pen she sees your last name and it clicks. She’s thinking what the hell did I just get myself into?

⚠︎ You’re at all her fights. You do her makeup because her goth thing is a little overdone. Your touch is delicate as you apply it, just you two alone. It helps her game, honestly — a moment of peace before the rumble.

⚠︎ You’re on the sides watching her in your usual spot and she just kinda glows under ur gaze.

⚠︎ She’s referred to as your creature, your Frankenstein (yeah Frankenstein’s the doctor ik but I think it’s unlikely that either of you would both know and care enough to correct them.)

⚠︎ You wipe her sweat with a towel and encourage her in between the rounds.

“Don’t embarrass me out there, Knuckles.”

⚠︎ You’re touchy and it makes every other woman highkey scared to approach her. Rumors fly around that yall r fucking on the side. You do nothing to dispel them.

⚠︎ It’s all fun and games for a while and you’ve got her thinking what are we? do you just act like this with everyone? Is this all in my head?

⚠︎ It’s after a particularly bad match, the worst in a while. Instead of going to that upscale place, you decide to slum it and follow her to The Last Drop. Everyone notices your presence, u just have a kinda way about you. You find it charming there.

⚠︎ You lean over her shoulder as she chats with the people she grew up with. Someone asks what’s the deal with you two. You theoretically have the balls to take control of the situation and tell her what’s up, but you wanna see her squirm. And you wanna hear it from her.

⚠︎ You look at her like what r u gonna say, Slick? Expectantly, like a challenge. A challenge that she then fails.

“Gentlemen, my sponsor.” She gives them the professional explanation. You’re disappointed.

“If you’ll excuse me gentlemen, I have some business to attend to. As you know, Violet’s career is my main concern — my only concern, matter of fact.”

⚠︎ You shove an envelope of stuff for her to look at into her chest and give her an overly friendly and utterly sarcastic pat on the back + death glare combo as she takes it. Then you pick up the tab and strut out of the bar, goons close behind. One of them helps you into your flashy mink coat. The bar dudes don’t know what the deal is, but they know Vi just screwed something up. And they let her know it, punching her shoulder and shoving her around all bro-ey.

⚠︎ She thumbs through the envelope that night, feeling shitty. Just stats and numbers, boring legal shit for her to sign her name under yours. There’s that curly signature with a lipstick mark.

⚠︎ She shows up at your place the next day to go over the match and practice a bit in your basement gym as usual. She finds you in the grand office you use, used to belong to your late father. Your legs are crossed, leaning backward, redbottoms kicked up on the desk. Her practice gloves are there on the desk and she goes for them, but you stop her with a long leg to her chest, pointy heel looking kinda threatening. She goes to say something, you silence her with a subtle gesture with your index finger, long red nail freshly painted.

“What exactly is your goal here, Vi? Gonna become the greatest pit fighter of all time? Gonna keep swinging until you’re set for life? Or until something happens to you?

Of course not. You haven’t even thought for a second about the future, about anything serious. You clearly don’t even want this anymore, you blew your shares on crypto scams and a flashy car. And you don’t even seem to care that you’ve been falling behind in the ring — Anyone ever tell you that you block with your face?"

Again, she tries to respond, thinking that you’re trying to pick a fight. Again, you cut her off.

"Vi, dealing with pitfighters for the rest of my sorry life was never my plan.”

“…What are you saying?”

“I’m saying it’s clearly not about the money or the game anymore. This is about you and me. You’re not stupid enough to not have noticed what’s happening between us. But I won’t chase you by myself. I picked you out that day because I hate cowards, and I believed in you. Don’t prove me wrong.”

⚠︎ That gives her the fire she needs to hop onto the desk and kiss you, slow n deep, bracing the top of the swivel chair you’re in.

⚠︎ So Vi eventually gives up pit fighting for the resistance, which had kicked up in recent months. And the news about her father kept her busy — kept her teeth intact as well.

⚠︎ You use your wealth for the resistance as well, and you use your connections to offer Zaunites a refuge from the gas.

⚠︎ You guys become a power couple. When everything goes down, you’re passed over for the council seat in favor of Sevika. No hard feelings though, you’re still a little green and far too unpredictable to be cut out for Topside politics.

⚠︎ But you hold it down in the Undercity, with your beloved brawler by your side. Sometimes she likes to hang out, lift weights and punch the hanging bags of flour in your basement gym. And you ogle her like you’re seeing her for the first time, kicking ass in the ring.

⚠︎ Nicknames for you include “my girl,” “my lady,” “my femme” of course. You like when she calls you “my darling,” it means she’s in an especially good mood (though she never calls you that in public lol)

⚠︎ And you like to leave your signature kiss marks all over her. She wears them with pride.

Fin

[unholyhelbig]

pls do Kiramman x femme reader I am BEGGING

Title: The Archivist

Ship: Female!Reader x Caitlyn Kiramman

Wordcount:2783

Summary: After becoming the Sheriff of Piltover Caitlyn simply has too many messes to clean up. The Archivist in the basement that Marcus hired is the furthest down on her list. She certainly didn't expect you.

Dt: The amazing @ittynyte ❤️

Warnings: Canon typical violence, mentions of ownership, contracts, enforcers being enforcers, alcohol, vomit ,an unhealthy amount of italics, horrible grammar because I don't beta,(let me know if I missed anything pls)

[A/n: This got away from me. Full disclaimer it was supposed to be absolutely filthy and it turned into Caitlyn being kind of soft but uh, anyone one up for some buddy-enforcer-fucked-nasty stuff later? I can provide that! Seemed wrong for the tone. Depends on the response!]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

Caitlyn Kiramman expected the dead stored away in the archives to remain tight lipped. She certainly didn’t anticipate the soft crooning of a jazz singer over a shrill trumpet, screaming over a muted piano. Nor did she expect the sullen scent of dust when she knew very well that she pressed the golden nib of a fountain pen to a check to prevent just that sort of decay.

Very rarely, if ever, did Caitlyn find herself in the vast archives of the station. She was much too interested in solving the constant rotation of files that seemed to pedal across her desk, the instances that were deemed much too important for those that wore their badges on their hip and not around their throats, not close enough to limit their air.

What use was a sheriff down here? All the files in these boxes were solved. They had been stamped to satisfaction and were intended to be kept clean and guarded just like the rest of the station. Though the pungent mildew scent that any basement had was sure to be unavoidable, she supposed.

It was dark and damp and endless. The only sound that cut through the copy boxes was a fluttering of music that Caitlyn followed like a dog sniffing out the vaguest hint of a bone. She did so with poise, eyes running across the names listed on the boxes as she did so: Fortune, Crownguard, Du Couteau, Vayne.

Most of the boxes were simply legend to Caitlyn, far beyond her time. She vaguely recalls mention of a few surnames during boisterous dinners with her parents, Sheriff Grayson in attendance. But the warmth of the fire and the flow of alcohol often dims her memory.

A flicker of golden light at the end of the tunnel calls to her. She slows her step, suddenly wary of startling the keeper of a wealth of knowledge. A courtesy she does not afford many, certainly not strangers.

You were simply a perk of the station, a deal that was in a bi-clause of a bi-clause. Caitlyn highlighted it when she first became the official sheriff of Piltover and thrust it into Mel’s face in the lamplight. She had just chuckled, leaned close and taken a sip of her bourbon.

“Her? No. Come on Cait, leave it be. Marcus won the poor kid off Madam Margot in a poker game.”

“A Chem Baron? The mere statement had been incredulous enough that Caitlyn had choked on her own drink, nearly tainting the contract she’d worked so hard to scour over the past month before even accepting the position. “Give me one reason not to send her back to the lanes, then?”

Mel had taken another tentative sip from her drink and let Caitlyn’s question simmer. There were a million reasons not to trust you, but the simple fact remained. You’d been taken from one cage and shoved into another. If you were going to pull something, you would have by now.

In truth, Caitlyn had put a question mark in red ink next to your name and swore to come back to the annotation later but never had. She’d moved to the enforcers that she needed to retrain. The ones she needed to rip from their families for placing the metal of a rifle up against the temples of those who were nothing but innocent. The ones who had accepted bribes openly from Marcus himself. She needed to heal the station, and you were below all of that, miles underground.

So, admittedly, Caitlyn forgot about you and signed your checks and scrunched her nose up at your name, but you had stayed quiet and strangely loyal in your cave of darkness. She’d never seen you. Never met you. Figured you were on a different schedule. Money was withdrawn and files were organized, and your name was uttered simply as The Archivist, and it had stayed blissfully that for years.  

A cage of sorts was at the end of Caitlyn’s journey. Something that divided you from the rest of the archives, though it was nothing more than what one would find in a gymnasium to store away sensitive equipment.

More shelves that lined the perimeter of the space with boxes that were decidedly not stamped with a completion date and a small desk that was shoved into the corner, a kerosene lamp that was the source of the low lamplight pulsing at its edge.

There was a bed, more like a cot, covered in an enforcer issued blanket and a pillow that was much too flat. Two books that looked to be busted at the seams. They were worn to hell and back. A record player that was the culprit of the hazy jazz music.

And there you sat: Back pressed to the edge of the bed with your legs crossed and arms dangling lazy over them. Strands of hair fell into your concentrated gaze. They were hidden brilliantly behind a pair of glasses but still squinting as if the prescription hadn’t been updated in decades. A wooden pencil was between your lips, but the yellow paint had been chewed off, exposing the soft underbelly.

You hadn’t seemed to notice the Sheriff, but by God, had she noticed you. The curve of your arms and the ink that was etched into them. The slope of your jaw and the easy way your button down hugged your frame. You were impeccably well kept for someone who seemed to be living down here.

She studied you for moments more, chest tugging impossibly at a marking that stood out to her above them all. An intricate ‘H’ that was inked just behind the earlobe. Her breath caught silently. Not as if she had doubted Mel’s words. But her chest ached quietly for you, for Margot’s claim.  

Your delicate fingers came up to brush against the blackened symbol as if sensing Caitlyn’s eyes on you and in the same stippled breath you had noticed her presence. All the warmth you’d created in your sanctuary was sucked out at the intrusion.

“Fuck!”

You clearly didn’t register who the intruder was, just that there was one. Papers had been scattered in front of you neatly from a copy box and now your socked feet were pushing them this way and that as she scrambled to right yourself. It was a comical scene-really. Caitlyn lifted a sculpted brow.

You slid once more, nearly into a quick split before finally planting both of your feet onto solid ground and blinking dazedly at Caitlyn. Your eyes, they were quite different. Clearly you were Zaun. The thought startled Caitlyn, but only for a moment. The slightest rim of pink echoed around your iris, but it was barely noticeable. Hardly even there.

“Hi,”

Caitlyn lifted her chin. Odd. That was no way to address her. You were slouched and unkempt and there was a scent of old paper to you. She supposed she’d fallen into her ways of demanding respect but, it was quite possible that you didn’t know how to give it to her.

“Um” You cleared your throat awkwardly. “Who are you? Did… If Marcus sent you to fetch me then please just, give me one moment.” Suddenly there was insurmountable fear in your eyes as you glanced back at the record player. “There’s this song, it’s Dean Martin, it’s coming on in a few clicks and I know you don’t owe me anything but if I could just hear Volare one more time.”

Caitlyn’s mouth propped itself open, her lips making a dry popping sound. When she was a child and they’d visited Northan Ionia, her parents had rented a cabin that had a lake within stones throw. She’d fallen through after the sickening, reverb of the ice cracking. That feeling of being dunked under water that was below freezing filled her now.

“You’ve never heard Dean Martin, then?” You were trying a different tactic now, a nervous attempt to fill the near silence, hands shoved in the pockets of your pants. “Gods, well, you’re missing out. Stay and listen. Just for a bit? Then you can take me to him. I’ll go without a fight. Swear to it.”

“No!”

You flinched and Caitlyn raised her hands up. Fuck. She wasn’t a rookie. She knew how to talk a man off a ledge and now suddenly she was feeling just how cold the archives were. How dank and musty and her stomach was roiling. She had to focus on this here and now.

Caitlyn tried a softer, warmer, tone “No, I mean, I’m not taking you anywhere.”

That was the wrong thing to say too, but it was enough for now. Your shoulders visibly relaxed and the coil in your spine seemed to unwind, if not minutely. Again, your fingers brushed absently against the marking that she knew was there.

She swallowed the dryness in her throat. You were peering at her like a lost puppy, glazed eyes that threatened to spill over as if she were the one who came to finish you off herself. It dawned on Caitlyn that she might be the only other enforcer that you’d ever seen, and she wore the regulated revolver all the same. She’d been through this before.

The basics, she’d start with the basics, just like she’d done with Vi. “I’m Sheriff Kiramman.”

“The secretary?”

“Pardon me?”

She must have sounded incredulous because you smiled dazzlingly and let the rest of the tension drop from your shoulders. You’d completely ignored the title in front of her name. She felt the heat bloom on her cheeks and her nose scrunch up. “I just figured, you know? Hadn’t seen Marcus in awhile and then the checks that I was getting were signed by you.”

You moved as if you were about to collect the scattered papers across the floor but plopped down on the creaky bed instead, suddenly exhausted from the scare of Caitlyn’s presence. She was rigid at the entrance of your space, watching you carefully. Harmless. She decided. Scared.

“Sheriff,” Caitlyn reiterated, taking the plunge and stepping over the threshold of your room. You stiffened for just a moment before relaxing.

You remained silent for a long moment. Caitlyn let you process the word, mull it over in your head. It was just two syllables, but they were heavy ones. She scanned the boxes with names she didn’t’ recognize. They were anything but dusty, and they piqued her interest but not as much as you.  

“There’s only one of those, unless the bylaws have changed.”

Caitlyn turned and watched you. There was a thickness to the way you swallowed. Your knuckles had tightened around the thin mattress and your legs had locked as if you were about to spring up. She recognized the green pigment to your skin in an instant, the sudden paleness of your complexion.

The sheriff grabbed the wastebasket from under the pitiful desk and shoved it into your hands, sitting on the edge of the bed next to you. The heat that rolled from your clammy skin was worrisome at best and alarming at worst. You retched into the trashcan, and she didn’t hesitate to touch you this time, rubbing her hand down your spine.

You coughed, something that sounded painful and wet. Caitlyn carefully slid your glasses from the tip of your nose before they fell into the bin and hooked them on the collar of her shirt. This was normal, or at least she told herself as much.

“Easy, easy” She dragged cool fingers across damp skin at the nave of your neck. “Deep breaths.”

Nodding frantically, you swallowed back the sour taste in your mouth, finally satisfied that you’d emptied the nauseous feeling in your stomach, setting the trashcan as far away as you could. Your hands were shaking, your leg pressed next to the Sheriffs. She saw the sudden urge to bolt reflected in your almost magenta stare.

“I suppose you own me, then.”

The words made her eye twitch involuntarily. She stiffened. Caitlyn preferred not to be dunked under cold water twice in one day, much less at all. You were slumped and tired and smelling of bile. Though the thought appealed to her in consensual settings this was much too anger inducing to consider.

She wanted to pull Marcus’s mangled body from the grave just to mangle it further with her own teeth. As unladylike as it seemed the fact that he hadn’t been maimed by her own hands to begin with made them itch unbearably. If she were to lean into mutilation when her Kiramman blood flared with lust, it may as well be used for good.

“That’s how the contract works, Sheriff Kiramman.” You fought to save the silence once more. “Marcus won me in a poker game, which I’m certain he cheated in, the bastard. My father drafted the contract himself with Madame Margot in front of me. Assuming Marcus signed me over then, I’m all yours.”

“And if Marcus died?”

Your brows furrowed; breath caught in your throat. The jazz record that you had put on had reached its natural end and given way to a constant static, the needle tracing the edge as if it were the skilled skater that Caitlyn was not. Someone who knew how to test the density of ice.

“Well, then I suppose I don’t have to stay in this basement working on unsolved cases.”

“Unsolved?”

Again, you gave her that soft confused look that she was coming to know as a buffer. One you used when you didn’t want to upset the dust in the room. As if one wrong move would have you collared with another mark inked into your skin. “Well, yeah. I have to occupy myself when I’m not sneaking food from the breakroom upstairs.”

“We don’t have Unsolved cases, I would know about them.”

There was a glint in your stare now, one of genuine interest as you got up, still a little shaky. You needed something proper to eat and drink. Caitlyn knew that. She was determined to pull you from here and take you to a full meal at the greasiest establishment that Piltover had to offer, which wasn’t anything much.

“At least a dozen, alphabetized. I haven’t seen any in over a year and it’s pretty hard to crack any of them just based on the reports in the boxes. Marcus would dump them down here and tell me not to touch them. He stopped coming after awhile and I just stopped listening. I wouldn’t be shocked if he never had them listed.”

It would be entirely plausible. Caitlyn could feel the annoyance building in her lungs, suffocating her. Of course, the man hadn’t only hidden an entire person, but the chance of closure for families that were longing desperately for it.

Caitlyn picked up one of the papers on the floor, running her fingers over the faded ink. A John Doe that was fished from the waters under the Bridge of Progress. Certainly not very progressive of them. It would have been horrible for the city’s image.

You were watching her carefully. Caitlyn glanced down, pulling your glasses from the clipped spot on her shirt and passing them to you as a peace offering. She nearly jolted when your warm fingers brushed hers. Extremely soft and delicate despite the circumstances. Guilt gnawed impossibly at her.

She’d forgotten you along with the red annotations at the bottom of a legal document. A John doe that could have been at the bottom of the river if he had been weighted down properly enough. A woman that was behind the bars of Stillwater to this day of Caitlyn had turned a blind eye. It was all about instinct, she supposed. Guilt. Obligation.

“Where will you go?”

You scoffed. “A firing and an eviction. Sure you don’t want to redraft that contract, Sheriff Kiramman? I’m quite useful.”  

When Caitlyn stood toe to toe with you she was taller. If she stretched her arm she could touch the top of the chain link and lift herself up into a standard pull-up. Of course, she wouldn’t. Instead, she stared down at you, tilting her head to the side, entirely too smitten with a near-stranger.

“I have no doubt. We’re going to solve these. You are not going to live in a basement like some type of vermin. When was the last time you saw sunlight Miss y/l/n?”

The slight hesitation was enough for her.

“Exactly.” She used her cool finger to lift your eyes to hers, steely and impossibly blue, leaving no room for objection. “Time to reintroduce you to society, little archivist.”

[haikyu-mp4]

January

word count; 953 – f!reader

Bokuto Kotaro learned his lesson last semester; he could not leave studying until the last minute. Thus, he begrudgingly put on an extra layer of clothes and walked through the snow to the library. He took a seat by a table in the back after smiling at the woman who occupied the other end. Outside the window, snow was falling slowly, and Bokuto wished he had enjoyed it more on his walk there before shaking his head and opening his books. Then he picked up a pen, which is where the struggles started rolling in. He could never figure out how to learn, which is why he ended up writing out words he didn't understand with no purpose for hours (minutes) on end.

You quickly had to look up again at the man who joined you at the table, and not just because of his handsome face. He was making a lot of noises and pressed his pencil down so hard that the paper moved and rattled along with the table. How were you supposed to focus like this? It wasn't long until you picked up your books and stood from your seat.

Bokuto looked up with an apologetic expression on his face, thinking you wanted to leave, but it quickly turned to surprise when you sat down across from him instead. "Hey, I'm y/n." His body got stuck in a seemingly shaken state. You looked at him expectantly until you decided to keep talking and picked up his notebook. "Wow, I don't know what any of this means." A chuckle left your mouth, and he finally gathered his thoughts.

"Me neither. I'm Bokuto." You happily shook hands and kept talking for the rest of the hour. An hour might have been a bit too long for a study break, but it was only January after all. "-I also like drawing, but there won't be any time for that this semester if I can't figure out how to learn stuff and actually remember it later."

"Why don't you draw it, then? Two birds, one stone," you said, pitch going up in the excitement of helping your new friend. "I draw all my notes. Writing is so boring and does nothing for me." Bokuto looked at your notes when you showed him the pages covered in different drawings and colours. He couldn't help but think that even though he couldn't tell what you studied, he kind of understood what the page tried to teach him. Are you some sort of guardian angel?

"That's brilliant."

You and Bokuto met at the library a few more times, and you watched him become more confident with his studying. You peeked at the pages sometimes, and he even inspired you with his little arrows and other additions to help remember. One day when you sat across from each other, you noticed that his hair kept falling in his eyes. He hadn’t had the time to gel it, nor cut it lately, and it had grown quite fast. Rummaging through your bag, you found a small scrunchie and placed it on the table between you. "Here, take this." He looked up wide-eyed, glancing at it and then back to you before shaking his head.

"Thanks, but I don't think so. I'll look stupid," he whispered while leaning slightly over the table.

You shrugged your shoulders and went back to your notes. "Suit yourself." After a couple of minutes passed, you saw a hand reach out and grab the scrunchie. Amused eyes stayed on him with a fond smile as Bokuto gathered some hair on top of his head and secured it with your hair tie. Because the sun had gone down outside, Bokuto could turn to the window and easily see his reflection, a burst of childish laughter bubbling in his throat at the sight of his hair. You could only watch him from your side of the table, shaking your head and sighing affectionately.

"I don't think I can read another word," Bokuto admitted hours later and closed his book. "I've had enough for today." You chuckled and nodded in agreement. You both began packing up your stuff, standing up to get the last books into your bags. When that was successful, you looked at each other and frowned. Bokuto seemed frozen with a blank expression.

"Bokuto? You okay there, bud?"

"Huh? Yes." He still looked like he was thinking about something, contemplating. Instead of keeping you waiting anymore, he just asked. "Want to hang out sometime?"

You smiled at him, taken off guard but happy he asked. "Sure, what do you want to do?" Bokuto had not thought about that part. What do you ask a woman to do? What's normal? He said "Hang out", where do men and women just hang out? His mind quickly tried to figure out an answer, and the first thing that came to mind was-

"Maybe a morning run? Would be nice to have some company." He grinned at you, satisfied that he didn't say anything too weird. You squinted at him, confused about the unexpected suggestion. I'm not exactly a runner.

"That sounds fun. When?"

"7 a.m.? I have a class at 10." You pushed away any negative thoughts when he smiled so innocently.

“That works. Meet you outside the main entrance at 7 a.m. tomorrow,” you repeated to check that you had all the facts, also realising how early 7 a.m. was for running.

"Cool." Bokuto bounced on the balls of his feet, looking like he was re-energised by the agreed hang-out. "See you, y/n!" He quickly turned around and walked out of the library, roses on his cheeks before he even got outside.

The Schoolyear Series ║ masterlist

[lyliaswonderland]

- ꒰ঌ ໒꒱ - 𝓦𝔥𝔞𝗍’𝗌 𝒊𝖓 м𝔂 𝘣𝘢𝔤 𓊆𝕱𝖺𝗆𝔢 𝓓𝔯𓊇 ۶ৎ

✶ ⋆ . ˚ ⊹ ₊ ⋆

✶ ⋆ . ˚ ⊹ ₊ ⋆

𝔅ag 1 : ✶ 𝘌 𝘝 𝘌 𝘙 𝘠 𝘋 𝘈 𝘠 𓂃₊ ⊹

- My everyday bag, a Miu Miu Aventure Nappa Leather Bag my go-to where i keep anything and everything. (Yes i made my bag fit literally anything in it, but its never heavy). Some of the main treasures tucked inside include :

✦ 　　　　　,　　　　　　　.

𝓜akeup bag : Home to all my favorite makeup products, like my cherished fenty skin tint, hourglass eyeshadow palette, merit concealer and blush and a rainbow of lip products (about or over 10).

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　 　　⠀　　　

𝓙ournal : I could never leave my house without it, it’s like a part of me, my constant companion. I pull it out anytime anything comes to mind and write it down, so one page could be a diary entry writing about my 50th existential crisis and the next is a love poem i wrote down at 4am drunk.

　　 ˚　　　⠀　⠀  　　,　　　　　　.

𝓑ook : Whatever my current read is, though it rarely lasts longer than a day before it's devoured.

ﾟ .　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　

𝓒amera : A birthday gift from my mom, i snap pictures with it every second of the day.

　　　　.　　　　.　　　⠀

𝓜y phone : Obviously a need. My phone case changes as often as my mood.

　　　*　　⠀.

𝓦allet : The keeper of my cash and cards, and it’s Vivienne Westwood!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀✦ ⠀ ⠀　　　　　　　　　　　　　　

𝓔xtra makeup : My favorite lip products, rhode lip tint in toast, dior lip oil and clinique’s black honey. You can always find them in my bag. And a cute golden shell compact mirror (if it even counts as extra makeup)

ﾟ .　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　

𝓔verything else : I always have my keys and car keys and a billion charms, glasses i adore but dont really need, a pack of cigarettes and lighter in the shape of a cowboy boot, a hairbrush cause my hair never cooperates with me, hand cream for my eternally dry hand, a claw clip to remove my hair from my face, headphones, dr pepper flavoured gum, a bueno and my favorite perfume of all time, Scandal by Jean Paul Gaultier.

　　　　　　*⠀　　⠀  　　　　　⠀✦⠀　

✶ ⋆ . ˚ ⊹ ₊ ⋆

𝔅ag 2 : ✶ 𝘞 𝘖 𝘙 𝘒 𓂃₊ ⊹

- This is my main work bag, aka when I have an acting job (i also bring it when i have a modelling gig). It carries a lot of things, like :

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀* ⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　.

𝓜y script : The holy grail of any set day, covered in highlights and notes, both mine and my castmates' doodles and scribbles.

ﾟ .　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　

𝓢econd journal : Yes, another one! This one is dedicated to work musings— whether that's jotting down thoughts on a new role or a makeup tip from a modeling shoot.

✦⠀　   　　　,　　　　　　　　　*

𝓟ens and highlighters : I'm always stocked, often buying packs of ten just because i ran out of one pen. I adore highlighting my notes (or sneakily marking others).

　　　　　　　　　　　　　.

𝓜akeup bag : This ones more minimalist, carries less makeup, but more essentiala, like concealer or a blush for quick touch ups.

　　　　　✦⠀　   　　　,

𝓒amera : Yup another camera, but this ones special since i got it from Mike Faist while shooting Challengers.

　　　　.　　　　.　　　

𝓔verything else : I always carry any sort of snack with me, usually m&ms or skittles, a cup of coffee to freshen myself up during early shoots, meds incase i or anyone else feels a bit sick, my trailer keys, strawberry lip balm i got from Havana Rose Liu shooting Bottoms, letters, notes and other things i took from sets, my favorite pair of sunglasses and a golden heart necklace gifted by a castmate shooting Arcane.

✶ ⋆ . ˚ ⊹ ₊ ⋆

𝔅ags 3 : ✶ 𝘖 𝘛 𝘏 𝘌 𝘙 𓂃₊ ⊹

- Some other bags i really like and are switched out with my everyday bag sometimes. They’re smaller, but fit a lot.

✦⠀　   　　　,　　　　　　　　　*

the theme for this post is ib the lovely, inspring and talented @hrrtshape

[april-december]

Just had a truly lovely experience with my bunny.

Alice is my house rabbit. I was sitting cross-legged on the floor with her while she had free-roam time (the rest of the time she’s in her custom-built pen), and it was almost time for her to go back home. Usually she tells me when it’s time - she gets fed when she goes home, so after an hour, she’ll start biting and digging at me to get me to move and go feed her. This evening I was doing crochet in my lap while I sat with her, and I really wanted to count the last round before I put it away.

Alice decided this was Not Acceptable, and jumped into my lap and dug up the yarn ball. So I was trying to get it off her, and moved the stack of paper with the pattern and the hot water bottle I’d been cuddling. And in all of this movement, Alice just…slid into the crook of my suddenly empty, very warm lap.

And she paused.

You could almost see her thinking ‘Oh. This is nice, actually.’

She fit so perfectly. I began to stroke her. And she settled down in the hollow of my lap and stayed there.

She does love to be stroked. Usually I only get to do it with one hand because she settles on the floor on one side of my body. But with her in the centre of my lap, I could use both hands.

She loved it.

Now Alice is, at best guess, about 3/4 Angora. Reader, if you have never stroked Angora rabbit fur, I cannot do it justice by describing it to you, only to say that it is softer than you can possibly imagine. I have known her for a year and eight months, and every day, I am still surprised by how soft she is when I touch her. I got to stroke her with both hands, right over her body, as she melted into my lap.

We were both so happy.

She stayed there for quarter of an hour, before deciding to go home, at which point she duly received her nuggets and sunflower seeds treat.

I just love her so much guys. And she’s so soft. You would not believe how soft.

[cursedwretch]

What Lurks Beneath - Chapter 3

Viktor x AFAB!Reader; Word count: 4442 Words; Rating 18+ MDNI for Eventual Smut

AO3 | Prev

CW: Some slight ableism this chapter.

My mind—the restless, wandering thing—is only half on-task. The other drifts back to the shared lab—it’s cool metal shelves and sterile walls, the bite of chemicals hanging in the air. Specifically, the fresh set of samples waiting for me patiently in the fridge, which had been procured over a couple of visits to the undercity. Waiting. Ever the gentleman, Viktor insisted on coming with each time.

The words on the page before me blur as I twirl my pen.  It’s only a quick jot away from the office. Perhaps I could take lunch there instead of at my desk. A bit questionable? But, tempting.

Unfortunately for me, Heimerdinger appears intent on giving me a stroke at the big hour of 9am instead. Breaking the silence, he asks, “have you considered presenting at the symposium?”

I let out a sputtering cough, eyes widening. Across the room, he waits.

“I hadn’t,” I gawk, “I’m not sure I have anything worth presenting, sir.”

He wags a finger my way, regarding me with a stern brow that I’d find intimidating on any other man. “I’ve seen too many a great scientist fall prey to false modesty.”

I frown.

“I have on good authority from a certain predecessor of yours that your research holds great potential, my girl,” He preaches. I pinch my nose at the term as he continues, “with a little hard work and guidance, of course!”

I tap my pen against the page, marking up the margins of the poor student’s paper haphazardly. Dot dot dotdotdot.

“I’ll think about it,” I say at last.

His eyes narrow for a moment, disappointed, before light flashes behind them. “Perhaps a private space is in order.”

I gape. That’s quite the bribe. What could possibly motivate this sudden investment in my career? “Sir I—”

“Now, now,” he repeats, closing his eyes as he walks into his adjoining office, “I won’t hear another word. Consider it!!”

His door clicks shut.

I sigh. I’d have to live and breathe my research, especially with the symposium at the end of the quarter. But I could possibly secure funding for my project. No more personal bankrolling and personal time and borrowed supplies. My nose pinches, I could care less about the competitive aspect. Progress, however…

“Sir,” my voice cuts the silence like a knife, “I’ll take you up on that lab.”

***

It’s in that very lab that I see Viktor next.

The space is a mess, as all good labs are. Half-empty boxes in the corner, a sparse arrangement of supplies scattered throughout the rest. But it’s my own, and it is wonderful. Finally able to break away from the small mountain of paperwork, I hum softly to myself as I work.

“I thought I might find you here,” a familiar lilting voice speaks.

My eyes remain glued to the microscope, the corners of my mouth tugging upwards, “I think I have you to thank for this.”

A few paces closer, I hear him shrug as he sets an object on the table, “eh, hardly.”

I look up. Standing at my side, he takes the room in with curious eyes. Drinking in each detail. Atop the desk sit a notebook and a mechanical pencil—sturdy, with a surprisingly ornate metal casing. He lifts his hand, fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“A lab-warming gift,” he says, a small laugh escaping him. His mouth is a half-grimace, color dusting his cheeks.

I laugh, and he sharply turns, muttering something about ‘taking his leave’ as he stalks towards the exit.

“Hey, hold up, Vik.”

His steps falter, he keeps his back to me as he waits, tilting his head in my direction.

“I’m sure you’re sick of these little excursions, and this one isn’t in the undercity, so, no pressure.” My foot taps erratically, and I can feel the back of my neck heating as I continue, “anyways, I’m going to take some benthic samples from where the river is widest. I’ve arranged for a boat next week. You’re welcome to come.”

He blinks at me. A beat passes, and when I’m positive I’ve made a horrible fool of myself and overstepped, he replies, “I would… enjoy that.”

Oh. His expression is surprisingly gentle.

That’s that, then.

***

It’s that same expression that graces his features as he leans his arms against the railing, watching where the river meets the coast while we pull away from the wharf. Eyes wide, mouth parted. That not-quite-crease in his brow softening, as if he’s five years younger. He takes a deep breath in. Out.

“I’m starting to move on to biodiversity surveys,” I say. It’s an excuse to talk, and a rather lame one. I’ll take any.

He hums, eyes still scanning the coast, “hence the benthic samples.”

“Exactly,” I look over the edge of the ship into the deep dark below, I shudder, all too aware of what lay beneath. “I need samples of the less... polluted areas of the river anyways. Two birds: meet stone.”

He propped his chin on his elbow, looking at me from the side of his eye, “how soon will you return to the undercity? I imagine your timeline has moved forward.”

“Something like that. Though, I’m not sure when.” I laugh, shifting closer to nudge him with my elbow, “and how is your presentation? Prepared?”

He grimaced, but doesn’t budge, “mh, we will be. More or less.”

“How confident,” I laugh dryly.

The corner of his mouth twitches, “no, I don’t think I’ll be prepared for that until after it’s already done.”

My eyebrows raise.

“The prototype, however, is nearly ready to go!” he says with mock enthusiasm. He rubs at his chin, “I am.. eh, not a fan of public speaking.”

“Huh. You could have fooled me.”

“Funny,” he clipped.

“I’m serious. You’re always so,” I wave towards him, searching for the word, “confident.”

He squints at the water. Reading a page that’s not quite there. With another tilt of the head, he looks at me. Eyes focused, bright. “Self-assurance does not necessitate a lust for the limelight,” he says, his gaze shifting back to the water for a moment before returning to mine. There’s a flicker in his eyes, something I can’t quite decipher.

If we were closer, I’d call bullshit. Instead, I settle on a lopsided smile, “fair enough, Viktor.”

The trip proves surprisingly fruitful, save for one glaring issue: the ecosystem is under much more strain than I initially anticipated. Still, it was nice to see Viktor so… relaxed. Soft.

If I want to have a half-decent report in the next handful of weeks, I’ll need to do more faunal surveys. Measurable surveys. Possibly even find a link between the inevitable biomagnification and Piltover’s economy, if I’m really lucky. And all of this requires one thing. A knot forms in my stomach.

I’ll need to seek out Professor Haynes. Head of the Marine Biology department and God-king of supplies. A few of which I need.

***

It’s fairly early in the morning, the academy halls still quiet as I approach his door.

I rap on his office door, calling out, “sir?”

A quick grunt of ‘come in’ and I’m standing beyond the threshold. My eye’s scan the edges of his room. A mess of books line the shelves as sun pours through the window, the columns of light highlighting each speck of dust. Beige and musty. I fear my smile comes across as more of a grimace as I greet the man behind the desk.

“Ah, you’ve been making quite a stir,” he smiles up at me, though his eyes hold no warmth.

I cough, shifting on my foot, “I haven’t accomplished anything worth ‘stirring’ over, sir.”

“True.”

I tongue my cheek. Okay, I may have walked into that. Still, it stings. I swallow down my reaction.

He’s keen on twisting the dagger, “your little pet project has, at least. Especially considering the… location.”

I shrug, “it’s fairly standard, sir. I recall learning about habitat restoration from you during my studies. Why not improve our own back yard?”

His eyes narrow, leaning backward as he regards me, “what brings you to my office?”

“I need an electrofisher, sir.”

“Unfortunately, they’re all booked for the next 6 months.”

Bullshit. Utter bullshit. “Is there no way sir—“

“Do you have any idea how many requests I receive for such equipment? They’re all in use for the foreseeable future.” He waves a dismissive hand. “Perhaps you should choose a less ambitious area of study.”

I grit my teeth, the urge to slam the door on my way out all too great.

***

Heimerdinger is hardly more receptive. Supportive, yes. But intent on taking Haynes’ side—or, at least, believing his end of the story. My heart pulses wildly as I sit in his office for the second time today. He insisted on speaking to Haynes himself after the first. Citing my need for patience and ensuring me that it couldn’t possibly be driven by any personal biases. A few hours later, he returns to the office with a pleased smile, motioning for me to follow.

Of course, his idea of good news is out-of-touch:

“You will have access to your equipment in a few weeks, my dear,” he declares.

My heart sinks. “Sir, I don’t have many weeks left—“

“I know, I know,” he sighs, “but there’s nothing to be done. A little patience and you’ll see; the time will fly right by!”

I huff, standing from my chair so fast the chair rubs against the floor with a loud groan. “Thank you for your time, sir,” I grit out.

Eager to escape, I nearly run face first into Jayce’s stunned self waiting in the main room outside. I mutter a quick apology, sidestepping him as I make my way to the courtyard. My usual spot. A bench tucked away amongst the trees; perfect for lunch, fuming, or a combination of the two.

The air was warm, but a dark cloud hung low on the horizon, mirroring the storm brewing inside me. Weeks. He wants me to wait weeks? My research can’t afford it. Especially given the gods-forsaken timetable his insistence put me on. I pick at my nails as I glare out across the courtyard.

Jayce, it appears, has followed after.

“Hey,” he pants, jogging to standing above me.

My eyes shift towards him, narrowing, I give him a polite nod. We don’t often speak, what purpose could he have with me now?

“I heard your conversation with Heimerdinger,” he starts.

Ah, that.

I bristle, watching him expectantly.

“In my experience, pushback generally means you’re on the right path.” His smile is lopsided.

I blinked, the air catching in my throat. Right. He’d been Piltover’s golden boy—Heimer’s personal protégé—for so many years I nearly forgot, “you were nearly expelled.”

He starts at first, a moment of surprise crossing his features. It quickly melts into a fond smile, eyes glazed and far-off. “I was,” he confirms, “it was Viktor that saved my research.”

“Right,” I exhale. I distantly wonder if he’s always had a habit of doing that. Supporting from the wings. Guilt gnaws in my stomach.

Jayce coughs, a put-on little noise to buy him confidence to say the next words to a near-stranger, “V says the work you’re doing is good.”

I nod, shifting in my seat. I’m eager to look anywhere but his direction, choosing instead to watch the students and professors walking across the quad. Uncomfortable. Yet, a part of my heart sings. My voice comes out stilted, “I keep hearing that.”

“Keep at it,” he says, earnest, “steal a damn boat if you have to.”

I snort, “thanks, Jayce.”

He nods, eyes glued to the building over as he nods once more—towards at himself more than me. An awkward wave, and he’s returning towards Heimer’s office.

***

I opt out of larceny, for the time being. Choosing instead to conduct visual surveys, in addition to a few other benthic grabs. Which, naturally, means more Undercity visits.

We worked backwards, this time. Ending up at the uppermost research site; a calm, brighter alcove on the river. The space is shielded from prying eyes and relatively clean. As far as the undercity goes, at least. The crisp air still holding that metallic undercurrent, but lacking all the usual rot and decay. Viktor sets delicately atop a boulder, ankles tucked against it.

I watch as he scribbles labels on the sample jars, delicate fingers holding it eye-level as he writes with the other hand.

“You sure this isn’t your true calling, Viktor?” I tease scribbling notes in my field journal. Bird counts, visible flora and fauna in the areas we’ve visited. It’s a slow process.

He laughs for a second, before growing serious as the words sink on, “mh, no, biology is not a preferred subject of mine.”

My brows pinch together. “Don’t invite you out next time, noted.”

He looks at me from the corner of his eye, mouth quirking up. And there’s something in the way his eyes are glazed over that has me leaning towards him, asking, “did you study biology? When you were younger?”

It’d make sense—why he so quickly picked up on these things.  Second nature, like riding a bike.

“When I was very young, yes,” he replied. Called it. His lips form a thin line that I’m learning means he doesn’t intend on elaborating. Alright, then.

I set down my notebook, sighing as I stand. He watches me, expression closely guarded as he waits for my next move. I think he’s used to people pressing him. Instead, my fingers rise to the buttons of my blouse.

It takes a moment before the gears slide into place. “What are you doing?” He sputters.

I shrug, “diving.”

He gawks, before snapping his gaze away as the shirt slips off my shoulders to reveal the wet suit beneath.

“Relax, dork,” I laugh, kicking off my pants as well, “I’m wearing something under.”.

“I will not relax,” he hisses, “it’s dangerous!”

I shrug, crouching down to rifle through my bag for my goggles and rebreather. “Can you swim, Viktor?”

If the way he glowers at me is enough to say no, the way he whacks my calf with his cane is enough to shout it.

I laugh, “noted.”

A satisfied smirk crosses his face momentarily before he swallows, his eyes flickering from my face downward haphazardly until he averts his gaze entirely. “I’m able to swim,” he clarifies, “I simply never learned.”

“You should,” I reply, walking towards the water. It’s cold. Damn near frigid on my skin. I hiss as I muscle past the pins pricking into my skin with each step. “I could teach you, sometime.”

Back at the shore, he watches; ears flaming red as he blinks rapidly. Another harsh swallow. He holds my gaze in a way that makes me crave the cool of the water. Biting the bullet, I let myself sink.

The beneath water is tinged green, hazy—streaks of that odd oil-slick iridescence as the light refracts into columns. Errant trash from above collects in crags of the rocks along the floor. Empty. So, heartbreakingly empty. I pop back up.

Above, still perched on his rock, Viktor watches. Lips a thin line, eyebrows heavy. His fists tense and relax as I resurface.

I pull off my rebreather momentarily, “Vik? Take notes for me?”

He nods, scrambling across to grab my notebook from the boulder across from him. He blinks up at me, waiting. I dive back below.

We work like that for some time. Resurfacing every few minutes to rattle off the various species I do manage to find. His eyes flicker—concern, relief, and back again as I dive down. Finally, he speaks up, voice strained, “you really should stop.”

Whatever brief shyness was there earlier is gone as he glowers at me as I rise from the water.

“A warning, next time,” he huffed, thumb idly pressing into the palm of his hand.

I nod, stepping back to my bag to grab the towel I stashed inside. He watches me from his periphery as I grab my clothes, as well. I stand, taking a step closer. With my spare hand, my fingers slide atop his hair—incredibly soft, god, of course it had to be soft—guiding his head to face away.

“See that rock?” I laugh, breathless.

“Hm?” His voice is strained.

“Eyes there, soldier.”

He shifts, back straightening as I let him go. As I quickly slip out of my wetsuit and into my clothes, I note his foot tapping rapidly against the ground, and oh the red is back. Flaming tips of his ears that I would very much like to kiss. I shake my head, biting back a laugh as I complete the last of the buttons on my shirt.

“Okay, let’s go,” I breathe.

The walk back is quiet, but comfortable. It isn’t until we’re tucked away into the bathysphere that he speaks, “you shouldn’t endanger yourself. It would be better to borrow the supplies you need.”

I laugh, “Jayce told you about that, huh?”

“I’m serious,” he urges. His thumb still worries at his palm, skin red.

I ignore his statement, “what’s wrong with your hand?”

“Nothing,” his hands still, fingers flexing, “just gets sore sometimes.”

I grab his wrist, pulling his hand towards me, he makes a small noise of shock. But makes no move to pull away as I speak, “I won’t make a habit of it, Viktor. Though, you could argue stealing from the academy is endangering oneself.”

He doesn’t reply, instead blinking down at our hands. I keep my touch light, smoothing out the muscle in his hand, from his thumb down to where his and hand wrist me. He swallows, looking back out the bathysphere window.

“We hit a snag with our prototype for the demonstration,” he sighs, “I’ll have to ‘buckle down,’ as Jayce puts it, for a bit.”

I hum in reply. A little, selfish part of me savors the feel of his skin on mine as I see the top of the railway nearing. I slow to a near stop.

His hand is ripped from mine as the door opens, though not unkindly. He’s the first to scramble out.

On the platform, to the side, I look up at him. “Are you headed back to the lab?”

His answering look says that was a stupid question, and it’s my turn to glower at him.

“If you’re going to lecture me about putting my body in jeopardy,” I raise my brow, “you should listen to your own warnings.”

He scoffs, rolling his shoulder, fingers flexing out form the handle of his cane. “I’m fine.”

“I know you are,” I reply.

He stares down at me, and I can tell I’m rubbing him the wrong way. So I add, “it’s been a long day. You can burn the candle at both ends tomorrow.”

A beat, and he nods, sighing.

“Have a good night, Vik,” I say, patting him on the arm as I walk away.

***

Days blend into weeks—just a couple. Regardless, it feels far too stagnant for my liking. All my previous samples have been processed, and I have the burning desire to return. To move forward. It beats its ever-present thrum of a song in the back of my mind.

Perhaps I’m being a little impatient. In all fairness, it’s hard not to be, with my research being arbitrarily held hostage by a man with enough biases to fill a lake. Much like the torrential downpour that has filled the river over the past week. It’s been a couple days since the rain stopped, and the river is at its crest.

Up by half a meter, it seems.

The air smells of ozone and metal. I drop a wire with a weight affixed to it into the water’s depths at one of our spots along the river. A bit rudimentary, but easily transportable and much less likely to grab attention than lugging a staff gauge through the city would be. Careful not to get myself robbed, or worse, I opted for quick and light. A notebook, Viktor’s gift pencil, tucked into a small bag hidden beneath my coat.

Viktor, I expect, would be livid to find me here alone.

What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.

I pull up on the wire as soon as it hits the bottom. 2.8 meters. I’ll have to return again in a few days to confirm my estimate. I start winding.

“Not quite the ideal place for a tour, topsider,” comes a controlled voice from behind. Dropping the wire into the water entirely, cursing, as I turn to look; mismatched eyes meeting my own. My skin crawls. He’s dressed well, which, somehow, is all the more concerning. You don’t make money like that in the undercity without spilling blood.

“Fortunately I’m not a tourist,” I say back, hoping my voice comes across as neutral.

Eyebrows pinch, followed by the thin line of his mouth breaking into a wolffish grin. The kind that devours for sport. His head tilts, sizing me up with a snaking glance. “No, you aren’t.”

He takes a few paces, coming to stand at my shoulder, looking out at the water. “I’ve been monitoring you, you know. Topsider academic coming to the undercity, never a good sign…” his voice trails off, sign said with a taunting little lilt. Like a private joke with an old friend. He’s enjoying toying with me, I realize.

“I’m not up to anything—“

“I will be the judge of that,” he sneers, “though in this case, I do believe you’re telling the truth.”

My shoulders relax, just a little.

His answering stare is a command: elaborate.

“I’m a marine biologist,” I supply, “researching habitat restoration.”

“How altruistic,” he scoffs, “for what purpose?”

I pause, head tilting.

“Nothing comes without a motivation,” he explains, voice bored as if speaking to a child. There’s something else, though. It’s laced with conviction. A creed.

I shift my eyes away from his, fixing them on the water. “Those are my own concern,” it’s a stupid response, and one I’m sure he doesn’t often hear. Quick to add an olive branch, I say, “I can assure you I mean no harm to the people here.”

He laughs dryly. “That so? How rare.”

I swallow.

He regards me for a moment, searching my eyes for an answer. Whatever he finds, it must be satisfactions as his lithe hand is held out. As I take it, he purrs, “to finding opportunities below, then. I expect you’ll find plenty of resistance above.”

I respond with a level stare, “I appreciate your candor.”

He smirks.

“Better return soon, girl,” he shrugs, “be in touch.”

A threat?

I don’t bother replying, watching as he stalks off. I wait a few minutes before I make my own retreat. As I cross the lanes, I stare back at that neon eye hovering above us all.

Watching.

Quite the calling card.

***

The next day, I bury myself in books. Stacks of them fetched from the academy library over multiple trips sit towering across the tables in my lab. I groan, burying my face in the latest: a rather dated book titled Restorative Ecology for Acquatic Systems.

A rap at the door, and I’m smirking into the pages as I call out a quick ‘come in.’ I don’t get many visitors. Yet.

“Hey,” I breathe, looking up to see Viktor standing before me.

Purple pools sit beneath his eyes. I frown. He has been burning the candle at both ends, then.

“Hello,” he echoes with a smile. A bit of bright breaking through the exhaustion.

“You look tired,” the words tumble out before I can help it. He gives a little shrug, sheepish. God, why isn’t he saying anything? I’ve nothing to offer but hot air, “how’s the prototype?”

“Good, good,” his eyes continue scan the room, “and your research? I was looking for you yesterday.”

I cringe.

His eyes narrow.

I look down, running my fingers along the pages, “I went to the undercity.”

He frowns, taking a step closer with a heavy sigh. I start to ramble, “really, Vik, it was just one trip. I needed my research—”

I stop myself. I don’t need to defend myself on this. So, what?

“You could have asked me,” is all he says.

The way he stares down at me, rubbing his thumb across his lower lip, a hint of disappointment in his eyes, makes my breath catch. The truth spills out unbidden, “you were busy and, after last time, I didn’t want to unnecessarily drag you across the city just to spend five minutes measuring the water.”

“Last time?” He blinks, cogs turning behind his eyes.

My own eyes flicker down to his leg. Involuntarily.

Hurt flashes across his face, his jaw tightening. I swallow, the silence stretching between us. This is going completely, unnecessarily, wrong.

 He takes a deep breath in. Out.

“Let me be very clear,” he says, taking a step closer, “I do not need you to infantilize me.”

“Viktor,” I sigh, “I wasn’t—“

“Stop,” he spits, eyes burning into mine, “I am perfectly capable of deciding what is too much and what will fit into my schedule.”

I can feel my face burning—cheeks hot, head light. I push back from the table, standing to face him head on. The air thickens. “You’re a complete, utter hypocrite, Viktor.”

His mouth opens, surprise flickering across his features as I close the remaining space between us. I can feel the heat radiating off him.

“You are,” I continue with a poke to his sternum, “I don’t need babying, either, Viktor. I’m a grown woman—a perfectly rational one—who can assess risk and travel alone just fine. The fact that this is even an argument is ridiculous.”

He stares down at me, a glint of something unreadable as his gaze drops to my mouth. His breath hitches. Something hot and electric curls in my stomach.

It’d be so easy to close that gap.

“Leave, Viktor.” I sigh, sitting to return to my books, “I don’t have time for this.”

I feel frigid even saying it.

He stands above me for a moment longer, and from the edge of my vision I see his knuckles turn white as his hand fidgets and flexes. One, two, three times. A ragged sigh and he’s stomping off, door slamming behind him.

[mmso-notlikethat]

Prompt: Tommy meeting Clipboard!Buck for the first time 🫶

Hehe thank you! This turned just a tiny bit steamy so uh.. yeah 🫣

Your prompt + this gifset =

“Chim, that box is labeled ‘kitchen,’ not ‘bathroom!’ Does it look like it belongs next to the soap dispenser?” Buck snapped, pointing his pen at a wayward box.

“Alright, alright, don’t blow a gasket,” Chimney muttered, rolling his eyes as he shifted the box. Then, noticing Tommy’s confusion, he smirked. “Oh, Tommy, you didn’t just let Buck use a clipboard, did you?”

Tommy frowned, genuinely puzzled. “Why wouldn’t I? They're efficient— i brought them!”

“You’ll see,” Eddie chimed in from the other side of the room, hiding his grin behind a roll of packing tape.

Minutes later, Buck was meticulously reorganizing a stack of boxes near the door, his clipboard practically glued to his hand. Tommy, meanwhile, had been using his own clipboard and was diligently checking items off the list Buck had prepared.

And then it happened.

“What’s this?” Tommy asked, holding up his clipboard and gesturing toward a box Buck had labeled “misc.”

“It’s for stuff that doesn’t fit into the other categories,” Buck replied without looking up, flipping to a new page on his clipboard.

Tommy’s brow furrowed. “That’s not efficient. You can’t just have a ‘misc’ box. Everything needs a category.”

Buck froze, clipboard clutched protectively against his chest. “Excuse me? Sometimes things don’t fit neatly into categories, Tommy.”

“Everything can fit into a category if you organize it properly,” Tommy countered, his tone matching Buck’s intensity.

The air in the loft grew heavy as the two men squared off, clipboards held like weapons. Tommy jabbed his pen at Buck’s list. “This—this is chaos.”

“Chaos? This is a system!” Buck shot back. “I spent hours creating this!”

“You call this a system?” Tommy scoffed, flipping his clipboard around to show his own list. “This is a system, and I only needed fifteen minutes to make it!”

Eddie and Chimney exchanged wide-eyed glances before simultaneously muttering, “Oh no… there’s two of them.”

Buck and Tommy continued their argument, oblivious to the chaos they were creating. At some point, Eddie leaned over to Chimney and whispered, “This is like watching two hurricanes collide.”

***

Later that night, after the boxes were packed and the loft finally quiet, Tommy sat on the couch, sipping a beer while Buck leaned against the kitchen counter, clipboard forgotten for the moment.

" You know," Buck began, his voice casual but his gaze locked on Tommy. "I think I realized something today."

"Oh? What's that?"

Buck smirked, walking over and leaning down so they were eye-to-eye. "You're annoyingly hot when you argue about systems and clipboards."

Tommy chuckled, "what?"

"Aaand you're a clipboard freak," Buck continued, unable to hide his wide grin, stealing the beer from Tommy's hand and taking a sip.

Tommy grabbed him by the wrist, tugging him down until Buck was straddling his lap.

He pulled Buck in for a deep, heated kiss, murmuring against his lips, "And you're not exactly subtle about how turned on you were when I started reorganizing your system."

Buck groaned softly, sliding his hands into Tommy's hair as he deepened the kiss.

nothing existed but the soft press of lips, the tangle of tongues, and the heat building between them.

Buck broke away, gasping slightly, but Tommy wouldn't let him go far, tugging him back until their noses brushed.

"But really, Evan," Tommy muttered breathlessly between kisses, his fingers gripping Buck's hips. "We can't have— mhmm—a 'misc' corner, or junk drawer, or whatever."

Buck silenced him with a feverish kiss, sliding one hand down Tommy's chest as the other cupped his jaw.

He pulled back just enough to murmur, "Don't worry about that," before diving in again, pressing Tommy back against the couch.

Tommy groaned into the kiss, his hands gripping Buck's shirt as his mind hazed over.

By the time Buck finally pulled away, Tommy's lips were swollen and his breathing was uneven.

"Mm, okay," Tommy muttered absently, still dazed. He blinked a few times before focusing on Buck's mischievous grin.

"Wait-no. No, I'm not letting you distract me!"

Buck laughed, leaning in to kiss the corner of Tommy's mouth. "Pretty sure I already did, roomie."

[lovemyromance]

everytime an gwynriel starts off a post with "unbiased canon text" i grab my popcorn and my red pen because fuck you mean "unbiased"? Their first point is "gwyn and Azriel are mates!" and I just sigh SO loudly, i probably wake sarah up from her 4 year hibernation

HER HIBERNATION LOL

No SJM fr, wake up, it's been 84 years.

Honestly, I try to steer clear of them as a whole. I'm just ignoring and letting the GAs run amok till she drops the book. It's the last chance they'll have to be so loud and so wrong, let them do it proudly while they can.

When you invent a ship out of thin air, you gotta be prepared to be extremely wrong on, well, pretty much everything. We saw it when CC3 came out and there were no priestesses, no Valkyries except Queen Nesta herself, Gwyn's "job" as a translator/scribe in the theories got taken over by a magical bean, Azriel's shadows danced to Bryce's ipod etc. I think there was a pegasus actually, but it had ZERO connection to the ACOTAR world so, it didn't really help their case.

Anyway, there's going to be a point in time after the Elriel book comes out that all the GAs/ELs will see old posts of theirs and sit there like "Wow, I can't believe I actually thought Gwyn would conquer Dusk Court and she and Azriel were mates! I can't believe I dug through this random TOG book to try to prove that when they don't even talk in the new ACOTAR book!"

It's only a matter of time, atp.

[idratherstayinside6]

Ok so I am on my period and my cramps HURT LIKE FUCKING HELL. So I'll do a Hazbin hotel skit.

(P.S I'm not a great writer.)

Vaggie and Charlie are peacefully sitting in the lobby couch when the front door opens to reveal Carmilla had come in.

Vaggie got up from her seat and walked over to Carmila and began speaking.

Vaggie:"Wha-... Carmilla what are you doing here? Training isn't until Sunday."

Carmilla:"I know, I just wanted you to sign this."

Carmilla pulled out a random packet with neat writing on it. It looked like a consent form but honestly nobody cares enough to read it. Vaggie reached for it and glanced at where she had to sign.

Vaggie:"What is it for? We've done practice a bunch of times, I don't think I need to sign anything for if you harm me or whatever."

Carmilla:"It's something different. Don't worry too much about it."

Vaggie:"Alright?"

She said suspiciously as if Carmilla was planning something. She picked up a pen and wrote on the nearest flat surface there was. She wrote her signature nearly on the dotted line and gave it back to Carmilla.

Vaggie:"Here you go, I guess.."

Carmila:"Thank you Vaggie. By the way, I'm having another kid."

Vaggie:"Oh? Congrats?"

Carmilla:"It's you."

Vaggie:"What."

Carmilla showed Vaggie the packet where it said 'I give consent to Carmilla Carmine to adopt me' extra extra. Vaggie looked confused and questioned everything that she had just said.

Carmilla walked out the door and disappeared in a matter of seconds. Vaggie stood there and had so many unanswered questions.

Vaggie:"How? Why? Huh..?"

Carmilla:"I have to go now to assist your now sisters."

Vaggie:"But I'm so confused.. Can you even do that? I'm a grown adult how?"

Carmilla:"Don't worry about it, hija."

Vaggie:"huh..."

Okay that's it. I hoped you enjoyed the small skit on how Carmilla adopted Vaggie.

[thatonesonicfanfictionwriter]

Sonic x male reader that is Sonic’s bisexual awakening, I just wanna see him in denial over his first boycrush <33

“Woah, I’m Bisexual! I Didn’t Know That!”

Pairing: Sonic x Male Reader

Requested: Yes (by an anon).

Description: Sonic always thought he was straight. I mean, he’d never been in a romantic relationship before, but to him, that was besides the point. Until you came along.

Notes: Ahhh, LGBTQ+ stuff, my beloved. I will always take Sonic being a bisexual disaster on my bingo card. Hope you enjoy!

(Reader will use He/Him pronouns.)

(Not proof-read/beta-read.)

– – – – – – – – – – – –

Sonic never once thought he wasn’t straight.

…He had never been in a romantic relationship before, but that didn’t matter, did it?

Surely not!

Boy oh boy, was he wrong.

It was a typical day for Sonic; he was taking a stroll through the forest (not running, I know, what a shocker), when a shadow loomed above him, catching him out of his thoughts.

Turns out a giant, flying Egg-Robot was above him, about to ambush him, but before it could, it was knocked away by a large…mallet?

The robot staggers, shaking its head before looking towards its attacker.

You.

You called your mallet back to you, holding it in a fighting position.

“Hey, ya big bully! Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” you ask it.

The Egg-Robot flies towards you, trying to attack, but you jump out of the way, landing on a tree branch above the robot.

The robot looks around, confused, only for you to jump down and smash it with your mallet, scrap flying everywhere.

You let out a whistle, looking at the destruction, before going over to Sonic, swinging your mallet over your shoulder.

“You good, blue?” you ask him.

“O-Oh, uh, yeah! Thanks for the save!” Sonic says, giving a thumbs-up, really hoping his face isn't red. Why is his heart beating so fast?!

“Heh, no problem. Always happy to help someone in need,” you tell him.

You pull out a piece of paper and a pen from your bag, writing down something before giving it to Sonic. “Call me if you need help again. See you around, cutie.”

You give Sonic a wink before heading off, leaving a red-faced Sonic to figure out what just happened.

“C…Cutie?” Sonic questions.

Looking down at the paper, it seems to have two things written on it; your name, and your phone number.

Oh, he has got to call that when he has the time.

(I’ll write a part two if someone requests it!)

[kurooku]

megumi fushiguro is the kind of guy who gets set up on dates by his friends all the time, just for them to be unsuccessful. is not that he isn’t a good looking guy (and he knows that at this point), it's just his aura that comes off as off-putting. he hangs out with the girls, brings them to places like the arcade or random parks, and the date ends up to be pretty boring. the girls usually look pretty bummed that he isn't really a taker, or in general that his vibe isn't overall welcoming and at the end of the day he never gets a call back. he actually isn't all that interested in 'finding love', he mostly says yes to his friends so that they will get off his back about it.

"just this time, fushiguro. it won't happen again." yuji itadori is saying, after asking him to go out with one of his girlfriend's friends. megumi isn't even looking at him, scrolling mindlessly on his phone. "yeah, sure."

he doesn't even mind all that much at this point, he knows already how its going to be. he's just going to have to sit through the night with a plain face, knowing that the person on the other side of the table is never going to want to speak to him again.

that's what he thinks until he meets you. he is blinded at first by your beautiful smile, that pops up as soon as he introduces himself. yuji and his girlfriend picked a place this time, sending you to a chinese restaurant that opened up somewhere downtown. he looks at you carefully, as if he his scared to ruin you by staring too much, while you order something to drink. you're all smiles and kindness he almost feels out of place.

it is silence at first, after a first shaky conversation about how the day is going or something like that. fushiguro almost blames himself for his dryness in answering, because you actually are a cute girl and he wouldn't mind striking a conversation, he just doesn't know how to. gladly, you do.

at first, it feels like an interrogation. you keep asking questions and he keeps answering briefly. then he starts saying stuff back and the conversation blooms. you guys talk about school, friends, food, bands you like to listen to. he is a good listener, you are a good talker. he makes you feel heard, always nodding to whatever you are saying and adding something here and there, and you make him feel seen, never looking away from his eyes while you speak.

at some point - mind you, he doesn't even know how or what he did say - he makes you laugh. the conversation was about the gyoza y'all were eating, it wasn't even all that interesting, but your laugh sweeps him almost off his feet. right there and then he swears its the best thing he has ever heard.

delicate yet full of emotions, your laugh fills the room. the sound is haunting even when it's over and other people in the restaurant look at you fondly while your face relaxes and your cheeks still hurt. he was staring at you the whole time, almost carving a hole in your face. "you have a beautiful laugh" he blurts out, while his face blushes like crazy and his mind yells why did you say it like that you weirdo.

you flutter your eyes a little bit, surprised by the heartfelt comment, but quickly thank him. "thank you, fushiguro. i kind of can't wait to hear yours." you wink at him playfully, but your answer made his heart sink. his ears get violently red while he quickly looks away, flustered.

he never actually got to this point with any girl before, and he feels weird, really. it's like he doesn't even know what to do, but at the same time he doesn't have to know. its easy, it's natural.

at the end of the night you give him your number, writing it on the back of his hand with a pen you asked the waiter for. you are not scared of anything, he thinks, while he walks you to the bus stop and watches you walk beside him. for the first time in his life, megumi fushiguro feels the need to have more. more of you, more of this. he feels like wanting it all.

back to his dorm, before going to sleep, itadori knocks on his door. "how did it go?" he asks, eyes lighting up in excitement. fushiguro doesn't say anything at first, but then, looking away from his friend, he sticks out his hand. blue ink shines on his palm, almost reflecting the dim light in his room, and yuji cheers out loud.

"I knew you could do it, fushiguro! I'm so proud of you!" and he pretends to wipe away a tear, meanwhile megumi thinks that actually he didn't even do much, he was just himself. and this time, it worked.

[wittyandobsessed]

𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤𝐬

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 by @alechardyssslut ✓ I was wondering if you could write a fic (female reader) with Alec Hardy (im OBSSESSED with him, and there are not enough Alec fics). Reader and him are alone at the station, working late, and then, boom, smut lmao. I have no idea how to get there, so its up to you (i have 0 creativity). Maybe Hardy uses handcuffs on reader if you are comfortable with that? And it would be amazing if reader recieves (fingering, yk). And a bit of praising :)

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | Alec Hardy x Reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | Smut, explicit sex, bondage, cuffed, fingering, sex in a public place.

You rubbed your face tiredly, the lines of your report blurring under your fatigued eyes. The words were starting to swim on the page, the effort to focus making your head ache. With a sigh, you set your pen down and leaned back in your chair, stretching to ease the stiffness in your shoulders.

Lifting your gaze, you glanced through the glass windows of Alec's office. The light spilling from inside cast long shadows across the otherwise dimly lit station. The two of you were the only ones still here. The night shift officers were out on patrol, leaving only the desk sergeant at reception to keep watch over the quiet station.

Alec Hardy sat hunched over his desk, his usual stern expression set in stone as he sifted through files. He was so focused, his brow furrowed in concentration, that you doubted he even realized how late it had gotten. Alec was, without question, an excellent detective—one of the best you’d ever worked with.

But God, was he difficult to deal with.

His sharp tongue, gruff demeanor, and seemingly endless capacity for brooding made him a challenge to endure at times. And yet, there was something about him that drew you in, something beyond the rough edges and the walls he so carefully kept up. You’d seen glimpses of it—the rare moments when his voice softened, or when he let slip a dry, clever comment that almost made you laugh despite yourself.

It didn’t help that the two of you had been circling around each other for months, the tension growing thicker with each passing day. There had even been that one kiss—brief, heated, and utterly unforgettable. Neither of you had spoken about it since, and the silence surrounding it only added to the tension whenever you were alone together. Like now.

Your gaze lingered on him longer than it should have. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, and the scruff along his jawline only made him look more rugged, more disheveled, and unfairly attractive.

You shook your head, trying to pull your thoughts back to the report in front of you. But your pen hovered uselessly above the paper, your focus already slipping. Alec had been unusually short with you all evening, his clipped responses and curt tone making it clear that he was still angry about what had happened earlier in the day.

You’d taken a risk—one you knew he wouldn’t approve of—and while it had paid off, it had left Alec fuming. He’d barely spoken to you since, and the weight of his anger had settled over you like a storm cloud.

With a sigh, you pushed your chair back and stood. If you were going to get anything done tonight, you needed to clear the air.

Crossing the quiet bullpen, you stopped in the doorway to Alec’s office, leaning against the frame as you watched him work. His head was bent low over the paperwork spread across his desk, the lamplight casting shadows over the sharp angles of his face.

He didn’t even glance up to acknowledge you. Typical Alec Hardy.

“You know,” you started, your voice breaking the silence, “you might want to take a break. It’s not healthy to brood this much—it might actually turn you into a proper old man.”

No reaction. Not so much as a flicker of amusement crossed his face.

“Come on, Alec,” you pressed, a teasing lilt in your voice as you stepped closer. “I’m just saying, a smile every now and then wouldn’t kill you. Who knows, maybe it’d even help solve this case faster.”

Still, nothing. He kept writing, his pen scratching against the paper with maddening indifference.

Your patience began to wear thin. Fine, so maybe he wasn’t in the mood for jokes. But was the silent treatment really necessary? You crossed your arms, the edge of your frustration creeping into your voice. “You can’t seriously still be mad at me. I was doing my job, Alec. You can’t fault me for that.”

That got his attention. He set his pen down with deliberate precision and finally looked up at you, his brown eyes sharp and unyielding. “Your job? Is that what you call it? Taking unnecessary risks and throwing yourself into danger without thinking?”

You raised an eyebrow, your own frustration bubbling to the surface. “I knew what I was doing. We both knew the risks going in. It’s not like I went off-script, Alec. I followed the plan.”

“The plan,” he repeated, standing abruptly and rounding the desk. His presence was imposing, his voice low but laced with anger. “The plan was for you to stay safe. Not to play hero and nearly get yourself killed.”

“Oh, give me a break,” you shot back, taking a step closer to him, your pulse quickening. “I wasn’t playing hero—I was doing my job. You don’t get to be angry at me for that.”

His jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. The tension between you felt like a live wire, crackling and dangerous. He was close now, too close, and the heat of his anger seemed to radiate off him.

“You’re reckless,” he snapped, his voice harsh but tinged with something else—something softer, deeper, that you couldn’t quite place. “And one day, that recklessness is going to cost you everything.”

You held his gaze, your voice steady and firm despite the roiling emotions beneath the surface. “You don’t get to lecture me about risks, Alec. Not when you’re out there every day doing the exact same thing.”

That was the moment he snapped.

“I don’t want to bloody watch you die!” Alec’s voice thundered through the quiet room, the sharpness of his outburst slicing through the air. You froze, caught off guard by the raw force of his words. Your eyes widened as you stared at him, stunned into silence.

He turned abruptly, running a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to collect himself. His shoulders rose and fell with heavy breaths, his back tense and rigid as he faced away from you.

For a moment, you couldn’t move. The intensity of his outburst left you rooted to the spot, unsure of what to say or do. But then, he turned back to face you, and the anger was gone. What replaced it was something far more disarming—vulnerability.

His jaw worked, his lips pressing into a thin line as if he was battling with himself over what to say next. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, trembling with unguarded emotion. “I can’t— I won’t lose you. Not when I—”

His eyes found yours, filled with a mixture of desperation and something else—something that made your breath hitch. “I love you, Y/N,” he confessed, the words falling from his lips like a dam finally breaking. “I have for a while. And I can’t—I won’t stand by and watch you put yourself in danger. Not when it could mean losing you.”

The room seemed to still, his words hanging heavy in the air. Your heart pounded in your chest, your mind racing to process the sudden confession. You’d imagined this moment countless times, but nothing could have prepared you for the raw, unfiltered truth of it.

Finally, something snapped inside you. Without a word, you grabbed the knot of his tie and yanked him toward you, closing the distance in one bold, decisive move. “Come here, you stubborn Scot,” you murmured, your voice rough with emotion before crashing your lips against his.

The kiss was electric, a storm of pent-up emotions unleashed all at once. Alec stiffened at first, clearly caught off guard, his hands hovering awkwardly as if unsure where to place them. But as you pressed closer, your body molding to his, he gave in. A low sound escaped him, something between a sigh and a groan, and suddenly he was kissing you back with the kind of fervor that made your knees weak.

His hands found their purpose quickly. One slid to the small of your back, pulling you tightly against him, while the other cradled your jaw with a tenderness that belied the intensity of the kiss. His thumb brushed lightly against your cheek, a stark contrast to the hunger in the way his lips moved against yours.

You had waited months—no, years—for this moment. Every stolen glance, every touch that lingered just a little too long, every unspoken word between you had built to this, and now the dam had finally burst. You couldn’t get enough of him—the taste of him, the feel of his hands on your body, the way he seemed to pour everything he felt but could never say into the kiss.

Alec pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours. His voice was low and rough, his accent thick with emotion. “God, Y/N… I—”

You didn’t let him finish. “Shut up and kiss me again,” you whispered, tugging at his tie to bring him back down to you.

And he did. This time, there was no hesitation. His lips found yours with the same desperation you felt, his hands roaming your back, your waist, anchoring you to him as if he feared you might slip away. You could feel his heartbeat pounding against your chest, matching your own frantic rhythm.

In the heat of the moment, Alec’s hands gripped your hips, guiding you back until you felt the edge of his desk pressing against you. His movements were urgent but deliberate, like a man who had held back for far too long and couldn’t bear it another second. A low growl rumbled in his chest as your hands slid into his hair, tangling in the soft strands and tugging just enough to make him groan against your lips.

His mouth left yours, trailing down to your jaw, your neck, and lower still. He pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your throat and down to the dip of your collarbone, lingering just above the swell of your breasts. Each kiss left you gasping, the rough stubble of his beard adding a delicious friction that had your head spinning.

You couldn’t take it anymore. The tension had been building for months, and now, with him so close, it was unbearable. Your fingers fumbled with his tie, pulling it loose and tossing it to the floor in your haste. Next, you reached for the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel the heat of his skin under your palms.

But just as you began to undo the first button, Alec grabbed your wrists, halting your movements. “Wait a moment,” he rasped, his voice low and gravelly as he tried to catch his breath. His piercing gaze met yours, the intensity in his eyes making your stomach flip.

“What?” you whispered, the word barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breathing.

“You disobeyed me today,” he growled, his accent thicker than usual. “You took unnecessary risks—reckless risks—and I told you not to. That kind of behavior deserves consequences.”

For a moment, you weren’t sure what he meant, until he pulled something from his back pocket and held it up for you to see. The glint of his handcuffs caught the dim light of the room, and your heart skipped a beat.

Your breath hitched as heat flooded your cheeks, spreading down your neck and pooling low in your belly. You felt a sudden ache between your thighs, your body betraying you even as your mind struggled to process the implications of his words. Surely, he wasn’t suggesting—

But the way he looked at you, the way his lips curved into a sly smirk, told you otherwise. You couldn’t help the way your thighs pressed together instinctively, seeking some relief from the tension building inside you.

“Well?” Alec’s voice was a challenge, deep and commanding, as he raised an eyebrow. “What’s it going to be?”

You swallowed hard, your pulse racing. There was no denying the thrill that ran through you at the sight of him holding the cuffs, at the promise of what he might do. You’d dreamed about this, wanted it more than you were willing to admit, and now here it was—just within reach.

Summoning your courage, you held out your wrists to him, your lips curving into a teasing smile. “Then arrest me, Detective,” you said, your tone daring, your voice trembling with anticipation.

Alec’s smirk widened, and his eyes darkened with desire. “Oh, I intend to,” he murmured, his voice dripping with promise as he stepped closer, his handcuffs clicking ominously in the silence.

Alec’s rough hands gently grasped your wrists, pulling them behind your back. The cold metal of the cuffs pressed against your skin, the quiet click of them locking into place sending a shiver down your spine. You couldn’t see his face, but you could feel the heat of his body close to yours, his breath warm against your ear.

“There,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. “No more running off and getting yourself into trouble, hm?”

The sensation of being restrained—of giving him control—sent a jolt of excitement through you, leaving you breathless. Before you could respond, Alec’s hands returned to your waist, turning you around in one fluid motion. The strength in his grip made you feel small, vulnerable in the best way, as he lifted you onto the desk effortlessly.

You gasped softly as the edge of the desk pressed against the backs of your thighs. Alec stepped back, his eyes raking over you with a mix of desire and authority. For a moment, he simply stared, as though committing the sight of you—cuffed, breathless, and waiting—to memory.

Without a word, he turned and strode toward the windows. You watched as he pulled the blinds shut, the soft thud of each slat falling into place adding to the tension in the room. Then, with deliberate steps, he made his way to the door, locking it with a firm twist of the knob. The sound of the lock clicking echoed in the stillness, making your pulse quicken.

When he turned back to you, his gaze was darker, more intense than before. 

His eyes trailed over you, lingering on the way the cuffs pulled your arms behind you, accentuating the curve of your body as you perched on the desk. God, you were so beautiful it made his chest ache.

Alec closed the distance between you in a few measured steps, his intensity almost overwhelming. He cupped your face in his hands, his rough palms warm against your flushed cheeks. The tenderness in his touch was a stark contrast to the unyielding control he held over the situation, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?” His voice was a low growl, rumbling with both challenge and promise.

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice trembling with anticipation.

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he didn’t smile. Instead, he crashed his lips against yours, his kiss hot and angry, as though he needed to devour you to calm the storm raging within him. His mouth claimed yours with a bruising intensity, tasting and taking as if he’d been starved for this moment.

You couldn’t respond, couldn’t think—only feel. His hands were everywhere, moving with restless hunger. One tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back and deepen the kiss. The other roamed, cupping your jaw, tracing your neck, sliding down your back to the curve of your waist.

Your body arched instinctively into his touch, craving more. He growled against your lips, his teeth grazing your lower lip as he broke the kiss only to trail his mouth down your jaw. His hot breath sent shivers skittering across your skin as he kissed along the curve of your neck, lingering to nip and suck where he knew it would leave marks.

Alec’s hands continued their journey, skimming down your sides to your thighs. His thumbs pressed into the soft flesh as he gripped you firmly, spreading your knees wider to make room for him to step closer. You gasped as he lifted your legs to wrap around his hips, the sudden intimacy making your pulse race.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough with barely restrained desire. His lips returned to yours, softer this time but no less consuming. His fingers teased the hem of your skirt, brushing against your bare skin, making you squirm in his hold.

“Alec,” you whispered, your voice breathless and needy, a plea for more.

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes blazing with a mix of affection and raw hunger. “I’ve waited too long for this,” he admitted, his voice low and gravelly. “Too damn long to finally have you.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding as his words sank in. You’d waited too, and now there was no turning back. “Then don’t make me wait any longer,” you whispered, your voice laced with equal parts challenge and longing.

He unbuttoned your shirt, one button at a time, his movements unhurried, deliberate, as if savoring every second. The air between you grew heavy, thick with anticipation, each click of the buttons amplifying the tension. His fingers brushed against your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Was he taking his time to tease you, to heighten the pleasure? Or were his hands trembling ever so slightly, betraying his restraint?

When he finally parted the fabric, his breath hitched. His eyes roamed over your body, drinking in the sight of you. Your lace bra barely concealed anything; its delicate fabric revealed more than it hid. He let out a low growl, primal, needy, his desire evident in the way his gaze darkened. Without hesitation, he leaned down, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your skin.

Each kiss was slow and deliberate, his lips warm and soft as they worshipped every inch of you. He didn’t rush—no, he seemed determined to memorize the taste of you, to commit the feel of your skin against his lips to memory. His tongue darted out, teasing, tasting, as if your body was the most divine thing he’d ever encountered.

When he finally moved his hands to the waistband of your jeans, your breath caught. His fingers worked deftly to undo the button, the sound of the zipper loud in the otherwise quiet room. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips when he noticed your matching panties. Like the bra, they were lace, sheer, and utterly tantalizing.

“Lift your hips,” he commanded, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine.

Bound as you were, your hands cuffed behind your back, the movement was awkward, but you managed to comply. He grabbed the waistband of your jeans and slid them down, the fabric dragging over your skin in a way that made you hyperaware of every sensation. When they reached your knees, he paused, his gaze dropping to your panties.

They were soaked through, a clear testament to the effect he had on you. His thumb brushed over the fabric, tracing the damp spot, and he let out a guttural sound that sent heat pooling low in your belly.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured, his tone both praising and teasing.

Alec smiled, a rare, almost wicked curve of his lips. It wasn’t in his nature to be so bold, so in control, but with you? You unraveled him, igniting a fire he didn’t even know he had. The sight of you bound by his cuffs, completely at his mercy, was intoxicating. He’d dreamed of this moment for longer than he cared to admit, and now that you were here, trembling and pliant beneath his touch, he was determined to savor every second.

His fingers continued their slow, deliberate movements, tracing the damp lace of your panties. Each stroke was maddeningly light, teasing rather than satisfying, yet filled with tenderness. “Look at you,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent. “So perfect. So responsive.”

You let out a soft whimper, the sound only spurring him on. Your hips began to move, seeking more friction, more of him. Alec chuckled softly, a warm, almost teasing sound, and placed his free hand on your hip to still you. “Patience, love,” he said, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your skin. “You’ll get what you need, but I decide when.”

Your chest rose and fell with quickened breaths, your body humming with anticipation. He slid his fingers beneath the waistband of your panties, dragging the fabric down just enough to expose you to the cool air. His gaze darkened as he took you in, and his breath hitched audibly. “God,” he whispered, almost to himself, “you’re even more beautiful than I imagined.”

With that, Alec’s hand moved with purpose, slipping beneath the damp lace of your panties. His fingers brushed against your folds, the touch so light it sent a shiver rippling through your entire body. He exhaled sharply, feeling the slick heat that awaited him. Slowly, deliberately, he traced his fingers along your lips, teasing you with lazy strokes, gathering the evidence of your arousal on his fingertips.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he murmured, the awe and desire in his voice making your cheeks flush. He continued his torturous exploration, his fingers gliding effortlessly over your skin, not yet giving you the pressure you craved. Each teasing stroke made your breath hitch, your chest rising and falling more rapidly as he took his time savoring the moment.

Then, with a calculated movement, he shifted his touch, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves. His thumb circled it gently at first, teasing, testing, watching how your body reacted under his touch. A soft whimper escaped your lips as your hips jerked instinctively, seeking more. Alec chuckled, the sound low and rich, and his thumb pressed down just a little harder, drawing another gasp from you.

“Does that feel good?” he asked, his voice smooth and teasing, though his own breathing was beginning to quicken. He didn’t wait for your answer, his thumb moving in slow, deliberate circles that had your body trembling beneath him. Each touch sent sparks shooting through your core, your breath accelerating as your pleasure built.

Just as you thought you might lose yourself in the sensation, Alec’s hand shifted again. One of his fingers dipped lower, finding your entrance, and he pressed forward ever so slightly, testing your readiness. When he finally slid a finger inside, your body clenched around him, and he let out a quiet groan.

“You’re so tight,” he murmured, his voice dripping with admiration and need. He began to move his finger, slow and deliberate, the motion coaxing soft, breathless sounds from your lips. His thumb stayed on your clit, keeping you on edge, while his finger worked inside you, stretching you, exploring you, driving you further into bliss.

Your body strained against the cuffs that held your hands behind your back, your wrists pressed against the edge of his desk. It was an awkward position, but the discomfort barely registered under the waves of pleasure he was pulling from you.

“Alec,” you whimpered, your voice shaky and breathless. Your eyes met his, pleading for something you couldn’t even put into words. His gaze softened at the sound of your voice, his lips curving into a gentle smile.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “Just let me take care of you.”

You moaned softly as he added a second finger, the stretch making your thighs tremble. The sound was involuntary, a raw expression of how deeply he was affecting you. His fingers curled inside you, finding that perfect spot, and you let out a broken cry, your hips jerking against his hand.

“God, Alec,” you gasped, your voice hitching with every thrust of his fingers. “It feels so—oh—so good.”

His other hand moved to your thigh, holding you steady as he leaned closer, his breath warm against your neck. “I love the way you say my name,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear. “Say it again.”

You could barely form words, your body overwhelmed by the sensations he was giving you. “Alec,” you moaned, louder this time, your voice filled with desperate need. Your head fell back, your body arching as his fingers plunged deeper, his thumb applying just the right pressure to your clit.

“You’re amazing,” he whispered against your skin, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t get enough of you.”

Your breathing quickened, your moans growing louder as he worked you closer to the edge. “Please,” you begged, the word escaping your lips before you could stop it. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he promised, his tone filled with love and reassurance. “Not until you fall apart for me.”

He pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, his lips soft and lingering as his fingers continued their relentless rhythm. You whimpered, your legs trembling, the cuffs digging into your wrists as you tried to ground yourself against the overwhelming pleasure. The desk beneath you felt solid, but it was Alec’s voice, his touch, his presence, that truly anchored you.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his voice trembling with sincerity. “So beautiful, so perfect.”

The intensity built, a tidal wave of pleasure threatening to crash over you. Your moans turned into cries, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. “Alec, I’m—I’m so close—”

“I’ve got you,” he murmured again, his fingers moving faster, his thumb circling your clit with precision. “Let go for me, love. I’m right here.”

And with one more thrust, one more deliberate flick of his thumb, you shattered, your body tensing as pleasure surged through you like a tidal wave. You cried out his name, your head falling forward, your entire body trembling. Alec slowed his movements, drawing out your release with tender care, his lips pressing soft kisses along your jaw.

When you finally opened your eyes, his were already on you, filled with nothing but adoration. “You’re incredible,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from your face. 

Alec reached behind you, his touch gentle as he fumbled with the cuffs holding your wrists. The metal clicked open, and your arms fell free. He caught them, rubbing soothing circles into your wrists, his eyes scanning you for any signs of discomfort. “Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern.

You nodded, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Better than okay,” you whispered, leaning into his touch.

His hands slid down to your hips, his fingers hooking into your panties and the waistband of your jeans, which were still bunched at your knees. He tugged them down with deliberate slowness, letting the fabric drag against your skin, his eyes locked on yours. Once they hit the floor, he straightened, his gaze roaming over your exposed body.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, the words spilling from his lips as if he couldn’t help himself.

Your heart raced as he reached for his belt, the metallic clink making your breath hitch. His movements were unhurried, almost teasing, as he unbuttoned his pants and slid down the zipper. When he pushed them down just enough to free himself, your eyes fell to his length, and you couldn’t stop the soft, involuntary gasp that escaped you.

Your lips parted, your mouth going dry as desire pooled low in your belly. The sight of him, hard and ready for you, made you shiver with anticipation. Alec caught your expression and chuckled softly, his confidence tempered by the tenderness in his eyes. “Like what you see?” he teased, his tone light, but the heat behind it undeniable.

You swallowed, your voice barely above a whisper. “I do. So much.”

His smile widened, and he stepped closer, guiding you back onto the desk with firm yet gentle hands. The cool surface pressed against your skin, contrasting with the heat radiating from him. He positioned himself between your legs, his hands sliding up your thighs as he leaned over you. His body hovered above yours, his lips brushing against your forehead, then your nose, before capturing your mouth in a deep, searing kiss.

Breaking the kiss, he lined himself up, his tip pressing against your entrance. He paused, his eyes searching yours as if asking for permission, for reassurance. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said, his voice low but steady.

“Don’t stop,” you murmured, your hands gripping his shoulders. “Please, Alec. I need you.”

He pressed forward slowly, his eyes locked on yours as he entered you inch by inch. The stretch was delicious, a perfect mix of pressure and pleasure that made you gasp. Alec groaned, his forehead falling to rest against yours as he slid deeper, his hands gripping your hips to keep you steady.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice rough with need. He paused once he was fully inside, giving you a moment to adjust, his thumb brushing soothing circles into your skin. “Are you okay?”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, and you nodded, breathless. “More than okay,” you whispered. “Move, Alec. Please.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Slowly, he began to move, his hips rolling against yours in a steady, deliberate rhythm. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through you, your body arching to meet his. His hands roamed over your body, one sliding to cradle the back of your neck while the other gripped your hip, guiding you into his movements.

“You’re amazing,” he breathed, his voice full of awe. 

Your moans filled the room, mixing with his groans as he quickened his pace. The desk beneath you creaked with each thrust, but neither of you cared.

Alec’s pace quickened gradually, his thrusts deeper, more deliberate, each one hitting the perfect spot that made your toes curl and your breath hitch. His forehead pressed against yours, his eyes half-lidded but still focused on you, as though he couldn’t bear to look away. Every sound you made—every gasp, whimper, and moan—seemed to spur him on, his movements growing more passionate, more urgent.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, his voice rough and breathless. His hands slid down your sides, his thumbs brushing along your skin as if to memorize every curve. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

Your hands gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you arched beneath him. “Alec,” you whimpered, your voice trembling with pleasure. “Don’t stop. Please… don’t stop.”

His lips captured yours in a hungry kiss, his tongue brushing against yours, swallowing your moans as his hips moved with an unrelenting rhythm. The desk beneath you rocked slightly, the cool surface grounding you as his warmth enveloped you completely. His hands moved to your thighs, gripping them firmly as he hitched your legs higher around his waist, changing the angle.

The new position sent a sharp jolt of pleasure through your core, and you cried out, breaking the kiss to gasp his name. Alec groaned at the sound, his fingers digging into your flesh as his thrusts deepened. “You’re amazing,” he breathed, his lips brushing against your jaw, trailing kisses down your neck. “So perfect. I can feel how close you are.”

You whimpered in response, your body tightening around him, every nerve alight with the pleasure he was giving you. His hands wandered, one sliding to the small of your back to lift you closer to him, the other tangling in your hair as he pressed his lips to the hollow of your throat. His movements were unrestrained now, each thrust sending a delicious wave of heat through you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Alec,” you gasped, your voice breaking as your hands clutched at his back. “I… I’m so close.”

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice a mix of love and desperation. He kissed the corner of your mouth, then your temple, his lips lingering as his hips rolled against yours. “Let go for me, love. I want to feel all of you.”

The words, paired with the intensity of his movements, sent you spiraling. Your body arched into his, your head falling back as pleasure crashed over you in waves, leaving you trembling and breathless. His name tore from your lips as you came undone beneath him, your walls tightening around him as you rode the high.

Alec groaned deeply, his grip on your hips tightening as he thrust into you one last time, finding his release with a shuddering breath. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his arms wrapping around you as his body trembled against yours. You felt his lips press a soft, lingering kiss to your skin, his breath warm and uneven.

For a long moment, the two of you stayed like that, tangled together on the desk, your hearts pounding in sync. Alec finally lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours, filled with a tenderness that made your chest ache. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his thumb grazing your cheek as he smiled.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered, his voice still rough but filled with emotion. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let you go.”

You smiled back, your hands sliding up to cup his face. “Good,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the lingering tremor in your body. “Because I don’t ever want you to.”

He leaned down, kissing you deeply, slowly, as if to seal the moment. When he finally pulled back, his lips still hovering over yours, his smile widened. “Stay here,” he murmured, brushing another kiss to your forehead. “Let me take care of you.”

And as he gently lifted you from the desk, his arms strong and steady around you, you knew without a doubt that he meant every word.