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cutehoons02 · 2 months ago

Text

Speed lovers

*pairing: illegal racer driver Sunghoon x university Girl

*trope: stepbrother and sister/bad boy-good girl

*synopsis: You hated Sunghoon’s family but above all you hated him. Your mother had remarried with Sunghoon’s father and brought you to live with them, against your dream of moving to Paris but there was something even more that you did not tolerate: Sunghoon. It was the representation of the bad boy from fanfiction, cold, cynical and he only cared about him and his illegal racing but you did not know that he had a little sick obsession of you and that you were his favorite little stepsister and loved to tease you and somehow wanted to have you all to himself

*tags: A lot of tension, the protagonist and Sunghoon can’t stand each other, Sunghoon is definitely obsessed with her, they love to tease each other, Sunghoon is slightly a womanizer, description of a car race, lots of kisses, jealousy, manipulation, fake innocent girl, Masturbation, fingering, sucking, unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) statement, pet names (princess, slut) (idiot,hoon,ice prince) +18,fluffy

12.k (🩶)

(English is not my native language) Jungwon

The front door slammed shut with a dull thud. Sunghoon ran a careless hand through his ice-colored hair as he threw the keys onto the table. The smell of gasoline, smoke, and his expensive cologne still clung to his clothes, the black leather jacket fitting perfectly over his broad shoulders. Another night, another race. Another pile of dirty money was hidden in the secret hideout he shared with his friends, who were also his rivals.

He dropped heavily onto the sofa, legs spread in a relaxed posture, but his eyes immediately locked onto her.

His stepsister was there, curled up on the couch with an iPad in her hands, absorbed in one of her endless fashion websites, while at the same time sketching some of her designs. She was wearing one of those ridiculously short skirts that drove him crazy – and not in a good way. Tonight’s was gray, paired with a pastel pink t-shirt featuring a little bow in the center. Sunghoon sighed, raising an eyebrow.

"Tell me you're at least planning to sleep in pajamas and not in these dresses."

You looked up from the iPad, confused. "What’s your problem now?" you asked, eyeing him.

"Problem? None. But honestly, every time I see you, it feels like I’ve walked into a toy store for little girls."

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "It’s not my fault you don’t understand anything about fashion."

"Oh no, I assure you, I understand perfectly. It’s just that you look like you’ve stepped out of a '90s cartoon—wait, no, more precisely, from one of those mangas."

You shot him a glare before going back to scrolling through the iPad. Sunghoon leaned back against the couch, propping his elbow on the backrest, looking at you with a mischievous smile.

"What are you looking for this time? Another doll outfit? Or maybe some socks with bows?"

You ignored him. He, of course, wasn’t the type to accept silence.

"You know, I wonder if you dress like this just to annoy me."

"And what if I do?" you retorted, raising your gaze challengingly.

Sunghoon smiled slightly. He knew you liked to play, and he was good at it too.

"Then it means you want my attention." You looked at him, disgusted, and rolled your eyes.

"Not even in my worst nightmares." He laughed. Then, without warning, he leaned toward you and brushed his fingers lightly over the hem of your skirt—a light touch, but enough to make you stiffen.

"You should be careful going out dressed like that." You jerked back, eyes wide. "What the hell are you doing?!"

Sunghoon just smiled innocently. "Just a bit of advice. You know how it is... There are men out there who might misunderstand."

"Oh? And you’d be one of them?"

He didn’t answer immediately. He just looked at you, his dark eyes shining in the dim light of the living room. Then, he slid back into a more comfortable position on the couch as if nothing had happened.

"Me?" He ran a hand through his hair casually. "I’m the least of your problems." You stared at him for a moment, lips pressed together. "Speaking of problems... I know you have a bit of an obsession with cars."

Your tone was light, but Sunghoon caught the suspicious undertone. "So?"

"So… I’ve heard some rumors. People say there’s someone in town who races at night. Underground races. Big money deals." Sunghoon tilted his head, amused. "And you believe every rumor, princess?"

"Not when they involve just anyone. But when they involve you… yeah. I wouldn’t be surprised if, underneath that facade, you’re just a thug."

He was silent for a moment. Then, he leaned in again, too close. His face was just a few inches from yours.

"You know, you could even scare me if you weren’t so adorably annoying and curious about what I do." You blushed slightly at the proximity but didn’t pull back. "And you could seem innocent with that rich-kid aura if you weren’t a damn delinquent."

Sunghoon smiled again, that look of his promising nothing good. "Well, it looks like we’re both screwed." And with that, he stood up, leaving you there, heart pounding too fast and too many thoughts running through your head.

The light from the phone illuminated T/l’s face, Jungwon’s girlfriend and a university journalist, as she scrolled through the videos saved in her gallery.

"Here it is. Look." You hesitated, reaching out, but as soon as the screen showed the images, your heart sank.

The video was shot with a phone, probably amidst the crowd. The neon lights illuminated the asphalt, and the shouts of the people drowned out the deafening roar of the engines. The shaky shot moved to the makeshift podium, where Sunghoon raised a trophy with an arrogant smile. He wore his usual leather jacket, his ice-colored hair ruffled by the wind, and the adrenaline still visible in his gaze. He looked different. Not the usual guy who liked teasing you at home, but someone dangerous, untouchable, and attractive. Then it happened, a girl made her way through the crowd and climbed up beside him. She was exactly his type: long legs, tiny shorts, heavy makeup. The opposite of you.

He barely looked at her before she took his face in her hands and kissed him. The entire crowd screamed in delirium as if it were a scene from a movie. Sunghoon let her, even kissing her back for a few seconds, before pulling away with an amused smile, and your stomach tightened. You rolled your eyes and handed the phone back to T/l.

'Don’t tell me you’re jealous,' she said, laughing, raising an eyebrow and offering a mischievous grin.

"Me? Jealous?" you forced a laugh. "Please."

Yet, there was something that bothered you. Not because you wanted Sunghoon—he was your damn stepbrother—but the thought of him letting those girls touch him, girls so different from you, sparked an inexplicable irritation inside you.

'It’s not exactly the safest place in the world, you know? The first time I went, if it hadn’t been for Jungwon, I would’ve been busted by the cops. Those races aren’t just races. People bet, there are fights, and the police could show up at any moment... Sunghoon’s one of the best, but it’s still dangerous, and he’s not the type of guy you should be with.'

You looked away, biting your lip. Dangerous. That word described Sunghoon perfectly.

That night, at home, you couldn’t stop thinking about that video. You were sitting on the couch, knees drawn to your chest, still wearing your usual skirt and a white hoodie. You stared at the black phone screen, almost afraid to open that video again.

"Are you always this thoughtful, or is it just when I come home?"

You jumped. Sunghoon was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, a smile somewhere between amused and suspicious. His hair was still messy, and his dark eyes shone under the dim light of the living room.

"What do you want?" You tried to sound indifferent.

"You." — he replied, chuckling when he saw your shocked expression. "Calm down, I’m joking. But seriously, what’s going on with you?"

You hesitated. Should you tell him you knew about the races? About the video? And the illegal things he did every weekend?

"Nothing," you said with a forced smile. He raised an eyebrow. He didn’t believe you and slowly moved closer until he sat down beside you on the couch. He stretched his arm over the backrest, leaning in slightly, and now you were too close to him.

"You’re always so strange, but tonight, it’s even worse."

"I’m not strange," you said, glaring at him. He leaned in even more, bringing his face closer to yours. "Then why won’t you look me in the eyes?"

You swallowed. Damn, he always knew how to make you uncomfortable.

"I don’t have anything to say to you, why should I look you in the face?"

"Oh no?" — he tilted his head. "What if I told you I know that you’ve figured me out?"

Your heart skipped a beat. "What am I supposed to have figured out about you?"

"Come on, princess, you’re not good at hiding things. You paled as soon as I looked at you."

You bit your lip, trying to stay calm. Sunghoon was too smart not to realize that you knew something.

"I saw a video." He tensed slightly, but the smile didn’t fade. "Which one of many?"

"Of you on the podium." You saw him clench his jaw, his gaze darkening.

"While you were getting money with that girl." Silence. Then, suddenly, Sunghoon burst out laughing.

"Wait..." he ran a hand through his hair, confused but amused. "Are you telling me you’re mad because you saw me with a girl and not because I race and take money illegally?"

"NO!" you answered quickly, too quickly.

"Sure, sure. Then explain to me why you have that face."

"Because you’re disgusting, that’s why!" He stopped, raising an eyebrow. Interesting. "Oh really? Why should I be disgusting? I’m 22, everyone our age does things!"

"You go around kissing those... those..." You were searching for the right words, but you were too angry.

"Those?" he leaned even closer, his face only a few inches from yours. "Tell me, princess, how would you define them?" You felt trapped. His gaze was burning, amused, and provocative.

"It doesn’t matter." You looked away. He tilted his head with a devilish smile. "You know, I didn’t think you were the jealous type."

"I’m not jealous." He laughed again because you were so small compared to him.

"Oh, sure you are, you’re adorable when you’re annoyed."

"Fuck you." He shook his head, amused, before leaning in and whispering in your ear:

"You’re too sweet to say such words." A shiver ran down your spine. Damn Sunghoon, and whoever invented him. You stood up from the couch and went to your room, which was the only place in the world where Sunghoon never entered. It was as if he were afraid to step into that sanctuary of innocence that was your bedroom, and if he ever did, he would ruin you and bend you to his sick, twisted pleasures.

"Tell me again, why am I doing this crazy thing?"

You were standing in front of the mirror in T/l's room, nervously tugging at the hem of your skirt. She, on the other hand, was completely at ease, sitting on the bed as she applied lip gloss to her lips.

'Because you're curious.' she replied with a mischievous yet friendly smile. 'And because you want to see for yourself if your brother is the racing devil.'

You turned sharply and threw a pillow at her face. "He's not my brother."

'Oh, sorry. Your stepbrother, with whom you've been living for two years and who can’t stop giving you dirty looks and would like to make you his, in any way possible."

"He doesn't give me dirty looks! And he doesn't want to make me his. If I didn't exist, that'd be better for him."

'Sure, right. We all know he has a soft spot for you and has seriously told you not to mess around or behave badly because sooner or later, he'd find out.'

You huffed, avoiding a reply. You weren’t there for Sunghoon. You just wanted to understand why those races had such a dangerous allure for him. When you arrived at the parking lot, Jungwon was already there, leaning against his car with his usual cheerful smile.

-Finally! I thought you were gonna bail on me- he said to T/l, hugging her and kissing her on the forehead. Then he turned to you with curiosity. -And this is your friend?-

T/l nodded, smiling. 'Yes! It’s her first time coming to a race, so try not to scare her.'

Jungwon laughed while fastening his seatbelt and kissed T/l lightly on the lips. -Don’t worry, you know I’m the harmless one of the group-

And he was right. He had a completely different energy from Sunghoon: cheerful, carefree, respectful, and you could see how he looked at T/l—he was deeply in love with her. He immediately made you feel at ease, without that annoying tension you always felt around Sunghoon. But that calm didn’t last long.

When you arrived at the racing area, you felt your stomach tighten. The air was thick with smoke and the smell of gasoline, the neon lights illuminating the faces of strangers, all with the same excited and adrenaline-hungry look. The cars, perfect and shiny, were parked in a line, ready to compete. It was another world, Sunghoon's world.

-Hey, stick with T/l- Jungwon came over and gave you a small hug as if to reassure you. A simple gesture, but so different from Sunghoon. -Jay will be here soon. He’ll keep an eye on you, okay?-

You both nodded, but before he could add anything else, a familiar voice rang out through the chaos of the crowd.

"What the hell are you doing here, Y/n?!"

Your body stiffened at the sight of Sunghoon pushing his way through the crowd, his dark eyes locked on you with pure fury. He was wearing his usual leather jacket, his ice-colored hair tousled, and his dangerous gaze with an aura that exuded charm, but also unease.

-Wow, wow. Calm down, man- Jungwon raised his hands in surrender, confused. -You know Y/n? She’s T/l’s friend-

Sunghoon ignored the question and moved closer to you, grabbing your wrist with a force that didn’t hurt but made it clear he was pissed.

"Come with me."

'Sunghoon, leave her alone! We came together to enjoy the race.' T/l intervened.

"Shut up," he growled, not even looking at her, and Jungwon stepped in front of you and his girl. -Don’t talk to T/l like that, Sunghoon. Do we understand each other? What’s the problem if Y/n comes to watch an illegal race?-

Sunghoon finally turned toward him, a cold smile on his face. "The problem is that you brought my stepsister to a place where she shouldn’t be." Jungwon’s face darkened. He understood everything in an instant.

-She’s...?-

"Yes," Sunghoon replied furiously. He had never imagined seeing you in his territory and hated seeing you so beautiful in the eyes of everyone, especially dangerous people.

Jungwon seemed to bite a curse between his teeth. Then he turned to T/l with a look that said (You should have told me earlier, right?)

'I didn’t think it was a problem...' murmured T/l, uncertain.

Sunghoon laughed, with no trace of amusement. "It’s not a problem. It’s THE problem."

You lifted your chin, trying not to be intimidated. "You’re not my guardian, Sunghoon." He stared at you, his pupils as dark as night. "Too bad you’re under my roof, so it’s my business."

Jungwon sighed. -Listen, man. I didn’t want to put her in danger. I’m keeping an eye on her, and Jay will be here soon.-

Sunghoon scoffed, not letting go of your wrist. He was furious.

"No," he said quietly. "She’s coming with me."

"And what if I don’t want to?" you hissed, struggling to free yourself. He looked down at you, his face coming a little closer to yours. Too close.

"You’re gonna force me to show you the side of me you don’t want to know, bitch."

Your heart was pounding in your chest. Damn Sunghoon. Damn this place. Damn you, for knowing this wouldn’t end well. You jerked free from Sunghoon’s grip, your chest rising and falling with anger.

"I’m not going with you." you hissed, looking him straight in the eyes. "I don’t trust you."

His gaze darkened, his bottom lip twitching slightly as if holding something back.

"Say that again?" he said, glaring at you furiously.

You swallowed. You knew you were provoking him, but you were tired of pretending his possessive attitude didn’t get on your nerves.

"I said I don’t trust you." T/l immediately grabbed your arm, trying to calm the situation. 'Hoon, come on, don’t overreact. We’re just here to watch the race, and Jay will be here soon.'

He didn’t answer. He was still staring at you with those dark, piercing eyes, so intense you felt glued to the ground. Finally, the tension broke when a familiar voice made its way through the crowd.

<<Oh, look who we have here!>> Jay said, approaching with his usual confident smile, a girl by his side. He was dressed similarly to Sunghoon, leather jacket, and dark jeans, but he had a more relaxed, friendly vibe and held Jay’s hand tightly in his.

<<Tonight is full of new faces,>> he commented, looking at you with interest before his gaze shifted to Sunghoon. <<Problems?>>

Sunghoon took a deep breath as if trying to control himself. Then he ran a hand through his hair and responded in a low voice,

"She's with you, Jay," Sunghoon said to the guy with the sharp jawline.

Jay raised an eyebrow, then turned to you and T/l. <<Oh, so you’re under my supervision?>>

"Don’t exaggerate," Sunghoon retorted with a smirk. "I just want to make sure no one lays a hand on her."

Jay stood up, shaking his head, and Sunghoon ignored him, moving closer to whisper something in Jay’s ear. When he approached Jay, his best friend, his tone dropped lower and became sharper.

"Keep an eye on her. If anyone tries anything with her, I’ll make them regret it. But most importantly..." he paused briefly, casting a glance at you before continuing. "I want to know if she’s staring at anyone. If she looks too much at a guy if she smiles too much at someone... if she seems interested in anyone."

Jay suppressed a laugh. <<What are you, her stalker?>> he said, laughing.

"No," Sunghoon replied with a slow, dangerous smile. "I’m the biggest problem for anyone who thinks they can have her."

Jay shook his head, amused. <<You’re really beyond help!>>

Then Sunghoon turned toward Jungwon, his opponent for the night. The two exchanged a glance, mutual respect mixed with fierce competition.

You tried to listen, but the music and the chaos of the crowd drowned everything out.

When Sunghoon walked away from Jay, he seemed more relaxed. He greeted you with that usual malicious smile, the one that only meant one thing: "We’ll talk about this later." You felt a shiver run down your spine.

The air was thick with the smell of gasoline and burnt tires. The crowd was buzzing, shouting names, placing bets, and the engines roared like beasts ready to be unleashed. You were there, standing next to Jay, his girlfriend, and T/l, your heart racing as you watched the cars lined up at the starting line.

Sunghoon was in his car, a Nero Phantom, the name he had given his vehicle. Black as night, with almost invisible dark stripes under the streetlights, it seemed like a moving shadow, a ghost on the road. No one knew how fast it was, except for those unlucky enough to have raced against him.

Jay leaned slightly toward you, his usual sly smile on his lips. <<Ready to see why they call him Ice Prince?>>

You turned to him, confused. "Ice Prince?"

Jay nodded. <<Yeah, Sunghoon is the coldest of them all. He’s not afraid of anything or anyone, not even Heeseung, who’s the strongest around here. While the others lose their heads, he stays ice-cold. He never makes a mistake. And when he drives...>> he gestured toward the track, <<it’s like time stops for him.>>

You turned again toward Sunghoon, who had by now lowered his car window, showing a confident smile before focusing back on the road.

The traffic light signaled the way and in an instant, the cars shot off, like bullets fired into the darkness.

Sunghoon's Nero Phantom took the lead immediately, but Jungwon was right behind, glued to his bumper. The first stretch was a long straightaway, where speed mattered more than technique. Sunghoon’s engine roared as he shifted gears, gaining an advantage over the others.

But then came the first turn. This was where the difference between a good driver and a champion showed. Jungwon tried to pass on the inside, squeezing into the small space left by Sunghoon. But Sunghoon didn’t leave any room. At the last second, he turned with surgical precision, braking later than seemed possible, making the car slide just enough to close the trajectory.

"Dammit... he’s insane," you muttered without realizing it.

Jay looked at you, laughing. <<Told you. He never messes up.>>

But Jungwon didn’t give up. He moved to the outside, trying to cut off Sunghoon in the acceleration, but Sunghoon anticipated him again. Cold. Sharp. Calculating. At every turn, every braking point, he seemed to play with the other drivers, as if he already knew what they were going to do before they did it. He passed with chilling confidence, without hesitation. It was like he was dancing on the road.

The last turn was the finishing blow. Heeseung, who was in third place, tried to attack both of them, risking everything, but Sunghoon did something insane: instead of defending, he let Heeseung pass for a second, only to cut the trajectory and pass him again on the exit of the curve.

'What a son of a bitch...' T/l hissed, incredulous. You couldn’t even speak. It was hypnotizing watching him drive. And when his car crossed the finish line first, the crowd erupted in cheers and applause. Sunghoon Park had won. Again. But while everyone expected him to get out of the car to collect his reward, he did something unexpected.

He got out of the car calmly, his hands stuffed into his leather jacket pockets. His face showed no emotion as if it had just been another normal night. He barely lifted his chin and without saying a word, he gestured for Jay to go collect the money in his place.

<<Wait, aren’t you taking them?>> Jay asked, surprised. Sunghoon didn’t respond, and his eyes were already locked on you. In that instant, you realized that for you, the night wasn’t over.

Before you could say anything, before you could even move, he was already in front of you. He grabbed your wrist, not squeezing too tightly, but enough to make you realize that you had no choice.

"Come with me," he said

"Let me go, Sunghoon!" you protested, trying to free yourself from his grip. But he didn’t slow down. He was stronger. More determined. He didn’t care if you were struggling, didn’t care if you glared at him. He dragged you without any.

"I told you to let me go!" you insisted, trying to plant your feet on the ground.

Sunghoon stopped suddenly and looked down at you, his dark eyes filled with irritation. His expression sent chills down your spine.

"If you keep throwing a tantrum, I might get pissed off," he said, his voice calm on the surface, but there was danger hiding in his words.

You swallowed, feeling your heart pound in your chest. But you would never give him the satisfaction of letting him see that his tone had rattled you.

"You know what? You're just a bully, Sunghoon. You like to boss people around, deciding what I should do when I should do it, and you think everyone should bend to your will."

A sharp smile appeared on his lips as he moved a little closer. Too close.

"Oh, really?" he murmured, lowering his face until it brushed against your ear. "Strange. Because every time I take your hand, you come with me."

Your breath caught. Was it true? Was he manipulating you? Or was it just his confidence that made you follow him as if he knew exactly how to make you do what he wanted?

Before you could respond, you turned to the passenger seat and slammed the door shut with a quick gesture.

"Try to move, and you'll see what I’ll do," he whispered through the window, his tone low and dangerous.

You bit your lip, crossing your arms in anger as you watched him walk around the car and get into the driver's side.

As soon as the door slammed shut, the engine roared like a beast freed from its cage. He didn’t even give you time to buckle your seatbelt.

He slammed the accelerator without warning, and the car shot forward like a missile, making you bump lightly against the seat. The asphalt beneath you turned into a dark river, the streetlights stretching like glowing trails as the speedometer climbed rapidly.

100 km/h. 120. 150. You didn’t take your eyes off him. You weren’t scared.

Sunghoon didn’t flinch.

He glanced at you sideways, his black eyes glowing in the dashboard light. He was studying you.

"Aren't you scared?" he asked, his voice calmer, though the danger was still there.

You raised your chin in defiance. "Should I be?" His smile slowly widened. Cold. Sharp.

"Usually, good girls like you start whining when I go too fast. They beg me to slow down. They beg me to stop."

You crossed your arms over your chest. "I’m not like the other girls you hang out with."

Sunghoon made a strange sound. "Oh, I know that very well."

180 km/h. 190. 200. The engine roared, and the speed pressed you against the seat, but the real jolt came when he turned completely toward you, his eyes burning with something dark.

"You’re not like them… but that doesn't mean you can do whatever you want."

You opened your mouth to respond but didn’t have the time. Sunghoon suddenly swerved and turned the car onto a quiet, isolated side street, away from the rest of the city.

The roar of the engine faded as he slowed down, coming to a complete stop. The only sound left was your rapid breathing.

You quickly turned toward him, ready to shout at him, but you didn’t get the chance. Sunghoon turned quickly and brushed his thumb over your lips. A light touch. But it froze the blood in your veins.

"You've been a bad girl tonight," he murmured, his voice low and dark. "And I don't like that."

For a moment, you stared at him in silence, then a sarcastic laugh escaped your lips.

"Oh? Strange, because judging by the type of girls I see you with, they seem to be just your type."

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow, his smile becoming slow and dangerous.

"What type?"

"The ones who come to watch you race. The ones all bold, with skimpy clothes and a deadpan look." You looked him straight in the eyes. "The bad girls who drool over you."

"And does that bother you?"

"Not at all," you said, crossing your arms. It was a lie. And he knew it right away.

"Mmm," he nodded slowly. He was watching you. Analyzing every reaction, then shaking his head with a smile.

"I don't like liars either."

He lowered his gaze. His fingers slid slowly over the bare skin of your thigh, tracing small circles. It was at that moment that your breath truly stopped.

"You see..." he continued in a low voice, his thumb still brushing your lips. "I like having control. And I like it even more when someone tries to challenge me."

You bit your lip, trying to ignore the shiver running down your spine.

"It’s not a lie," you insisted, crossing your arms in defiance. "I wasn’t jealous at all."

Sunghoon studied you with an unreadable look, his black eyes seeming to dig into you. But you didn’t let him win.

"And anyway, you're not even my type," you turned to look at him, and slowly, an arrogant smile curved his lips.

"Oh no? Then tell me, what kind of guys do you like?"

You raised your chin proudly. "Good guys. Polite, respectful, romantic. Not the ones who spend their nights racing down the streets like they're invincible."

Sunghoon’s eyes darkened. He didn’t like what you were saying.

"My ex..." you whispered, but at the same time, Sunghoon heard you, and you didn’t even finish the sentence. Sunghoon moved so quickly that you barely noticed.

He grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

"I don’t want to hear any other asshole's name come out of your mouth," he hissed.

He was jealous. You realized it right away. It was subtle, but you saw it in the details: his clenched jaw, the veins in his tense hands, his strong grip on the steering wheel just moments before.

A shiver of realization ran down your spine. You tilted your head slightly and looked at him with a spark of mischievous amusement.

"Wait a minute..." you murmured with a provocative smile. "Are you jealous?"

Sunghoon didn’t answer. But the way his gaze became lethal gave you the confirmation, and you decided to strike.

"Does it bother you that someone else had me all to himself before you?"

It was a moment. A blink of an eye.

Sunghoon faltered. For a second, he seemed to lose control, as if your words had ignited a fire in his stomach he couldn’t tame, and then, without warning, he crashed his mouth against yours.

The kiss was neither sweet nor gentle. It was fierce, burning, angry.

His lips moved over yours with a searing intensity, as if he wanted to brand you, make you his, erase with one touch the memory of any other guy. He grabbed you by the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair as he deepened the kiss, leaving you no escape.

You lost your breath. It was too much. Too intense, too violent, too much him. His hands never left you, not for a second. One held you firmly by the waist, and the other slid down your back, pressing you against him with an almost desperate urgency.

He was thirsty. For you. For everything that you were. And he didn’t even give you time to catch your breath before biting your lower lip. Hard. Possessive. A muffled moan escaped your lips, and Sunghoon immediately took the chance to slip his tongue into your mouth, claiming you entirely.

"Say my name," he ordered against your lips, his voice hoarse and low.

You looked at him, your breath still uneven. He didn’t want just to kiss you. He wanted to be the only one. The only one to make you tremble. The only one who could push you this far, but you wouldn’t make it easy for him.

"Why should I?" you murmured, trying to hide the frantic beating of your heart. Sunghoon smiled. But it wasn’t a kind smile.

"Then I’ll have to make you change your mind."

And before you could reply, he kissed you again, harder, greedier.

Sunghoon pulled away slowly, letting his warm breath brush against your reddened lips. His eyes were fixed on yours, as black as the night, burning with a satisfied and dangerous fire.

Then, a sharp smile curled his lips. "I’m not your type, huh?" he whispered, tilting his head in amusement. "Strange, because you seemed to enjoy my kiss quite a lot."

Your heart did a flip. That bastard. You turned away abruptly, turning your face to the side to hide the blush rising to your cheeks. Your breath was still uneven, your lips were swollen and warm from the kiss he had stolen so violently.

"What’s wrong? Now you’re being shy?" His tone was provocative, his eyes full of amusement. "Strange, because just a minute ago you seemed pretty… involved."

You clenched your fists. You would never give him the satisfaction of seeing you crumble. "You’re an idiot," you hissed. He shrugged, still wearing that annoying smile.

"Maybe." He reached for the ignition, but before starting the car, he leaned in again, his face only inches from yours.

"I suggest you get some rest tonight," he murmured against your skin. "Because tomorrow, it will be quite a problem for you to look me in the eyes without thinking about what happened."

Sunghoon stayed in the car for a moment after he dropped you off at home. That little smirk still on his lips, you had retreated to your room like a frightened fawn. Too late, too late to escape from him. He knew now you would do nothing but think about that kiss. His touches. His hands on you. Him.

He ran his tongue over his lips, still swollen from the fierce kiss he had given you that had made you tremble. He had felt your breath become irregular, your fingers subconsciously gripping him, and that drove him crazy.

You had tried to provoke him, to challenge him, but he had won, and now, in the days that followed, it would be fun to see how long you would resist before breaking, before admitting that you didn’t hate him, that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

You avoided Sunghoon like the plague: If you were in the living room and he walked in, you’d find an excuse to leave; if you heard him in the kitchen, you’d wait for him to leave before going down. You didn’t look at him. You didn’t speak to him. You pretended he didn’t exist, but he wasn’t someone who accepted being ignored.

That night, your pencil slid across the paper, tracing delicate and precise lines. The clock showed 1:12 AM, and the silence in the house was almost deafening. Your fingers were dirty with charcoal, and your eyes were tired, but your passion for fashion kept you awake.

You stiffened immediately. Your parents were out of town, and the house should have been empty. A shiver ran down your spine, and your heart began to beat hard against your ribs as you slowly stood up from the chair. You grabbed one of the scissors you used for fabric and, with light steps, made your way to your bedroom door. You poked your head out slightly and saw him.

Sunghoon was leaning against the wall, one hand pressed against his side, his face lowered. Blood dripped from a cut above his eyebrow, and his lips, red and swollen, looked like they’d been hit. His white shirt had some dark stains that didn’t look good.

It wasn’t the first time you saw him come back in bad shape, but this time it seemed worse.

“Sunghoon?” Your voice was more uncertain than you wanted, and he slowly lifted his gaze, and despite his battered face, his lips curled into a cheeky smile. “Oh, my little sister is still awake, how sweet.” A knot tightened in your stomach, and you slowly walked closer to him. “What happened to you?”

He sighed and tried to move, but stumbled on the stairs. You instinctively grabbed his arm to steady him. His body was warm, and his scent was a mix of leather, gasoline, and metal.

“There’s no need to touch me, little one. I know you can’t stand me.” You looked at him carefully and sighed because he was acting like an idiot.

“You’ve got blood all over your face, idiot! I can’t just ignore it!”

Sunghoon chuckled softly but quickly stopped with a slight groan. “You know what you are?” he muttered as you guided him to the living room. “A little angel with a sharp tongue, and someone should put you in your place.”

“And you’re an idiot,” you said as you gently pushed him onto the couch, and he collapsed with a heavy sigh. You opened the bathroom cabinet to get the first-aid kit while he watched you with his usual mischievous look.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you snapped as you returned to him.

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “I like it when you worry about me.”

You blushed but tried to ignore him. You grabbed a cotton ball and soaked it with disinfectant. “This is going to hurt.”

“You’re not very gentle, you know?” he said as he watched you touch his face.

You pressed the cotton onto his wound, and he grimaced, clenching his teeth. “Shit… you could’ve at least warned me.”

“I did.” Sunghoon looked at you with a challenging smile. “Are you always this stubborn?”

“Are you always this reckless?” you retorted, continuing to dab at his eyebrow. “What did you do this time?”

He shrugged, apparently unfazed. “Business.”

“Illegal business, you mean.”

“Princess, you know I can’t tell you anything.”

“And you know I hate when you call me that.” He gave a sly smile. “And that’s exactly why I do it.”

You slapped him lightly on the injured shoulder, and he groaned.

“Okay, okay, calm down! You’re violent for being a little princess with cute skirts and bows.”

You shot him a glare. “And you’re really stupid for being a successful pilot.”

Sunghoon laughed, his dark gaze locked on yours. “Admit it, though… if it weren’t for me, your life would be boring.”

“If it weren’t for you, my life would be normal,” you replied, pressing the bandage against his wound. “And maybe I’d be in Paris chasing my dream, instead of spending nights cleaning the blood of my idiot stepbrother.”

Sunghoon stopped smiling. “Paris, huh?”

You nodded without looking at him. “Paris.”

There was a brief silence. Then, his voice dropped lower. “And when were you planning to tell me?”

You looked up at him, finding him more serious than usual. “It’s none of your business, Sunghoon.”

He nodded slowly, then leaned slightly forward, shortening the distance between you. “No, but it concerns me that I want to see how long you can keep pretending.”

You felt your heart skip a beat. “What are you talking about?”

His lips curled into a half-dangerous smile. “You know very well.”

Your heart was in your throat. He wasn’t just a problem—he was the problem. And you knew that no matter how hard you tried to escape, Sunghoon would never truly let you go.

After finishing disinfecting his face, you looked at him and said, “Hoon, you need to wash up. I can’t disinfect you if you’re still covered in blood and dirt.”

He ran his tongue over his lips, the usual provocative smirk still on his face, despite the cut above his eyebrow. “Then strip me.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Not.” He flopped more comfortably on the couch, spreading his legs carelessly. “I’m too tired to move. If you want me to wash, you’ll have to help me.” You bit your lip, unsure whether to answer him or just ignore him. But he knew you too well and knew that eventually, you’d give in. “No way, Sunghoon.”

He raised an eyebrow, licking his lower lip as his gaze analyzed you. “Then I’ll wait all night. But you’re not going anywhere.”

You swallowed. He always threw these challenges at you, and you hated admitting that you always ended up accepting them. With slightly trembling hands, you reached for the edge of his bloodstained shirt. You felt his muscles tense under the fabric as you slowly lifted it. Sunghoon didn’t move, didn’t say anything, but his gaze was fixed on you as if savoring every little reaction.

Once you removed the shirt, revealing his warm skin, marked by scratches and bruises, you held your breath.

“Now the pants,” he said, amused. You froze. “You’re a pervert, Sunghoon.”

He smiled slyly. “And you’re adorable when you’re embarrassed.”

You gritted your teeth, trying not to give him the satisfaction. Slowly, you unbuttoned the pants and unzipped them, carefully avoiding looking him in the eyes. You slid the jeans down his legs until he was left in just his tight Supreme boxers, tight enough to make you quickly look away.

You stood up abruptly, your cheeks burning. “I’ll go get your bath ready, come wash up.”

He got up calmly, walking toward the bathroom with a confidence that irritated you. You watched him enter the bathroom, and he looked at you when he put his hands in his boxers to pull them down. You quickly looked down at the floor, finding it very interesting while he stepped into the bathtub. You bit the inside of your cheek. You needed to leave immediately, but as you turned to go, he whispered:

“Stay here.”

His voice stopped you before you could reach the door. You slowly turned around. “Why should I?”

He leaned against the edge of the tub, his messy hair falling into his face still dry, his gaze darker than usual. “Wash my hair,” he said as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

“Sunghoon—”

“Don’t bother saying no.” You huffed, crossing your arms. “You know you’re unbearable, right?” He chuckled softly. "And you know that, if someone other than me asked you, you’d do it without complaining."

You couldn't agree with him, but you knew you’d never deny help to someone who was hurt. You approached the tub, kneeling next to him. Your hands sank into his hair, and slowly you began to lather it. It was soft under your fingers, silent. It was so rare to see Sunghoon so calm. All you could hear were your breaths and the faint sound of the water flowing.

Your fingers moved more gently, massaging his scalp. He closed his eyes, tilting his head slightly towards you. Then, a sound made you stop—a moan. He whispered your name, almost as if it slipped out of his lips, and you stiffened, your heart pounding in your chest. Only then did you understand why he had loved making you moan his name that night of the kiss? It was a sound that went under your skin, that made something tremble inside.

After washing his hair and leaving him there to relax, you returned to your room, your heart still racing from everything that had just happened. You sat on the bed, trying to catch your breath. Why did Sunghoon always put you in such uncomfortable situations?

After a while, you heard the door open. Sunghoon entered the room, with only a towel draped over his shoulders and sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His silver hair, still damp, fell over his eyes, giving him an even more disheveled and sexy look than usual.

Without saying anything, he sat on your bed, grabbing the hairdryer from your nightstand.

"Dry my hair," he said, taking the towel off his shoulders. You swallowed at the sight of his toned body and stared at him, wide-eyed.

"Sorry?" He lay back slightly, resting on one elbow and crossing his legs as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "You washed my hair, now finish the job."

You huffed, crossing your arms. "You're acting like a spoiled child, Sunghoon."

He smiled to the side. "And you like a good, caring little sister."

"I'm not your damn little sister." His eyes lit up with mischief. "No? Then why are you so cute when you take care of me?"

"You're impossible," you said, staring at him.

He chuckled and waved the hairdryer at you. "Come on, hurry up."

You sighed heavily, grabbing the dryer and turning it on. You approached him, trying to keep a safe distance, but in an instant, Sunghoon grabbed you by the waist and pulled you onto his lap.

"Hey!" you protested, trying to wiggle free. He held you in place with one hand on your back. "This is more comfortable."

Your heart raced in your chest. You could feel his breath against your skin, his big hands resting securely on your hips. Why did he always play with you like this?

You tried to ignore the heat you felt everywhere and began drying his hair. Your fingers moved delicately through his locks, and Sunghoon closed his eyes, enjoying every touch. After a while, a satisfied sigh escaped his lips.

"Your hands are magical, you know?" he murmured, with a small smile.

You blushed slightly. "Shut up." You turned off the dryer and tried to get off his lap, but his hands stopped you immediately. He looked you straight in the eyes, his gaze now deeper, more serious.

"Where do you think you're going?" You swallowed. "I’m done." He shook his head. "I’m not."

And before you could understand what he meant, his lips crashed onto yours again. A hungry, possessive kiss. As if he had been waiting for that moment for far too long. His hands gripped your hips firmly, pulling you even closer to him, making you feel every tense muscle beneath you. You moaned against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, nibbling your lower lip to make you shudder.

"Tell me," he whispered between kisses, his voice hoarse. "Can I make you feel good?"

Your brain is short-circuited. "W-What?"

"You took care of me, now let me take care of you." You bit your lip, feeling the heat spread everywhere. You had never seen Sunghoon so intense, so focused on you, and part of you wanted to run away, but another part was tired of denying what you felt for him.

"Yes..." you whispered barely audibly. Sunghoon smiled against your lips. "Good girl."

Sunghoon made you lie in your bed and your breath was broken, your heartbeat gone mad. Every inch of your skin burned under his attentions, Hoon licked, bit, left marks on your sensitive skin, every bite a mark, every sound that escaped from your lips a further victory for him and laughed against your breast, licking it with exasperating slowness. "So sensitive... and I haven’t done anything yet," he said as he nibbled lightly on your sensitive bud full of his spit. His voice was a harsh whisper, almost a restrained roar. His dark eyes shone with mischief and desire and he touched your chin, forcing you to look at him. "Tell me, what would you do if you saw my cock? Or even worse..." he stooped down, nibbling at your abdomen as his fingers fiddled with your pajama strap, "if it was already inside you?"

A shiver ran through your back when with a single tug he stripped you of both pants and panties. You heard him whistle softly, his eyes fixed on your wet and pulsating center. "Christ, look how you shine... you’re all for me, aren’t you?"

The tip of his finger traced a slow path along your folds, the touch light but devastating. When he pinched your clitoris, your body bowed against him, the fingers sinking between his ice-colored tufts and groaning at his name.

"So responsive..." he whispered, almost amused, before licking you with an exasperating delicacy. "Tell me, do you want me to continue or should I stop here?"

He didn’t even give you time to answer before a finger slid into you, causing you to hold your breath. Hoon grinned at your skin, the eyes burning with pure worship and perversion.

"Damn, I love the way you hold me..."

You said in a low voice "Oh God..." When you felt his tongue biting and licking your clitoris but at the same time pumping into your center your mind was completely clouded.

Hoon wouldn’t stop sucking your clitoris, his sinful tongue playing with you with exasperating slowness, almost as if he wanted to see how far you could resist before begging. The truth? You wouldn’t last much longer.

"Are you feeling well, princess?" His husky voice vibrated against your sensitive skin, making you shiver. "Because you seem to be on the verge of going crazy..."

Asshole. He knew you were on the verge of pleasure and was enjoying every second of your surrender.

You felt him smile at you as he stuck another finger into your hot and pulsating flesh, increasing the rhythm of the thrusts. The contrast between his tongue working on your clitoris and his fingers filling you slowly made you lose control.

"H-Hoon..." your groan was almost a hiccup, fingers clinging to his silvery hair in a desperate attempt to restrain you.

"Mmmh, I love the way you say my name when you’re about to come."

Those words were your ruin. Your body bowed, shaken with pleasure, as you came violently between his lips and fingers. He held you still as you enjoyed every spasm of your orgasm, his gaze glued to you as if he wanted to imprint in his memory the image of you so vulnerable under him.

"Damnation..." he whispered, passing his tongue over your moist lips, his eyes shining with something primordial. "You’re so small, so helpless beneath me... I could take you any way I want."

A shiver ran through your back. The way he said it... the confidence with which he spoke as if it were already written in the destiny that would happen. And you knew he wanted it as much as you did.

You bit your lip, your heart still hammering in your chest as you looked at it with your eyes half-closed. "Then why don’t you?" Whispers, your tone a challenge veiled by sweetness.

Hoon chuckled softly, but his eyes became darker. He approached you, making his body adhere to yours, and the contact of his erection against your skin still hypersensitive made you shudder.

"Not yet." His whisper sent a shiver down your spine. "When I make you mine, I want you to be able to think of nothing but me."

That promise made you tighten your thighs, the desire to be dangerously rekindled. " Presumptuous." You mumbled, trying not to show how much those words had struck you.

But then you noticed something that made you come back to reality: his eyes, still lucid from the pain of the fight. Although his body was strong and imposing, the wounds on his face and arms reminded him that he was not invincible. You bit your lip, then, without thinking, you pushed it slowly on the bed, making it lie down.

"What the hell are you doing?" he mumbled, raising an eyebrow as your breath tickled his skin. You looked down at his wounds, then met his eyes again, and smiled at him, sweet but with a touch of malice. " I’m taking care of you..." whispers, lowering yourself to leave a light kiss on a scratch on his jaw. "Once again."

Hoon snorted, but he didn’t move. "I don’t need you."

"Shhh..." You put a finger on his lips, making him raise an eyebrow. "I didn’t ask your permission."

His eyes shrank into a dark flame of interest as your lips left a kiss trail down his chest, descending slowly toward the abs. You felt his muscles twitch under your touch, his breath became heavier.

"You know you’re dangerous, don’t you?" he muttered, his voice lower, more scratched. "You drive me crazy," he said with a hand in his still-wet hair.

"Oh, that’s right." And you left another kiss right above the belt of his pants where there was his navel, enjoying the tension that grew in his body.

The sun filtered shyly through the curtains, gently illuminating the room. Hoon slowly opened his eyes, his body still numb from sleep, and the first thing he saw was you. You were sleeping peacefully, your head resting on his chest, your arms wrapped around him in search of warmth. Your breath was calm and steady, and your fragrant hair lightly tickled his skin. For a few seconds, he stayed still, simply watching you. Then, almost without thinking, he lowered his lips to your forehead and left a soft kiss, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

But he immediately stopped. What the hell was he doing?

This wasn’t like him. He wasn’t the type to stop and watch a girl sleep, to be swept away by gentle, instinctive gestures. Yet, every time he was with you, it felt like something inside him cracked.

And that scared him. You were becoming his weakness, but at the same time, his obsession.

Hoon bit the inside of his cheek, trying to push those thoughts away. He carefully pulled away from you, trying not to wake you, and got out of bed. He ran a hand through his silver hair, sighing.

It was better to distance himself a bit, he muttered softly to himself.

After that night, the days passed, and Hoon came home rarely. You tried not to think too much about it, not to dwell on it, but… something felt strange. You felt restless. You had seen him only a few times, but he never stopped to talk to you. No arrogant jokes, no intense stares, no provocative touches.

And that irritated you. Why should you feel like this? Wasn’t it better this way? At least you could focus on your studies and the goals you had set for yourself. But then, why did your heart race every time you heard the roar of a race car? Why did his scent still seem to linger on the sheets?

You needed a distraction, and that’s when T/l, Jungwon’s girlfriend, showed up at your door with a mischievous smile on her lips.

'There’s a race outside the city tonight. Foreign drivers, a lot of cool people, and of course, we have to be there.'

You widened your eyes. “A race? I remind you that last time, Sunghoon wasn’t exactly happy to see me,” you said.

She nodded but enthusiastically said, 'Forget about him, it’ll be worth it. You need to relax a bit, and who cares about Sunghoon? You’ll be with me.'

You hesitated for a moment. It wasn’t your world. Not like it was for Hoon, Jungwon, and the others, but maybe that was exactly why you needed to go.

So, that evening, you showed up at T/l’s place. You were wearing a light blue skirt, short enough to show a bit of your legs, a tight-fitting top, boots that made your figure stand out, and a leather jacket that completed your look.

When T/l saw you, her eyes went wide, and she burst out laughing. 'Wait a minute…' she looked you up and down with an amused expression. 'Where’s the sweet girl I used to know?' You barely smiled, tightening the zipper of your jacket with your fingers, and shrugged, smiling back at her.

Hoon was leaning against his car, the second-place finish well-earned after a brutal qualifier. The roar of the engines rang in his ears, adrenaline still rushing through his veins.

Around him, a handful of girls were trying to get his attention. Sly smiles, hands brushing his skin, gazes full of desire, but he doesn’t even look at them. His eyes were fixed on Jungwon and his girlfriend. Or rather, on you, next to them.

What. The. Hell. Were. You. Doing. Here?

As if having you underfoot at his house wasn’t enough, now you had to step into his world too?

This wasn’t your place, and you knew it well. Hadn’t it been enough to see him pissed off a couple of weeks ago? This wasn’t a place for good girls like you either, yet here you were. The headlights softly illuminated you, making your perfect skin glow. Your hair was lightly tousled by the night wind, and your outfit… Damn.

A light blue skirt. A delicate blue, almost innocent, but the length was a damn provocation. A tight top. Nothing too bold, yet on your body, it seemed like the deadliest weapon.

Boots and a leather jacket. As if you were playing the bad girl and that outfit… looked damn good on you.

Hoon licked his lips, the irritation bubbling inside him. Why were you here? What were you hoping to find? Strong emotions? Risks? People like him?

The race began, and he let himself get carried away. He pressed the accelerator with more rage than necessary, letting the engine scream beneath his fingers. But that night, Heeseung was simply faster, more precise, more strategic. Second place, not bad, but not enough.

Hoon got out of the car, his hands still gripping the steering wheel from the adrenaline. He was ready to ignore the world and grab a drink when his eyes landed on a scene he never should have seen.

You, talking to another guy and smiling at him. He wasn’t a driver, he wasn’t a mechanic—just some random guy who’d come to watch the illegal races. Yet, he was laughing with you, talking to you, looking at you with too much damn confidence, and his jaw tightened, his fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned white.

He didn’t like the way that guy was looking at you. You were his, not in the sweet sense of the word. Not like a step-sister, not like a friend, not like something rational. You were his because he had decided it, and he didn’t care if you hadn’t realized it yet.

With slow, measured steps, he approached you, and the girls who’d been surrounding him stopped laughing, sensing the shift in his aura, and the people around moved aside without even realizing it.

Hoon didn’t say a word as he stood behind you. He just stared at that guy with eyes that left no room for interpretation, and the guy noticed it, his smile faltering. He began to feel the weight of the attention, the air growing suddenly heavier.

Hoon didn’t need to say anything because it was clear. He spoke to you, but also to the guy you were talking to: “She’s not for you.”

And if that loser was smart, he would’ve left before Hoon decided to make him understand in another way.

Because that night, he would find a way to make you remember who the only man who deserved your attention was.

The silence in the car was unbearable. Hoon gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white from the firm hold. His gaze was fixed on the road, his jaw clenched. The engine roared under his control, yet he seemed on the verge of losing his own. You, sitting beside him, could feel your heart beating too loudly. You hadn’t dared speak since he grabbed your wrist and dragged you away from the race, ignoring your protests, but this time, he didn’t stop on some deserted road.

He took you down to the garage of a building, and you knew exactly what it was. The racers’ hideout. You had heard about it, see his friends leave after the races and head to that place, but never, not even in your wildest dreams, had you imagined you’d be brought there by him like this.

Hoon slammed the car into the park, opened the door, and stepped out without even looking at you. Then he walked around the car and opened your door with a sharp motion.

“Get out.” His voice was an order.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding. “Sunghoon, what...”

“I said. Get out.”

The look he gave you sent a shiver down your spine. There was something dangerous about him in that moment, something you had never seen before.

You knew you should refuse, tell him he was going too far, but your legs moved on their own, and before you could even process it, you were already inside.

The inside of the hideout was exactly what you expected. Chaotic, but after a few steps, he pushed you into his room, and you entered hesitantly.

Posters, race photos, pictures of him and his friends, money scattered everywhere, as if it didn’t matter to him. A perfect mess, typical of someone who lived on adrenaline and speed.

But Hoon? At that moment, he couldn’t have cared less about his room. Before you could say anything, he grabbed you by the waist and pinned you to the wall.

“What the hell did you think you were doing, huh?” His voice was low and dangerous, his eyes burning as his fingers traced along your exposed legs.

“Sunghoon,” you said, looking at him.

“No, tell me.” He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “Did you dress like this for me? No, wait...” His smile turned sharp as his hand slid further down, brushing the hem of your skirt. “You dressed like a good girl, but with those little slutty details. Why? Were you hoping I’d notice?”

Your face burned with shame. “Stop! Don’t talk to me like that!”

He laughed a low, guttural chuckle. “Oh, does it bother you?” His fingers traced your thigh with an excruciating slowness. “Because the truth hurts, doesn’t it, princess?”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the reaction your body had to his touch. “You’re nobody to treat me like this.”

Hoon raised an eyebrow, then lowered his gaze to your lips. “NO?” He moved even closer, his body pinning yours to the wall. “Why don’t you seem so sure while you’re saying that?”

He grabbed your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look at him.

“You know what I want to know?” His tone was venomous, lethal. “I want to know who you touch yourself for at night.”

Your eyes widened. “What?”

He leaned closer to your ear, whispering, “I know you do it thinking about me.

You swallowed hard, your heart feeling like it was about to explode. "You're an asshole." He smiled, pleased. "Maybe."

He pulled back slightly, watching you. "So, this is how you get jealous."

"Of who?" You tried to sound dismissive, but the tremble in your voice made him smile even more.

"Of all the girls who flock around me." He moved closer, his lips a breath away from yours. "Say it's not true."

You gritted your teeth. "It's not."

"You’re a terrible liar, little sister."

The way he said it sent a shiver down your spine, his eyes piercing into yours as if he were reading your thoughts. "You know it's true, don't you?" he whispered, his hand gripping your waist with far too much confidence. "You know you want me just as much as I want you."

You breathed heavily, your heart pounding wildly. "And what if it’s true?"

He stifled a groan, his jaw tightening as his fingers dug into your hips. "Christ..."

For a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you, but then, he pulled away abruptly and ran a hand through his silver hair, as if trying to regain control.

"Go home," he said finally, his voice low and dangerous. You looked at him, stunned by his words, and whispered his name.

"Now," he ordered, his tone commanding. You couldn't take it anymore, couldn’t endure his games, his unpredictable behavior, the way he drove you crazy with desire only to push you away as if nothing had happened. You couldn't stand seeing him with other girls, couldn't hold back what you felt anymore. You'd liked him since the first day you saw him, and without thinking twice, you grabbed him by the collar of his leather jacket and kissed him. It wasn’t a sweet kiss, nor a shy one. It was fierce, full of frustration, need, and possessiveness. Sunghoon groaned against your lips, caught off guard for just a second. Then he recovered, and in an instant, his hands slipped under your skirt, gripping your ass hard enough to make you gasp. With a swift motion, he lifted you, making you wrap your legs around his waist as he pressed you against the closed door of his room.

"Finally..." he hissed against your mouth, his lips still tasting of your desire. "You took a fucking century."

His voice was hoarse and dark, the tone of a real bastard.

"Shut up," you muttered, laughing slightly. He paused for a second, then bowed his head. "What did you say?"

You shivered down your spine, but you didn’t back off. "I said shut up." Sunghoon smiled. That sharp smile, the one that made your legs tremble.

"God, you’re such a little bitch, aren’t you?" his hands squeezed your flesh even more, making you bite your lip. "A good girl with a big mouth. I wonder if I can find another way to use it or to silence you."

That comment made your blood boil, and you decided to punish him in the best way possible. You rubbed against him your body was slow and decided against his cock.

The reaction was immediate. You felt his erection harden against you, the electric tension in the air became unbearable and you bit your lip, looking at it with an innocent air. "Do you like it, Hoon?"

He puffed, shaking his head with an exasperated smile. "Princess, you have no idea what you’re doing." You kept moving. More pressure, more friction, and then, you felt it, a low growl from his throat.

Then, a slap on your uncovered thigh. " Enough." His voice was authoritative, with no room for objection but you didn’t intend to stop while you felt the pain but also the excitement grow and you leaned down at his ear, the hot breath against his skin. "What if I don’t want to?"

Another slap in your buttock made you moan and Sunghoon pushed you even more against the door, his heavy breath as his dark eyes shone with pure lust.

"You want to play with me, Y/n?" he growled, his low and dangerous tone. "I guarantee that with me you will always lose." A shiver ran through your skin.

He slipped his hand along your thigh, touching the edge of your panties. "You’re already wet, aren’t you?" You didn’t answer, you shouldn’t already be so wet and in need of him. He laughed. "Oh, don’t you want to tell me? All right."

With a torturing slowness, he stuck a finger under the thin tissue slipped between your intimate lips, and took your breath. "Hoon..."

"What is it, princess?" he whispered, licking your neck as his finger traced slow circles on your clitoris. "Are you speechless?"

You felt as if your body was on fire. His voice, his touch, his absolute dominion over you... was too much and too little at the same time.

You clung to his ice hair, gasping when the pressure increased.

"What did you want from me, uh?" he continued to tease you. "When you kissed me... what did you think would happen?"

"That you would finally catch me." You confessed in a whisper.

Sunghoon moans slowly, his breath broken against your skin. "Christ..." He brought you down from him, his chest heaving up, his fingers still pressed against your hot skin. Then, without saying anything, he hit you with a strong slap on the butt and moans, a mix of surprise, pain and excitement. He laughed quietly, smug. "Do you like it, princess?"

You did not answer but he grabbed your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look at him. "Reply."

Swallowing, heart pounding. "Yes." Sunghoon licked his lips. "Damnation... you’re just as I imagined."

He sat on the edge of the bed and beckoned to you to come closer.

You did not answer but he grabbed your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look at it.

"If you would be mine..." his voice was dark, velvety, but with a thread of danger underneath. "Prove it to me."

You took off your white shirt and he whistled when he saw your bra with your already turgid buds and touched it slightly you felt your body shivering and took you by the side and with a click he took off your bra and your breasts you sat down over his legs and felt his cock already hard and you started to slightly swing and he began to torture your buds with his tongue and teeth but Hoon had other thoughts in mind made you lift slightly and felt the fabric of your skirt Pull it down. He had gripped it and pulled it hard, slightly ripping off a flap.

"Hey!" moaning, looking at him with big eyes. "This skirt cost an eye of the head!"

He shrugged his shoulders, totally uninterested. "I buy another."

"That’s not the point!" you blurted out, trying to fix it, he laughed again, his low and dirty laugh that made your knees tremble. " Princess, I win thousands of dollars a race. I could fill your wardrobe with skirts like a good girl... and then tear them all off, one by one."

His fingers snapped to the elastic of your panties, playing with them slowly, without ever lowering them.

"White, eh?" he whispered, looking at the delicate lace. "So innocent even here below..." He looked up, his eyes dark and hungry. " But soon I will ruin you forever."

You felt a shiver running down your spine, his hands slowly climbing up your thighs, just pressing on your warm skin.

"You won’t be a good girl anymore." whispered against your skin, you lifted slightly and settled on the back of its legs, pressing on its hardness still covered by boxers.

"What the hell do you think you’re doing?" You bit your lip, pretending nothing while you started moving slowly over it, gradually increasing the pressure. He immediately grabbed you by the hips, holding you tight. “Don’t play with fire, darling."

But you didn’t stop to feel his erection growing beneath you. You felt how much you were driving him crazy.

"Tsk." Sunghoon laughed softly, but there was tension in his voice. "Where the hell did you learn to be so provocative?"

You approached his ear, your breath touching his warm skin. "Perhaps I had a good teacher."

He pressed you even more against himself, his eyes full of danger and desire.

"Oh, princess..." he murmured, His voice low and threatening. "Now you’ve really crossed the line. In a moment, he had pushed you back on the bed, his body above yours, his dark and hungry eyes peering at you as if they wanted to devour you.

He leaned down on your legs and began to nibble the sensitive skin of your thighs, alternating slow bites and kisses, cruel, full of dangerous promises.

"Laugh, laugh pure, darling." whispered against your warm skin. "Let’s see if you’ll laugh again when you’re full of my cock and cum."

With trembling hands, you took off his boxer shorts and your eyes were running towards his cock which was slightly pink and full of liquid, was long and quite large, and swallowed slightly as you touched him Sunghoon watched carefully every move you made and slightly he rubbed around your vaginal lips and after a little, while Sunghoon was crazy to hear you around him and with one blow almost entered completely inside you and both groan at the feeling of your bodies attached to each other.

When he pushed into you, both groaned in unison. "Fuck, you’re so tight around me..." he panted, moving slowly at first to get you used to its length. You bit your lip, but then whispered: "Move."

He laughed softly. "Always so impatient, eh?" He started pushing harder, and you pulled his hair. "God, you’re beautiful like this," he said between moans. His cock was sinking deeper and deeper into you, and you sucked it back up tight, put your arms around his neck, and kissed him as you felt that you were getting more and more busy.

"Look at you, you’re taking me so well, maybe we should have done it before it’s so nice to see you under me, shoved by my arms and cock" he whispered against your lips as he squeezed His hips to push even deeper into you. "I thought you were better at standing up to me... and instead look how you hold me close as if I never had enough," he said laughing. A shiver through your back and you felt it lift slightly your leg to push deeper into you. When he found your G-spot, you shouted his name, nails stuck in his shoulders.

"There? In here, right here?" he teased you, aiming the rhythm and making you almost lose control. "Who would have thought... that my little stepsister would be so good at taking my dick?

"Hoon..." groan, feeling your body surrender to him. "Go on, I’m close."

He smiled smugly and, without stopping, slid a hand between your bodies to caress your clitoris, stroking it with circular and precise movements.

"Tell me that I am the one who will make you come," he whispered in your ear, with a mischievous grin. "Tell me that no one else can make you feel like this."

The words, the tone, the way in which it dominated you completely made you give up words, the tone, the way in which it dominated you completely made you give up completely, and with a choked cry you came tightened around him, your body shaken by a wave of intense pleasure.

But he had not yet come. With some more deep thrusts, he let his seed and sperm fill you, staying inside of you for a few seconds before exiting with a panting breath.

You felt empty without him, but before you could say anything, Sunghoon pushed a finger into you, making you shudder. "You must hear it well, baby. This is the sign that you are mine."

You watched him with burning cheeks as you felt his finger push even more into his cum and groan "You’re a jerk."

"Fuck." He whispered between his teeth, passing a hand through his unkempt hair before stooping down to press a hot kiss on your lips that kiss he was giving you was a slow, intimate kiss that had nothing to do with domination or possession anymore.

A kiss that spoke only of you two and Sunghoon lay down next to you, dragging you immediately into his arms, wrapping you in a strong, almost desperate embrace. You caress his chest, feeling his breath returning slowly to normal, and then, without thinking, let those words slip away. "I didn’t want to fall in love with you."

His body stiffened for a second and then, a low, dark, roaring laugh invaded the room and you lifted yourself slightly, observing the bold smile on his lips.

"I didn’t want to fall in love with you either, princess," he whispered, his eyes chained into yours. "But we’re both fucked now."

He touched your face with the tips of his fingers, his look softer, more human, and you, without thinking about it, shook his hair with a little smile.

He laughed again, holding you tighter against him.

"Mine”, he repeated quietly, like a promise etched in the skin, and you, this time without hesitation, annuity.

Sleep wrapped you, hugged, trapped in each other, and at that moment, you realized you would never be able to escape from him again.

Taglist: @hearts4cheol @lovenha7 @in-somnias-world @heeseungxo @luvyeni @jayjw16enxp @jvngwni @jooniesbears-blog @gguk-n @cloudykim @enhaverse713586 @stormy1408 @jakesw82 @misssparklyprincess @bamguetismee @jaylajakey @arclviie @strxwbloody @steddie-steddie @jungwoosbaey @laurenmia65 @tasnemluvs @lovellydisaster @rikiscupid @simj4k3 @numnommz @sspidermanss @vixialuvs @smlbch @m3wkledreamy @xylatox @ikeulove @nishikio @ancnymcnzjy @sofiafromvenus @kayjiguki @sunhyeswife @chanryou @stwrlightt

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alistorz · 24 days ago

Text

FRAGMENT OF US

(Aespa x Male Reader Fanfiction)

Chapter 2 - Hope, Not Lies

11821 words

~ “It’s strange how quiet the world feels when you’re waiting for something to change.” ~

A.N - First of all, huge sorry. Its been like more then a month. And this chapter, is a kind of a mess since it was rush. More notes at the end. Thank you.

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

They say time heals everything.

But what if time only makes things worse?

What if, the longer it stretches, the deeper the wounds become?

There’s no alarm sound. Nothing but silence.

Soft raindrops tapped against the window, their rhythmic patterning the only sound in the silent dorm room. Gray light seeped through the half-open blinds, casting a dull, lifeless glow over the space. The air was cold, damp, carrying the scent of rain-soaked concrete from outside.

Y/N lay on his thin mattress, staring at the ceiling, unmoving. His body felt heavy, his limbs sinking into the stiff fabric of his sheets. His mind was awake, yet he lacked the will to move. He didn't know how long he'd been like this—minutes, maybe hours. Not that it mattered.

He wasn't avoiding sleep. Sleep had long abandoned him. His eyes burned from exhaustion, but every time he closed them, he heard it again.

"It’s getting worse… Surgery is the only option now."

His mother’s voice, strained yet trying to remain composed, echoed in his skull.

"It’s expensive, sweetheart… We don’t know what to do."

Neither did he.

He clenched his jaw, pressing his forearm over his eyes as if to block out the memories. But they remained. "I’ll figure it out." It had been a promise, spoken without thought. A desperate attempt to assure her—to assure himself—that he would find a way. That he wouldn’t just sit here, useless, while his father’s life depended on money they didn’t have.

But what if that was all he was? Useless?

The rain outside grew heavier, drumming against the window. A distant rumble of thunder rolled through the sky. His cracked phone lay beside him, the dull screen reflecting his worn-out expression. He picked it up, swiping down to refresh his inbox.

No new emails. No job offers. No responses. Just silence.

Y/N exhaled sharply, sitting up. His body ached in protest, his muscles stiff from nights of tossing and turning. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, fingers briefly stopping at his temple, where a dull headache pulsed. He needed to move. To do something. Because if he sat here any longer, he might drown in his own thoughts.

—-

At first, he had been hopeful. The moment he ended that call with his mother, he hadn’t wasted a second. He had jumped onto every job website he could find, filling out applications until his fingers ached from typing. Cafés, convenience stores, delivery services, tutoring gigs—if the job existed, he applied. It didn’t matter if he was qualified or not. He just needed something.

But reality was cruel.

Some places responded, only to reject him outright. Others simply ignored his applications, leaving them to rot in the void of job portals.

A week into his search, Y/N started looking physically—walking into stores, asking managers face-to-face if they needed help.

The first café he entered had been promising. The place was small, cozy, and not too busy. Maybe, just maybe, they needed an extra hand.

"Excuse me," he had asked, forcing a polite smile at the barista behind the counter. "Are you hiring by any chance?"

The worker barely glanced at him before calling out, "Boss?" A man in his late 30s appeared from the back, his expression tired before Y/N even said a word.

"I was wondering if you had any job openings," Y/N explained quickly. "I can work part-time, full-time—whatever you need. I learn fast, I won’t cause trouble—"

"Not hiring," the boss cut in, voice flat, uninterested. "Try somewhere else."

Y/N hesitated. "Are you sure? I can work any—"

"Listen, kid." The man sighed. "I already have too many employees. Adding another one? That’s just extra baggage."

Y/N swallowed the lump in his throat. "I… I understand. Thank you for your time."

He walked out feeling the sting of rejection, but he convinced himself it was just one failed attempt. But then came the second. And the third. And the tenth.

At a convenience store, the manager barely let him finish speaking before shaking his head. "We’re fully staffed. We don’t need another worker slowing us down."

At a delivery company, the receptionist didn’t even look up from her computer. "No foreigners, sorry."

A tutoring job at a local cram school? "We require a college degree."

He even tried a small diner run by an elderly couple. The old woman had been kind, but when he asked about work, she only gave him a sympathetic smile.

"I wish I could help, son, but times are hard. We’re barely making enough as it is."

It became a cycle. Wake up. Apply. Walk around. Ask. Get rejected. Repeat. Each day, his feet ached more. His motivation thinned. His savings shrank. Hope, once so determined, now felt like a candle struggling against the wind.

Y/N sighed, shaking himself from the memory. Outside, the rain still fell. The cold air seeped into the room, making his already drained body feel even heavier. His stomach grumbled in protest, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since last night. He ignored it.

He grabbed his phone and refreshed his inbox one more time.

Nothing.

How much longer could he keep going? Was there even a point in trying anymore?

Y/N clenched his fists, inhaling sharply. He couldn't let himself break. Not yet.

He had to keep going.

Because the moment he stopped trying… everything would fall apart.

By the time Y/N returned to his dorm, he was soaked down to his skin. Again. His shoes squelched with every step down the corridor, drawing a few annoyed looks from fellow students passing by. He didn’t care. He barely even noticed.

It has become a routine now. The same damn routine.

Grey skies. Cold rain. A silent walk home with nothing but wet shoes and a heavier heart. It was like living inside a loop, a bad scene playing over and over. Each time he walked the same road, stood at the same doors, and heard the same answers.

He didn’t even flinch when the hallway light flickered above him as he stepped into the dorm. Everything was predictable now—his rejections, the silence that followed, and the familiar ache in his chest when he realized nothing had changed

The worst were the ones who didn’t even bother to respond. No emails. No callbacks. Just silence.

Y/N had scrolled through dozens of listings, applied to every job that didn’t explicitly say Korean native only, and even some that did—out of sheer desperation. He handed out resumes in person, walking for hours to save the cost of public transport. But in the end, every effort led back here: to a damp room, to soggy clothes, to silence.

As he reached for his phone to check for new replies—anything—a notification flashed across the top of the screen.

[1 New Email] – Professor Seonghyun (Academic Supervisor)

His heart skipped.

For a second, he thought maybe—just maybe—someone had referred him to a position, or maybe his professor wanted to help. He opened the email, eyes scanning fast.

But his heart quickly dropped.

—

Subject: Concern Regarding Your Recent Academic Performance

Y/N,

I hope you're well. I've noticed a decline in your performance and attendance over the past two weeks. Your recent midterm score was well below your average, and I’m concerned.

If there's something going on, please don’t hesitate to reach out. That said, improvement is crucial. Continued decline could affect your scholarship status.

Best, Prof. Seonghyun

—

He stared at the screen.

Of course. Of course that would start falling apart too.

His jaw tightened. He turned the screen off and tossed the phone onto the bed.

Was there anything in his life that wasn’t slipping away?

His grades. His home back in his country. His father’s health. His future. All crumbling, slowly and then all at once.

And now the very thing that brought him here—his scholarship—was at risk, too.

For a moment, Y/N just sat there, unmoving, letting the silence crawl into his lungs like smoke. The cheap ticking of the clock above his desk was the only sound in the room. He didn’t know how long he sat like that.

But eventually, he stood up.

Not out of motivation. Not out of hope.

Just because he couldn’t sit still anymore.

He moved toward the tiny kitchenette to make something warm��ramyeon again, the last packet. As the water boiled, he stared at the steam rising from the pot, eyes unfocused. The heat fogged his glasses slightly, but he didn’t bother wiping them.

In a few more days, he might not even be able to afford the water bill.

—---

He didn’t know how long he had been lying there, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Minutes? Hours? Time has stopped meaning anything lately. At some point, his body moved on its own. Not because he had a plan or destination in mind—he just needed to get out. He grabbed his hoodie—still damp—and stepped outside.

The rain hadn’t stopped. It never did, not these days. The skies above Seoul felt like they were syncing with his mood—gray, weeping, and indifferent.

Y/N walked. Not to submit another job application. Not to hand out resumes. Not even to check his phone. He just walked.

He passed glowing cafés filled with warmth and noise. Laughter behind glass. Friends chatting over coffee. Couples huddled close beneath umbrellas. The world was moving forward—unbothered, uninterrupted—while he felt like he was drifting through it like a ghost, unseen and unneeded.

The city around him buzzed with life, but it only made the silence inside his chest louder.

Eventually, his feet brought him to a familiar bench by a quiet bus stop. He didn’t remember choosing to go there. He just did.

Sitting down, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head heavy. His hoodie clung to him, soaked and uncomfortable, like everything else he couldn’t shake off. He wasn’t crying. Not really. But his lips parted just enough to let something slip out—barely audible under the sound of the rain.

“…What else do I even have left?”

No answer came. No one around seemed to notice or care. The sky above offered nothing but more rain. The bench gave no warmth. He sat in it for a while longer, then eventually stood up and wandered back to his dorm, not because he felt better—just because there was nowhere else to go.

Once home, he changed into dry clothes. Not out of comfort. Just… routine. Then he sat at his desk, eyes blank, laptop closed, his textbooks untouched. He couldn’t bring himself to try anymore.

That’s when his phone buzzed.

He barely noticed it at first, assuming it was another push notification or a job site reminding him of all the places that weren’t hiring him. But it didn’t stop.

He reached for it lazily, ready to silence whatever it was—but froze when he saw the screen.

[UNKNOWN NUMBER]

No name. No label. Just a number.

He stared at it for a moment, thumb hovering over the screen. He didn’t want to pick it up. He had no energy left for another disappointment. But something—small, stubborn—kept him from letting it go.

The call was seconds from ending when he finally tapped the green button and raised the phone to his ear.

“…Hello?”

—----------------------------------------------------

The lights were blinding, the mics were off, and the final round of smiles had just been flashed to the cameras.

“Thank you for joining us, Aespa!” the host said brightly, their voice still riding the wave of on-air enthusiasm.

The girls waved back in unison — four polished smiles, picture-perfect.

Karina’s elegance led the curve of the moment, Winter’s quiet warmth followed behind it, Giselle’s smirk added the spark, and Ningning’s playful beam sealed the frame with energy.

The cameras cut. They bowed. And once they stepped away from the lights, out of frame and off the stage, the glow dulled.

Backstage was colder — both literally and metaphorically.

They entered the green room without a word, the heavy door clicking shut behind them. Staff still moved around them in a rush — producers, stylists, camera operators — voices echoing off the walls with directions and calls for final wrap-ups. But Aespa themselves were still.

A small junior group passed by just as the girls entered. Fresh faces, wide eyes, that stage-sweat glow of adrenaline still on them. One of them bowed quickly and stammered, “You were amazing, sunbaenim!”

“Thank you,” Ningning replied with a kind smile, her voice airy but distant.

Another junior glanced toward Karina and said something about having grown up watching their performances. Karina smiled, nodded, and offered a soft “That’s sweet of you.”

Winter gave a quiet quip — something teasing about how they’re not that old yet — and the rookies laughed awkwardly before continuing down the hall.

Once the green room door closed, the masks slid off effortlessly.

Karina lowered herself onto the couch, smoothing out her outfit as she sat. Across from her, Winter tilted her head back and closed her eyes, saying nothing. Giselle sank into the corner of the L-shaped couch, scrolling through her phone with slow, distracted swipes. Ningning leaned against the wall and stared at her own screen, her thumb idle against it.

On the table in front of them, a tray of food and drinks had been left by one of the staff — neatly prepared, clearly with care. Fruit cups, boxed meals, vitamin drinks, and iced teas. Not one of the girls touched it.

The room was neither loud nor quiet — just... muted. Like a TV with the volume turned too low.

Karina watched them from her seat. Her members. Her sisters.

Giselle, who once couldn’t go five minutes without bantering with her, hadn’t said more than three words since the stage.

Ningning, who used to share memes during their breaks and lean into her shoulder like a younger sibling craving warmth, had barely glanced up from her screen. There was no teasing, no playful jabs, no sparkle.

And Winter — the one she shared the closest bond with, the one she once exchanged ridiculous jokes and tongue-tied inside gags with — now sat in complete silence, lost in her own space.

Karina's gaze softened. When did we stop filling the room with noise?

Giselle’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it, exhaled quietly, and locked the screen again.

“That guy again?” Karina asked gently, breaking the stillness.

Giselle shrugged, eyes fixed forward. “It’s nothing.”

Karina didn’t press. But she could tell it wasn’t nothing.

Ningning spoke up, almost to herself, “My mom called earlier. I didn’t answer.”

Karina turned slightly toward her. “Why not?”

“I couldn’t fake a smile today,” she said simply, eyes still on her screen.

No one responded. Not because they didn’t care, but because they understood.

The sound of the door clicking open didn’t stir much of a reaction.

Harin stepped in with a tablet clutched to her chest, her eyes briefly scanning the quiet room. The girls were scattered — Ningning sitting on the makeup chair scrolling her phone, Winter curled up on one end of the couch with her arms folded, Giselle with her legs pulled up, head resting back, eyes half-lidded. Karina sat near the corner, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, quiet and still.

“Hey,” Harin greeted softly, mindful of her tone. “You all did great out there. Seriously.”

Ningning gave a small smile without looking up. Giselle lifted a hand in a half-wave. Winter nodded, almost imperceptibly. Karina met her eyes for a brief second and offered a tired but polite nod.

There was something in the air that Harin recognized immediately — a weight she’d seen too often lately.

She looked around at the scene — quiet, drained, heavy. She didn’t say it out loud, but her eyes lingered for a moment too long. She noticed the untouched water bottles, the barely eaten snack trays, and the silence that had settled like dust on everything.

She exhaled, then walked over a few steps and lowered her voice. “I came to tell you something — a bit of a heads-up.”

She hesitated before continuing. “So, uh… I wanted to let you know that the company’s HR team is in the middle of recruiting again. They’re searching for a new probationary manager.”

Giselle’s thumb paused mid-scroll.

Winter slowly blinked but said nothing.

Ningning turned slightly from the mirror, brows lifting. “Another one?”

Karina’s gaze sharpened. “What happened to the last one?”

Harin’s lips pressed together for a second before giving the answer. “He accepted an offer from HYBE. Better pay. Less chaos.”

Giselle scoffed under her breath and muttered something in English too quiet to catch.

“Wasn’t he only around for… two months?” Karina asked, straightening up.

“Forty-seven days,” Harin replied dryly. “Not even enough time to memorize your coffee orders.”

“So, what’s this one like?” Winter asked. Her voice was quiet, tinged with her usual dry sarcasm, but her eyes remained fixed on the wall.

“Unknown,” Harin admitted, rolling her tablet gently against her fingertips. “We haven’t hired anyone yet. The process just started. Could be male, female — idol-savvy or completely green. I just thought it was better you heard it from me before someone randomly shows up mid-schedule like a surprise group assignment.”

Ningning let out a long breath, leaning back in her chair with a tired tilt of her head. “And we’re the test subjects again…”

Karina leaned back, expression unreadable. “Do we even have time to train someone?”

“Not really,” Harin admitted, with a hollow chuckle. “But if we don’t… you’ll keep getting shuffled between twenty different assistants who don’t know the difference between a live mic and a prop.”

That earned a faint snort from Winter. Giselle shook her head slowly, lips twitching without humor.

“No one’s asking you to love them,” Harin added, her voice softening now, carrying a thread of sincerity. “Just… give them a chance. Even if they’re clueless. You never know — they might surprise you.”

Karina didn’t answer right away. Her gaze drifted over her members, then toward the untouched food on the table, the damp tissues scattered near the makeup kits, the space around them that felt full and empty at once.

That’s what they said about the last five.

And still, none of them stayed. None of them saw them. Not really.

I hoped for honey once, she thought. But all I got was sugar water.

Harin looked like she wanted to say more — there was a small crease between her brows that hadn’t left since she entered — but her tablet buzzed with a new alert, flashing urgent.

“I’ll keep you updated,” she said, glancing at the door. “And if something feels off, don’t hesitate to tell me. I’ll do my best to make this one work.”

With a quiet wave, she stepped out of the room and disappeared into the hallway bustle.

The silence returned like a curtain falling. No one spoke for a while.

Winter leaned forward to grab her water bottle and unscrewed the cap slowly. “Forty-seven days,” she mumbled.

Giselle pulled her hoodie over her head. “That’s a record.”

Karina didn’t laugh. But a thought flickered through her mind — faint, fleeting.

What if this one’s different?

She didn’t say it aloud. She wouldn’t. Hope was dangerous like that.

But still… maybe this time, the sugar might not be so plain.

The dorm was silent when Jimin slipped out.

She left a quiet message in the group chat — just in case the others woke up and wondered. “Going for some air. Don’t wait up.”

No security. No staff. No assistant shadowing her every step.

Just her hoodie pulled low, her mask snug, and the weight of the day hanging off her shoulders like a wet coat she couldn’t shake.

The air outside wasn’t fresh. Seoul at midnight was thick with neon buzz and exhaust. But to her, it was still a relief — not the recycled chill of makeup rooms or the conditioned quiet of luxury vans. This was air that didn’t carry the scent of hairspray and pressure.

She walked aimlessly, letting her feet decide the direction. The city moved around her like a dream she wasn’t part of — couples sharing headphones, students lugging backpacks too big for their bodies, a man arguing softly on the phone, delivery scooters buzzing like flies. Life, raw and unfiltered, pulsed around her.

She paused near a small street stall — its striped tarp flapping in the breeze, steam curling from its tiny griddle. Karina’s steps slowed. The smell of tteokbokki — sweet and spicy — curled into her lungs. Her stomach gave the tiniest lurch.

A grandmother, no younger than her late 50s, waved at her like she’d been expecting her all night.

“Good evening, dear,” the woman said, her voice kind and familiar.

Jimin bowed slightly, her voice muffled through her mask. “A serving of tteokbokki, please.”

As the woman worked, the smell of gochujang sauce warmed the air around her. A few meters away, four students sat on plastic stools, laughing through mouthfuls of rice cakes, their chatter louder than the street noise. They looked barely twenty — probably still in high school. Carefree, still soft around the edges, not yet trimmed down by life. One of the girls spoke animatedly, arms flailing mid-story.

“I still think I’ll get into architecture,” one of them said.

“No way. You get stressed building IKEA shelves,” another teased.

“I’m serious! It’s either that or game design. I just want to make cool things.”

“I just want to live in a villa and wake up at noon.”

Karina’s lips tugged upward beneath her mask.

It reminded her — almost too much — of something she'd buried beneath all the comebacks and encores. Of her and Winter sneaking out late during trainee days. Pocket money in hand. Sitting just like that. Eating tteokbokki on a curb. Talking about dreams that still had blurry edges.

“Miss?”

She blinked, realizing the ajumma had called her more than once. She bowed quickly. “Ah, I’m sorry. Thank you.” She handed over the bills and accepted the warm tray in both hands.

Then, without thinking too hard about it, she stepped toward the group of students. They looked up, confused by her approach.

The four froze mid-bite, their expressions flickering with surprise. One girl blinked. “Uh… yeah?”

They hesitated — naturally. One of them even looked around as if checking for a hidden camera.

Then, with a breath of courage, she lowered her mask just enough for them to see.

“Mind if I join you for a minute?” Karina asked, amused by their confusion.

And four jaws hit the floor.

One gasped. “Oh my god.”

“No freaking way—”

“You’re—You’re Karina.”

“Are we being pranked right now?”

Karina laughed softly and waved a hand. “No prank. Just… saw you all talking, and it reminded me of someone I used to be. That’s all.”

Still dazed, they shuffled to make room on the curb. Karina sat, folding her legs beneath her.

One by one, they shared their dreams again — a teacher, a designer, a streamer, a nurse. Each story, sincere and raw and wrapped in the kind of hope Jimin hadn't heard in too long.

She sat with them for a few minutes longer, just listening. Laughing with them. Letting herself forget the things waiting for her back home.

When they asked for a photo, she didn’t hesitate. She took the pictures, signed their trays with a pen the vendor lent her, and waved them off as they bowed over and over in thanks.

Karina resumed her walk, biting into the soft, spicy rice cakes as she went. She passed an ad board flashing their comeback visuals — her own face blown up ten feet tall, polished and perfect. She didn’t look at it long. She turned her gaze away before it reminded her too much of the version of herself the world expected to see.

Further down, she spotted the flickering lights of a claw machine arcade.

She stepped inside.

The soft hum of whirring motors and cheap pop songs filled the space. Rows of claw machines gleamed under cool fluorescent lights, filled with pastel plushies, K-pop merch, and candy sets.

Karina lit up for the first time in hours.

She exchanged bills for coins and got to work — eyes narrowing with each grab attempt, mouth twitching when the claw slipped just a little too early. She cursed under her breath. Then laughed. Then tried again.

No cameras. No weight of expectations. Just her, a metal claw, and a helpless plush keychain caught in the middle.

It wasn’t much.

But it was hers.

Fourth try — success. The claw trembled, but it held.

She laughed softly as the plushie dropped into the chute — a round, squishy peach-colored bear with little angel wings. She picked it up, holding it close for a moment.

Then, without meaning to, she whispered, “The girls would love this.”

She imagined Yizhuo hugging it to sleep. Minjeong makes a dumb pun about its wings. Aeri trying to steal it with that smug little smirk. Ning pretended it was hers all along.

Even out here, even alone, they never left her heart.

For a few fleeting minutes, she felt real again.

Time passed — she didn’t know how much. When her last coin clinked inside the machine, she finally sighed, smiling as she pocketed her prize — a small bunny plush.

Sighing, she packed up the two plushies in a paper bag from the front desk and stepped back into the cool air.

On her way home, she passed a PC bang. Just as she neared it, the door slammed open without warning. She startled, jerking back a few steps.

A guy her age, maybe a little younger, rushed out. His hood was up, eyes tired, clearly in a rush — but he stopped the moment he noticed her.

“Oh— I’m so sorry, I didn’t see— are you okay?”

Jimin nodded quickly, waving both hands to reassure him. “It’s okay, I should’ve watched where I was walking.”

He waves a short, awkward bow before hurrying down the sidewalk.

She watched him go for a second. There was something about his rushed, slightly panicked energy that felt familiar.

But she didn’t dwell on it.

She kept walking.

As she approached the dorm entrance, the warmth from the plushie in her bag faded into the chill of the night. She thought about what Harin had said earlier — the new manager recruitment, the possibility of someone new popping up again.

She didn’t let herself get too curious. Didn’t wonder too hard.

After all, how different could one more new face be?

She stepped inside.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------

The soles of his socks had memorized every inch of the floor.

Back and forth.

Corner to desk. Desk to window. Window to bed. Then all over again.

Y/N’s steps were restless, each turn sharper than the last, like the air in his room was thinning and the only way to breathe was to keep moving. His fingers raked through his hair for what felt like the hundredth time that day, muttering words to himself that only made sense inside his own head.

“Strong multitasking ability… fast learner… dependable, even under pressure… favorite food? Kimchi stew—no, that’s too random. Or is that good? Shows personality?”

He stopped pacing and groaned, pressing both palms to his face as he flopped onto the edge of his bed. The cracked ceiling above stared back, unsympathetic.

This was the tenth time today. Or maybe the twelfth. He’d lost count somewhere between “Tell us about yourself” and “Why do you want this job?”

"Hello, my name is Y/N. I'm currently a university student majoring in…" He cut himself off halfway, voice trailing into nothing. "No, no, no. That sounds like I’m reading off a script."

He stood again. Rolled his shoulders. Forced himself to look at the window across the room — not for the view, but for the faint reflection of himself in the dark glass. A silhouette barely held together. Still, he gave it his best attempt.

Confident tone. Open expression. Words that didn’t sound like desperation leaking through a paper-thin smile.

The truth was, he didn’t have time to fall apart.

Not now.

Not after the call that changed everything. That one call that gave him hope and new light.

This was the first real shot he’d had in months — the first reply that hadn’t ghosted him or slapped a “not qualified” label before even hearing him out.

The first real interview since everything began. The first opening that didn’t come with a “sorry, but…” attached to it. A chance, however small, to climb out of the hole he’d been sinking into for months.

It was probably a small matter to others.

But to him, it was everything.

Y/N sat back down, picking up the small stack of crumpled papers scattered on his desk — notes he’d scribbled in every spare moment since the call. Practice answers. Traits he thought sounded impressive. A few jokes that maybe, if the interviewer had a sense of humor, could land just right.

His hand shook slightly as he gripped the edge of the desk.

It wasn’t a job offer. It wasn’t even a second-round confirmation.

But it was hope.

And when hope’s all you’ve got left, even the smallest thread can feel like a lifeline.

He stared at the notes, then at the small clock in the corner of his desk. Almost midnight. He hadn’t eaten dinner, hadn’t showered, hadn’t done anything except rehearse the same lines on loop like a man stuck in a maze with only one possible way out.

He swallowed.

It had to go well. For him. For his father. For everything that was slipping further out of reach.

“Okay,” he whispered, sitting a little straighter. “One more round.”

And then he started again.

It all started with that one call.

Just one.

It was late, well past the time he usually silenced his phone and forced himself to sleep—or at least pretend to. The cracked screen of his ancient phone lit up the darkness of his room with a soft, ghostly glow. A number he didn’t recognize. He stared at it. No movement. No answer. Not at first.

He didn’t have the strength for this. Not tonight.

His thumb hovered over the reject button. But something—a feeling, a breath, a whisper only he could hear—told him to wait. To listen. A pull. Soft and strange, like the universe gently nudging him forward.

So he answered.

“Yeoboseyo?” a woman’s voice said on the other end, fluent and professional.

Y/N blinked, taken off guard by the Korean greeting. For a second, he didn’t know what to say. But his response came automatically, rusty but polite. “Annyeonghaseyo”

“Is this Mr. Y/N?” she asked, still in Korean.

His brow furrowed slightly. The uncertainty was already crawling up his spine, coiling in his chest. “…Yes,” he answered, keeping his tone simple, cautious.

“Thank you for confirming,” she said. “I’m calling from the HR department of SM Entertainment. We received a job application under your name recently, and I’d like to confirm—did you apply for a position with us?” She continued smoothly, asking whether he had submitted an application recently.

Silence.

Not on her end — she had just dropped the kind of news that usually makes people scream or gasp or break into a thousand thank-you’s. But Y/N was too stunned to respond. His mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out. It was like the words had been robbed from him, stolen by disbelief.

An interview? With an actual company? Not a scam email. Not a rejection notice. Not a robotic message thanking him for his interest followed by a cold “we regret to inform you…”

His mind didn’t know what to do with this information. After all the rejections he had received — after being turned down over and over again in recent weeks — he had built up a quiet wall inside himself, a defense mechanism that told him not to hope anymore. Hope hurt too much. Hope could turn into something cruel when it shattered.

So he said nothing.

The woman must’ve sensed his hesitation because she kept going with a kind, steady tone. “If you're still interested, I can send you the interview details by email shortly after this call. It will be a group interview session — we’ll be seeing multiple applicants that day.”

Y/N stayed quiet for a second longer. His heart wanted to leap. His body was already halfway out the door. But his mind clung to caution like a lifeline.

What if it was fake? A prank? Some kind of phishing scam? Technology was terrifyingly advanced these days — you could find someone’s email and name with minimal digging.

But then she said his name again. Gently. Pulling him out of the spiral.

And finally, Y/N gave a small nod, as if she could see it through the phone. “Yes… I’d like to attend.”

“Wonderful. May I confirm your email address?”

He confirmed it, repeating the awkwardly long handle he’d created years ago. The woman read it back to him with no hint of judgment.

“Do you have any questions?” she asked.

He wanted to ask a hundred things. A thousand. But everything in his chest tangled up on the way to his mouth. “No… I don’t think so.”

There was a beat.

Then, just as she began to thank him again, he spoke up. “Wait — sorry. One question.”

“Of course,” she said patiently.

“What… exactly is this job about?”

There was a brief pause, then a smile in her voice. “Ah, I thought you already knew. It’s a managerial position for one of our idol groups. You’ll receive more details at the interview.”

His lips parted again, but no new question came. That was enough.

“No more questions,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

The woman thanked him again, wished him luck, and the line went dead.

Silence filled the room once more.

Y/N lowered the phone slowly and just stared at it, at the cracks in the glass, at the faint reflection of himself on the screen. What had just happened? Was it real?

He stayed frozen like that for almost a minute.

Then, ping.

An email.

His heart skipped a beat.

His fingers trembled as he unlocked the screen, opened the mail app, and tapped on the new message.

His eyes scanned it quickly.

The logo. The address. The wording. Everything looked real. No broken grammar. No red flags. Just… legitimate instructions. A schedule. A dress code. A list of required documents.

The subject line read: Interview Invitation – Managerial Candidate

His vision blurred a little.

He couldn’t help it. A breathless, trembling smile broke across his face, spreading from ear to ear.

This was real.

This was really happening.

He was still cautious. Still not fully letting himself feel the relief. But some part of him—some deeper part—started to glow.

He stood up suddenly, his movements erratic, adrenaline flooding his system. Moments later he was suddenly at the dorm building. It almost seems like he is teleporting.

He practically flew down the hall, ignoring the judgmental stares of others in the dorm building as he sprinted up the stairs and threw open his door like a man possessed.

He dropped to his knees in front of the old laptop he’d borrowed from a classmate. He was supposed to return it by morning, but that could wait.

Fingers flew across the keys.

The company name.

Search.

Articles. Photos. Achievements. History. A global presence.

Y/N sat back in awe. Was this really the kind of company that had called him?

He smiled again, softer this time. There was something warm rising in his chest. Something he hadn’t felt in a long while.

And then his smile faltered slightly.

“Managerial job…” he whispered. “Why would they pick me for that?”

He had no celebrity experience. He wasn’t majoring in entertainment or business. Sure, he’d had some project work related to logistics and people management, but… that was it.

Still.

He looked down at the photo frame next to his bed. A slightly faded picture of him, his mom, and his dad, taken during better days. He picked it up gently, holding it like a precious gem.

“I got it, Mom. Dad…” he said, his voice barely above a breath. “I think this is it. I think this is the chance.”

He smiled again, this time through a slight sheen of tears.

“I just need you both to believe in me—from wherever you are.”

And the room, once filled with silence and darkness, now felt different. Warmer. Brighter.

Maybe—just maybe—he wasn’t walking in the dark anymore.

It was strange.

Y/N had always thought that receiving an interview offer from SM Entertainment—one of the most prestigious companies in the country—would bring relief. Joy, even. But all it did was make his stomach twist and his chest tighten.

He wasn’t ready. Not for this. Not for a job he knew almost nothing about, surrounded by people who were born and bred in this world. Managers, trainees, idols. All of them moving at a pace he barely understood, let alone could keep up with.

He read the email at least a dozen times, not out of excitement, but panic.

The words didn’t change.

We are pleased to invite you to the first-round interview...

Pleased? He wasn’t even sure if he had enough clothes to look “interview appropriate.” Was there a dress code? Would they ask him about K-pop? Artist schedules? The only thing he knew how to manage was stress—and barely that.

For the first time since arriving in Korea, he started to feel the weight of everything. Not just the job. Not just the expectations. But the gnawing sense that he was way out of his depth.

He stayed up that night staring at his cracked ceiling, repeating the same thought over and over again:

How am I supposed to do this?

He didn’t sleep much after that. For the next few days, his mind was split between anxiety and frantic attempts to prepare—except he barely knew where to start. Most online guides for manager jobs were vague at best or aimed at entertainment veterans. And asking someone? Not an option.

His only comfort in the mess of his thoughts was the small, worn-out smartphone resting by his side.

It was old—ancient, really—but it had history. A couple of scratches on the corner. A battery that barely lasted half a day. A hairline crack across the screen from when he dropped it during his move to Korea.

And yet he still kept it polished like it was something sacred. Because it was.

His father had bought it for him years ago—not from a store, but from a scrapyard seller who was about to toss it with the rest of the junk. Y/N could still remember the way his father had handed it to him, all smiles and proud eyes.

“It’s not much... but it works. I figured it might help you stay in touch while you’re far away.” He hadn’t even asked for a phone. But his father knew. Knew he’d feel alone. Knew he’d need a lifeline.

Y/N ran his fingers across the cracked screen that night, guilt and longing rising in equal measure.

Appa... if you saw me now, would you still be proud?

It had been raining on and off for the past two days. The sky remained a permanent shade of grey, casting a dull, heavy silence over the city. Everything felt slower—slower buses, slower people, slower thoughts. It was like the world was moving through water. And Y/N was drowning in it.

He had only one thing on his mind that afternoon: borrow a laptop.

The interview was getting closer, and he had nothing. No solid background in artist management, no professional guidance, and no reliable way to prepare. The borrowed laptop he’d been using had already been returned yesterday—because students were only allowed to borrow once a week. He knew the rules, but still, he had to try again. Maybe someone at the desk would understand. Maybe they'd bend the rules.

So he went. Even in the rain.

His umbrella was missing—probably left in a lecture hall two days ago—so he tugged his hoodie tighter around his head and jogged across the wet pavement toward the campus library.

Water clung to his jeans. His socks were already soaked through.

By the time he reached the library front desk, he looked more like someone who’d crawled out of a drain than a student preparing for a future. The student worker behind the counter barely spared him a glance before delivering the blow:

“Sorry, you’ve already borrowed this week. We can’t give out another one.”

“But I—I returned it yesterday. I just need a few more hours. Just today.”

“I’m sorry,” the worker repeated, tapping something on the screen. “The system won’t let us.”

Just like that, the conversation was over.

Y/N stood there for a moment, dripping quietly onto the carpet. He gave a tight nod, whispered thanks, and turned back toward the doors.

The rain was heavier now. He stepped outside and winced as the cold hit his skin again.

Defeated, he pulled his phone from his coat pocket to check the time and look up the nearest PC bang.

And then, just like that— it slipped.

Maybe his fingers were too numb. Maybe his sleeve snagged the edge. Maybe the universe just hated him today.

But the phone tumbled from his hand, hit the edge of the steps, and skittered across the concrete— before landing face-down in a wide, murky puddle at the edge of the walkway.

Splash.

Y/N’s heart dropped with it.

“No—no, no—”

He crouched instantly, fingers scraping through cold water and wet leaves as he fished the phone out of the puddle.

He wiped the screen with shaking hands, pressed the power button.

A dim flicker. Then nothing.

He pressed again. And again. Harder this time.

“Come on,” he whispered, chest tightening. “Please, not now…”

He pulled off his hoodie and used the driest part of the sleeve to wipe it again. Still nothing. The water had gotten in—deep.

He sank onto the wet steps, phone in both hands, staring at it like he could will it back to life.

It wasn’t just a phone.

It was the only way the company could contact him. It was the only thing connecting him to a world he was trying so hard to be part of. And more than that—

It was a gift from his father. The last one, given just before Y/N left for Korea.

This phone had traveled continents with him. It held every message, every call, every blurry photo and saved voicemail from home. It had survived his first semester, homesickness, cultural shocks, and lonely nights.

And now it was dead. Just like that.

He sat there in the rain, hood forgotten, head bowed. His legs ached. His hands were freezing. And his heart— his heart felt like it had cracked open quietly, the way glass does when pressure builds too slowly to notice.

This wasn’t just a bad day. This was the kind of day that made everything feel impossible.

He stared at the lifeless screen, chest still heaving with short, shallow breaths. Rain dripped from his eyelashes, his soaked hoodie clinging tightly to his arms. But the cold wasn’t what hurt the most.

His fingers traced the cracked edge of the phone, already chilled and starting to stiffen. A quiet ache spread through his chest—not just from the day’s misfortune, but from what the phone had meant to him.

His mind drifted, uninvited, to a night not too long ago. Back home. 2 days just before he left.

He was sitting on the edge of his old bed, luggage half-zipped beside him. The room was dim, only lit by the yellow glow of the hallway light seeping through the cracked door.

His father stepped in, hesitating for a second like he always did when emotions were involved. Then, wordlessly, he walked over and sat beside Y/N. For a long while, neither of them said anything.

Then his dad pulled something from his coat pocket and placed it in Y/N’s palm.

An old smartphone. The back was scratched, the screen slightly chipped in one corner.

“It’s a little beat up,” his dad said, voice gruff. “Bought it secondhand from a guy at the scrapyard.”

Y/N blinked, confused. “You don’t even use a smartphone.”

“I don’t,” his dad replied. “But you’ll need one. To call. To find your way around. To talk to us.”

He paused, then added more softly, “Just... don’t forget to call sometimes.”

Y/N had smiled and promised he would. He hadn’t realized it then, but that moment was his father’s version of saying I love you.

Now, sitting alone on a concrete step halfway across the world, Y/N felt like that promise had cracked with the phone screen.

He swallowed hard, wiping a hand across his face to brush off the water—or the tears. He couldn’t tell which anymore.

"I'm sorry, Dad..." he whispered.

He clutched the broken phone tightly in his palm, pressing it to his chest for a moment—like holding it close could bring something back.

Then he stood up, slowly, shakily, and looked out at the grey horizon.

He didn’t know how he'd get through the rest of the week without it. But he had no other choice.

Not anymore.

The PC bang wasn’t far, just tucked off a side street past a convenience store with flickering lights. When he pushed the door open, the blast of warm air, LED lights, and rapid keyboard clicking almost made him turn around. It was loud. Claustrophobic. Every seat was filled with people shouting into headsets, hunched over glossy screens with glowing energy drinks beside them.

Y/N hesitated at the counter, glancing up at the price list. He could barely afford two visits between now and the interview. He’d have to make them count.

After paying for a few hours, he quietly took a seat in the far back corner. He pulled out a worn notebook and the stub of a pencil, then logged in.

The screen lit up, and so did his brain.

He started researching everything—idol schedules, manager expectations, how SM Entertainment structured their artist support. He jotted down terms he didn’t understand to study later. His fingers trembled from exhaustion and cold, but he kept typing.

Around him, people shouted, laughed, and played. But he stayed quiet, steady, focused. He didn’t have a choice.

Time melted away.

Eventually, the screen blurred in his eyes. His shoulders ached from hunching over, and the notes in his notebook had become messier with each line. He rubbed his temple, finally admitting to himself that he was too tired to keep going.

He saved his work on a cloud platform, logged out, and packed his things in silence. As he approached the glass door near the exit, the night outside looked darker than before—colder, lonelier. He took a breath, gripped the door handle, and stepped forward.

But he pushed too fast.

The door swung open with a sharp motion—and nearly struck someone walking right past.

“Oh—!” Y/N froze mid-step, jolting back. “Sorry! I didn’t see you—!”

The girl in front of him had instinctively raised her arm to block the door. Her hoodie was pulled up beneath a black coat, casting her features in shadow, but her eyes were sharp and startled, lips parted in surprise.

“No, no—it’s fine,” she said, quickly regaining her balance. “I should’ve been looking ahead.”

Their eyes met—briefly. Just a second. But it was long enough to register the exhaustion on both ends.

Y/N bowed slightly again out of habit. “Still… sorry.”

The girl gave a small, polite nod in return. “It’s alright. Have a good night.”

“You too.”

And just like that, they passed each other.

He walked home in silence, eyes on the ground.

Tomorrow, he'll come back. He only had one more shot at this. One more night to prepare. And no matter how tired he was—no matter how small he felt—he would take it.

The alarm clock buzzed with a shrill, robotic ring, echoing through the dorm room like a countdown. Y/N’s eyes blinked open instantly, his body jolting upright before his mind could catch up. He stared at the dim ceiling for a second, heart pounding.

Today.

It took him a few seconds to remember why his stomach felt like a knot had been tied in it overnight. The interview. The only one he managed to land despite weeks of searching, the one shot that could change everything—and he was going to try to make it work after two full classes, with no phone, no safety net, no idea if he’d even make it on time.

He rubbed his face, let out a breath, and climbed out of bed.

The first class wasn’t difficult to sit through. The professor lectured with his usual slow, melodic tone, and Y/N managed to nod along and take some notes, even if his handwriting wobbled a little more than usual. Still, the class was bearable, the minutes ticking by at a steady pace.

But it was hard to focus.

Every time he glanced at the clock on the wall, he felt a rising pressure behind his ribcage. He double-checked his schedule, the company’s address, the bus routes—all from memory. He had nothing written down, nowhere to double-check except his mind.

And if his memory failed, that was it.

He left the class quickly once it ended, nearly bolting from his seat, muttering apologies when he bumped shoulders with someone on the way out. There wasn’t time to waste.

Then came the second class—and everything began to spiral.

It was a required seminar. He had no choice but to attend, or risk penalties. Worse, the professor was notoriously unpredictable, always veering off-syllabus, sometimes talking for twenty minutes longer than scheduled just to hammer home a single theory.

Y/N sat near the back, hoping the class would pass quickly.

But halfway through, the professor paused mid-lecture and frowned at the class. “Before we wrap today, let’s take a moment to reflect. I’d like each of you to write a short paragraph on today’s discussion and submit it before you leave.”

There was a collective groan.

Y/N’s throat tightened.

He scribbled something down, mind racing. It wasn’t good. It barely even made sense. But he handed it in and slipped out the door the moment the professor waved dismissal.

He checked the time on his watch.

He was already behind schedule.

The sky was overcast when he stepped outside, the cold air biting at his face. He jogged down the sidewalk, cursing under his breath, eyes darting toward the nearest bus stop. He had planned everything down to the minute: which bus to take, how long the transfer would take, the buffer he left in case of traffic.

But the moment he reached the stop, his heart sank.

The next bus wasn’t coming for another fifteen minutes.

He turned around, looking wildly for alternatives. There was no money for a taxi. Walking would take too long. And if he missed the interview completely—

No. He didn’t even want to imagine it.

The bus eventually arrived, and he got on with shaking hands, clutching the pole as if it were the only thing holding him together. Traffic crawled. He tried to stay calm. He tried to breathe. But every red light felt like a curse from the universe itself, every delay a cruel joke.

By the time the bus rolled into the nearest stop near SM Entertainment, the sun was already starting to dip low on the horizon.

He jumped off, heart hammering, and sprinted toward the company building.

Now standing in front of the towering glass structure, Y/N realized with sudden horror—

He didn’t know where to go next.

There was no front desk visible from outside. No clear signage. Just a few people loitering near the entrance, all of them looking too busy or too important to approach. His eyes darted from person to person until they landed on a trio of women near the glass doors. Two were chatting quietly while the third stood slightly off to the side, checking something on her phone.

Summoning the last of his courage, Y/N hurried over.

“E-Excuse me,” he said, voice slightly winded as he bowed. “I’m really sorry to bother you, but—” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket, the one where he had printed out the interview email in case he couldn’t access it digitally. “I have an interview today, but I… I got lost. I don’t know where I’m supposed to go.”

The woman—tall, sharply dressed, her lanyard catching the light—took the paper from him with a curious look.

Her eyes scanned the print. Her expression changed for the briefest moment—an almost imperceptible flicker of surprise—but she quickly masked it and glanced down at her watch.

“You’re running a bit late,” she said, voice calm. “But you might still make it. Come with me.”

Turning to the other two beside her, she gestured. “You two go ahead without me. I’ll catch up later.”

They nodded without question, continuing through the doors as she turned back to Y/N and motioned for him to follow.

They walked through the lobby in silence, her heels clicking lightly on the polished floor.

While they waited at the elevator, Y/N bowed again, this time more deeply. “Thank you so much. Seriously. I—I don’t even know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t run into you.”

His words came out quickly, almost stumbling over themselves, a little too earnest—but he didn’t care.

The woman gave him a brief sideways glance but offered a small smile. “It’s fine. Really. Not a big deal.”

“It is to me,” he murmured, almost to himself.

She looked ahead again, then extended a hand. “I’m Harin, by the way. One of the managers here.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh—! I’m Y/N. It’s really nice to meet you.”

“You too. You’ll do fine,” she said, just as the elevator chimed with a soft ding.

He wanted to ask more—something about the interview format, what they might ask, how many people were in the room—but the doors opened before he could speak, and Harin stepped in without pause.

They rode up in silence.

When the elevator opened again, she stepped out, turned to the left, and pointed down the hallway.

“That’s your floor. Take the first left and head all the way down. The interview room should still be open if you’re quick.”

He nodded rapidly, already half-walking backwards. “Thank you again. Really. I’ll do my best.”

Harin offered one last small smile. “Good luck.”

And with that, Y/N turned and ran.

At the end of the hallway, double doors stood wide open. The space inside looked like some kind of multipurpose conference room. But instead of a bustling group of candidates, he saw rows of chairs already pushed back into stacks, and a pair of staff members—janitors, maybe—were rolling up a carpet runner near the podium.

Too late.

His stomach dropped.

He stepped inside slowly, eyes sweeping across the half-lit room, heart pounding in his ears.

No reception table. No waiting candidates. Not even a visible sign with the SM Entertainment logo. Just leftovers. Like the party ended before he was even invited.

No… no, no. Please.

Before he could spiral, the door on the far side opened, and three people stepped out. Two men in suits, one woman in business-casual, still holding a clipboard.

Y/N’s legs moved before his brain could catch up.

“Excuse me!” he called out, voice cracking. “Excuse me—sorry, I… I know I’m late.”

They all turned to look at him.

He bowed deeply, nearly a full 90 degrees. “Please, just give me a minute—I’m here for the interview. I had class, the traffic, I got lost—” His words were a blur, his voice trembling. “I printed the email—I showed someone downstairs—I swear I tried everything to get here on time—”

One of the men looked at his watch with a tired sigh. The other glanced toward the cleaning staff, then exchanged a look with the woman. She didn’t look annoyed—more like wary. Cautious.

“I’m really sorry,” she said. “But we’ve already finished for the day.”

Y/N’s chest caved in.

No. He couldn’t let it end like this.

“Please,” he said again, stepping forward. “Just a chance. Five minutes. I… I know I don’t have experience like the others, but I prepared. I studied. I worked hard for this. Just one chance. That’s all I’m asking.”

They hesitated.

He could feel it—that thin line between rejection and possibility.

The woman tilted her head slightly, studying him. Her expression softened.

…

“Five minutes,” she finally said.

Y/N blinked.

“Just five,” she repeated. “We’re already over time.”

He nodded rapidly, bowing again with a flurry of thank-yous tumbling from his mouth.

They exchanged a few quiet murmurs among themselves, then the woman motioned for him to follow them back into the room.

The chairs were gone. The lights dimmed slightly. Just a long rectangular table at the front, with their papers still spread across it.

Y/N stood before them.

His palms were sweating. His shirt stuck to his back. He couldn’t tell if it was nerves or the sprint from the lobby—but either way, it was time.

The door closed behind him.

The interview had begun.

The room was still.

Three interviewers sat in a clean, intimidating semi-circle across from him. Not a single one looked particularly pleased to be there.

Their suits were sharp, their expressions sharper.

Y/N sat upright in his chair, trying to steady his breath. His hands—tucked into his lap—were slightly damp with sweat. But his posture didn’t waver.

The woman in the center, name tag reading Jinhee – HR, glanced up from his resume, her tone void of warmth.

“Why were you late?”

No greeting. No smile. Just that.

Y/N bowed from where he sat, low and respectfully.

“I’m very sorry,” he said. “There were... a few things that went wrong today. But none of them should be used as an excuse. I take full responsibility.”

A quiet scoff came from his right.

The man beside Jinhee—Mr. Nam, according to the nameplate—leaned back slightly in his chair, arms crossed.

“So, your first impression is this: irresponsible, late, and unprepared.” He stared at Y/N, deadpan. “Why are you even here?”

The words landed like a punch, but Y/N didn’t flinch. He paused, swallowing hard, then looked up and answered evenly.

“Because I believe I can contribute something of value here.”

Nam clicked his tongue. “You have no background in management. No experience. And you’re a student. What makes you think you’re better than the other twenty applicants we saw today?”

Y/N glanced down at his hands—open, trembling faintly—then back at the panel. His voice was low, but steady.

“I don’t think I’m better,” he said. “I think I’m different.”

That got their attention.

Jinhee blinked. Nam raised a brow, skeptical. The third interviewer—a younger man with soft features, Manager Seo—tilted his head slightly, more curious than annoyed.

“Different how?” he asked.

Y/N let a few seconds pass. He wasn’t here to bluff or sell a perfect image. So he didn’t.

“Most applicants probably came in with all the right skills, degrees, and training. I don’t have that.”

He met their eyes, each one of them in turn. “What I have is pressure. And a reason to keep going when things fall apart.”

Jinhee narrowed her eyes. “What exactly does that mean?”

Y/N hesitated, just a moment—then answered honestly.

“It means I’ve had to keep moving while everything in my life was falling apart. I’ve spent the last few months balancing school, part-time jobs, helping with family matters back home... all while living alone in a foreign country, with no safety net.”

He took a slow breath.

“I don’t have the ideal resume. But I know how to endure. I know how to take care of things under pressure. I’m used to being tired, behind, and afraid—and still pushing forward anyway.”

This time, the silence that followed wasn’t judgmental. It was thoughtful.

Y/N leaned forward—not desperate, but grounded in his truth.

“What I lack in credentials, I’ll work twice as hard to earn. What I don’t know, I’ll learn. But if what you need is someone who can stay grounded when things get chaotic, who won’t walk away when it gets hard… that’s me. Because I’m already living it.”

Nobody spoke for a moment.

And then the just moment moved on.

The woman on the left — the sharpest one so far — leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing.

"Let’s say you get the job," she began, her voice cool. "It’s been a rough week. The group’s schedule has been a mess, one of the members is having a breakdown backstage, and you're the only manager nearby. Fans are screaming outside, the stylists are late, and your head manager is unreachable. What do you do?"

Y/N blinked.

He didn’t respond right away. Not because he didn’t have something to say, but because he understood what this was. This wasn’t just a situational question — it was a trap. A test of composure. They were seeing if he would flinch.

He sat a little straighter, folding his hands on his lap.

“I think…” he began slowly, carefully, “…that the most important thing in a situation like that isn’t to fix everything all at once. It’s to decide who needs you most in that exact moment.”

There was a pause. The man on the right tapped a pen against his notepad, eyes not leaving Y/N’s face.

“You’d leave the rest of the problems alone?” the woman asked, skeptical.

“No,” Y/N said quickly, but still calm. “I’d prioritize. If a member’s having a breakdown, that’s a mental health crisis. That has to come first, no matter what. I’d get her somewhere quiet, stay close but not push. Just be a person in the room who isn’t panicking.”

“And what about the others?” the man pressed.

“I’d call backup while handling her. Or text whoever I could from the staff. After that, I’d start checking off whatever I can do. Stylists are late? I’d ask if we can prep the basics ourselves. Fans outside? I’d contact security or venue staff for help. But the key is not to freeze. Just… move. One step at a time. Let the member feel safe, and don’t let the rest fall apart while you’re at it.”

Another pause. It wasn’t heavy — it was quiet in a different way now. Even the pen stopped tapping.

The woman leaned back slowly. “You’ve never managed anyone before, right?”

Y/N nodded. “No, ma’am.”

“You speak like you have.”

“I just…” Y/N gave a small shrug. “People are people. You don’t need a title to treat someone like a human.”

One of the interviewers, the man who had been mostly quiet until now, finally looked up from his notes. He had a faint furrow in his brow as he leaned forward slightly.

"You speak well," he said, voice calm but edged. "And you clearly know how to navigate people. But…" He tapped his pen lightly on the table. “Don’t get your hopes up too high just because you can read people or say the right things under pressure.”

Y/N’s expression stiffened.

“This job isn’t built on kindness and instincts alone,” the man continued. “It’s logistics. Planning. Coordination. You’re expected to juggle scheduling conflicts, location changes, live broadcast windows, visa renewals, budget reports, vehicle routes, staff rosters, costume management, health reports, backup plans, emergency plans—sometimes all in the same hour. It’s high-speed, no-hand holding, no safety net.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “I understand. I know I don’t have all of that knowledge yet, but I’m willing to—”

“Yes, I know you’re willing to learn,” the man cut in, his voice even but firm. “But this isn’t a school.”

He leaned forward slightly, the table between them feeling thinner now.

“This isn’t a university class where someone teaches you from A to Z. We don’t have the time, or the luxury. It’s just work. Fast, chaotic, unforgiving work. You either pick it up as you go or you get left behind. And if you mess up…” He paused for a moment. “It’s not just your problem. It becomes the artists’ problem.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than anything so far.

Y/N didn’t have anything to say this time. He just bowed his head slightly, acknowledging the weight of the warning, letting it settle into his bones.

There was no silence this time — just a small, mutual stillness. One of the women let out a quiet exhale, almost like she’d been holding it in. The man nodded once, his gaze steady.

“Alright,” he said. “That’s all from us.”

Y/N stood quickly and bowed, deeper than necessary. “Thank you for your time. Thank you for letting me speak even when I was—”

“Go,” the woman on the left cut in, but not unkindly. “Before we all change our minds.”

He blinked. Then let out a quiet, shaky breath. “Yes, ma’am.”

Just as he turned to leave, Y/N paused and looked back at them.

“Ah—sorry, just one thing. My phone isn’t working right now, so… if there’s any update, could you please contact me through the email I applied with? I don’t have a backup at the moment.”

There was a beat of silence. The middle-aged man gave a small nod. “Noted.”

That was it. No smile, no comment—just a quiet acknowledgment.

Y/N gave a final bow again. “Thank you for your time.”

As he stepped out of the room, the hallway lights felt too bright, too white. He didn’t know what to make of what just happened. Didn’t know if he did well, or if he’d just embarrassed himself trying.

But he hadn’t backed down. He’d stayed honest. Said what he believed.

And as he walked away, unsure of what came next… that was the only thing he could hold on to.

As Y/N stepped out of the elevator and into the spacious lobby, his steps gradually slowed. The weight of the long day had started to settle into his shoulders, but something else tugged at his thoughts—something small, but persistent.

He hadn’t properly thanked her.

Turning around briefly, he glanced toward the hallway he came from, half-considering trying to find her again. But the place was a maze, and he didn’t even know where she had gone. With a quiet sigh, he made his way toward the front counter near the building’s entrance.

A woman sat behind the desk, typing something into her computer. She looked up as he approached.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

“Uh… yeah, sorry.” He offered her a polite nod, adjusting his posture. “I know this might sound a bit odd, but… is there a staff member here named Harin?”

Her expression shifted into something between curiosity and caution. “And who are you?”

“My name’s Y/N. I had an interview just now, and… she helped me find the way. I was kind of a mess when I got here. I didn’t get the chance to thank her properly.”

The woman studied him for a moment, clearly debating whether this was some strange excuse or something sincere. After a beat, her expression eased.

“I think I remember. You two rushed through the lobby earlier, right?”

He nodded quickly. “Yeah. That was us.”

“What did you want exactly?”

“Nothing much, honestly,” he said. “I just… wanted to ask if you could pass along a message. Just to say thank you. For helping me, even when she didn’t have to.”

There was a moment of pause before she gave a small shrug. “Alright. I’ll let her know.”

Y/N let out a soft breath and bowed slightly. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

With that, he stepped back and headed toward the glass doors. The sky had dimmed outside, casting the street in early evening tones. And though the outcome of the day was still uncertain, there was a quiet sense of relief in knowing he had at least done this one thing right.

The moment Y/N stepped outside the building, it felt like the world finally gave him permission to breathe.

He tilted his head back slightly, took in a deep inhale, and let it out slow. The city was still buzzing around him—cars rolling past, conversations drifting in waves, horns and footsteps and life all moving on as if nothing in the world had changed. But something had shifted inside him.

That was when it hit him.

The exhaustion.

It came crashing down like a slow, heavy wave—no warning, no chance to brace for it. His legs felt heavier than they had a moment ago, his arms loose at his sides, and his mind buzzing with the dull hum of everything that had just happened. The sleepless nights, the rush to make it here, the stress, the ache in his feet from walking too far in shoes too thin—all of it had stacked up quietly behind his determination.

Now that he had nothing left to chase, the weight caught up to him.

He stood still for a long second, blinking at the sky. The clouds had deepened into a soft charcoal gray, swallowing what little daylight remained. People still hurried past him, brushing by with backpacks, coffee cups, business calls echoing from phone screens. But he felt… still. Like he didn’t quite belong in the motion anymore.

What now?

He didn’t know. He really didn’t. There was no sense of victory. No relief. But no defeat either. Just this strange, quiet blankness—the kind that came after giving everything you had and still not knowing whether it would be enough.

His fingers twitched slightly as he curled them into his palms. He looked one more time at the building behind him, then turned away.

He started walking—slowly, this time—blending back into the city’s rhythm, heading toward his dorm.

—-

By the time Harin reached the practice room, the sounds of idle conversation and warm-up stretches greeted her. The four members of Aespa were already inside, scattered around the room in their usual rhythm—Karina doing slow stretches by the mirror, Giselle sitting cross-legged and scrolling through her phone, Ningning humming as she adjusted her in-ears, and Winter, quietly tying her shoes by the wall.

Giselle looked up first when Harin entered. “Unnie, who was that guy you were with earlier?”

Ningning perked up at the mention, spinning around with interest. “Yeah, we saw you walking in with someone. Looked kinda rushed.”

Harin blinked, not surprised they caught it. “Oh, that? Just someone who asked for help. He was late for a manager interview.”

“For real?” Ningning tilted her head. “Was he Korean?”

“Not sure,” Harin replied as she stepped further into the room. “His Korean was decent, but his accent definitely sounded foreign.”

Karina, stretching her arms out, glanced over. “Was it for that opening you told us about? The one possibly for our team?”

“If I remember the paper he showed me right… yeah, I think so.”

Karina raised an eyebrow. “Can foreigners even join the management team?”

Harin shrugged as she opened her tablet. “It’s possible. Not common, but not impossible. That’s more HR’s call than mine.”

Giselle leaned forward slightly. “So the interview’s over?”

“Yeah,” Harin nodded. “All the candidates went in already. The team will evaluate everyone today or tomorrow.”

No one said anything after that. The room returned to its earlier calm as they each sank into their own space again. The quiet was filled only with the subtle scuff of sneakers on polished wood and the low hum of the speaker system booting up.

Harin settled into her usual spot near the wall, tapping through the schedule on her tablet.

Before she could focus, though, her eyes flicked to Winter.

The girl hadn’t said a word through the entire conversation. She wasn’t looking at anyone, wasn’t frowning or smiling—just calmly lacing up her shoes, almost detached. But Harin noticed. She always noticed.

She knew the reason why…. but chose not to hold onto it for long.

—-

A few days passed.

With each silent hour, the hope inside Y/N began to fade a little more. There had been no call, no email—nothing. And without a working phone, there wasn’t much else he could do but wait and wonder. Had they forgotten him? Or worse, had they already made their choice?

He told himself not to think about it. He had other things to focus on—classes, assignments, surviving day by day. So when the university’s computer lab finally reopened after maintenance, he slipped in quietly, found an empty seat, and logged in. The screen glowed to life.

First thing he did was check his email. Just another day, just another assignment waiting for him.

But then— His breath caught.

His eyes stuck on the screen.

An email. From SM Entertainment.

He froze. For a second, he just stared at it, heart pounding in his chest. A dozen thoughts rushed through his mind, each louder than the last. Then, with trembling fingers, he clicked it open.

Congratulations. After careful evaluation, we are pleased to inform you…

And there it was.

Words he had to reread. Once. Twice. Three times. Until they finally sank in.

He got it.

He got the job.

His chest caved in with a breath he didn’t know he was holding. A strangled laugh crawled out of his throat, mixed with something dangerously close to a sob. His hands flew to his face, clutching it like he could hold himself together just a second longer.

His shoulders shook. His vision blurred.

He wanted to scream. To cry. To collapse.

To run outside and yell it to the sky— That something finally went right.

After everything. After the sleepless nights, the empty stomachs, the quiet breakdowns, the way the world seemed like it was closing in on him—

He made it.

It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a maybe. It was real.

He whispered it to himself, over and over again, just to believe it.

“I got it… I really got it…”

For the first time in a long, long time— Hope didn’t feel like a lie.

…

To be continued... --

Notes,

Thank you once again for taking your time reading this story.

I just wanted to take a moment to sincerely apologize for how long it took to finally release this chapter. I know the wait has been long, and truthfully, this chapter didn’t turn out the way I hoped. It feels messy, a bit rushed, and far from my best work.

I’m also sorry for stepping away from this story for so long without any updates. Coming back after that break with a chapter that feels less than average is something I feel bad about—but I still wanted to share it, even if it’s imperfect.

Thank you so much for your patience, for reading, and for sticking with this story. I hope, despite everything, you still found something to enjoy in it.

More to come soon—hopefully better.

#aespa fanfiction #aespa x male reader #aespa x reader #giselle x male reader #karina x male reader #ningning x male reader #winter x male reader

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libingan · 10 months ago

Text

period sex with ghost???? sign me tf up!!!! it’s been such a long time since i last wrote any fanfiction, so forgive me if it’s dogshit im just rusty

a loud groan escapes you as you doubled over, another wave of pain rolling through your lower abdomen. pressing a hand against your stomach, you feel the familiar dull ache that had become a monthly companion.

they weren’t that bad earlier in the day, but by the afternoon, that faint discomfort had transformed into sharp, persistent stabs that made it difficult to concentrate on literally anything else.

you’ve tried pain killers, heating pads, every distraction you could think of, but even the slightest of movements exacerbated the cramps, sending jolts of pain through your body.

simon, your loving boyfriend, had been trying his goddamned hardest to help you through this. eventually, after one particularly bad outburst from you — which he won’t hold against you, you were in pain — he opted to stay still, letting you cuddle up against him as you groaned out in pain.

unbeknownst to you, simon had been on his phone, searching up more ways he could ease your suffering. he scrolls through each website, seeing the same results over and over and over again.

that is, until, he sees the words ‘an orgasm can alleviate menstrual cramps’ on his screen. for a moment, simon just… stares at his phone. he’s not against the idea, but considering your earlier outburst, he’s unsure of how he’s going to bring it up.

in the end, he decides with a simple ‘fuck it’ and speaks, “says here orgasms can help relieve your cramps,”

you blink up at him in surprise, knowing the implications behind your lover’s words. “does it?”

“yeah, it does.” he flips the phone over to show you his screen, letting you read the article yourself.

something about endorphins… “feel good” chemicals… natural pain relief…

“…we’ll make a mess.” you say.

“i’ll get a towel.” simon replies.

“don’t you think this is… well, gross? i mean, it’s blood…”

“is that a serious question?” simon asks with an incredulous expression, raising a brow at you.

upon seeing your embarrassed expression, simon lets out a sigh, placing his phone done on the nightstand. “listen, love, if you don’t want to, and you think this is gross, we don’t have to do it. all im saying is that im more than willing to help you out.”

you let out a sigh of your own, biting the inside of your cheek as you mull over simon’s suggestion. your cramps hurt like hell, and if orgasms really do help…

“i’ll try anything once, i guess…” you mumble, and simon wordlessly gets off the bed to grab two towels from the closet.

simon spreads both towels on the bed, on top of each other, beckoning you to lay on it. “took two, just in case one isn’t enough.” he explains, crawling over to you.

“are you sure this is okay with you, si?” you ask, reaching up to gently cup his cheek. simon instinctively leans into the palm of your hand, pressing a kiss to your wrist. “should be askin’ you that, lovie. this okay with you?”

“if it helps get rid of these damn cramps, fuck yes.”

that’s all it takes for simon to lean in, one hand slipping behind your nape to pull you into a deep kiss. his free hand slides downwards, tugging at the hem of your shirt, eager to slip it off. the two of you pull away from each other to make quick work of discarding your clothing and throwing them to the floor… or wherever they end up landing.

simon takes a moment to appreciate your body, eyes raking up and down, the tip of his tongue darting out to lick his lips. he gently grabs onto your thighs, pulling them apart to leave more space for him to settle in between. “gonna take these off, okay?” he says, hands moving to toy with the waistband of your panties.

“okay, okay, take them off,” you mutter, legs instinctively shutting the moment you’re left bare. simon clicks his tongue at that, pushing your thighs apart once more. “you hidin’ this pretty pussy from me?”

he gazes down at your cunt, feeling a rush of heat flow through his veins and straight to his cock. simon lets out a low groan, parting your lips apart to expose your sensitive bud.

simon wastes no time and dives right into it, licking a flat stripe on your clit, flicking his tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves. he revels in the way your legs twitch, the breathy whines that leave your lips.

“simon… simon, oh…” you moan, hands tangling in his blonde hair, holding his head down. this only encourages simon, wrapping his lips around your clit, lightly sucking on it.

he keeps his eyes focused on you the entire time, watching the way your chest heaves and how your back arches into a perfect bow. the sight of you completely lost in the pleasure has his cock throbbing and he can’t resist grinding against the sheets with a few grunts.

simon knows you’re close with the way your legs start clamping down his head and how your hands tighten around his hair. he places a quick kiss to your clit before pulling away, eyes gleaming with his desire and need for you.

a needy, high-pitched whine escapes your lips, but simon softly shushes you, promising a world of pleasure if you behaved. “be patient, love, gonna give you what you want in a bit.”

he reaches out to the nightstand, opening a drawer to take out a condom. simon quickly rips the wrapper with his teeth, hastily rolling the rubber around his cock.

with a careful hand, he brings his hand down to grab the string of your tampon, slowly pulling it out of you.

“jesus…” you muttered, face scrunched up in disgust as simon grabs a few pulls of tissue paper, wrapping it around the tampon and tossing it somewhere he can’t really be bothered to care about.

“simon! if that stains our carpet, i swear to god…”

“i’ll clean it up later, damn it…” simon grumbles, one hand grasping his cock as he positions himself against your entrance. “you ready?”

you sigh, wrapping your legs around simon’s waist. he takes that as a sign to keep going, slowly pushing his dick into you.

“jesus, fuck…” he curses, hissing as your warm walls envelop his cock so deliciously. “so fuckin’ tight…” simon murmurs, leaning towards you, lips finding their way to your neck.

once he bottoms out, simon takes a moment to enjoy the feel of you around him. “feels so good ‘round me, love,” he whispers, nibbling gently on the sensitive skin on your neck.

“move, si,” you nudged him, and simon wordlessly obeys.

he starts off with slow, shallow thrusts, letting you get used to his size before gradually picking up the pace.

simon glances down, admiring the red ring around the base of his dick, the blood staining your labia and a bit on the inside of your thighs. a low groan escapes him at the sight, hands holding onto your hips as he readjusts himself, fucking deeper into your cunt.

“makin’ a bloody mess on my cock, love… literally…” he teasingly whispers. you had half the mind to smack him for making such a joke, but with the way his cock fills up your pussy so snugly, you can’t find it in yourself to do so.

“s-si! feels—feels s’good!” you mewled, head thrown back in pleasure, your hands twisting around the sheets below. sex with simon is always good, but right now? you feel like a virgin being touched for the very first time.

simon reaches down to draw circles on your clit with his thumb, groaning as your gummy walls clench down on his cock. “y-yeah? you gonna come for me, love?”

“yes, yes, yes, please-!” you moan out, eyes squeezed shut. the additional stimulation on your already sensitive nub brings you closer to edge, and you’re damn sure simon can tell, especially with how your sounds seemed to have increased in volume.

“come, let go for me,” simon pants, his own orgasm fast approaching. “come on, love, come on,” he coos, his hips stuttering as he circles his thumb faster.

that’s all it takes for you to tip over the edge, eyes rolling into the back of your head, mouth hanging open as a loud moan erupts from your throat. your walls clamp down so tightly on simon’s cock, drawing his release out of him.

simon gently takes his hand away from your clit before laying on top of you, crushing you with his weight.

“how do you feel? still cramping?” he asks, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

“no,” you reply, lifting a hand to gently scratch simon’s back, “thank you,”

no words are exchanged after that. just you and simon basking in the afterglow. that is, until, you remember the fact that you’re still on your period.

“you’re cleaning everything up, simon. this was your idea.”

simon pulls away, exhaling a heavy sigh. “yes, ma’am,”

#call of duty x reader #cod mw2 x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x reader smut #ghost x reader #ghost x reader smut #simon riley #ghost #call of duty #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod mw ghost

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drchucktingle · 1 year ago

Note

Where is the best place to preorder Bury Your Gays? What is of most benefit to you?

i know other types of media have given the trot of preorders a bad way, but for publishing books i cannot even begin to tell you buckaroos HOW IMPORTANT PREORDERS ARE WHEN SUPPORTING AUTHORS YOU CARE ABOUT. i mean HECK preorders are so important i even wrote three dang tinglers about it

basically preorders are what publishers use to determine how much financial backing they will give a book for advertising and book tours and all that, but that is only PART of this way. BOOK STORES also use a preorder equation to determine how much shelf space to give a book. your preorder does not just mean YOU get a book for yourself, but basically means you are making room for someone ELSE to get the book in a store by putting another copy on a shelf

that is why it is better to put in a preorder instead of just saying 'oh i will just remember to buy myself a copy on the day it comes out'

LASTLY preorders are how books get onto bestseller lists because all the orders leading up to your book release date COUNT AS FIRST WEEK SALES. something like new york times bestseller list is close to impossible trot without preorders

think of it like a handsome surfing bigfoot trying to ride a wave. it is one thing to actually ride on the wave, but what matters most is that initial moment when you GET UP THERE and actually have the strength to pull yourself up when the wave starts. PREORDERS are the climbing up part

NOW LETS GET DOWN TO YOUR SPECIFIC QUESTION

first of all ANY preorder is great. what matters most as far as bestseller lists is actually FORMAT. the best thing you can order for an author is not ebook or audiobook, it is HARDCOVER. personally i am an audiobook buckaroo myself so please understand you should order whatever format you want, but technically speaking the answer is HARDCOVER

next is WHERE do you order. this answer is pretty dang cool actually. the best place to order for the sake of author is your LOCAL INDIE BOOKSTORE. if you MUST order at a big timer website that is fine, but many bestseller lists are weighted towards indie bookstores

so to sum it up. the technical BEST WAY to support chuck with 'bury your gays' is to PREORDER a HARDCOVER from an INDIE BOOKSTORE.

thank you for your question but before you go trotting along i would like to add one more thing

all art is important. when we create things they serve as stepping stones for us to move along our journey as artists and creators on this timeline. i have so much love for every book i have made, from POUNDED IN THE BUTT BY MY OWN BUTT to CAMP DAMASCUS

but i have to say with deep sincerity in my way, BURY YOUR GAYS is something special. i absolutely believe that if you care about fandom, or creation, or love, or fanfiction, or supernatural, or the future of media, or asexual buckaroos, or gay buckaroos, or bi buckaroos or any queer buckaroos, you will love this book. i promise buckaroo

it is the best thing i have ever written, and i think it is going to bend this timeline in incredible ways. i would like you to trot with me into the future, since we have already trotted this far together. i cannot say this enough: this one is special, and the timelines we create from here are going to make the whole dang world look up in surprise and say 'where the heck did that come from?'

so if you are even CONSIDERING preordering, take a moment a do it.

if you are one of those buckaroos who says 'chuck tingle is my favorite author ive never read' then now is your moment

lets trot buckaroos. thank you for reading and thank you for constantly proving to me that love is real

preorder BURY YOUR GAYS here

#love is real #bury your gays #buckaroo lifestyle

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derinthescarletpescatarian · 5 months ago

Note

Hey Derin, can I ask you a question or two about publishing? (If no, close your eyes for the next bit and click near where you remember the delete button was.)

I'm writing something with the dream of publishing it one day and I'm considering all avenues at this stage. What led you to publishing serially online? What are the pros of your experience doing that?

Asking you because I was looking over your site earlier today and thinking about how comfortable a place the internet feels - less of a big step than traditional publishing, or even putting out a whole story at once for self-publishing.

I've never pursued trad publishing and have no plans to ever do so, it was immediately obvious that it wasn't for me, so I can't give you like, comparisons. I only even got into indie publishing because my readers were demanding ebooks and paperbacks so I just shrugged and got them made. Sometimes I get asked trad vs. indie publishing questions that I do not have the experience to answer.

This question, though, I can answer. I didn't sit down and go "how should I publish these? Online, or through a trad publisher, or what?" I approached web serial writing directly as a career without considering publishing my writing as books at all; that was never on the radar until the readers wanted them. And the reason I started writing a web serial was simple -- it was a hobby that suited my lifestyle.

I'd written serial fiction before; fanfiction, some r/hfy stuff, just whatever I felt like, and I had a serious problem experienced by many casual writers -- I tended not to finish stuff. The stuff that had never made it to the web was even worse; I had so many novels in progress on my hard drive that I'd gotten to the end of the first act of, before moving onto a new idea. I needed something to do with my time (I'd moved back to my hometown to spend time with my dying grandfather and was unemployed) and posting a web serial with a strict schedule and a patreon seemed like the best way to force myself to actually finish my stories. If a handful of people were giving me a couple of buck a month, I wouldn't be able to just drift off to something else; I'd have to finish the story.

And it worked. I got a new job and wrote Curse Words on my off weeks, then that job ended and my Patreon was paying my new mortgage and suddenly this was just kind of my job now. And then enough people were asking for ebooks and paperbacks that I had to figure out how to make those happen. And this is kind of my life now I guess.

In terms of pros I would say:

Low barrier to entry/small steps of progression: You can just start publishing on a website for free whenever you want. You can make your own website for free and publish on that (I did). It takes five minutes or less to learn how to do and you don't need to buy anything. Your time commitment is mostly Writing The Story, which is presumably what you want to be spending your time on anyway. If you do it for 2 months and decide you hate it? You can stop. No harm, no foul.

No boss: You're beholden to your patrons and nobody else. You can write whatever the fuck you want, wherever the fuck you want, however often you want. The only deadline is the schedule that you yourself set, and you can set it to suit your lifestyle.

Payment model: The patreon/ko-fi sponsorship model is vastly superior, in my opinion, to making money via book sales. There's too many factors involved to really say if you make more or less money on Patreon, but what it has is predictability. Patrons come and go, but slowly. I can predict my monthly income from my supporters to within a hundred dollars or so. This is a massive advantage when you have bills to pay. Book sales surge unpredictably, and while you can bank on things like advances if you go the trad publishing route, these are few and far between.

Time: There are minimal delays in web serial publishing. No waiting months or years at a time for your book to chew through the machinery of a publisher, no long delays as your agent works or contracts are negotiated. Indie publishing is faster but still has far more delays than web serial publishing; most notably, you have to write the entire book first, often with little idea of how well it's going to perform. I don't do well with waiting periods or having to coordinate timing with others, so web serial publishing works best for me.

Marketability: Web serials have a far smaller audience than books, but they're also easier to market to that audience. For one thing, they're usually free, and it's a lot easier to convince someone to try a free story instead of buying one. For another, their one-chapter-at-a-time nature feels like less of a commitment and less intimidating to some people, even though they are traditionally much longer than books tend to be. Also, their chapter-by-chapter nature allows speculation and jokes and fanart and stuff to be spread while the story is still going, which is great marketing, especially when readers end up talking about it far longer than they would talk about a book (because they're reading it chapter-by-chapter for far longer).

But the biggest advantage in marketability is what I call 'rolling weight enthusiasm'.

When you're pushing a cart or something, it takes a lot of effort to get started, but once you're cruising at a consistent speed, you can rely on momentum to do half the work for you. You can build more and more speed with the same effort, because a rolling weight is maintaining that momentum. Writing a web serial is a lot like that; the consistent release schedule means that if you can get people invested, it's much easier to keep them invested, because they're waiting a very short period of time (a few days to a week, depending on your release schedule) to get more of the story. If you're releasing books, there might be more than a year between releases; you can keep a dedicated audience interested for that long, but it's much harder to hold onto the casual readers. There are so, so many book series that I've only read half of because at some point a new book was released and I didn't notice. If you write and publish books, you have to do a big part of the marketing all over again to let people know that the next one is out. Web serials don't have this problem. When's the next chapter out? soon enough that the previous chapter is still fresh in your mind. soon enough that you probably don't have time to finish the fanart this one made you think of.

Immediate feedback: Another great thing about web serials is that you can watch the audience reaction in real time. Not only that but, unlike with a book that people read all at once, you get very detailed feedback specific to each chapter. I don't mean people telling you about the story; reader suggestions and 'constructive criticism' is almost universally useless and can generally be thrown out. If you trust somebody's writing and editing skills enough to take feedback from them, you should ask that person directly; random readers are unlikely to be experts and unlikely to have accurate advice.

Instead, watch them discuss it amongst themselves. What did they get right away, and what are they confused about? what did they react most strongly to; is the dominant emotional reaction to the various characters vaguely in line with what you intended? Check the theories; how well are they predicting future events? (If everyone is guessing the Big Twist, then you need to put more effort into selling it so that it's not a let down; the less surprising a twist is, the better the writing has to be to pull it off. But if nobody is guessing the Big Twist, then you have insufficiently foreshadowed it. You're looking for a very high population of readers being accurate about the information they're expected to have gleaned, and a small population being accurate about twists and stuff, and you want that small population to grow as they get closer to the twist.) Checking these reactions can give you a better idea of what you need to emphasise, clarify, or foreshadow in the text.

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heavenlee773 · 9 months ago

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Fairly Odd Parents; A New Wish finale spoilers!!

Okay so am I the only one who didn’t like the fact that Hazel’s friends now know about the fairies?

Because like, how do you go on from that? Maybe it’s because I never really got attached to her friends the same way I did with Dev, but it’s just racking my mind over how the episodes in season two will go.

It kind of feels like them knowing about the fairies will only cause troublesome situations like “oh it’s fine! Hazel can just wish us out of this mess” or “Hazel can you wish this for us please?” Which will probably cause a lot of problems, and there’s no going back from that.

It could be because on every site I watched FOPANW for free, it’s missing “The Wellsington Hotellsington” episode which I’m pretty sure is the episode where Winn gets formally introduced, and the trio’s friendship cements. I’ll probably have to buy that episode since websites don’t want to add it for some reason…

But now Season 2 most likely will be focused more on the trio and their shenanigans, so I don’t knowww… I’m really biased though, I love Dev as a character and I love his and Hazel’s dynamic (before the whole taking over fairy world thing)☹️

I like Jasmine and Winn but I just don’t care for them, you know?

And onto Hazel’s brother Antony, he’s cool and all but why does he need to know about the fairies?

Like I know this makes it SO much easier for Hazel, and it’s basically a huge weight lifted off of her, but story wise?? Eughhh I don’t know😖

I mean, if they explore his and Deja’s relationshipppp hmmm okayyyy😋😋 But I just know how they’d segue way into that, and thinking about it makes me uncomfortableeee!!

Basically what I’m saying is, I CAN’T WAIT FOR SEASON TWO AND I HOPE THERE IS MORE DEV CONTENT!!!

PLEASEE don’t have Dev just be a one off antagonist☹️☹️

The theory that Dev keeps his memories because of his shades (and also his similarities to some other rich kid that was in the original series of whom I forgot his name) is cool, but also awkwarddd— because what does he do with that information?? Like okay buddy, you remember. Now what? He never had the best relationship with Peri in the first place!! I’d prefer if maybe season one went on WITHOUT Irep interfering or at least appearing but not appearing again until the next season, because THEN Dev and Peri could’ve connected at least a little, and Dev could have more realizations about “maybe I don’t need my father’s approval” or something— then in season two when Dev goes on a spiral or something, let’s say his dad ticks him off;

Dev tries to have a heart to heart with his dad after Hazel and Peri push him to,

“I feel like you don’t care about me, and all I want is for you to be proud of me—“

And his dad is like,

“Come back to me when you do something I can be proud of.”

SO THEN he becomes bitter at Hazel and Peri for “making” him go do that, and turns to Irep to take over Fairy World.

Eughhhh but this is a kid’s show after all, and they want to cater to their attention spans so a show that takes a while to fully flesh out their characters would probably go right over some kid’s heads (or not, they could probably become smarter.)

I still love the show, and fanfiction exists for this exact reason—

I guess that’s enough of my Ramb-Lee’s for now, if anyone wants to talk about FOPANW, I’m here😝.

(Dev looks so CUTE in this scene🥺)

Peace!!

-🤍

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syluss-karaoke-teacher · 4 months ago

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Love and Deepspace - Nightly Rendezvous - Part I, Xavier

The teaser for the new quad banner has me in such a chokehold I needed to drop everything and write some smut scenarios! The first one up is Xavier~

Word count: 2534 words

MDNI! Main text under the cut. You have been warned.

NOTE: This fic is only posted on tumblr and on AO3 under the pseud Yuli_Hunter. All other uploads on any other websites are non-authorized. I do not own any part of Love and Deepspace as an IP, but I do own this piece of fanfiction, and you are not allowed to repost it, copy it or otherwise claim it as your own.

That's it, enjoy! ❤️

Tags: reader!MC, fem!reader, PWP, semi-public sex, PIV, oral (f!receiving), ripping clothes, dom!Xav undertones, not beta-read we die like Grandma

Xavier!! Could you and Miss Hunter do me a favor? I need to be out of town for the weekend and there are a few new saplings that need daily watering. If you can pop into Philo, that’d be great! : ))

Xavier reads through the message again with a frown as you two walk down the alley towards Philo. Not only was most of the night spent at the annual charity ball organized by the Hunters’ Association, the rest of it would now waste away helping his so-called friend to water some dumb plants. Time Xavier could have spent with you in the barbeque restaurant that just opened in your neighborhood, for example.

He couldn’t help the impatience quickening his steps, not with how radiant you look under the street lights, hanging onto his arm as you chat with Tara over the phone. Your attention had been stolen at the ball by so many of your out-of-town colleagues you hadn’t seen in a while, so you decided to make up for it by exchanging gossip with her on the phone on your walk over to Philo. Very considerate of you towards your friend. However, it meant even less attention given to your boyfriend, who had extended his social battery to its limits ages ago.

When you finally say goodbyes on the phone and hang up, he can barely keep the sigh of relief inside himself.

“Sorry about that, Xav,” you smile and pat his arm, “it’s been a long night huh?”

“It’s alright,” he replies, “though the way here would have been faster if we had teleported.”

“But then I couldn’t have talked to Tara about the new Lumiere merch that’s launching soon!” you frown playfully, and Xavier’s eyebrow ticks in annoyance.

Oh, you knew exactly what you were doing. Before tonight you both had been exceptionally busy with your missions, too tired to do more than fall asleep on either one of your couches after having a quick dinner. Xavier might have a better poker face than most, but having dated him for a while now, you knew his limits well. And you especially knew what tended to happen when you pushed him to those limits.

It is no coincidence that your new dress is sinfully short, your heels high and your perfume his favorite kind. He had barely been able to tear his eyes off you ever since you exited your apartment in this get-up, doubly so at the charity ball with so many onlookers vying for your attention. You had kept up a façade of obliviousness the whole night, as if you hadn’t even noticed all the eyes on you, his especially. You knew what it did to his patience, as did the mention of his alter ego.

You feel his arm wind tighter around yours as you turn toward Philo that’s only a short distance away.

“Come on Xav, we can’t keep the saplings waiting!”

You try to hasten your steps, but instead of heels clacking on the pavement you hear a soft whoosh as Xavier’s Evol grabs the both of you. One blink later you are in the greenhouse of the flower shop, facing the snowy inner courtyard of the apartment block.

“Was that really necessary?” you say as you shrug off your winter jacket. Xavier says nothing as he removes his own coat as well and picks up the watering can, heading straight to the flower beds you assume Jeremiah had meant. You roll your eyes and sit on a cushioned garden bench near him, crossing one leg over the other as he goes over the flowers one row after the other.

“If something is bothering you, tell me. Don’t take it out on the poor plants.”

When he still doesn’t answer you tap his shin with your heel. That finally makes him turn towards you. As he does, you feel heat creeping up your neck: when did he manage to unbutton his dress shirt? You can’t help but ogle at his bare chest, barely registering him putting the watering can down and taking a few measured strides towards you.

You are brought back to your senses by him grabbing your shin. Your skin shivers under his touch, goosebumps rising against the sheer fabric of your pantyhose: expensive ones that make your legs look amazing and that accentuate your butt nicely. Xavier’s fingers warm up your skin as they travel upwards and under the hem of your dress.

“You honestly have the gall to pretend you don’t know what’s bothering me?” he asks quietly. Now you know you are pushing it. You don’t trust your voice, so you merely widen your eyes in feigned innocence and let your lips fall apart slightly.

His hand grasps your thigh tighter, and a small sigh escapes you as you feel the first sparks run up your core. He leans down towards you, and your heartbeat quickens as you feel the sapphire blue in his eyes intensify every passing second.

“We could have gone home together after making our appearances. Instead, I have to watch you talk to unimportant people for hours on end, then listen to you fawn over the phone with Tara about Lumiere of all things, and then be dragged here to tend to Jeremiah’s stupid plants. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you planned the whole thing.”

He supports himself against the bench’s backrest with his other hand as he brings his face near yours, your breaths mingling together in the chilly greenhouse air.

“I would do no such thing. How dare you accuse me of such mischief,” you puff out, your eyes boring into his in a challenge. His lips curl into a mean smirk as his fingers slip between your thighs, ghosting over your center.

“I sincerely hope you are telling me the truth. Otherwise…” his voice drops as his lips graze your earlobe, “I would be very mad indeed.”

He slides his fingers over your covered pussy, and you shiver at the contact. He circles the area around your clit lazily as he places featherlike kisses on your ear and neck. As an attempt to carry on the charade a little while longer, you gently push him further by his shoulder.

“Xavier… we can’t… do it here,” you say to him, squeezing your legs together and hoping to appear as bashful as you can in your current position. Xavier straightens himself, and you are about to freak out that he is actually going to stop, but then he grabs your knee again and pulls you further down on the bench so that your ass is hanging in the air.

“Don’t move,” he commands and pulls your legs apart. You gasp and try to balance yourself on your tippy toes as Xavier pushes your dress up to your waist. He kneels in front of you between your spread legs, placing one thigh on his shoulder and grasping the other in a firm grip.

“You had your own fun tonight, now it’s my turn,” he tells you, and before you have chance to retort, he reaches for your crotch and rips your pantyhose clean apart. Your panties are next, the equally expensive lace thong ripped at its seams and just as quickly replaced by his mouth. The moan that you let out is nothing short of lewd as Xavier licks long stripes up your pussy, collecting the slick that’s already gathered there before proceeding to tease your clit.

Xavier has many skills honed to perfection, and eating you out has to be in his top three. In an embarrassingly short time he has your thighs quivering in need, your slick dribbling down his chin and his hands bruising your thighs as he drinks his fill. When he concentrates his efforts once more on your pulsing clit, you hope that it means he is impatient enough to make quick work of you and fuck you stupid sooner rather than later. He lets you rock your core against his face, bury your hands into his hair as you chant his name into the empty greenhouse, chasing your high shamelessly. It’s when you catch his eyes in the darkness, his pupils almost completely blown and staring straight into your soul that makes you unravel: your body tenses like a primed bowstring, back arching off the bench as you spill into his mouth.

He leads you through the aftershocks of your orgasm, which lulls you into a false sense of hope. It is when he releases your other thigh only to push two fingers into your heat that you realize there is no easy release in sight.

“Xavier—” you try to interrupt but a light suck on your oversensitive bud is enough to cut you off. Xavier pumps his fingers steadily, curling against your sweet spot with practiced precision. Heat pools inside you quickly, but the oversensitivity from your first orgasm keeps you on an uneasy edge: never too much, never enough. You try to eye the bulge straining against his pants, but another measured lick at your core is enough to distract you.

“I told you I would have my fun,” he finally responds, lifting his head up just enough to lock eyes with you. Your thigh that’s not on his shoulder has started to shake, so he takes off your shoes and guides both your thighs around his face and neck, effectively burying his face in your crotch as his fingers continue to tease you towards another release. “You are done only when I say you are.”

And just like that he continues to wreck you as you struggle to retain some semblance of dignity, still vaguely aware of the fact that you are debasing Jeremiah’s place of work. After teetering on the edge for god knows how long the second orgasm hits you like a bolt of lightning, and you feel yourself leaking an embarrassing amount. By the time Xavier finally pulls away he looks positively pussy-drunk, his face red with arousal and a fine sheen of sweat on his brow.

“You are divine,” he drawls as he pulls his fingers out and massages your quivering thighs. “By the stars, you make me weak.”

“Xav… please, take me,” you plead, already close to tears and hoping your begging would be enough to make him forget his ire. Xavier stands up and pulls you with him, kissing you ferociously. You moan at the taste of yourself on his lips and use the opportunity to slide your hands across his bare chest, scratching the pale skin with your nails. Xavier growls into your mouth at the contact and lifts you up by your hips, carrying you to the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.

He puts you down and twirls you around so you are facing the snowy courtyard. The lights in the greenhouse are out, and there aren’t many people walking outside at this hour anyway, but the possibility of someone passing by and looking in is still non-zero. The thought of it makes your heart race, but Xavier gives you no time to ruminate on it.

“Lift up your dress.”

You swallow heavily as you lean your cheek against the cold window and follow his order. His thumb circles the hole he ripped in your pantyhose, spreading your slick around your shivering skin.

“Such a pretty girl when she’s obedient,” he sighs and kneads the flesh of your ass. You make a keening sound and your hole clenches around nothing. You perk your ass upwards in a silent plea and you hear Xavier curse softly. He unzips his pants, and after a small eternity you feel his thick cock slide against your folds.

“Just so you know… I won’t be easily satisfied tonight,” he says as he pushes inside you, your sopping pussy making the intrusion effortless. “So you better give me a good show if you want to make up for your earlier behavior.”

He slips two fingers into your mouth and presses down on your tongue as he begins a brutal pace, the filthy sounds echoing in the greenhouse. Soon enough his cock renders you dumb, makes you babble nonsensically as you try widen your stance to take his cock in deeper, deeper—

“Xav, s-so good, just like that, can feel you in my fucking stomach,” you groan as he pistons into you. You see his dim reflection on the glass, a steady presence behind you. He uncovers your breasts by yanking down your dress and grabs them to ground you to him better. He seems and feels completely unbothered by the possibility of anyone seeing you.

The glass fogs up and you draw nonsensical patterns onto it as you desperately try to hold yourself up. Your core buzzes, bordering on uncomfortable, your senses assaulted from all directions. The moment you feel your hold on the window slipping Xavier pushes you further into it, winding an arm around your waist and lifting your other thigh with his other arm. You are now completely pushed up against the window, and if anyone was to pass through the courtyard, they would have no trouble seeing Xavier pound into your sopping cunt. The thought of it makes you shake and whine in his grasp.

“You like this, don’t you?” Xavier groans into your ear. His thick length pushes now even more firmly into your g-spot in this angle, and you swear you see stars appear in your vision. “So needy for my cock that you don’t care who might see?”

You make an affirmative whine and let your head fall back on Xavier’s shoulder. He uses the opportunity to suck a hickey on your neck, biting down so hard it makes you cry out in pain.

“Promise me you won’t ever tease me like this again, not after such a long break. Otherwise…” he trails off as he pulls you against his chest impossibly tight, his thrusts becoming fast and shallow, “I can’t guarantee I won’t do this in the bathroom of the next ball, or whichever event you decide to act out at.”

You feel your eyes roll back into your head at the image of it and you feel yourself clench down on his cock. You both moan in unison and Xavier’s grip on you tightens into a bruising one.

“My filthy girl, fuck—” he moans and ruts into you like an animal in heat. The hand around your waist dips down to rub your clit, and the already burning nerves explode, rushing you to the most intense orgasm you have felt in a while. Your pulsing core brings him to completion as well, and Xavier buries himself inside you to the hilt, vocalizing his pleasure through open-mouthed kisses he leaves on your upper back.

Later he has to teleport you back to your apartment, as along with the evidence of your nightly activities running down your thighs, your dress is a crumpled mess, and your neck and shoulders are littered in hickeys. Xavier has the decency to look at least a bit guilty, but you both know it won’t be the last time the two of you decide to act out.

-----

A/N: let me know your thoughts in comments and tags, and please reblog this if you liked it!! It helps the post find a bigger audience ^_^ My ask box is also open for requests. Zayne is probably next on the list, so stay tuned!

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace xavier #lads xavier #lnds xavier #xavier #xavier x mc #xavier x reader #xavier x you #reader is mc #smut #pwp #fanfiction #lads fanfic #yuli writes

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auckie · 1 year ago

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I think the things that offend me most nowadays in like, smaller interpersonal interactions rather than grand, sweeping trends in culture, are when people chose to not partake in a wide set of things. Like musical close mindedness, or refusal to try different foods from different cultures. Not watching an entire subset of films bc they’re ‘french’. Avoiding reading bc you say you have adhd and it’s too hard. Like dude I get it, I’m busy. I can be picky. Everyone can. But the willful ignorance of closing yourself off to those VAST portions of the human experience, and not having curiosity and a lust to learn and explore art that was made by someone worlds apart from you either in terms of their culture, era, whatever. I dunno man it just pisses me off so bad. I think it’s arrogant. Like oh you’re comfortable in your safe little bubble huh? And you’re enforcing its barriers with the excuse that you’re autistic and have sensory issues. With music made by black people?? lol okay. It is pretty presumptuous for me to assume malicious intent but I think those prejudices are borne from either the comfort of being someone who’s wealthy and probably white not feeling the need to learn past what they think is enough, or it’s a reflection of a society that’s taught you to prioritize what it shills— popular, current (white, depending where you live ig) artists who are making streamlined, easy to digest content. Often when I meet people with these issues they’ll have one particular ‘niche’, and it tends to be like. 70s music. Victorian literature. Anime and Japanese games. But they’re still not really investing beyond the media presented. Like there’s so much more to Japanese culture than liking some cartoons put out between 2010-2020. You don’t gotta become some sorta Einstein who learns the background of every little freak in FGO yeah. But don’t you wanna aim higher? Aren’t you interested in any of the historical figures? And nothings wrong with hopping onto a trend. You read Dracula bc of that Dracula daily thing. Cool! Read more. Some people will say they’re chronically ill or disabled and can’t get outside. That’s okay. The internet is full of things you can read other than fanfiction, YouTube has a shit ton of free music. There’s Wikipedia and free articles online if you have questions about things. Yeah nobody is spending four hours a day looking at the national archives website and studying art history but it’s imbued in the things around you, and youll absorb it ambiently as you go along. you dont have to be a jack of all trades and cover every major genre of every major medium, but it never hurts to try! I really love seeing ppl ask too. Bc it can be kind of humiliating to admit to what seems like some jackass hipster that you’ve never delved into, idk, Serbian films (lol not that one). And hopefully if whoever you’re asking will give you honest good recommendations and not berate you. I’m kind of berate a straw man rn I guess. The hostile tone def doesn’t lend to an atmosphere of sharing but I cannot tell you how many times I’ve rbed anything involving specifically jazz only to see someone rb and add the stupidest comment on the post, or in the tags, or go into my inbox to be like waaah I don’t like jazz bc it’s boring and old and for pretentious hypocrites who hate neurodivergent people! Like what are you TALKING about. Fine if you don’t like it but don’t try and rationalize that as a moral standing you shit lark. And just as they’re allowed to dislike jazz I’m allowed to not really enjoy people who don’t like jazz. Or country. Nautical knots. Knit wear. Watching urbex YouTubers get their shit rocked by squatters. Korean food. Pachuco fashion and stupid ugly low riders. Bollywood films. and they don’t want to try any of those things either yknow? The next thing I’m getting into is circuit bending.

#sorry this is probably a bit whiny I just got mad remembering

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angels-fantasy · 10 months ago

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Top Secret Fiction Ch. 6

The Confrontation

Katsuki Bakugou x Reader

Description: After meeting the one and only pro hero Dynamight on a dating app, you two begin to see each other. Because of the dangers that come with his hero work, you both promise to be completely honest with each other from the beginning; though you can't help but keep one big secret from him.

You write fan fiction, mostly about him.

Chapter Details: deku makes an appearance here heheh. bakugou lowkey might like fanfics? but only if they're about him. scary confrontation 😟 reader is a bit sad and confused :(

Word Count: 1.4k

previous chapter

As soon as Bakugou got home, he opened his computer and looked up 'Bakugou x Reader'. What came up was a ton of links to different websites, one of the top ones being HeroFiction.Com.

Clicking on it, he scrolled through the sight and found many other original stories about different pro heroes.

While doing this, he learned that this was called fan fiction, which he'd heard about before, but he never paid attention to it because he didn't care.

Keeping the website open, he leaned back and wondered, were you writing fan fiction about him? You must've been, based on your notes. Did you write for other pro heroes, or just him?

A small part of him hoped you only wrote for him.

He sighed and rubbed his hands down his face, trying to think about what the hell he was going to do about this. Clearly, this was something you didn't want to tell him, meaning you kept it a secret.

And he hates secrets, but for some reason, this didn't feel too bad. He was almost... flattered, in a way. He was also curious and he just wanted to know more. But how would he even bring this up to you?

Deciding he'd need help with understanding this website, he called someone he trusted.

"Hey Deku. You know what fan fiction is, right?"

Blushing, Izuku replied with "Why are you asking me that Kacchan?!"

"Because I know you used to write that shit back in high school!" He explained, "Just tell me what you know about this site called 'HeroFiction.com.'"

A lightbulb went off in Izuku's head, "Oh yeah I recognize that name! It's basically a website for pro hero fanfiction. I've seen a few good ones actually-"

"Yeah okay, thanks." Katsuki said, cutting off his friend.

It was time for him to do more of his own research, specifically on this website.

...

When you woke up the next morning, you found yourself in your bed wondering how you got there.

Did I fall asleep? You wondered.

You cringed at the thought of Bakugou seeing you asleep and hoped you didn't do anything embarrassing.

Rubbing your eyes, you grabbed your phone from the nightstand and saw a text from Bakugou letting you know he had left after putting you in your bed.

You smiled at his thoughtfulness and texted him back a thank you, and an apology for falling asleep while he was over.

After tossing your phone down onto the bed next to you, you stretched and blinked away any leftover sleep.

As you were stretching your legs you felt your foot hit something softly. Wondering what it was, you sat up and looked at the foot of your bed, eyes widening when you realized it was your notebook.

But this wasn't just any notebook- this one had all of your notes for fics you were planning on writing.

You thought about how Bakugou brought you into your bedroom, and your heart sank to your stomach when you realized he probably saw your notebook.

"Noooo!" You cried and placed your hands over your eyes. "Kill me now..."

You prayed to any higher power out there that he didn't read anything.

...

Your prayers clearly didn't reach anyone because a few hours after waking up, you got a text from Bakugou that said, "Can we talk? ASAP."

Biting your nail nervously, you texted back "Sure" and asked when and where he'd want to meet up.

Quickly texting back, he told you he'd meet you at a cafe near your neighborhood in a few hours.

A little while later as you got ready to meet up with him you felt like you were going to cough up your stomach and die from your nerves.

You didn't want to accept it, but deep down you knew he figured out your secret. It was already terrifying trying to keep what you did in your free time a secret, but now that the person you wrote about knew, was even more terrifying!

It seemed as though your frantic thoughts made time go by even faster than usual, and it was now time for you to leave so you could make it to the cafe on time.

Taking a deep breath and patting your face, you stepped out of your apartment and began to head to the cafe.

...

As Bakugou sat at the cafe in the outdoor dining area, he tapped his foot anxiously as he awaited your arrival.

After his phone call with Deku and doing his own research (which just consisted of reading other fan fictions he came across), he came to the conclusion that he would accept this hobby of yours, if you were honest about it when he confronted you.

Since he had browsed the website a bit, he came across some stories that were actually decent (but also others that were very, very questionable and he really hoped you didn't write anything like that. ESPECIALLY not a story with him and that damn Deku).

He'd never admit it, but it boosted his ego a bit to know that you wrote about him, and he definitely wanted to read some of your stuff. He wanted to know if it was as good as some of the other ones he has read.

Suddenly, he saw your figure walking towards him and he was snapped out of his thoughts. He sat up straighter and placed his elbows against the table, leaning forward.

You sat down across from him silently with a shy look on your face. "So..." You said softly, "You wanted to talk?"

He cleared his throat, "Yeah. I'll just get to the point..." He said, before hesitating to say, "That night I was at your place, I saw your notebook-"

You grimaced, knowing exactly what he was talking about, and placed your hands over your face in embarrassment. "I'm sorry." You said.

Letting out a deep breath, you uncovered your face and continued to speak while looking down at your lap. "I knew this would come up eventually, I just didn't think it'd be so soon..."

Bakugou scoffed, "So when were you gonna tell me? Never?"

You frowned at his tone, "No! It's just not an easy topic to talk about Bakugou. It's embarrassing and I wasn't just going to say 'Hey Bakugou, did you know I've been writing fan fiction about you for three years?'"

He blinked. He could understand where you were coming from. In fact, he'd probably be more weirded out if you had told him that easily. But, even though you were honest now, it still doesn't shake his uneasiness about you keeping a secret from him.

Sure, it wasn't a huge, life threatening secret, but it was still something you kept from him. He liked honesty, especially in a relationship and it's something he valued heavily. A part of him felt like he should've known about this sooner, since it was about him for gods sake!

He sighed. "Before you go assuming things, I'm not mad at ya, okay?" He said, "I just... I think I need time to think about this alright? A few days at most."

You furrowed your eyebrows subconsciously, making your eyes look big and puppy like. Well damn, how was he supposed to stay away from you when you gave him that look?

"Okay." You spoke sadly, "I understand. I shouldn't have kept that from you, so again, I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "'S fine."

You rubbed your sweaty palms on your legs and stood up. "I'll give you time now, alright? Just, call or text me whenever you're ready." You said and gave him a small wave before walking back in the direction you came from.

As you made your way back, you thought about your talk with Bakugou.

If you wanted to keep seeing him, maybe you would have to stop writing. You were starting to really like Bakugou, and you didn't want a silly hobby to get in the way of a potentially serious relationship with him.

You felt your eyes tear up. It was hard to think about giving up writing. You had made friends through your writing, your own little community online. It was great! But realistically, could you keep this up forever?

That same night, you posted on your page.

Hi everyone. I've decided to take a break from writing for a while. I'm not sure how long it will be, but I will still leave everything here for you to read.

Thank you, xo.

next chapter

authors note

HIII omg im so sorry i haven't updated this fic in a while 🥹 this chapter was actually really fun to write and omg writing readers thoughts at the end lowkey made me sad!! how do you feel about it? pls lmk!!

love ya!

taglist (closed for this fic): @doumadono @54fangirl @andysdrafts @dagger-dragger @lovra974 @l4rsun1vrrse @emmab3mma @littlkittenfan @tatiquichi @cloudxluv @seonne @shonen-brainrot @the2ndl @gold24fish @cxp1d @rv19 @gina329

(those in pink couldn't be tagged)

#@angels-fantasy #fanfiction #writers on tumblr #fanfic #anime #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha bakugou #topsecretfiction

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lincolndjarin · 2 years ago

Text

constructive criticisms

main masterlist ✧ kinktober masterlist ✦

kinktober : day two - afab!ficauthor!reader x javier peña

prompt : virginity loss [ 18+ mdni ]

word count : 5.1 k

summary : javier peña has been a thorn in your side for months, the last thing you need is for him to find out you write dirty fanfiction

warnings, etc. : language, fluff, smut, protected sex, p in v sex, oral m!recieving, fingering, mutual masturbation, viginity loss (duh), innocence kink sorta, squirting, reader is completely clueless when it comes to sex, javier is a dumb sweetheart in this, plot w a little porn lol

a/n : yippee! this is an idea ive had floating around for a bit and this seemed like a good opportunity to do it! easily the longest of the kinktober stuff lmao which is why i didnt want this to be day one cause i didnt want to set a precedent haha. also i hate this but it's october so like i can't do much about that lmao. AND the edit was rushed bc i gotta get to work so apologies for any errors!!

“What’s that?” You slam your laptop shut the moment you hear his voice.

“Nothing.” You hadn’t heard him come into your office yet here he is, looming over your shoulder.

“Didn’t look like nothing.” You can’t stand the mocking smile on his face.

“Did you need something?” You do your best to sound patient.

“I’ve got some suspect photos I need you to identify.” He’s still grinning from ear to ear as you hold your hand out for the file. You flip through the pictures before tossing them onto the pile of paperwork you’ve been trudging through. You’re waiting for him to leave but he just stays in place behind you until you spin around in your chair.

“Is there something else?” You cross your arms in front of your chest, glowering at him.

“What were you working on?” For god's sake, drop it.

“Get out of my office Peña, or I won’t process your suspects.” Thankfully that gets him to leave, sighing as he closes the door behind him. Once you’re sure he’s not coming back you open your laptop again, quickly closing out your tabs.

The last thing you need is for Javier fucking Peña to read your Star Wars fanfiction.

He makes your life hell around the office enough as is. He makes fun of how you dress, he only ever asks you to file his paperwork, (despite the dozen others who are just as capable.) and you’re pretty sure he stole your lunch one time. He’s just in general a nuisance. (And it doesn’t help that he’s gorgeous and knows it.)

It’s not like you’re ashamed of your writing, you’ve mentioned it in passing to some of your friends around the office but Javier is different. He gives you enough grief without knowing how badly you wanna fuck Anakin Skywalker, you can’t imagine how much worse thing would get if he found you’re writing.

So you get back to work, trying to forget the interaction entirely.

You like to work late on fridays, it makes things easier, you don’t have to come in early on monday and no ones around to bother you while you work. You’re just about done with everything as you gather up all the finished documents, going from empty office to empty office as you leave the respective papers on each person's desk.

You’re nearly done, you’ve just got Javier’s suspect list to deal with as you step into the bullpen to deliver it you’re surprised to see him still sitting at his desk, everyone else is gone, only his desk lamp and computer monitor light the large room. You approach quietly, wanting to get this done as quickly as possible so you can just go home. You’re about to clear your throat to get his attention when you freeze in place.

You recognize the website he’s on.

You’d know that red bar anywhere.

There’s no fucking way.

You feel your face getting flushed, a deep shame settling in your stomach as you take another step forward just to be sure.

Archive of Our Own beta

And just below that, the name of your favorite song, but more importantly, the title of your fanfiction.

You’re so fucked.

You feel a mess of angry tears starting to pool in your eyes as you hear him groan.

That somehow hurts worse.

Not only is he reading it, but he also thinks it’s so bad he’s audibly expressing it. You’re livid, and humiliated, you should spend this weekend looking for a new job because he’s about to become insufferable. Knowing him, everyone will know about it before you even get in on monday.

In your rage you walk forward noisily, tossing his files down onto his desk, turning, planning on glaring at him once before leaving, hoping he doesn’t see how truly upset you are.

Nothing could have prepared you for what you’re met with. You’re expecting a smirk or maybe even a look of disgust, instead he’s gritting his teeth, his hair sticking to his forehead, a visible sheen of sweat on his face and most prominently, his hand haphazardly shoved down the front of his pants.

You both realize the predicament you’re caught in at the same time. You stare way too long. Eyes lingering on the exposed skin where his shirt rides up, a trail of hair running down his naval. Neither one of you moves until you finally snap out of it, squeezing your eyes shut and turning on your heel, walking as quickly as possible towards the exit when you hear the squeak of his chair on the floor as he calls out your name. You don’t dare turn around though, not slowing your pace until you’re out of the building and in your car.

Thankfully he doesn’t pursue you further as you drive home as quickly as possible. Hands tightly gripping the wheel the entire time. You can see your phone blowing up in your bag, the inside dimly lit the entire length of the drive. When you pull into your apartment building’s parking lot. You grab your bag and hurry inside, desperate to just go to bed and forget everything that just happened, ignoring the throbbing between your legs from what you just witnessed.

You step inside your studio, locking up behind you as you toss your bag onto the bed, shedding your clothes and stepping into the bathroom, praying that a cold shower will clear your head.

It doesn’t.

You feel just as hot and frazzled as you did before. Maybe he was just trying to mess with you. If that’s the case then now he’s just sexually harassing you.

Stupid fucking Peña.

You pull a tank top over your head and throw on a pair of panties before collapsing on your bed. You don’t want to look but you won’t be able to sleep if you don’t, so you reach into your bag, retrieving your phone.

Just as suspected you have an endless amount of messages from the man himself. You're about to start scrolling through them all when you read the most recent one.

[ I’m coming over. ]

Son of a bitch.

You quickly scroll through the previous messages.

[ I’m sorry, are you okay? ]

[ Call me or I’m coming over. ]

[ Please just text me back. ]

[ I really liked your story. ]

[ I’m sorry. ]

There’s about a hundred similar messages but one stands out to you more than anything else.

He liked your story.

Why does that make your face burn up?

You start typing, telling him that he doesn’t want to find out what’s gonna happen if he shows up but you’re interrupted by a knock on your door. You trip over yourself as you rush to your dresser, pulling on a pair of sweatpants before peering through the peephole.

Sure enough, there he stands, he looks exactly like you’d left him, shirt untucked and askew, hair a mess, except now his hand isn’t in his pants. You’re about to reach over and turn your lamp off when he clears his throat.

“I know you’re in there, your car was out front.” Well, so much for pretending you aren’t home. You hesitantly unlock the door before pulling it open, plastering a scowl on your face.

“What do you want?” You try to look stern but you know you probably just look nervous.

“I just wanna talk.”

You’re hesitant but you open the door fully, letting him in as you return to your bed, sitting and pointing at the loveseat in the corner for him. Neither one of you speaks, you watch as his throat bobs, he won’t look at you, staring at his hands instead.

“How did you get my address?” You finally break the silence.

“Your file.” He says sheepishly.

“You can’t do that! That’s an invasion of my privacy!”

“That’s what you wanna be mad about?” Fair enough.

“Fine, why did you do it?” You don’t like that he’s here, in your tiny apartment, the memory of him splayed out in his chair takes up all the space.

“Which part?” He finally looks up at you, meeting your gaze.

“Why did you read it?”

“I was curious.” He looks truly apologetic, it almost makes you want to believe him.

“Really?” Your tone drips with sarcasm.

“You seemed really defensive, I wanted to see why.” It seems genuine but you know better.

“You wanted to embarrass me.” You say plainly.

“Why do you act like I’m out to get you?” His brows furrow and his mouth settles into a frown.

“Because you are.” You say it matter of factly, you honestly can’t believe he’s acting like he doesn’t know.

“I don’t understand what I did that makes you hate me so much.” You’re tempted to soften your gaze, but the last thing you need to do if this is all just some trick is appear vulnerable.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Please, enlighten me.” He throws his hands up in exasperation.

“You despise me! You torment me every single day!”

“Really? I torment you?” He points an accusatory finger in your direction.

“You make me do your paperwork every single time, even when there are plenty of other people who are capable of it.” You feel the urge to stand and have this argument, you’re getting heated in several ways now.

“You do it better than everyone else.” He shrugs like it’s a valid excuse.

“Bullshit.” You snark as he puts his head in his hands.

“And I like the excuse to see you.” He mumbles before looking back up at him.

“You make fun of how I dress.” You’re quick to change the subject, not wanting to fall victim to his charms.

“I do not.” His voice pitches up defensively.

“You said I dress like your grandma.”

“That was a compliment.” He can’t be serious.

“How the fuck is that a compliment?”

“I love my grandma very much.” He sounds serious.

“You’re a nightmare.” You fall back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, your head swimming with confusion.

“Have you ever considered that I just wanted to be around you? You assume that I just liked to bother you but maybe I just like being near you.” He stands as you sit up, a look of honest upset on his face.

“You expect me to believe that you did those things because you like me? Are we in middle school, Peña? You could have just asked me out instead of pulling my pigtails on the playground.” You stand, not liking the power imbalance of having him towering over you where you sit.

“I did, you said no.” He crosses his arms and you scoff.

“You did not, you can’t just make things up to get out of this conversation.” You poke a finger into his chest but he just brushes it away.

“I asked you out to lunch two weeks ago and you said no.”

“I think I would remember that if it happened.” His anger fizzles out a bit as he looks you up and down.

“I may or may not have thrown your lunch out that day so you’d be more likely to accept.” He gives you a sheepish look. “But you were so mad you brushed it off.”

“That was a serious offer? I thought you were messing with me.” He just stares at you, wide puppy dog eyes you have to turn away from lest you fall for this act. You don’t get a moment's rest though because as you stare at the floor a particularly harrowing thought crosses your mind.

“How much did you read?” You turn back to him quickly.

“Enough.” When you turn back to him he’s staring at his hands again.

You both know what that means.

“It seemed a little familiar.” He says softly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You want him out, now.

“Don’t play dumb, you know what I’m talking about.” You’re going to look at job listings once he goes home.

“I think you should leave.” You clear your throat, nodding towards the door.

“I’m not leaving until we talk about it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You sit back down on your bed, your legs feeling unsteady.

“Well I do.” He takes a few steps in your direction and you immediately regret sitting.

“I don’t care what you want, get out of my apartment, now.” You head is tilted up completely as you glare at him.

“Do you really not realize exactly what is happening here?” You can feel his breath on your face, cigarettes and spearmint. You turn your head to the side, refusing to look at him.

This is exactly what happens in your story.

“You’re an idiot.” You whisper, willing yourself not to get any more upset than you already are.

“You wrote your story about us.” He says each word sharply as you grit your teeth.

“I did not.” Now who’s just making things up to get out of a conversation?

“Everything that I did to you, he does to her.”

You don’t have a response to that. What are you supposed to say? He’s right, straight down to the confrontation where he tells her he wants her and she tells him that can’t be possible. He hates her.

He kneels in front of the bed, moving to be in your eye line and when you go to turn your head he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“I really did like your story.” You shove his hand away as he says it.

“Don’t mock me.”

“Jesus, what do I have to do to make you realize I don’t have an ounce of contempt for you?” He stands, throwing his hands up in defeat.

You finally snap.

“Maybe stop taking my shit and stop giving me extra work and stop invading my privacy and just fucking talk to me like an adult, you arrogant, immature, son of a-“ He grabs your face in both of his hands as he leans down and crashes his lips against yours, you let out a surprised squeak as he cups your jaw. After a moment he pulls back and you’re left staring at him dumbfounded.

“Now, can we please talk about it?” He mumbles before pulling you in again for a single chaste kiss.

“Okay.” You feel a little breathless at the abruptness of his actions.

“I really liked it.” He smiles now, the energy in the room changing drastically.

“You keep saying that.” You whisper.

“It’s true.”

“Wanna give me some constructive criticism?” You laugh but you can see his eyes flicker to the ceiling quickly and suddenly you want to press further.

“You know you quoted me word for word a couple of times.”

“You’re avoiding the question.” You laugh again but now you’re genuinely curious.

“I guess I thought the sex scenes were the tiniest bit unrealistic.”

“Unrealistic?” You feign offense.

“Well yeah I mean, it’s written like you’ve never had sex. They go at it all night and he never needs any breaks? And doesn’t she have like twenty orgasms? I’m pretty sure she’d be in terrible pain at that point.” He laughs softly but when you furrow your brows he stops. “I assumed because it’s fantasy that that’s intentional though.” He adds on quickly at the end.

Your embarrassment is clear on your face as his own expression goes to one of poorly concealed surprise.

“You’ve never-” He whispers, clearly shocked.

“I’ve never.” You finish his sentence, not wanting to hear it out loud.

“I mean, that’s fine.” His ears are burning red.

“I know it’s fine.” You mumble. “I’ve had opportunities to, I just… I don’t know, I guess I made it too big of a deal in my mind and now I just don’t care but I’ve waited this long and-”

“Cariña, it’s fine.” He interrupts you now, that soft smile on his face never wavering.

“Do you think my writing would be better if I had more experience?” You say it like it’s a joke but he sees right through you.

“I’m not sure, how much experience do you have just in general?” He stands, moving to sit beside you on the bed.

“Well I’ve kissed people before.”

“That’s it?” You glare at him and he coughs nervously. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course.”

“I’ve been busy with work, it's just, it’s never been a priority of mine.”

“You do know… how to do it? Right?” You smack him on the arm.

“Of course I know how to do it, you read my stuff.”

“That’s why I’m asking.”

“Oh come on, you said it was good!”

“It is good! Everything but the dirty stuff is really good!” You groan, putting your head in your hands, he sits quietly beside you for a bit, rubbing your back.

“Do you want me to teach you?” He says lightheartedly.

“Seriously?” You glare at him.

“It’s the least I can do for unintentionally making your work life hell.” He’s starting to sound more genuine in his over, it sends a chill down your spine.

“So what? We just… do it?” You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the idea of losing it to someone who knows what he’s doing.

“No we don’t ‘just do it.’ we do other stuff first.” He sounds amused but you’re glad he doesn’t outright laugh at you.

“Can you just- can you just tell me what to do?” You rest your head on his shoulder briefly and he runs his fingers through your hair.

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes please.” You mumble, feeling a strange mix of aroused and nervous.

“Well, in one of the later chapters she blows him, right?” You nod slowly. “And you say it’s her first time doing it, she probably shouldn’t have been able to just take all of him in her mouth right off the get go, especially since he’s apparently nine inches? Which is a whole separate issue by the way.” You can feel your face getting hot all over again as he explains everything like it’s obvious. “If you want to start there we can do that.” He murmurs, trying to meet your gaze but you just keep trying to look anywhere else.

“How big is it supposed to be normally?” You chew on your lip, hoping you don’t sound stupid, you couldn’t be more thankful when he once again doesn’t laugh.

“It depends, but nine inches is a bit outlandish. Have you ever actually looked at that on a ruler? It’s way bigger than you think.” He holds out the estimated size with his hands and you have to stifle a giggle.

“Fair enough.” You lean against him one last time before sliding off the bed, kneeling in front of him. “So she’s like this.” You watch his throat bob as he swallows harshly, everything is starting to quickly become real as he nods. You reach your hands towards the noticeably larger bulge in his strict jeans, stopping just before you touch him. “Can I?”

“Yeah, of course.” With his approval you gingerly unzip the restrictive fabric, watching his half hard dick spring free. He’s certainly not nine inches but he’s still intimidating. You don’t have a frame of reference but you have to assume he’s on the bigger side of things.

“You don’t wear underwear?” You scoff, trying to lighten the mood despite the combined anxiety and arousal pulsing through you right now.

“Not usually.” He murmurs, notably softer than before.

“What do I do first?”

“If you want, you can start by touching it, just do what feels right.” He reaches down to hold your face for a moment until you’re able to calm down a bit. You reach forward at a snail's pace until finally wrapping a hand around the base, jumping a bit as you feel him twitch against your palm. You slowly stroke him, just once before looking up at him, a reassuring smile on his face as you stroke him a few more times, feeling him swell until he stands fully erect. Almost absentmindedly your other hand drifts between your legs, you experimentally grind against your own hand as you continue to leisurely jerk him off, watching how he grips the sheets when you run your thumb over his drooling tip.

“What do I do next?” You look up at him.

“Spit on it, hermosa.” His voice is raspy and you sit up on your knees, a line of spit falling from your mouth onto the head of his cock, drawing a hiss past his teeth. It’s easier to stroke him when it’s wet, you experiment with different speeds, watching his reactions until in a moment of bravery you tentatively guide him into your mouth. You can’t help but feel pleased when his hand instinctively flies to your hair, not moving you in any direction, just holding you. You swirl your tongue around the tip, tasting the bitter pre-cum as you open your jaw a bit wider, letting him slide over your tongue. As you take him deeper you feel him against your throat and you quickly gag, coughing a bit as he gently pulls you off. “Go slow, don’t take more than you’re able to.” You cough again, catching your breath before taking him in your mouth again, slower this time. “Use your hands on the rest.” He murmurs, the low tone shoots through you and you quickly go back to touching yourself with one hand while using the other to stroke the half of his length that you can’t fit in your mouth.

After a few minutes you begin to moan against him as you try to reach your own peak, your hand now haphazardly shoved down the front of your pants. He’s leaning back, his pupils pitch black as he watches you, his breathing unsteady.

“You think you’re ready for more?” He says sweetly, caressing your hair. You pop off of him, watching a line of spit going from the head of his cock to your lips.

“Sure.” You feel less nervous than you thought you’d be as you stand up, wiping your mouth on the back of your hand. You feel all fuzzy and slick between your legs, your pussy aches with need as he takes your hand, pulling you onto the bed with him. You sit up against the headboard as he strips completely, discarding his shirt and shoving his pants all the way down.

You can’t help but take in the sight of him as he turns back to you.

His warm sun kissed skin, the wide expanse of his shoulders a sharp ratio to his slim waist. He’s toned but he’s soft around the edges and his cock stands proud against the thatch of hair on his lower abdomen. You tilt your head the way it curves, admiring it until he laughs.

“I want you to do something for me that wasn’t in the story.” He climbs back into bed with you, playing with the waistband of your sweats.

“Sure, what is it?” You lift your hips, letting him pull them down, tossing them off the bed.

“I want you to show me how you touch yourself.” You stare at him, a little shocked by the request, your eyes going wide.

“Why?”

“I want to see, I want you to show me what feels good.” You want to feel more self conscious but he’s completely naked and something about the fact that you’re still a little covered up helps you relax, with a soft sigh you gingerly slip your hand down the front of your panties. You go off of muscle memory, recalling what you would do if he wasn’t here.

Tracing your fingers in delicate circles around your clit, watching as he begins to touch himself, almost matching your pace. This would have been a fantasy of yours that you’d resort to when nothing else worked. Javier Peña in your bed, revealing some sort of secret attraction to you, you just never thought it would ever come to fruition.

But here he is.

Ravaging you with his eyes as you dip two fingers into yourself with a shuddering breath, his own movements stuttering a bit as you do so. With everything leading up to this it isn’t hard to feel the familiar heat building as you expertly push yourself towards it. After a few moments more you shove your panties down completely, wanting to be unencumbered as you discard them. Without them restricting you, you can easily feel that hot tightening sensation approaching rapidly. Your breathing gets heavy as you grind your fingers against your palm, you feel the familiar fiery sensation in the bottom of your stomach as you start haphazardly fucking your own hand, you keep your eyes on the way he fucks his own until you’re just about to burst and he takes hold of your wrist, stopping you.

“Please I-” You let out a frustrated whine but he shushes you with a quick peck.

“I know, can I do it?” You nod frantically, you’d like nothing more. He gently pushes two fingers into you, you gasp in surprise at the sudden stretch as he slides them in and out slowly, continuing to jerk himself off with his other hand as he watches how you eagerly suck him in.

It doesn’t take much from there.

His thumb mirrors the motions you did against your clit and that’s all he has to do to push you over the edge. Your cunt spasming around his fingers as he works you through your orgasm, hot white burns the edges of your vision and you keep your eyes open long enough to watch as he squeezes the base of his own cock, groaning as he makes his own attempts not to finish. You're vaguely aware of him murmuring something that sounds like praise in Spanish as you get your bearings, he slowly removes his fingers, leaning forward on his knees to kiss you. You catch your breath through the kiss until finally he pulls back.

“Do you want me to fuck you?” His breathing heavy as he nudges his forehead against yours.

“Is it gonna hurt?” You’re more curious than nervous at this point.

“It shouldn’t, and if it does I’ll stop, okay?” He hops off the bed for a moment, searching through his wallet before tossing you a condom.

“Okay.”

“And you’re sure this is what you want?” You carefully tear open the condom wrapper, handing him the rubber ring with a nod, watching how he aptly rolls it onto his cock.

“Probably wouldn’t have come this far if I didn’t.” You slide down the bed a bit so you’re mostly laying on your pillows as he positions himself on top of you. He still seems worried about you so you reach forward, taking his cock in your hand and guiding him between your legs.

You can’t help but sharply inhale as he eases just the tip into you, your eyes flutter shut and your mouth opens slightly as you sigh.

God, you wish you’d done this sooner.

It doesn’t hurt. You expected a stinging, or a tearing, instead it’s just pressure. When you open your eyes you find his squeezed shut now as he slowly works himself into you, rocking slowly back and forth. He keeps your foreheads pressed together, occasionally, bumping his nose against yours.

“Still good?” He whispers, a noticeable strain to his voice. You nod, watching curiously as he pushes his hips forward in one last motion to fully seat himself in your heat. His jaw is tense and he’s breathing through his teeth. “So fucking tight.” He mumbles before leaning forward, groaning into your mouth.

“Does it hurt?” You ask when he pulls himself away with a soft smile.

“No, it just makes me worried about hurting you.”

“I’m okay, I want you to move.” You look down to where the two of you are joined. Watching how he gently pulls himself from you just a bit before pushing back in. That’s when he bumps against that spot inside of you that suddenly has you seeing stars, your hands grip his shoulders as a moan slips out of you, the grin you’ve seen a hundred times before forms on his face, you’d once hated it but now it has you gushing around him.

“Does that feel good?” He tilts his head to the side, nudging his nose against your temple as you nod fervently. He repeats the motion, pulling out about halfway before snapping his hips forward again, your back arching when he slams into the sweet spot inside of you.

“Fuck- Peña, right there.” You whine, your nails leaving little crescent indents in the tan flesh of his shoulders. He gets into a steady rhythm with it, crashing into you with precise deliberate strokes, designed to make your head spin. He grits his teeth once more, his breath going ragged.

“Javier.” He pants, gripping your waist to hold you still. For a brief moment you almost see vulnerability in his eyes.

“Just like that, Javier.” You stammer out as he bends one of your legs up, pressing you into the mattress further as he throws your ankle over his shoulder, the new angle letting him fuck far deeper into you than you even thought possible. The soft and slow Javier starts to dissipate as he bares his teeth, his breath hot and heavy through his tense jaw as he slams into you. The second orgasm building in your stomach isn’t like anything you’ve ever felt before, it’s molten inside of you, threatening to burst as he brings a hand to your clit.

“Shit- tell me when you’re close.” He growls, your vision’s already blurring again as an unfamiliar pressure settles within you.

“I- I am.” You pant out, he accentuates each thrust with a grunt and you feel yourself slip as he applies the slightest pressure to your sensitive bundle of nerves. You’re positive you’ve never come like this before, you soak his cock, a flood of your release pulses out of you as you strangle his cock. He collapses into you, your orgasm sending him over his own edge. You feel him throbbing within you as he groans into the pillow next to you. The two of you lay in a sweaty, breathless heap for a moment until he pulls out of you with a hiss, rolling over, his chest heaving as he lays beside you.

“Now do you believe that I don’t hate you?” He gasps out.

“I might need a little more convincing.” You grin, reaching behind you to turn your lamp off before rolling yourself over so you're on top of him.

a/n : I have a very serious love hate relationship w this.

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