#and then as if that wasn’t bad enough had to have a talk with my mum about racism and body image and religious trauma and how she can’t keep | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sincerelyneo · 2 days ago

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so high school | l.hc

“no one’s ever had me. not like you…”

📀now playing: so high school by taylor swift

❯ summary: Hyuck doesn’t care that high school was years ago; after learning his girlfriend’s experience was shitty, he’s determined to rewrite it for you. After all, he’s nothing if not smitten.

❯ pairings: haechan x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, fluff, eventual smut

❯ words: 6.4k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni, swearing, fingering, dirty talk, oral sex (male receiving), face fucking, exhibitionism, reader uses she/her pronouns, lots of gendered female terms, slight begging, brief possessiveness and jealousy bc it’s me, a brief cheating accusation but it’s stupid, hyuck being a cute boyfriend for 6k words.

an: did someone say haechan lover boy smut for valentine’s day? (they didn’t, lol. i wrote this for me, i love men in love)

“I fucking loved high school,” Hyuck says, placing down his yearbook on the coffee table.

It had to be a few years old by now, stuffed at the back of one of your bookshelves. You’d found it while doing an annual declutter and handed it to him on a whim. Knowing your boyfriend, you figured he’d find it nostalgic, or funny, or both.

You glance at him from your spot on the couch, eyebrow arched. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He shifts, sitting up straighter.

“You were on the football team, babe. Voted prom king, had good grades, and probably never had to eat lunch alone,” you list off, counting on your fingers for dramatic effect. “I’d be shocked if you did hate high school.”

He laughs with a shake of his head, sinking back further into the sofa. “Okay, fine, maybe I was a little... popular.”

You roll your eyes, but a laugh slips out before you can help it. “A little? I bet you walked through the hallways like you were the lead in a drama or something stupid like that.”

He nods. “Damn right. I was the shit.”

You scoff, tossing a pillow in his direction. He’s such a cocky bastard—but you love that about him.

“Jealous?” he shoots back, smirking.

You try to playfully roll your eyes, but instead, a small frown pulls at your lips. You know he’s just teasing, messing around, but memories of junior and senior year creep into your mind uninvited. You’d never been outright bullied, but high school wasn’t exactly a highlight reel for you.

It was a blur of sitting in the back row, trying to make yourself small enough to avoid attention. Lunches alone in the library. No group of friends. No teenage dream. Dances you skipped, pretending you didn’t care when your chest ached from watching your classmates gush over photos the Monday after.

So yeah, you were a little jealous.

“Yes, actually,” you say finally, voice quieter. “High school sucked for me.”

His grin falters, posture straightening. “What?”

“I mean, it wasn’t all bad,” you rush to explain, suddenly self-conscious. “I got through it, you know? I just wasn’t... you.”

Hyuck leans back, studying you with a look you don’t see often on him—concern, worry. “What do you mean you weren’t me?”

“I wasn’t popular or cool or good at sports. I didn’t have a big friend group, and I definitely didn’t win prom queen…not that I even went.”

Hyuck doesn’t respond right away, and when you finally glance up, you find him staring at you with an expression you can’t quite place. There’s no teasing glint in his eyes, no cocky smile playing at his lips. He just looks... sad.

“Wait,” he says, his voice softer now. “You didn’t go to prom?”

You shrug. “Didn’t really have anyone to go with.”

He blinks at you like you just told him you spent your teenage years stranded on a deserted island, which for the likes of Hyuck, not attending prom was the justified equivalent.

“Are you serious?”

“Hyuck, it’s not a big deal,” you say quickly, waving him off. “High school just wasn’t my thing.”

“Not a big deal?” he repeats. “Babe, prom is like... the peak of high school. It’s the one night everyone remembers forever. How did no one ask you? I can’t wrap my head around that.”

You can’t help but laugh, despite the tightness in your chest. “Not everyone peaked in high school, Hyuck. Some of us just... took it for what it was: school.”

His expression softens even more, guilt creeping into his features as he scoots closer, his thigh brushing yours. “You know you deserved better than that, right?”

“Hyuck—”

“I mean it,” he says firmly, cupping your face in his hands. “If I’d been there, you would’ve been my prom queen. Hell, I’d have skipped the whole damn thing just to hang out with you if you didn’t wanna go.”

The honeyed warmth in his voice makes your throat tighten, and you hate how easily he can do this—take the ache of old memories and replace it with something softer, lighter. Something you almost want to believe.

“Too bad we didn’t meet until after high school,” you say, forcing a smile.

Hyuck falters—but only for a moment. His gaze lingers on you as if a thought is forming behind his dark eyes.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss against your forehead. “Too bad.”

You don’t think anything of it when he pulls you into his chest, resting his chin on your head as the conversation drifts elsewhere. But later, when he’s holding you close and you’re half-asleep, Hyuck is still thinking. Planning.

Because Lee Donghyuck might not be able to rewrite your past, but he’s damn sure going to be the best part of your future—trust.

Hyuck just couldn’t stop thinking about it.

The coolest person he’d ever met—his girlfriend, his soulmate—hadn’t gotten to live the high school teenage dream. No prom, no stupid corsages, no dancing barefoot at the end of the night because the heels were too much. Nothing.

It didn’t make sense. You were too fucking beautiful to be treated as background noise by those losers. Hyuck remembers the day he met you—a fully grown man—and you made him a stuttering mess. He’s never asked Mark for flirting advice ever in his life, but fuck, he wasn’t about to miss his chance with you.

How could they just disregard you?

He raked a hand through his hair, frustrated. How did no one ask you out? Were they blind? Or just stupid? What kind of idiot couldn’t see what he saw every day?

The thought of you sitting at home on prom night, like it didn’t matter, made his chest ache. He couldn’t picture it—because you were you, the type of person every cheesy teen movie was written about: beautiful, funny, and so damn perfect. And yet... those assholes in high school had somehow missed it.

And even though the sick, selfish, possessive side of him is so fucking grateful that he’s the only one that’s ever had you, and those assholes missed out, he still can’t help but obsess over it. He couldn’t change the past, no matter how much he wanted to, and that realization burned.

Hyuck groans, tipping his head back. “I’m losing it,” he mutters, mostly to himself.

But he couldn’t let it go. And because he was Lee fucking Donghyuck, when something got under his skin, he acted on it. Which is why, two days later, he finds himself standing in the middle of a small-town gymnasium, arms crossed over his chest as he surveys the scene in front of him.

“Is this the best you can do?” he asks, unimpressed.

Mark, balancing precariously on a ladder while stringing up fairy lights, glares down at him. “Dude, shut the fuck up,” he snaps. “You gave us two days to put this together. Do you even know how hard it was to convince the principal? I had to name-drop you!”

Hyuck ignores him, his eyes sweeping over the room again. Mark wasn’t wrong—he had given his friends next to no time to work with. But that didn’t stop him from wanting it to be perfect. You deserved perfect.

A cheap speaker sits on the ground, currently blasting some old prom playlist Mark had found online. The string lights slowly started taking shape, casting a soft glow across the gym. There is a table in the corner with a bowl of something pink and suspicious-looking, and a few chairs scattered around. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great either.

Mark climbs down from the ladder, dusting his hands on his jeans. “I think it looks fine.”

“Fine?” Hyuck repeats, scoffing. “Mark, this is a high school prom. It’s supposed to be magical or whatever. This just looks like... a school event.”

“Because it is a school event,” Mark shoots back, rolling his eyes. “Look, man, if you wanted a five-star gala, maybe you shouldn’t have sprung this on me last minute.”

Hyuck sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t trying to be an ass, but he wanted, needed, to do this for you. You’d brushed off your high school experience like it was no big deal, but he could tell it meant something to you. Maybe not in a way you wanted to admit, but it was there.

And now it was his job—no, his mission—to fix it.

“Just... add more lights,” Hyuck says finally. “And maybe some balloons? Chenle, do we have balloons?”

Chenle, who was sweeping the floors, looked back with a shake of his head, scurrying off before he got caught in the crossfire.

Mark groans. “Hyuck, if we add any more lights, the entire gym’s gonna blow a fuse. And no, we don’t have balloons. You’re lucky I even managed to get lights.”

Hyuck sighs again, running a hand through his hair. He had money, sure—that was the only reason he’d managed to rent out the gym on such short notice—but even he couldn’t buy time.

Still, as he looked around the gym, he felt a flicker of pride. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something. He’d move mountains for you if he had to. And if this half-assed prom was the closest he could get, then so be it.

Mark claps a hand on his shoulder, jolting him out of his thoughts. “Hey,” he says, softer now. “She’s gonna love it, dude. Stop stressing out.”

Hyuck nods, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”

Your boyfriend’s acting weird. Well, weirder than usual.

Hyuck’s always been a little odd—but that’s one of the things you love about him. The endless hobbies he picks up and abandons in a week like juggling, the random facts he collects from late-night YouTube rabbit holes, and his never-ending need to one-up his friends in bets and challenges. But this? This feels different. Like it’s more than some dumb dare or fleeting obsession.

For the past two days, he’s been unusually secretive. You’ve caught him whispering with Mark on the phone more than once, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush whenever you’d walk into the room. And then there was yesterday—when you brought coffee to his rehearsal. You barely stepped inside before the entire group went awkwardly silent, and Hyuck practically herded you back out the door. Hyuck, who usually couldn’t keep his hands off you in public and loved showing you off, suddenly turning shy…suspicious doesn’t even begin to cover it.

And let’s not forget the disappearing act last night. He came home late, shrugging off your questions with a grin and the vague excuse of “guy stuff.” Guy stuff. That was the moment you knew something was up.

And so, you’ve been sitting on the couch, stewing, waiting for him to get home from rehearsal. The seconds drag, and with each passing minute, your frustration builds. By the time you hear the jingle of his keys in the door, you’re ready to burst.

Hyuck stumbles in, his hair slightly mussed, a garment bag slung over his shoulder. He looks exhausted but excited, strange. He barely gets a foot inside before you’re on him.

“Are you cheating on me?”

His jaw drops, the grin on his face disappearing instantly, eyes blinking at you like you’ve just accused him of arson. You’d honestly prefer it if he had. “What?! No! Why would you even—what the fuck?”

“You’ve been acting so weird!” you snap, crossing your arms. “The sneaky phone calls, the late nights, the whispering, the weird excuses—guy stuff? Do you think I was born yesterday?”

That makes him laugh and you swear you see red. He thinks this is funny? You’ll show him funny.

“If you wanted to break up with me, Hyuck, don’t insult me by sneaking around! Just—just tell me to my face!” Your voice wavers, hurt bubbling in your throat as you glare at him.

Hyuck’s expression softens instantly, his eyebrows furrowing. “Hey, hey, wait—babe, no. That’s not what’s happening here, I swear.”

You narrow your eyes, pointing at the garment bag. “Oh yeah? What’s that, then? Some outfit for your other girlfriend?”

His mouth drops open, and then he barks out a laugh, though he quickly smothers it when he sees your glare. “No! Oh my God, no. Look, just… this isn’t how I wanted to do this,” he pinches his temples “Could you just go upstairs and put this on, okay?” He holds the bag out to you, practically shoving it into your hands.

“Excuse me?” you quirk an eyebrow.

“Just—trust me, babe. Please. Go upstairs, put this on, and come back down when you’re ready.”

You stand there, staring at him like he’s lost his mind. Because he must have. “Hyuck, I am not—”

“Please,” he interrupts, his voice softer now. “Just this once. Do this for me. It’ll all make sense.”

His eyes meet yours, and for all the frustration boiling under your skin, you can’t ignore the quiet sincerity in his voice. Because even though his recent actions have been enough to make your paranoia spike, he’s still your Hyuck—and you trust your Hyuck.

With a sharp huff, you snatch the garment bag from his hands and stomp upstairs, slamming the bedroom door behind you before he can say another word. Your pulse is racing, irritation curling hot in your chest as you yank the zipper down and pull the dress out with more force than necessary.

It’s beautiful. And that pisses you off even more.

Who does he think he is? Sneaking around all week, ignoring you for days, then showing up with a pretty dress and expecting you to put it on without question?

Annoying. He’s so annoying.

Still scowling, you step into the dress, the silky fabric gliding over your skin like it was made for you, and knowing Hyuck he’d probably ask someone to do that for him. It fits perfectly, hugging every curve, and when you catch your reflection in the mirror, your anger stutters—just for a second. It’s beautiful. You look beautiful.

Damn it.

You swipe at your eyes before anything ridiculous like tears can form and square your shoulders. Fine. You’ll wear the dress. But you’re not going to let him off the hook so easily. Throwing the door open, you march downstairs, irritation simmering beneath the surface of your foundation. “Lee Donghyuck, you better—”

But you freeze.

Because he’s standing at the bottom of the steps in an equally beautiful suit, rocking on his heels, with a small, nervous smile playing on his lips. He’s holding a corsage in his hands—delicate flowers wrapped in silk, matching your dress perfectly.

And then, all at once, it clicks.

That fucking yearbook you found. The conversation that came after it. The sneaking around. The secrecy.

Your breath catches in your throat, warmth creeping up your neck as a blush dusts his skin. He chews his lip, eyes flickering up to meet yours, and if you didn’t know him any better, you’d swear he was nervous.

Hyuck never gets nervous.

“Do you wanna rewrite prom with me?”

And just like that, you break.

Tears slip down your cheeks before you can stop them, and Hyuck’s smile falters just slightly as he steps forward, hand reaching out to you, as if he’s ready to catch you, to hold you close, if you were to fall. But you don’t fall. You just nod, because it feels impossible to do anything else.

How could you say no to him? How could you possibly deny the one person in the world who would do something like this for you—not because he had to, but because he wanted to, because he loves you to a point you never thought possible because he needs you to be happy.

“I love you,” you choke out through your happy tears, the words tumbling from your lips before you can stop them.

Hyuck’s worry shifts into something warmer, something softer. He steps closer, brushing his thumb gently against your cheek to wipe away the tear.

“Does that mean we’re not breaking up, then?” His voice is teasing, but there’s a tenderness underneath, a soft hope in his eyes that mirrors the love you just confessed.

Your heart skips a beat, and you nod through blurry eyes, a small smile breaking through. “Not even close.”

His face splits into the brightest grin you’ve ever seen, and before you can say anything else, he’s pulling you into his arms, rocking you side to side like he’s never going to let go. It’s overwhelming—the warmth of him, the scent of his cologne, the steady beat of his heart against your ear. And for once, you let yourself lean into it, let yourself feel just how much he loves you, because God, does he know how to show it.

“I love you too, you know,” he murmurs, voice quieter now, meant just for you. “Like, stupidly. Like, I’m gonna remind you every day until you’re sick of me, because I never want you to think I’m cheating on you ever again.”

You huff a laugh, sniffling. “I don’t think I could ever be sick of you.”

“Mm, we’ll see about that.” He pulls back just enough to look at you, taking in the glassiness in your eyes, the heat in your cheeks. Then, with a smirk, he presses the corsage into your hands. “Your favourite colour.”

“Now,” he says, stepping back and offering his arm, “if we don’t leave soon, Mark might actually rip my balls off.”

It takes you a second to register what he means, and when you glance past him, you see Mark leaning against his car, arms crossed, exuding pure suffering. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here, but you know your Hyuck can be very convincing.

“Are you two done?” Mark calls, exasperated. “Because I have better things to do than play chauffeur for your little rom-com tonight.”

“Liar!” Hyuck yells, dragging you toward the car. “If you weren’t here, you’d be playing video games with Chenle or something. Your life is boring and bitchless!”

Mark groans but doesn’t deny it.

“Wait! One more thing,” Hyuck gasps, stopping you just as you’re about to step into the car. Before you can question it, he’s already sprinting back inside. A few seconds later, he bursts through the door, holding up a letterman jacket that doesn’t match your old school’s colours, but his.

And when he drapes it over your shoulders, his fingers lingering just a little longer than necessary, his gaze catches on his surname stitched across your back. His cheeks flush that familiar shade of pink, and for once, he’s the one left speechless.

You clutch your hands to the jacket, making sure it doesn’t fall off and you can’t stop smiling. Because even though he was just being a fouled-mouthed menace to his friend. He’s clearly only ever sweet and soft with you. Hyuck opens the car door for you and he slides in beside you, lacing his fingers through yours like it’s second nature, like they belong. You look down at your joined hands, his thumb stroking slow circles against your skin, and warmth blooms in your chest.

The corsage, the letterman, the chauffeur to prom. It’s silly. It’s cheesy. It’s the kind of thing you used to roll your eyes at in movies as a teenager. But right now, with him, you wouldn’t trade it for the world. Because he’s rewriting how you feel about the cheesy stuff, giving you the giddy, reckless kind of love you never got to have.

Letting his hand rest on your thigh, making you stifle your sighs as it slowly crept up your flesh. His touch is heedless and uncaring as if Mark wasn’t inches away in the front seat. It’s compulsive, carless, and so ridiculously juvenile—it’s so high school.

Which feels very on-brand as you pull up to an old brick building. Mark cuts the engine, allowing Hyuck to round the car and open your car door before holding your hand tight and walking you towards the football field.

So many memories flooded back to you as soon as he opened the gate that led to the field. Heels on the grass, on the sacred sanctuary you never had the chance to belong on. Suddenly you’re sixteen again and Hyuck leds you over to the bleachers, climbing up several rows before taking a seat and pulling you down next to him.

"Are we trespassing right now?" you ask, slipping your arms into his letterman to ward off the winter chill. "I know you love me, but you don’t have to commit a crime for me."

Hyuck scoffs, a playful smirk on his lips. "Please, you know I wouldn’t think twice about committing a crime for you if you asked me to." He pauses, then adds, "But no, we’re not trespassing. This is my old high school, and since I'm such an outstanding alumni, I had some strings pulled. They left me the key for tonight."

You roll your eyes, trying to hide your smile. "So they did all this just for you, huh?"

“Don’t look at me like that, this is for us.”

"Uh-huh," you tease. "I must say, knowing how to ball in high school seems to have its perks. I was in the wrong clubs clearly. You’re basically the only person I know who managed to continue peaking after high school."

Hyuck’s smile falters, a flicker of something sad crossing his face. His eyes drift downward, and you catch that same troubled look he had when you found his yearbook—when he learned how different your high school experiences were. You don’t want him to feel like that, not when he’s trying so hard to fix it. But you don’t want him to fix it either, because as messed up as your teenage years were, they led you to him. No one’s ever had you. Not like him anyway.

You slide your hand over his, squeezing gently as you move closer. “You didn’t have to do all this for me, you know?”

Hyuck chuckles, that flicker of sadness vanishing as quickly as it came. “Don’t say that. You haven’t even seen what I’ve got planned inside yet. I had all the boys stressed over fairy lights and balloons all week.”

Knowing how much effort he’s put in makes you smile, your fingers drifting up to trace the curve of his cheek. He’s so beautiful. So in love. So undeniably yours.

“I’m excited to see it,” you say. “But right now, I just want to be here. Is that okay? I never really got to hang out on the bleachers.”

“Will you yell at me if I say that a sick part of me loves that you never cheered for other guys playing football?”

You shake your head with a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m just saying,” he continues, undeterred. “Yeah, I wanna kill those assholes for never inviting you to a game, for not taking you to prom. But I also love that I get to be the one to do it with you. Even if we’re adults.”

You bite your lip, feigning hesitation. “Well, I have some information I think you might like.”

Hyuck raises a brow. “Oh?”

“I always wanted to make out under the bleachers,” you admit, heat creeping up your neck. “Call me cliché, but when I was a freshman, I imagined having my first kiss with Lee Felix under there.”

His nose crinkles instantly. “I don’t know who that is, but I hate him.” Hyuck scoffs, but his hands are already sliding around your waist, pulling you closer. “Still… this night is about me making your fantasies come true. So fuck that guy and let me kiss you, baby.”

And you do—let his lips capture yours, kissing you until they’re swollen and puffy, until they mould perfectly to his, like they were always meant to. Until there’s no doubt that they, and you, belong to him.

Hyuck wastes no time, scooping you into his arms with ease, carrying you into the shadows beneath the rickety metal frame. And then his lips are on yours again—hungry, unrelenting. It’s everything you ever imagined. No—better. Because it’s him and you.

His hand trails up your body as he presses you against one of the cold metal pillars, calloused fingers graze your thigh, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Years of football have roughened his touch, but it’s the way he holds you—like he can’t get enough, like he never will—that really makes your breath hitch. And you almost want to laugh, because you’re pretty sure most people fuck after prom, not before it. But this is you and Hyuck. You’ve never played by the rules, never followed the scripted path. You never wanted to.

And that’s exactly why a soft, desperate “Please,” slips from your lips as his fingers venture higher, until they’re brushing against the hem of your panties.

“Cute,” he smiles and murmurs against your lips, grinning as his fingers slip beneath the fabric, his cool touch grazing your clit. You shiver, and it only makes him that more pleased—more proud. His other hand glides up your stomach, sneaking beneath your dress until he’s palming your breast, his thumb teasing over your nipple.

“You know…” he muses, voice dripping with amusement, “I paid good money for this dress. It’d be a shame to ruin it.”

“Please. You’d never buy me a dress you didn’t plan on ruining.”

Hyuck giggles, shaking his head, but before you can run that smart mouth of yours again, his finger slips so easily into your pussy, and you gasp, clinging to his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your ear, voice thick with need. “I love that you know me so well.”

His fingers keep working you, desperate and wild—because if you know Hyuck so well, he knows you even better. Knows your body like it’s his to worship. And when he adds a second finger, stretching you open, pleasure floods through you so intensely your eyes flutter shut, your head tipping back as a moan catches in your throat.

But that won’t do.

Hyuck likes to watch you. Likes to see the way your lips part, the way your brows knit together, the way your pupils blow wide with nothing but him. He wants you to know—no, needs you to know—that he’s the one making you feel this good. That it’s his touch unravelling you, his name you should be thinking about, whimpering, crying out.

So the second your lashes flicker, his fingers slow, teasing, withholding. You whimper, forced to open your eyes again, hazy and weak—just the way he likes them—just the way he needs them to be before he picks up his pace.

He’s meticulous, careful—determined to make you cum right here, right now. If your fantasy was just to make out under the bleachers, Hyuck is going to take it further, push it past anything you ever imagined. He’s going to make you cum here, again and again, until this moment is burned into your memory. Until you can never think about high school, about this field, about these bleachers, without thinking about him. About the way he touched you. About the way he made it perfect. He always makes everything perfect.

“Need you to cum all over my fingers, pretty girl. Come on,” he murmurs, pinching your clit as he tries to coax an orgasm out of you. And it doesn’t take long. The honeyed rasp of his voice, the relentless rhythm of his fingers, the way his eyes stay locked on yours—it’s all too much. You shatter around him with a high-pitched moan.

“Atta girl,” he breathes, watching you with nothing but admiration. “So fucking pretty when you cum for me.”

Your mind is fuzzy, his words melting into white noise as you come down from your high on shaky legs. If it weren’t for the pillar at your back, you’re certain you’d be a puddle on the floor. Hyuck holds you close, his hand stroking your hair as he murmurs soft praises against your ear—something about being so pretty, so good, so his. But all you can focus on is the growing bulge in his pants, the evidence of just how much he wants you. A bulge you put there. One you’re aching to take care of.

You start to drop to your knees, and he sucks in a breath, his eyes locked on yours.

“Stop,” he commands harshly, stepping back as if something’s shifted. It forces you to stand up straight again, confusion crossing your face.

“Don’t you want me to—”

“Oh, I fucking want you to, and you’re going to,” he growls. Then, he peels off his suit jacket and drapes it on the concrete floor between you two. “Now, you can get on your knees for me, Y/N,” he orders, his voice rough and commanding, but then it cracks, desperately. “Please.”

You lower yourself onto his suit jacket, kneeling before him, palms pressing firmly against his thighs. His erection is hard, straining through his suit pants, but he’s waited—waited until he knew you’d be most comfortable because that’s just who he is.

“Look at you,” he says, running his thumb over your mouth. “Puffy lips parted and ready for me. Big fucking eyes, so innocent, so needy.”

“Only for you, Hyuck,” you breathe softly as you start undoing his belt and his jaw visibly ticks.

You’ve sucked his cock before—of course you have, and you love it. And still, he looks at you like it’s the first time, nostrils flaring, pupils dilated, as he drinks in every detail of your eagerness. He’s so hungry to feel you, to get lost in you—so feral.

Using his forefinger, he lifts your chin, forcing your chin and attention on him. “I know, baby. Only me. Always me.”

You run your tongue over your lower lip, and he tracks the entire thing, looking like some kind of predator.

“Take it out.”

You comply, dropping his pants to his ankles and tugging his boxer briefs down with them. His cock springs free, angry veins visible and the tip glistening. The sight of his straining cock right in front of you pulls this desperate sound from deep in his throat. He traces every inch of your face as if he plans to paint it soon, and you’d let him.

His palm glides over your head again, fingers weaving through your hair, cupping the back of your skull to keep you anchored in place. Rough and dominant—just how he likes it, and just how you crave it.

“I need to fuck your mouth, baby. Seeing you cum in my letterman has got me so damn hard. I need this pretty mouth,” he whimpers as his palm rests on your scalp. “You’re gonna let me do that aren’t you? Because you’re such a good fucking girl.”

You nod and squirm in anticipation, using the tip of your tongue to lick a path over his slit, savouring the salty taste from the bead of precum. His eyes instantly roll back and you grip his shaft with one hand and lick a path from root to tip.

“Mmm,” he hums. “Just like that,” he hisses between his teeth as his entire body vibrates.

You look up at him, fluttering your lashes over heavy eyes. Because the only thing Hyuck craves more than his own pleasure is the sight of yours. You round your lips, sucking him in slowly. Your head bobs as you work your tongue in sync with your lips, but he’s so big, a fact you’ll never get used to. He hits the back of your throat and you hold him there, swallowing around his tip, tears welling at the corners of your eyes as your throat tightens with a gentle choke.

"Fuck—" He lurches forward, one hand gripping the pillar for support while the other tugs at your hair, pulling you off him just long enough to catch your breath—because he's nothing if not considerate.

Hyuck runs his thumb by the corner of your eye, gathering the moisture that pooled there.

“I’m ruining your makeup,” he muses, lips curling into a smirk. “I had prom pictures planned.”

A blush creeps on your cheeks, “We don’t have to take them.”

“We’re taking them.” There’s no question in his tone. It’s simply a statement. A demand. “Then I’m keeping a copy in my wallet, so next time I’m on tour, fisting my cock, I can think about you. About this."

You nod, breath hitching. "O-okay."

"Okay." His thumb drags over your lip again, teasing until you part for him, wrapping around it. He presses down, tugging lightly. "So agreeable. So obedient. Aren’t you?"

"Yes," you breathe.

His smirk deepens. "Good. So you'll keep sucking my cock, won't you?"

You don’t even bother with words—too eager to please, too determined to finish what you started. Your fingers wrap around him, stroking once before you take him back into your mouth, sucking deep before pulling off with a lewd pop. Then you do it again, following his cues, giving him exactly what you know he loves. A slow flick of your tongue along the underside of his head, a firm squeeze as you cup his balls, and then you’re taking him to the back of your throat. His entire abdomen tenses. His breathing turns ragged.

"Fuck." His curse is sharp as he pulls back, just enough to look at you. "I’m gonna cum. You gonna let me cum in your mouth, baby?"

You nod eagerly, mascara streaking your cheeks, spit glistening at the corner of your lips. "Please, Hyuck."

His smirk is wicked. "Are you gonna be a good little girlfriend and swallow it all for me?"

You nod—far too enthusiastically.

"Good. Now, take a deep breath, baby—'cause it’s the last one you’re getting for a while."

He runs a gentle thumb over your cheekbone before guiding your head forward. Your lips part instinctively, wrapping around him as he sets the pace, fucking your mouth with a steady rhythm. His palms cover your ears, his hips roll with precision—nothing but pure pleasure as he chases his high. And you let him. You take it, let him use you because he’s done all of this for you tonight. Because he deserves his reward.

Truthfully, watching Hyuck unravel beneath you—knowing you’re the one making him this needy, this desperate to cum—is your own reward. Because seeing him lost in pure bliss is the hottest thing you’ve ever witnessed.

Your fingernails dig into his skin, leaving faint crescents as he keeps his pace—steady, deliberate—but always mindful, always making sure you can breathe. He checks in with his eyes, just like you said—considerate.

You moan around his length, hips shifting instinctively, searching for friction. And of course, Hyuck notices. He always notices.

"Are you getting turned on from sucking me off, Y/N?" he taunts, through a tight restraint breath. "So wet, even after I already made you cum." He pulls out of your mouth, gaze dark. "Show me. Show me how wet sucking my cock has made you.”

Heat prickles your skin as you reach under your dress, the one he bought, and gather your arousal on two fingers. You bring them up, letting him see the proof, the evidence of just how much you want him.

“Fuck,” he growls, as deep brown eyes turn black as they lock on your fingers. “So fucking obedient.”

Hyuck leans in, grasping your wrist before guiding your fingers into his mouth. His tongue flicks over the tips, slow and careful, savouring the taste—the proof of how badly he’s wrecked you. Of how much you like him, love him.

He nods toward his cock, covered in your saliva, hard and twitching, ready to cum. "Make me cum, baby. Please."

You hold his eye contact, grip his cock, and bring your mouth back to cover him. He moans, head falling back, and you work his length with your mouth and hand, doing your best to take what you can’t handle. It doesn’t take long until his hips jerk in short, sloppy movements. His breath comes out in ragged gasps, moans soft but pitched, the sound of him unravelling.

“Y/N,” he cries out your name in a whimper of desperation. One hand finds yours, holding it tenderly, while the other braces on the pillar behind you. Then, he cums—hard.

He tries to keep his eyes locked on yours, because that’s his favourite part, but the sensation overwhelms him, and he has to shut them. Every muscle in his body tightens as hot, forceful pulses hit the back of your throat.

“So pretty like this,” he pants breathlessly. “Mouth full of my cum.” The pad of his thumb traces down the line of your throat. “You’re gonna swallow it, aren’t you?”

It’s not a question, and you don’t hesitate. You swallow all of him, but it’s not enough. You need more—need him inside of you.

“Fuck me, please, Hyuck.”

He shakes his head, a teasing smile tugging at his lips and then he laughs. He uses the hand he’s had entangled with yours to pull you up to your feet, steadying you gently. “I can’t. Not here.”

You pout, disappointed, your body aching for him. “Why not?”

His smile widens as he adjusts your dress, pulling the fabric down to cover you properly, the moment feeling suddenly too sweet considering he was just fucking your throat.

“Because,” he draws out playfully, “I planned a prom, and like all cheesy teenagers, I don’t plan to fuck you here.”

You quirk a brow, crossing your arms across your body. But before you can say anything, Hyuck fumbles with his suit jacket, dropping to the floor to search the pockets. His hands hover for a second before he pulls out a room key, holding it up like some kind of trophy.

You scoff with a mix of amusement and disbelief. “Very cliché.”

He grins at you. “I think we have pictures to take.”

#nct smut #haechan smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #nct x reader #haechan x reader #nct dream x reader #nct 127 x reader #nct hard hours #nct one shot #kpop smut

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rebelssvy · 3 days ago

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babeeeeee you have me addicted to your roommates ushi x reader fic 😭 please make more with links 😭😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏 maybe a tsukki x reader 👀 okie but also love the size difference kink showing in your fic too 😭😘👌 absolutely delish girl thank you for blessing us

FUCK yes. god YES i can.

cruel ✧.*

tsukishima x reader ₊˚ෆ

★ twt links included!!!!

⋆·˚ ༘ *

summary: you and tsuki are roomates, you go out to a party and he is just mean to you. so when you get home you embarrass him by going through his porn. smut, making out, twt links, squirting dirty talk all, male receiving head

twt links scattered in here. loved making this!!! request more babes.

of course you were overstepping. of course you had had a little to much to drink. but to be honest you were still fully aware of every move you had made tonight. it was all calculated.

you and your roommate tsukishima kei had found yourselfs at a party earlier that night. it was a friendly get together that turned into more of a party the longer it went on. sure you took some shots. but all of that was hours ago.

during the party you had been flirting with some of kei’s teammates. it was nothing bad of course. it was all far play. the music was bumping and the lights were flashing. truly it had turned into a house party. it wasn’t until tsuki had pulled you aside that your mood really flipped.

he could be cruel sometimes. a sharp mind and a sharper tongue, but he was also caring. in this moment all the lines were blurred.

whispering in your ear he spoke the words. “stop putting yourself out there your just going to embarrass yourself..” you gasped, pushed him back and left. like any sane person would. you ordered and uber walking out of the apartment complex and arrived at your shared apartment within minutes.

instead of wallowing in your pain, you created a master plan. one that was going to embarrass him so much that he would have no choice then apologize to you. you were quick to your room, changing into skimpy pjs and lacey under garments.

sure his comment hurt. but it hurt more coming from him. you liked him. after sharing an apartment with him for so long you two would laugh after his snarky comments. hitting him and telling him to treat you better in which he would reply, ‘yes y/n…’. so why did he pull you away tonight and degrade you? did he have a problem with you flirting? maybe..

shortly after you changed the locks to your home unlocked and he walked in. with his timing it seems like right after you left, he said goodbye to everyone and followed you shortly after.

“how did you get home?” he asked, taking off his hoodie and hanging it up. then proceeding to take his belongings out of his pant pockets.

then and there is struck you. your master plan.

you walked over to him, making sure you didn’t rush to fast, but just quick enough to close in on him. “took an uber..” you spoke quietly. almost to a whisper.

“huh? you what? why are you being so quiet..?” he asked tone slightly annoyed. hook, line, sinker. you had riled him up just enough.

“oh i don’t know…” you said now right next to him, back against the counter top. he stood above you. eyes linked with yours. he was obviously looking at all of you. all of you. he tilted his head to the side waiting for you to finish your sentence.

“maybe.. it’s because..” you had to sly about this. reaching behind you in a very smooth motion, you grabbed his phone into your hand. praying he didn’t notice until you had it firmly in your grasp.

“-because you made me feel stupid..!” you said sharp and bluntly pushing him on the chest with your open hand before taking quick strides back to your room. it was too late for him to realize what you had.

you were already at your door when he started “y/n! give me my phone back!” stumbling after you, you shut the door in his face. locking it quickly. he was right on the other side of the door. his knocks turned into pounds. then shortly he gave in.

“what did i do y/n… fuck- please i’m sorry just open the door.” he said pleading to you.

“no tsuki. you embarrassed me. you said i was trying to hard and i was going to embarrass myself. so now… im gonna embarrass you.” you said while a smile on your face. your mission was simple, find somthing so embarrassing that he wanted to cry, give his phone back. and he would apologize. simple.

you knew his password. of course you knew his password, when unlocking his phone he spoke again on the other side of the door. “i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have said that. i didn’t know what i was thinking…” he said softly. it was sincere, but you were going to let this end that quickly.

you searched through his phone, going to his camera roll you looked for embarrassing photos of him in his pre-teens or maybe even as a kid. but the only thing you could find were younger pictures of him and he was adorable. this wasn’t going to work, you needed somthing better.

and there is was, your knight in shining armor. an app with a big white X on it. you knew you could find somthing on twitter right? ever guy had somthing on there… so he should right..?

before opening the app you decided to toy with him. just to make this whole thing more painful for him. “whatcha got on twitter kei? anything you want to tell me before i go through it?” you spoke with a joyful voice.

“god. y/n please don’t oh my god. i’m sorry. just don’t go into that app.” he pleaded more miserable then ever. that was your goal anyways.

“sorry i’m gonna do it anyways!” you laughed. and just like that you clicked into it. it had to be here somewhere… you thought.

like a beacon in the night, the likes tab revealed all. scrolling through countless videos of porn. something inside you shifted. maybe it was the way you heard him whisper “fuckk..” behind the door. or maybe it was that you had a full visual gallery of all his kinks. but you were growing needy, and it was clear to you.

you paused on certain videos, watching them longer than others. like the way this girl took her bfs cock down her throat and the way she was all tied up. it made you think about kei doing that to you. god! what were you thinking!

mindlessly you rubbed your legs together. the sound of him behind the door made your brain go fuzzy. “y/n just stop.. please..” he whispered. you couldn’t stop. you scrolled to the next one.

the next video was of a girl get railed right next to a pc monotor. her hands scrambled over the key board as she took rough back shots. your mind flashed to the set up kei had in his room. your mind flashed to him pounding into your cunt infront of his game. you having to be al’ quiet because the mic is still on. fuck. why were you thinking this. you forced yourself to remember you were still mad at him.

the next one a girl spread her legs in a public bathroom, forced to be quiet as her partner finger fucked her. spitting on her cunt. kei would be good with his fingers, is he seriously into the whole public thing? god seriously what is wrong with you! the need for him to do stuff to you was too much. your lust was replacing every emotion you had in you.

the last one really sent you over the edge. a video of a girl getting pounded, it is only about 30 seconds. and the entire 30 seconds is of her getting fucked through her orgasm. she soaks the camera with her liquid and is moaning through the whole thing. it was too much for you.

opening the door you met face to face with a deranged tsukishima. blushed and flushed his hair was a mess and his eyebrows furrowed with anxiety. there was something else though, the way his eyes were halfly litted and the way he looked down at you were your gaze met his. you needed him. and maybe, just maybe… he needed you too.

“tsuki…” you called his name out, bringing the phone up to his chest before taking it back into your hands and unlocking it. he didn’t say a word the whole time. “i’ve never squirted before…” you admitted before showing him the video. he recognized it. it was one he watched often.

“fuck.. y/n… what do you want. i’m sorry seriously. but… is this just a game to you? to get back at me?” he asked while taking his phone back. through it into his pant pocket.

“no.. it’s just… fuck tsuki-“ you cut yourself off. to afraid to cross that line. your gaze dropped to the ground. but somthing else caught your eye. his cock was prominent in his pants. it was big from the looks of it.

“tell me what you want.” his voice rang iut in the silence. confidence surged through your body. lust was overcoming every other emotion you had. any clear thought was gone.

“i want you to fuck me kei..!” it was music to his ears. before you knew it his body crashed into yours. he grabbed your face and pulled you in for a deep kiss. you moaned into his mouth. your noises made you embarrassed.

“fuck i love that… keep moaning for me please” he begged, almost reading your mind.

your back crashed into the wall next to your door frame. his hands traveled up and down your figure. your lips worked against each other. both of you needing more.

without second thought you broke the kiss and dropped to your knees. you really weren’t one for giving head, but for him…. you would do anything.

“y/n.. you don’t have to..” he said sincerely. you shook your head no, before freeing his cock from his pants and underwear. pulling them all down at once. it was beautiful. on the longer side, with a little girth. his balls were smaller. his tip was a nude pink. and fuck- your mouth drooled.

licking the tip, but a little. he groaned, hands flying to your hair, pulling it out of the way. you then licked all of it. before taking it into your mouth. back and fourth you bobbed your head. saliva slipping out of your mouth.

you gaged once or twice but it was short lived before he was pulling you to your feet and into his arms. lifting you up off the ground he mumbled the words “need more..” before making his way to his room.

gently resting you on the bed he stripped you of your clothing. making fast work of anything you had on, which already wasn’t much. your legs were closed before he pried them open. back flat on his bed, legs spread for him to see. you leaked on to his sheets. your wetness already overwhelming. his mind went silly.

“let me…” he said bringing his hand to your cunt. he sat infront of you on the bed, slightly angled but only to see your sopping pussy at full view. you moaned when he touched your folds. curling your clit your back arched off the bed.

it wasn’t until you lifted your hips into the air that he plunged one of his slender fingers into you. “fuck~ kei-!” you moaned out. your words were his motivation. he finger fucked you with grace. until he added a second one and you were squirming all around the place.

“fuck that too much for you baby?” he toyed. you clenched down on his fingers, enticed by is words. “you like that? you like when i fuck with you huh?” butterflies filled your stomach. he was too much.

“i need… you kei please please gimmie your cock..!” you moaned out, reaching for his length. only to grab his thigh and claw at it. searching for more.

“i’ll give you more baby…” he said while flipping you around. moving both your bodies in harmony while he kissed you with heat. you moaned into his mouth until you two broke for the position change.

it was in no time that he had you all stretched out around his long length. you were al spread for him. him underneath you, your back against his chest. his words rang out in your ears.

“knew you would like this position. been thinking about doing this to you al night. can’t fucking run away from his cock baby…” he fucked his dick into you. you were lacking of control. the only thing you could do was bounce on it.

“fucking been thinking of fuckin you like this for ages. getting to whisper in your ear and play with your clit….” his hand came in contact with your sensitive little bud. you started seeing stars.

“didn’t know you would be such a slut for my dirty words.. huh baby you like that?” he slaped your cunt. your back spasmed and you moaned out. you were going to cum. it was too late to even say anything your overwhelming sensation approaching too fast.

“cum on it.” he spat out. he knew you were gonna cum. and yet he kept fucking you. his long hard cock in and out of your sopping wet pussy. his balls smacking against your skin. his groans behind your ear. fuck.

white liquid rushed out of you. tsukishima quickly rushed to rub harshly into your clit.

“fuck! ah-! kei fuck! ah~ i can’t-! stop!” your words were rushed, staggered and stuttering you grabbed onto his wrist to stop.

finally when no more seemed to come out of you he stopped his motion and set you down. laying you beside him. all your energy you once had was gone.

“see, now you can say you have squirted.” he laughed from beside you.

he was right.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:··:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

yum.

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bapeach · 1 day ago

Text

Valentine's Day

Anyone else suck at writing summaries for their stories? Anyways, happy belated Valentine's! I hadn't planned on writing a Valentine's related story, but here we are. Hope you all enjoy! Constructive criticism is always welcome :D Find my masterlist here :)

Pairing(s): Paige Bueckers x female!reader Word count: 4.8k+ Warnings: a bit clinché, swearing, long-distance Summary: Valentine's Day isn't so bad when you get to call with your long-distance best friend, except things don't really go the way you planned. You're not mad about it, though. ------------

Valentine's Day. A day loved by many and hated by even more.

You belonged in the latter category. Why did couples need an extra day to celebrate their relationship? Why would you require an extra day to be nice to your partner when you should do that any other day as well? The only thing this holiday does is make single people feel bad. You’re not bitter about it or anything, it’s just a fact, okay fine, you’re a little salty.

Today is another Valentine that you’re spending single, but this time at least you have plans! While most of your friends were going to be off on dates, you were going to be calling your long-distance best friend and making fun of the whole holiday. To say you were excited to talk to the girl was an understatement.

Being a student-athlete wasn’t easy, Paige had complained about her busy schedule enough for you to know. Not that she had to, you could tell how exhausted she was whenever she found a bit of time to call you between school, homework, and basketball. It saddened you to know the blonde was wearing herself out completely to be the perfect student while also making sure she’s the best basketball player she can be. She barely ever has time to relax, and you’re scared she’s going to give herself a burn-out.

You were glad Paige found time today to hang out with you. You’ve missed her more than you thought you could ever miss anyone, not having heard her voice in weeks and only having gotten short messages to let you know she’s still alive.

“Everyone is gonna be out and about on friday after practice so I’ll have the dorm to myself, FaceTime at 10:30?” Her message had read last Sunday, and you’d immediately agreed. While you knew the Valentine’s Day hangout was just a friendly hangout between best friends, you liked pretending it would be a date.

When you met Paige, you never thought you’d ever fall for her so deeply, let alone be such good friends with her. But here you were, 6 years later, with the biggest crush on her.

When your mom sent you to a random month-long summer camp when you were 16, you’d protested with your whole being. You’d much rather stay home, bundled up on the couch all summer, re-reading your favorite book series, not going to a random camp out in the wild. “You’ll learn so much stuff! And you’ll make friends for life!” She’d said, making you roll your eyes. You didn’t believe a word she’d said, knowing that even if you managed to make friends, you’d only talk to them for that summer and maybe a month after.

You didn’t meet Paige until a week into camp. Her cabin was nowhere near yours, and so you weren’t in the same activity groups as her. One of your roommates had met her one night when she couldn’t sleep and went on a walk. She said you two would get along well, but the more she talked about the blonde, the less likely it seemed to you.

While you were shy, loved staying in, let people walk all over you, and were a bit of a teacher’s pet, 16-year-old Paige was the complete opposite. She was outgoing and friendly, and she loved teasing people even when she didn’t know them. She preferred the outdoors, getting restless when she had to stay in and couldn’t play her sports. She loved breaking the rules and always seemed to get away with it too, her charisma being able to charm all the camp leaders.

When your cabinmate had called her over during dinner, you were incredibly intimidated by the taller girl. She towered over you with a big grin, her blue eyes wide and full of mischief. She was loud and immediately set her eyes on you when she noticed your quietness. When your friends had joked about how shy you were, she’d only grinned wider, saying she was going to get you to come out of your shell.

She managed to win you over a lot faster than you dared to admit. After that dinner, she was always able to spot you in the crowd, coming over to tease you or introduce you to more people. Within a week, you two were glued at the hip. She managed to do what she said she would, making you a little less afraid to speak your mind, while you were able to bring a calm to her that no one knew existed.

You swore saying goodbye to her at the end of camp was one of the hardest things you’d ever had to do. You were quite dramatic at times. Sadly, you’d been right about the not staying friends thing. You two sent each other two letters once camp was over and called five times before life got too busy with school, extracurriculars, and new friends. After that, you didn’t talk for two years.

The next time you saw her again, you thought you were dreaming. You were touring different universities and had just finished the UConn one. Paige had managed to get even taller, her muscles were more defined, and she’d finally found her style. You thought you were mistaken at first, but then her bright eyes found yours, and a wide smile made its way onto her face. She excused herself from the conversation she was in and jogged over to you, not letting you say more than a hi before pulling you into a hug. You let yourself fall into the comfortable, familiar feeling, sinking into her as you hug her back.

This time, when you two parted and said you’d stay in touch, you actually did. Sadly, you didn’t end up going to UConn, instead choosing a university over two hours away from the blonde. Keeping in contact was easier now that you were older and more mature. You called each other multiple times a month, texting almost daily, and even met up IRL whenever you could. You’d attended quite a few of her games, and she even surprised you on your birthday last year.

That birthday is your favorite one so far. Paige had surprised you with flowers and a book you’d been wanting for ages. She spoiled you like crazy that day, even staying the night at your dorm before having to go back to UConn. The day after was the day you realized you were head over heels for her. You became aware of the fact that the butterflies you felt in your stomach weren’t just from being excited at seeing your best friend, they were actually because you had a crush on her.

You never told her about your feelings, however. You figured she only saw you as a friend and knew that there were hundreds of girls throwing themselves at her feet, so why would she choose someone who didn’t even live in the same state as her?

You shake yourself out of your thoughts as you readjust yourself on your bed. Seeing it’s already 10:28, you open your camera to make sure you look okay. Patting down the flyaway hairs, you smile at your reflection. Closing the app, you grab your water bottle to take a sip and calm your growing nerves.

Knowing you’ll be even more nervous if you keep staring at the seconds tick by, you open TikTok and scroll on your FYP to pass the time. You quickly realize that wasn’t the best idea, seeing as there are only edits of Paige on your screen. Your face becomes a bright red as you watch the videos and save them all. You close the app after seeing an edit that makes you feel certain things, fanning your face as you try to get rid of your blush.

When you look at the time again, you shake your head in amusement. 10:35. In the years that you’ve known the blonde, there haven’t been many instances in which the girl has been on time. Usually, it bothers you to no end when someone is late. It makes you feel as though they don’t respect you enough to be on time. With the blonde, it’s different, however.

It’s cute to see her all flustered, apologizing again and again for her tardiness. It makes you laugh when she pouts at you, complaining about how her laptop had to do another update, how her alarm didn’t go off, or how Geno always has it out for her during the practices before a call. You grin when she leaves out the part where she was once again being a menace at practice, teasing her about it after Nika texts you to let you know Paige will be late and why.

You send her a quick text, asking if she managed to piss off Geno again, before checking to see if the Croatian had texted you anything. After another 5 minutes pass, you frown a little, slightly worried about the blonde. When your phone buzzes, you sit up straighter, fluffing up your hair a bit as you prepare to start the call. Grabbing your phone, you expect a “Sorry I’m late! You ready?” message, but you deflate instead.

“Hey, sorry I can’t call 2day, feeling exhausted, rain check?” It reads.

Of course, this isn’t the first time Paige has had to cancel on you. You understood that her busy schedule left her incredibly exhausted, and you knew she hated herself every time she had to cancel. Usually she pushed through, calling you anyway and falling asleep within 10 minutes of the call. She’d apologize profusely, a big frown on her face as her eyes turn a murky blue in sadness. You always told her you didn’t mind, you actually found it cute how her tired eyes would slowly blink at you before finally closing.

The fact that she actually canceled this time meant she didn’t feel good at all, so you let her know it was okay and that you’d talk soon. Once you wish her sweet dreams as she goes to take a nap, you close your laptop with more force than necessary.

While you typically wouldn’t mind all that much, you did this time. You missed her like crazy, you hadn’t had the easiest week, all your friends were out having fun, and to top it all off, you were about to have your period, making you even crankier than usual. You sit in silence for a moment as you try to blink away your tears. You press your palms to your eyes as you shake your head. Slapping your cheeks softly, you try to snap out of it. “Don’t be such a little baby,” you think to yourself.

You get up and stretch before pausing in the middle of the room. You look around a little lost, unsure of what to do now that your plans fell through. You bite your lip as you think about the tub of ice cream you left in your freezer for when you had a bad day. You pout as you realize you’ll spend yet another Valentine’s Day watching a cheesy movie that’ll make you cry into your ice cream.

Right as you’re about to open the freezer, you hear a knock at the door. You throw your head back, holding in a groan as you debate pretending no one is home. You knew it was most likely your roommate, who knew you were going to be home, having forgotten her keys again, so you make your way over to the door.

You take a quick peek into the mirror to check if your eyes look red from your mini breakdown, silently cursing when they do. Rolling your eyes at yourself, you open the door, ready to tell your roommate to not mention it.

You freeze as your jaw drops open. Paige is standing in the hallway, holding a bouquet of red roses and a big teddy bear, a wide smile carved on her face. “Surprise,” she says, her voice soft as she takes you in. You cover your mouth with your hand as tears well up in your eyes again. “Damn these hormones,” you think, blinking to make them go away.

Seeing your watery eyes, the blonde’s smile softens as she mutters a “C’mere.” You fall into her open arms, squeezing her tightly as you nuzzle your face into the crook of her neck. Paige leans her head against yours, pressing a gentle kiss against your temple. She slowly shuffles you backward into your dorm, using her foot to close the door behind her.

Once you realize the way you’re gripping onto her, you let her go, heat creeping up your face. You feel a bit embarrassed, but the feeling gets taken over by the happiness of finally being near the blonde again. “What’re you doing here?” You breathe out as you look at her in childlike wonder. “Wanted to spend Valentine’s with my favorite girl,” she replies, shoving the flowers and bear towards you. The butterflies in your stomach flutter around as you take the gifts with a wide smile, your cheeks bright red at the nickname.

You quickly put the flowers in a vase with some water before setting the teddy bear down on the couch. When you turn back towards Paige, you see her already staring at you with a soft look in her eyes. You skip back over to her, flinging yourself back into her arms, making her chuckle. “Thank you,” you mutter against her shirt, fondness seeping through in your voice.

You pull back slightly with a loving smile, looking up at her but not leaving her arms. She moves one hand away from your back, bringing it towards your face as she rubs your cheek. “Anything for you,” she mumbles as she takes in your face like she’s trying to memorize every bit of it. You can feel your face heat up, but you can’t look away. Your heart beats faster as you admire her, waiting to see what’s on her mind as you see different emotions swim around in her eyes.

Softly clearing her throat, she steps back nervously as she takes an envelope out of her pocket. She shifts her weight from foot to foot as she looks down at the envelope, her throat bobbing as she swallows harshly. “I, uh,” she starts, biting her lip before looking up at you with an anxious yet hopeful look. “This is for you,” she says, handing you the envelope. You raise an eyebrow at her as you ask, “What’s this?”

“Jus open it,” she says, fidgeting with her sleeve. You open the envelope tentatively, a little nervous at how anxious the usually confident girl is. Folding open the pink letter, you scan the page, smelling her perfume as if she sprayed it on the paper. You smile in adoration as you see the usual scribbly handwriting, this time a little less messy. Taking a quick glance at the girl, you see her rub her neck, nodding at you to read it. Your heart skips a beat as you read the words.

It’s… It’s a love confession.

You grip the paper a little tighter as you read about how Paige has had a crush on you for the past two years and how much you mean to her. Your eyes stay glued to the page until you reach the end. “Will you be my valentine?” The last sentence reads.

You look up at her in shock, excitement bubbling in your chest. The athlete is still looking at you, her eyes wide and hopeful. “Really?” You whisper, not wanting to break the intimate atmosphere. She nods her head as she bites her lip shyly. A broad smile spreads across your face as you nod enthusiastically. “Yes!” You say, your voice a bit higher as you’re unable to contain your joy.

“Yeah?” Paige grins, her confident, cheerful self showing again. She grabs you again, lifting you up as she twirls you around. You can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips at the giddiness you’re feeling. “Okay, uhh, I’ve made dinner plans for tonight, but I was thinking we could just chill here for a bit and then go get lunch in that cute little café we went to last time I was here!” The blue-eyed girl beams.

You’re already nodding your head before she finishes her sentence, knowing you’d do anything with the girl. Seeing as you still have some time before you need to start getting ready, you drag the basketball player to your couch. You let her sit down first before settling down next to her and swinging your legs over her lap. You’d been in this position plenty of times before, but those times never felt as intimate as this time.

Your heart thrums in your chest as Paige immediately rests her hands on your legs, rubbing them softly as she relaxes into her seat. You hold your new teddy bear against your chest as you watch the blonde fondly. Catching you staring, she sends you a smirk, making you look down with a chuckle.

“So, how’d you manage to get coach to let you skip practice?” You ask, your head tilted in question. “Oh, that was easy, he loves me, so he said he’d let me skip for once,” she replies smoothly. You huff out a laugh as she says that, mischief clear in her eyes. “You’re such a liar,” you grin back. “Okay, okay, maybe that’s not exactly how it went,” she rolls her eyes playfully. You look at her triumphantly as she gives your leg a little squeeze, more amused than annoyed that you caught her. “He said I could skip, but that my next practice is gonna be extra hard.”

You look at her in amusement but also slight worry. “You didn’t have to do this, you know? I would’ve been happy with just a phone call. I don’t want you to work yourself to the point of passing out,” you reply, your brows furrowed slightly in concern. She shakes her head, bringing one hand to your face to smooth out your frown. “I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. Besides, I think I would’ve gone insane if I didn’t see you soon,” she says, her voice more vulnerable than you’re used to.

Your lips curve back into a smile as she continues. “And stop worrying about me so much, I’m okay. If things get too much, I’ll let you know, I promise.” She sticks out her pinky finger, grinning at you as you interlace yours with hers.

You two keep talking until it’s time to get ready for lunch. Seeing as Paige is already dressed, you leave her on your couch as you walk up to your closet to pick a nice outfit before running to the bathroom to put yourself together. Once you’re satisfied, you return to the couch, blushing as you see the blonde check you out. You raise your eyebrow and send her a teasing grin, letting her know you caught her. She simply sends you a smirk back as she gets up.

There’s not a moment of silence on the way to the café as you two talk about the latest things in your lives. You talk about classes, basketball, family, friends, and the weird dreams you’ve had. The conversation continues to flow during lunch and into the afternoon as you walk around the city with Paige. A smile is permanently etched into your face as you stroll around with your hand in the blonde’s. While her hand is a bit rough from playing so much basketball, it’s still very soft. She rubs her thumb across your knuckles as she animatedly talks about the shenanigans she’s been up to with the team.

When you stop for ice cream, you order your favorite flavor before noticing Paige taking another flavor you love. It confuses you a little, knowing she doesn’t really like it, but you don’t really pay any mind to it as you continue rambling about what your professor did last class. When you sit down, you enjoy your ice cream as you listen to the girl in front of you. She takes small bites in between sentences, making her still have half of it left when you’re done with yours. As she talks, she starts feeding you some of her cup, making you smile at how cheesy you two are being. You don’t mind, though, this is exactly what you’d dreamed of.

When you notice the blonde isn’t eating her ice cream anymore, only feeding you, you go to protest. You don’t get the chance to, however, as the girl knew what you were up to. She quickly shoves another spoonful into your mouth when you open it to speak, rolling your eyes playfully. She grins as she shrugs a little.

Once you two are done, you walk back towards your dorm, silently thanking your roommate for having her own plans and not being home. Once inside, you guide the blonde to your bed, plopping down as you put on a random show for background sounds. You spend hours talking about everything and nothing, laughing harder than you have in months.

“So, this dinner, where are we going?” You ask Paige as you crane your neck up from where you’re lying against her. She pretends to lock her mouth and throw away the key, making you roll your eyes. “You’re so unhelpful, y’know that?” She laughs, knowing it’s true. “Can you at least tell me what the vibe is? Do I need to dress fancy?” You question as you get up and walk over to your closet. You rifle through your options as the athlete speaks. “Semi-formal, I guess,” she shrugs, getting up herself. “Where are you going?” You ask as she starts walking towards the door.

“Gonna grab my bag from my car, I’m not going to dinner in this outfit,” she replies, making you nod in understanding. Once she’s gone, you pause for a moment, pinching yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming. When you know for sure you’re not, you let out an excited squeal before calming yourself down and getting ready. Once you’re dressed, you sit down in front of your mirror to apply some light make-up.

You hear Paige walk back in, having borrowed your keys, as you’re applying mascara. Once you’re done, you look at her through the mirror and send her a bashful smile. She doesn’t smile back, too enthralled by your beauty. You shake your head as you giggle, grabbing your lip gloss. You lean in a bit closer to the mirror, applying a thin layer of gloss to make your lips shine. You glance over at Paige, seeing her eye the applicator as you glide it across your lips. She swallows harshly when you make eye contact, looking away sheepishly as she walks over to get ready in the bathroom.

You scroll through Instagram as you wait for the blonde, liking the Valentine’s Day posts from your friends. When you hear the bathroom door open, you glance up, your throat going dry. Paige always looked gorgeous, but right now, you think she’s never looked better. She smiles softly at you as you take her in. She doesn’t tease you about the way you’re basically drooling over her, knowing she’s just as enamored.

“You look beautiful,” she says, grabbing your hand and giving it a soft squeeze. “Says you,” you grin with rosy cheeks. Her eyes twinkle with happiness as she leads you to the door. “Oh, one sec!” You mutter, running back towards your dresser to grab something. You quickly put the tiny box in your bag before walking back over to Paige. “Alright, I’m ready,” you say, rocking back and forth in excitement.

You walk towards the taller girl’s car in comfortable silence, your hand in hers, fingers interlinked. You let her open the passenger door for you, chuckling at her as she gives you a bow. “M’lady,” she tries to say seriously, but she can’t stop the smile growing on her face. “You’re such a dork,” you reply as you get in, hoping she doesn’t notice the bright color of your cheeks.

Once you two are on the road, Paige takes one hand off of the steering wheel, putting her arm on the center console. You look at it for a moment before grabbing her hand and interlacing your fingers once more. You take a peek at the blonde to see her reaction and feel your stomach flutter when you see her sporting a tiny, content smile.

Once you get to the restaurant, you look around in awe. It was beautiful. You still can’t believe that all of this is real. That Paige Bueckers, your best friend, is taking you out on a date and treating you like a queen. Your cheeks hurt from how much you’ve been smiling all day.

You two share a bottle of wine as you enjoy your food, letting one another taste each other’s dishes, grinning when you find the other’s food better. You giggle as you switch your plates around, not paying any mind to the looks you’re receiving. After finishing your meal, you order dessert, sharing the sweet treat, feeling pretty full from dinner.

Once you’re done, Paige pulls out a wrapped box with a tiny ribbon bow. For a moment you’re confused where it came from, but you quickly dismiss your confusion. “Paige, you didn’t have to get me anything! You’ve already paid for everything today,” you whine, feeling bad about how much the girl is spending on you. “Oh hush,” she says, “I love spoiling my girl.” “Your girl, huh?” You tease with a grin. She rolls her eyes lightheartedly. “Open itttt,” she says impatiently.

You giggle as you open it, letting out a gasp as you see the bracelet inside. “Paige…” you breathe out, “this is beautiful.” “Yeah? You like it?” She asks, hoping you’re speaking the truth. You nod eagerly, flashing her a toothy smile as you brush your thumb over the P charm. “I was scared it would be too possessive, giving you something with my initial on it for our first date,” she admits, scratching her temple. “I love it, P,” you say, letting her help you put it on.

You grab your bag, pulling out your own gift box. “You didn’t,” Paige grins as you hand it to her. “I did,” you grin back. “How? You didn’t even know I was coming today,” she asks, giving you a curious look. “I got this a while back and was just waiting for the perfect moment to give it to you,” you say, your heart drumming in your ears as you nervously wait for her reaction. Her face lights up at the sight of the new chain you’d gotten her. She lifts it out of the box, letting it shine in the dim restaurant lights.

She taps the tiny basketball pendant as it swings on the chain. The blonde sends you a radiant smile, her eyes shining with love. “Thank you,” she says, adoration clear in her voice. You raise one finger, making her pause. You rummage in your bag, grabbing a tiny plastic bag, before handing it to her with a smirk. She holds it close, laughing as she realizes what it is. Opening the bag, she grabs the tiny charm, twirling it between her fingers. “I see we had the same idea,” she smiles, her cheeks becoming a soft pink at the thought of wearing your initial on her neck.

You help her put it on before waving over the waiter for the bill. You begrudgingly let Paige pay, knowing you’d never win that fight against her. You hold her hand as you walk towards her car, squeezing it softly. Your heart feels like it’s going to burst with joy and adoration. Once you reach the car, you look at the taller girl as she pauses.

Her eyes flit over your face as she softly grabs your hips. She steps closer, gently pushing you against the car. She leans in closer, her eyes looking into yours with a questioning look. Your heart skips a beat as you nod lightly. The blue-eyed girl leans even closer, her lips hovering over yours for a moment to give you an extra second to change your mind. When you don’t, she presses her lips against yours in a slow but deep kiss. You grab her face, trying to pull her even closer as you close your eyes. After a minute, you pull away slightly to catch your breath. You move your hands towards her neck as you play with her baby hairs. The smile she sends you makes you weak in the knees, making you silently thank God that you’re leaning against the car.

“Be mine?” Paige breathes, her question sounding almost like a statement. You don’t need to think twice as you nod, pulling her into another kiss.

You know it won’t be easy, being in a relationship while you’re miles apart, but you know that it’s all worth it when you get to call this amazing girl yours.

#paige bueckers x reader #paige x reader #paige bueckers oneshot #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x you #oneshot #imagine #uconn huskies #uconn wbb #wlw fanfic #bapeach writes

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elllisaaa · 2 days ago

Text

SHAMELESS - Y. JEONGIN

KINKTOBER DAY 24 - MUTUAL MASTURBATION

SUMMARY : you always had a soft spot for your best friend's little brother, maybe a little crush if you were honest. however, learning that he was still a virgin despite being this hot, you take it into your own hands to show him how it should be done.

-> pairing : best friend's brother!jeongin x fem!reader

-> words count : 4.2k

-> genre : smut

-> warnings : sub!jeongin x dom!reader, virign!jeongin & experienced!reader, slight age gap (reader is a bit older than jeongin), alcohol consumption, fingering, handjob, breast play, mutual masturbation, making out, lingerie, teasing, begging, dry humping, marked, dirty talk, use of 'good boy', oral (f. receiving)

+ the way i'm depicting jeongin does not represent him, it's only a work of fiction

-> 18+ content bellow, minors DNI

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated ! sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language.

-> masterlist | skz masterlist | kinktober 2024

All your friends knew you had a soft spot for Jeongin, even his own sister knew. You didn’t exactly know what it was in him that made it impossible for you to let him go, but your attraction was undeniable. At first, it was truly innocent - you just invited him sometimes to hang out for a while with you and your friends because the poor boy would often spend his weekends alone, and it wasn’t that bad to take him away from his games so he could share a drink or two with you before you left for the club.

“- Your turn Jeongin, truth or dare ?

- Uh, I don’t know, truth ?”

The poor boy was always a little awkward when he didn’t have his first drink, but once he had loosened up, it was easier to have him admit some things and he actually enjoyed these little hangouts. You were getting ready with his sister and one of your other friends, sitting in the living room with bottles of alcohol and juice opened and ready to make a new drink at any moment. As you focused on doing both wings of your eyeliner the same way, your friend asked her a question.

“- When was the last time you had sex ?

- Ew, I don’t want to know that ! He’s my brother.

- Come on, you’re not fun ! Go away then, I wanna know. And I’m sure Y/N wants to know too.”

You rolled your eyes at her, and you avoided everyone else's gaze as focused on your own face reflecting through the mirror of your eyeshadow palette as you put the finishing touches to your makeup. The slight buzz of alcohol was already getting to you, and you didn’t feel as embarrassed as you would have normally been. But you could still sense Jeongin’s eyes on you, as if he was trying to understand what your friend meant. His sister covered her ears with her hands while he answered.

“- Well, I- I’ve never had sex, actually so…

- What ? You’re still a virgin ? No way.

- This is too much !”

Your best friend left the room to go get dressed, but you couldn’t believe what you had just heard either. You had always assumed that he must’ve had at least one or two girlfriends, but you weren't expecting this. Jeongin’s cheeks had taken a deep shade of red - which was cute, you had to admit - as he shrugged, trying to keep some kind of composure and acting nonchalant while he took another sip of his drink.

“- I don’t understand why it is so shocking.

- Well, look at yourself in a mirror. You might be my friend’s brother but I know a fine man when I see one. Right, Y/N ?

- Uh, yeah, she’s right.”

Your gaze lingered on Jeongin longer than it should have, but it seemed like he couldn’t detach his gaze from you either. You stayed looking at each other for a few seconds, before you broke eye contact with him. The way your heart was beating in your chest, and the way some kind of well-known heat was rising through your body definitely wasn’t something you should be feeling for your best friend’s brother. Soon enough, the subject switched to something else, and you were left alone with your thoughts and the feeling that Jeongin eyes couldn’t leave your figure as you picked up your things to put them in your purse before heading out. Everytime you would look back his way, he would simply avoid your gaze and focus on his phone screen or his drink instead, pretending that he wasn’t devouring you with his eyes a few seconds ago.

At least, your clubbing session did make you feel good, the alcohol helping you relax and the loud music pushing every parasite's thoughts out of your mind for a moment. By the time you went back to your best friend’s apartment, it was already way past 5 in the morning. Your two friends went to crash in bed immediately, giggling and loudly talking nonsense. The sound of the door of her bedroom closing shut behind them drowned out their laughs as you smiled to yourself while getting out of your high-heeled boots. You could still feel the agreable rush of all the drinks you had but you were conscious enough to think about drinking a glass of water before going to bed too. As you were about to head to the bathroom to take off your makeup, you almost ran into Jeongin who was walking out of his own room, looking like he hadn’t slept at all. You giggled as you steadied yourself by grabbing his shoulders.

“- Oops ! Sorry, didn’t see you !”

Jeongin's right arm slid down to your waist to keep you straight up. Truthfully, you didn’t really need it to stand on your feet, you were not that drunk. But you let his hand rest against the naked skin of the small of your back that your crop top revealed, his own warm skin heating up your hot one even more and making another sort of warmth run through your veins.

“- It’s okay. Are you alright ? Did you have fun ?”

You nodded with a big smile stretching out your face to both questions, missing the way Jeongin’s eyes went down to your cleavage and then back up to your face every two seconds. He was trying so hard to not seem like a pervert, but the way you were allowing him to be so close to you, to touch you in a way that was way too intimate, that was driving him crazy.

“- So much fun ! But I don’t understand how you can still be a virgin…”

The sudden change of subject caught him out of guard, and his cheeks took that same shade of red once more, and again, you couldn’t help but think that he was really cute when he was embarrassed like that. Would he have that same look on his face if you dropped down to your knees and sucked him off, right now ? Would he look at you the same way if you told him everything he had you fantasizing about ?

“- I- I don’t know, it’s just how things are ? Girls aren’t really interested in losers like me you know…”

You frowned as you considered his words. A loser ? Jeongin ? Sure, he spent a lot of time playing video games. But he also spent a good amount of time at the gym, and if only he showed off his biceps a little more, there would be tons of girls at his feet, begging for a chance to go on a date with him. Because he already had a cute face, and a cute smile, and pretty hands, and…

“- Well, they should really start to get interested in losers like you. Because I am.

- W-What do you mean ?

- I mean that you’re handsome Innie. Can’t you see that ? If it wasn’t for your sister, I would’ve made a move on you a long time ago.”

With each step you took closer to him, Jeongin took a step back, until his back hit the wall of the hallway behind him. His blush was even more visible now, and despite the pure shock in his eyes, there was also an underlying lust, a contained desire that you couldn’t wait to unleash.

“- Y/N, I…

- What ? Don’t you think I’m pretty too ? Don’t you want me Innie ?”

The poor boy gulped down loudly as he tried to not let the bulge slowly forming underneath his clothes become too noticeable. He didn’t really understand what was happening, if this was all a dream or not, but he wasn’t going to miss his chance in either case.

“- Fuck… I’ve wanted you since she introduced you to me.”

A smirk spread on your lips as you took one step forward again, your chest now pressed against his, making it impossible for him to escape - even though he didn’t want to - and also making it impossible to not look down at your boobs squished together in your ridiculously tiny top.

“- Then stop thinking. Let me show you how good it feels.

- Please…”

This was the last word Jeongin managed to get out before you took a hold of his jaw and pulled him down to your lips to kiss him. His reaction was immediate, almost like it was a reflex : he took a hold of your waist, pressing your bodies together and his lips moved against yours hungrily, expressing all his frustration, all the longing through this kiss. You hummed against his mouth when one of his hands slid back up to angle your face differently, taking advantage of your appreciative noise to slip his tongue through your lips. You welcomed it gratefully, now fully making out with him in the middle of the hallway, his sister sleeping only a room away. When Jeongin finally let you go, you were both breathless, and the heat you felt had increased by ten.

“- Are you sure you’re still a virgin ? Because you’re a great kisser…”

He rolled his eyes at your question, annoyance written all over his face. You let out a yelp of surprise as he suddenly pushed you to his room. He didn’t have to do much effort to make you stumble back until you were sitting on his bed, proving once more that he was hiding a lot of muscles under his oversized pants and hoodies.

“- Just because I never had sex doesn’t mean I never kissed anyone.”

You leaned on your elbows, exposing your curves to him as you tilted your head to the side, a smirk taking over your face. You loved how easy it was for him to switch up from his awkward and shy demeanor to someone a lot more confident - and you liked it either way.

“- How far did you go then ?”

As you toyed with the hem of your black miniskirt, you saw his cheeks taking that shade of red again. Though, he couldn’t detach his eyes from the way you were slowly pushing the material higher and higher up your thighs, revealing more and more skin to his hungry gaze.

“- I just… Kissed. And did a little foreplay.

- No need to be embarrassed, baby. We have all been there once.”

Jeongin gulped down again as he nodded, still watching intently as you left your skirt alone to go up to your chest, your hands cupping them over the material of your top. You let out a sigh of relief at the action, looking up at him as he was still standing up in front of you, the boner in his sweatpants now more than obvious.

“- Did you do this ?”

Again, Jeongin nodded, eyes glued to the way you were squishing your tits together and hitching to do it himself, to feel the plushness of your skin under his hands by himself. You seductively smiled at him as you let one of your hands slide down in between your thighs, pressing your fingers against your clothed clit and letting out a satisfied hum.

“- And this ?”

This time, Jeongin shook his head. He was too entranced by the show you were putting on for him to be able to form sentences or even think about words anymore. If this was a dream, he never wanted to wake up.

“- Want me to touch you ?

- Fuck… Yes, please…”

You smiled at him in a much softer way as you patted the spot beside you on his bed, inviting him to come sit with you. Even if you just wanted to jump him, you wanted every step of the way to be enjoyable for him, show him how good sex felt. Jeongin obeyed right away, and you immediately straddled him. His hands instinctively went to hold your waist and looked up at you, waiting for your next command.

“- Tell me if you want me to stop, tell me if it’s too much, yeah ?

- Yes.”

The way the words left his mouth so quickly made you smile again and you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him into another heated kiss. The buzz of alcohol heightened every one of your senses, and the way you had craved this for a while paired with the way Jeongin was so eager to please you quickly made you sigh in pleasure against his lips. Jeongin drank every little sound you made, relishing in the way he seemed to be able to have such an effect on you. The kiss was slow, but intense and passionate, and he didn’t hesitate to deepen it when he felt like he needed more. And you let him find his own rhythm, let him set the pace.

“- You really are good at kissing Innie…

- Really ?

- Hm… With a little practice, you could become the best.”

What you implied didn’t go on a deaf ears and Jeongin shivered at the thought of this becoming a regular occurrence. He wanted that. He wanted it so bad. And his unfocused eyes were telling you everything you needed to know as he pulled you in for another long kiss. You experimentally moved against him, your still clothed cunt rubbing against his boner - to test his reaction - and a pleased whimper slipped past his lips, getting swallowed by your hungry mouth.

As you started to slowly rock your hips against him, he strengthened his grip on your waist. His breath was getting shorter and you could feel his sanity slipping away. It was almost cute how sensitive he was, but mostly, it only increased your own desire to show him how good it felt to be touched by someone else, to touch someone else.

“- Does that feel good ?

- Yes… Really good.

- You can touch me, Innie.”

Jeongin nodded, but you could see that he was still hesitant to move his hands away from the secured spot of your waist. You smiled at him as you took one of his hands in yours, slowly moving it up to your chest and letting it rest here without breaking eye contact even once. You could see the way his breathing hitched in his throat and you could see the way he was now unable to detach his gaze from your cleavage. He tentatively squeezed your tit, and you encouraged him with your hums of pleasure, a different kind of thrill rushing through your veins as Jeongin got more and more confident.

Within two minutes of touching your boobs, he was shamelessly groping them over your top, his head buried in your neck, sucking hickeys on your skin without a care in the world for the marks it was going to leave. Your dry humping had intensified, way too turned on by the way he now seemed unable to stop having his hands on you. But you were feeling that urge to discover his body too, to know what he was truly hiding under all of his oversized clothes. So you gently pushed him away, biting your lips at the way he seemed so clueless, so gone, only wanting to bury his face in between your tits again.

“- Was it not good ?”

A soft smile took over your face as you leaned down to kiss his pouty lips. It was really cute how he almost forgot about his own raging erection because he wanted to please you, to make you feel good too.

“- It was really good, Innie. I just want to touch you too, if that’s okay ?”

Jeongin nodded again, his brain still having trouble processing the whole situation as you pushed his shirt over his head, leaving his upper body exposed. His cheeks went red again as he saw you detail his chest, arms and abs. You said nothing for a few seconds, letting your eyes devour him first, and then running your hand along the toned muscles of his chest, down to his defined abs that tensed under the feather like touch.

“- You’re so sexy… So handsome, I knew you were but damn…”

The compliment made him awkwardly chuckle, not really used to show off his body. He was working hard on it, that was true, but since he didn’t have someone to expose it to, he wasn’t hearing these types of praises everyday. And especially not from you, the girl he had a crush on and an insatiable lust for.

“- Don’t be so shy, baby… You should get used to that.”

And again, your words had an underlying tone that let him think that it could happen again. But he didn’t want to get his hopes up, so he just let you do your thing as you explored the skin of his torso with your hands and the skin of his neck with your lips. And your overwhelming presence soon made him forget about everything that wasn’t what was happening in that moment anyway. Jeongin closed his eyes, not trying to hold back the small moans escaping him and letting you mark his body in hickeys too. By the time your hands reached the waistband of his sweats, he was already breathless and so hard it was starting to be painful.

“- Is it still okay ?”

Your sugary sweet voice paired with the way you were playing with the hem of his clothes made him nod faster than he ever had. You chuckled under your breath as you let your fingers slip under his pants until you could reach his very hard cock. The first contact with your fingers had Jeongin moaning a little louder and his whole body tensing. And when you wrapped your whole hand around his length, slowly starting to jerk him off, he was definitely gone, definitely ready to drop everything to have you do this again and again.

“- You’re doing so good for me Innie…”

A small, muffled moan answered your praises and you just smiled back at him as you sped up your rhythm a little bit. Any trace of alcohol in your system had definitely disappeared by now, your focus only on Jeongin and the way he reacted to your touch, the delicious sounds he was making and how good he looked when he was feeling good like that.

“- Y/N… Let me touch you too, let me make you feel good too… Please…”

He was almost begging to have a glimpse of your pussy, and who were you to deny him. You pecked his lips in approval as you got off the bed to get rid of your underwear, keeping your skirt that was too complicated to get out of right now. You settled back over his thighs, grabbing his hand in yours and pushing his fingers in your mouth to coat them in your saliva. This was partly for lubrication, and partly because you had been dreaming about these hands for far too long to not do it now that you had the chance too. And Jeongin was just looking up at you as if you hung up the stars in the sky, as if you were a goddess, and you liked the confidence boost maybe a little too much.

“- Let me guide you baby, yeah ?”

He nodded along again, letting you push his hands down from your lips to between your legs. He gulped as you pressed the pads of his fingers against your wetness, feeling what he assumed was the clit by the way you sighed in relief as you rubbed his hand against it.

“- Just this much pressure is good for me, but some girls like it faster or slower, you have to ask.”

Jeongin listened to you, but he didn’t dare tell you that he didn’t plan to use this knowledge with anyone other than you. The only things he wanted to learn about were how to perfectly please you, how to make you cum and want more, how to make you come back to him. So he made sure to perfectly follow your rhythm, not flattering when you let him move on his own and started to jerk him off again, this time pulling his cock out of his sweats. Suddenly, you wanted to go down on your knees and take him into your mouth because he did have a very pretty dick - and it wasn’t a compliment you threw around this easily.

“- Are you feeling good ? Am I doing good ?

- Yes, you’re doing really good Innie… Wanna make me feel even better ?

- Yeah…”

His immediate and eager response despite the fact that he was obviously starting to leak precum all over himself made you smile again. You loved how curious he was, how willing to discover and to let you teach him everything he needed to know he was. You grabbed his hand again, halting the cautious circles he was drawing on your clit to push his fingers lower, having them barely grazing against your more than wet entrance. You both gasped at the sensation, and your back arched slightly when Jeongin took it up himself to push one of his fingers inside, just enough for you to feel it.

“- Is it okay ? Can I… Can I do this ?

- Hm, yes… Feels good, don’t stop.”

His brows were furrowed in concentration as he made sure to be careful when he fully pushed his middle finger inside of you. The way you were clenching down around him made him wonder about how good it would feel to have you wrapped around his cock instead and he throbbed in your hand that was still moving slowly around his dick, reminding him of his own arousal. You encouraged him to continue what he was doing with your endless praises, and soon enough, he was confident enough to push another one of his fingers inside of you, mesmerized by the way you were reacting - mouth opening and letting out a moan, squeezing him in your hand and your hips grinding against his palm as if it was a second nature.

“- Does it feel good ?

- It does, Innie. Stop worrying about me, yeah ? You’re being such a good boy…”

Jeongin was always the first to laugh in his friend’s face for being wrapped around their girlfriend’s fingers but he realized in that moment that he was about to become way worse than them. He whined and chased your lips, all of the pleasure rushing into his veins starting to get way too much for him to stay quiet. The way you chuckled before grabbing his jaw and bringing your lips down on his for a hungry, messy kiss had him whimpering even louder. You made him weak, and he loved it so much.

Noticing how sensitive and squirmy he had become, you sped up your movements around his cock. The thrusts of his fingers inside of you were regular, almost too slow, but it was so different from what you were used to, almost like a calculated rhythm that was starting to get to you and get you wanting more of it. And it didn’t help that his fingers were so long, and that they were making you feel so full, you just had to grind against his palm to get a bit of friction on your clit.

You were so entranced by the kiss that you barely noticed it when Jeongin’s body started to shake. It was only when you felt a hot spurt of cum landing on your hand that you noticed he was indeed cumming, a strangled moan escaping him as you kept up your rhythm. The way he seemed just as surprised as you was arguably very cute, and you kept stroking him slowly and kissing his lips until he tried to get away from your touch.

“- I-I’m sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t feel it coming…”

His embarrassment was coming back full force, and you were really, really starting to get addicted to how adorable he looked with his red cheeks and shifty eyes. You wiped your hand against your thigh, not caring too much for his cum before you grabbed his face, smiling at him while you tried to ignore the fact that his fingers were still stuffed inside of you even if he wasn’t moving them anymore.

“- Did it feel good ?”

Jeongin nodded and your smile only widened.

“- Then never be embarrassed about having a good time baby.

- But what about you ? You didn’t cum, did you ?”

You chuckled as you shook your head, placing another kiss on his pursed lips. You were thoroughly fucked. You knew you shouldn’t have started this at all, but now that you were here, you didn’t want to leave anymore.

“- No, but it’s okay. I enjoyed watching you.”

There was a look of disappointment on Jeongin’s face as he looked up at you. He stayed quiet for a few seconds, as if he was trying to think about what he was going to do next, and before you knew it, he had you pinned underneath him, his larger frame hovering over you as his eyes were glued to your exposed cunt. Your squeal of surprise at his unexpected move made him look up at your eyes that were now pleading you.

“- Please, teach me how to make you cum. I wanna make you feel good too. I wanna… I wanna eat you out. Teach me.”

And how could you say no when he was so eager to learn, so eager to please you, so pliant when you pushed his head in between your thighs ? And from the way he was hungrily lapping at your folds, you were assured that your “teaching” wouldn’t stop there.

-> i don't allow any copies, reposts and translations of my works.

skz taglist (fill in this to be added) :

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215 notes · View notes

scoupsakakitty · 3 days ago

Note

Hii new here and love your work already!

May I request Something about Junhui

Y/n being sick during her pregnancy (if you are comfortable) and Junhui brings her with them while they filmed “In the Soop” to keep an eye on her and unknowingly their relationship gets exposed once the episode air and she cries real bad and the group help him calm her down!

Unexpected Reveal | idol!Jun x Reader | angst, fluff

Filming In the Soop was supposed to be a peaceful getaway. A chance for the members to relax, reset, and spend quality time together away from the usual chaos of idol life.

But for Junhui, this trip had an entirely different purpose.

"You sure you’re okay with this, baobei?" (A/N: For everyone who don't know what baobei means, it means something like Darling) Jun asked softly, kneeling beside the couch where Y/N lay, bundled in a thick blanket. His hand brushed against her forehead, checking for any lingering fever. "We can still go back if it’s too much for you."

She shook her head, offering him a weak smile. "I’d rather be here with you than alone at home."

Y/N was in the early stages of her pregnancy, and it had been far from easy. Morning sickness hit her hard, exhaustion came in waves, and her body ached in ways she hadn’t expected. Jun had barely let her out of his sight, and when filming In the Soop came up, he insisted on bringing her along—secretly, of course.

The members had been incredibly supportive. Seungcheol and Jeonghan helped distract the cameras, Woozi pretended not to see Jun sneaking into Y/N’s room every night, and the younger ones took turns delivering food to her cabin so she wouldn’t have to move much.

It worked.

Or at least, they thought it did.

When the episode aired weeks later, the internet exploded.

Clips of Jun carefully adjusting a pillow in an empty room. A faint silhouette in the background of his personal vlog. The way he seemed distracted, always checking his phone.

And then, the biggest mistake of all—one of the GoPro cameras accidentally left on inside the cabin.

It wasn’t much, just a short clip of Junhui entering with a warm bowl of soup and a soft, “Baobei, you need to eat.” But it was enough.

The comments flooded in.

*Who’s in Jun’s room??? *Did he just say ‘baobei’?????? *Wait, is this why he kept disappearing during the show?! *Jun’s married?! JUN HAS A WHOLE WIFE????

The speculation spiraled out of control. Some fans celebrated, some felt betrayed, and some simply refused to believe it.

But the damage was done.

Y/N sat curled on their couch, knees pulled to her chest, as she scrolled through the endless posts. The anxiety swelled in her chest until it was unbearable, and before she could stop herself, she burst into tears.

"Y/N, hey—" Jun rushed to her side, alarmed. "Baobei, don’t cry. Please don’t cry."

“I ruined everything,” she sobbed, voice shaky. “Everyone’s talking about you. About us. What if—what if it affects your career? What if people hate you because of me?”

Jun’s heart clenched.

He gathered her into his arms, rubbing slow circles on her back as she cried into his chest. “Shh, that’s not true. You didn’t ruin anything, okay? If anything, this was my fault—I should’ve been more careful.”

The door suddenly burst open, and in came Seungcheol, followed closely by Jeonghan and Minghao.

“Is she okay?” Jeonghan asked, concern etched in his features.

“No,” Jun answered honestly, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Seungcheol crouched down in front of them, resting a gentle hand on Y/N’s knee. “Hey, don’t read the comments, okay? People will always have things to say, but they don’t know you. They don’t know how much Jun loves you, how much he’s willing to fight for you.”

Minghao sat beside her, his voice soft. “You’re not alone in this. We’re family. We’ll handle this together.”

Y/N sniffled, looking up at them. “But… what if they—”

“They won’t.” Jun cut her off firmly. “Even if they do, I don’t care. You and our baby matter more to me than any of this.”

She let out a small, choked laugh. “That was really cheesy.”

Jeonghan smirked. “He’s been watching too many dramas again.”

Laughter rippled through the room, lightening the heavy atmosphere.

Jun wiped her tears, cradling her face in his hands. “We’ll be okay, baobei. I promise.”

And looking at the warmth surrounding her, the love in Jun’s eyes, and the unwavering support of their family, Y/N finally let herself believe it.

163 notes · View notes

ihyuka · 3 days ago

Text

Of regrets and other tells | Choi Soobin

summary: Soobin has been building his acting career for years. Sacrificing his time and personal life in more aspects than one, holding onto a broken heart for over 5 years, and perpetually wishing his past relationship didn't end the way it did. Now, he's gotten an imminent return to his hometown thanks to a wedding, the high possibility of seeing his ex (Very possible because she's the groom's sister), and oh, it turns out the groom doesn't know he ever dated his sister. A recipe for disaster

word count: 11.5k

pairing: soobin x female reader

warnings: exes to lovers (sort of), brother's best friend, taehyun is our matchmaker bec he adores his friends, yeonjun is oblivious, tiny bit of angst, soobin is a sweetheart, they're Overthinkers, smut, cunnilingus, fingering, cute and soft love making, unprotected sex, they have feelings for each other, reader can be nasty at times (soobin isn't doing any better tbh), huh, i hope i'm not forgetting something☝️

note: happy valentine’s day! 💕 welcome to my blog!

this idea has been sitting in my drafts forever, so i’m really excited to finally bring it to life today. i’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments (and please be nice—this is my first time posting 🫣).

i hope you enjoy this story! it’s slightly inspired by those classic early 2000s rom-coms we all love. also, english isn’t my first language, so please excuse any mistakes—i’m working on improving!

Soobin doesn’t know what to do with himself.

The first glance had him intrigued. The second? Addicted.

Here’s the thing—he’s known you all his life. He was always the kid befriending older guys at school, constantly seeking the company of those ahead of him. He loved it. Until, of course, life happened. One by one, his friends left for university, leaving him behind for one last year of high school. It wasn’t all bad, though—because that’s when he met you.

Yeonjun’s little sister. A friend of his. Someone his age who helped him adjust to a new social scene, introducing him to people and boosting his confidence. You were always there. Always helping. And now? Now he hasn’t seen you in years. He has a life in Seoul. He’s moved on.

Or so he thought.

Because the moment he sees you in that red dress, smiling, radiant, otherworldly—he realizes something painful and undeniable.

He’s so fucked.

And worse? He’s dated you before.

He’s so, so fucked. Yeonjun is going to kill him.

Soobin is hyper-aware of his surroundings.

He always is. It comes with the territory of being a high-profile actor. He’s gotten used to sneaking around, blending into crowds, avoiding unnecessary attention. Weddings in South Korea, though, are practically public events. The worst place to hide. He’s trying to be subtle—maybe if he stands still long enough, he’ll blend into the walls.

“Hi?”

He freezes. He knows that voice anywhere. Familiar, warm—like home. And like regret.

It’s you.

It’s ridiculous, really. He’s standing there, towering over everyone, wearing sunglasses in the middle of December, looking every bit as awkward as he feels.

“Um, hi?” His voice comes out strained, awkward. God, why can’t this be easier? “How have you been?”

What a stupid question. He hasn’t seen you in five years. You both took different paths, built your lives apart. He dated you for two months, so why does it feel like he can’t breathe now that you’re standing in front of him?

“Good.” You smile. “Let’s not make this weird, shall we? It’s been a long time.”

You’re so over him.

And he’s regretting everything.

“Okay,” he says softly. “I’m glad you’re doing okay.”

And just like that, you’re gone. Someone calls your name, and you walk away.

Fuck.

That’s the only thing running through your mind, too.

Why did he have to be this attractive? You had a plan. Approach him, make small talk, prove to yourself you were over him. That was it. But the second you saw him? Plan out the window. He looked unfairly good—taller, broader, blonde. Blonde. What kind of sick joke was this?

And thankfully, mercifully, he didn’t notice the way you reacted.

God, you’re so fucked.

Soobin tells himself he’s fine.

He gave his speech as best man. He made people laugh. He shared embarrassing photos of Yeonjun for everyone’s amusement. He did his job.

But now? Now he’s pissed.

And he knows he shouldn’t be.

You aren’t his. You haven’t been his in years. Even if you were, he doesn’t own you. He understands that—logically. But watching some guy dance too close to you, hands lingering where they shouldn’t—his instincts are screaming.

He knows that look. The same one he’s giving you now. Hunger. Want. Need.

Maybe the guy is your boyfriend. Maybe he isn’t. All Soobin knows is that he hates him.

“Why aren’t you dancing with her if you want her so much?” Taehyun’s voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts. Ever the straightforward one, Taehyun has had the front-row seat to Soobin’s misery for the past five years.

“I don’t deserve her.” The words come out bitter. Regretful. “I broke her heart.”

“Maybe. But she still wants you to try.” Taehyun doesn’t hesitate. “She’s dancing nonstop with Jihoon, but everyone knows he’s chasing her, not the other way around. This isn’t like her. She’s doing this because of you.”

Soobin swallows hard.

“Besides,” Taehyun adds casually, “she told Yeonjun about you two this morning.”

Cold dread washes over him. “What?”

Taehyun shrugs. “I overheard. You know that tree in front of their house? They were talking there.”

“So what did he say?” Soobin asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“No clue. I had to get to work.”

Soobin groans. “How do you just drop information like that and leave?”

“Because I trust you’ll figure it out.” Taehyun smirks. “Now go get your girl. She’s drunk, and she looks done with that guy.”

Soobin didn’t think it through.

You were drunk, and all he wanted was to get you somewhere safe. A chair—that was the plan. That should have been enough. But then you whined about wanting your bed, and Yeonjun, in a rare moment of brotherly responsibility, decided Soobin was the best person to handle it.

“The party’s ending soon, and I’m leaving for Japan tomorrow,” Yeonjun had said, handing you over like you weren’t his problem anymore. “Just drop her at her apartment.”

And that’s how Soobin found himself here—standing in your building’s dimly lit hallway at an ungodly hour, praying to every higher power that no one was following him. The last thing either of you needed was for the media to sniff this out.

Not that he was worried about himself.

It was you. You, who deserved a normal life. You, who had worked so hard to distance yourself from him, from his world. And yet, here you were, tangled up in his orbit again.

And here’s another thing: you’re just as bad as Yeonjun when it comes to alcohol. Soobin knows this. He also knows you have a soft spot for that fruity soju, the kind that creeps up on you before you even realize you’ve had too much. And he knows you’re probably going to feel sick soon, which is why, in the worst decision he’s made today, he stays.

You’ve been awake for an hour now, your body heavy with the aftermath of last night. The alcohol is gone, drained from your system, but the discomfort lingers—hunger gnawing at your stomach, the stale aftertaste of regret coating your tongue.

You should get up.

You should get water.

But the thought of stepping into an empty apartment makes your chest tighten.

The memory of his hands—gentle as he guided you to bed, careful as he removed your shoes—lingers. He was being nice. That’s all. He was being nice.

God, you still like him.

Five years, and you still haven’t gotten over a man. Two months were all it took for him to ruin you, to make every fleeting touch feel like a shock to your system. You’ve tried. You’ve moved forward. And yet, here you are, terrified of facing an empty space because for a moment—just a moment—he had been here again.

Your breakup had been your fault.

You tell yourself that, over and over.

You were young—barely nineteen, selfish, and desperate for attention. Soobin was chasing his dream, working himself to the bone between university and his company’s relentless trainee schedule. He had asked you to understand. He had begged you to wait. But you got tired. You fought. And the cracks in your heart never quite mended after that.

Soobin has only slept for four hours before deciding he should leave something behind for you—a quiet, impersonal gesture. Some homemade food. A note about how busy he is, how he can’t stay, but he hopes you feel better.

That’s the plan.

And that’s what he’s thinking as he stands in your kitchen, stirring ramen—the closest thing to homemade comfort he can manage.

But then you appear.

The dress from last night is gone, replaced by something that barely qualifies as pajamas. Soobin freezes, spoon clattering against the pot.

December. It’s December, and you’re walking around like this?

Jesus Christ.

“Hi,” he says, clearing his throat. “I made ramen. I hope you’re hungry.”

You don’t answer right away, moving past him to grab a glass of water. He watches as you take a slow sip, the silence stretching between you.

Then, softly, “I’m sorry. For last night.”

Soobin shakes his head. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I do,” you insist. “I can handle my alcohol better now. You didn’t have to do all this.”

“But I wanted to.” The words slip out before he can stop them. Too honest.

You pause. Then: “Add an egg. They’re on the top shelf.”

It’s not quite an acknowledgment. Not quite forgiveness. But you move to set the table for two without another word, and Soobin understands. He’s staying.

There are things that need to be said.

And it’s not safe for him to leave. You know that. The cameras follow him everywhere. You’d never risk him like that—not after everything.

“It’s done,” he says, bringing the pot to the table. “But I should—”

“Don’t,” you cut in. Your voice is steady, decisive. “The cameras could be outside. Stay.” A pause. Then, softer, “Besides… we need to talk.”

Easier said than done.

The ramen sits between you, steam curling into the air. Neither of you moves to eat.

Soobin watches as you fidget with the edge of your sleeve, pressing the fabric between your fingers like it’s something to hold onto. It’s a nervous habit—one he remembers all too well.

You’re the first to break the silence.

“So… How have you been?”

It’s a ridiculous question. Too small for the weight between you. Too casual for two people who haven’t spoken in years.

Soobin exhales, forcing a small smile. “Busy.”

That much is obvious. His face is everywhere—billboards, magazine covers, TV screens. He’s the one people stop in the streets, the one whose name is whispered in admiration or envy.

But you nod like you don’t already know, like you haven’t seen his face staring back at you from the glossy pages of magazines while waiting in line for coffee.

You reach for your chopsticks, stirring the noodles absently. “And… are you happy?”

That question lands heavier. He doesn’t answer right away.

He should say yes.

He should tell you that everything worked out, that he got everything he wanted, that all the sacrifices were worth it.

Instead, he looks at you—the way you avoid his gaze, the way your fingers tremble slightly before you curl them into a fist—and he tells the truth.

“I don’t know.”

Your breath hitches, but you recover quickly, schooling your features into something unreadable.

You look away, pretending to be focused on your bowl. “I thought you would be.”

Soobin swallows. “I thought you would be, too.”

That gets you. Your fingers tighten around your chopsticks, but you don’t say anything right away.

Soobin leans forward slightly, watching you carefully. “You left first,” he says, quiet but firm. “I waited. I called. And then, one day, you just weren’t there anymore.”

You let out a slow breath, finally meeting his eyes. “And if I had stayed?”

The question is quiet. Almost a whisper.

Soobin blinks. “What?”

“If I had stayed.” You search his face like you’re looking for something—confirmation, maybe. Closure. “Would anything have changed?”

The answer sits heavy on his tongue.

Would it have?

Back then, he was young and hungry, chasing a dream he wasn’t sure he’d ever catch. He was terrified of losing you, but he was also terrified of failing—of choosing wrong, of looking back one day and realizing he had given up too much.

And you—God, you just wanted him. Not the future version of him, not the one he was still trying to become. You just wanted the boy who used to walk you home, the one who held your hand under the table, the one who promised to love you even when things got hard.

Soobin looks at you now, older, sharper, still devastatingly familiar.

“I don’t know,” he admits.

You let out a soft, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Me neither.”

The room settles into silence again, but this time, it’s different. Softer.

Soobin watches as you finally take a bite of your ramen, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment at the warmth.

And maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s too late.

But for the first time in five years, you’re sitting across from each other, sharing something that feels dangerously close to peace.

And maybe, for now, that’s enough.

“You should go.”

The words taste like regret the moment they leave your lips.

Soobin stills. His chopsticks pause midair before he lowers them onto the table with agonizing slowness.

His eyes meet yours, searching. “You really want that?”

You inhale sharply, willing yourself to hold his gaze. “Yes.”

A lie.

But you say it anyway, because it’s easier than admitting the truth—that his presence is unraveling you piece by piece. That sitting across from him like this, pretending there isn’t history between you, is torture.

Soobin exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Right.” He pushes his chair back, standing. “I should’ve known.”

He’s hurt. You can see it in the tight set of his jaw, the way his fingers twitch at his sides. And it makes you want to take it back—swallow the words down and tell him to stay.

But you don’t.

You stay seated, gripping your hands together in your lap as he walks toward the door.

He hesitates.

For a moment, it feels like the universe is holding its breath.

Then, his voice—low, steady. “Why do you always do this?”

Your head snaps up. “Do what?”

“Push me away.”

You freeze.

Soobin turns, expression unreadable. “I don’t get it. You let me take care of you. You let me stay. And now you want me to leave?” He lets out a bitter chuckle. “Is this a game to you?”

Your stomach twists. “No.”

“Then what is it?” His voice rises slightly, frustration seeping through. “Because I don’t know what you want from me, and I don’t think you do either.”

Your heart pounds. “I just—” You stop, exhaling shakily. “It’s not that simple, Soobin.”

“It could be.” His gaze softens. “If you let it.”

You shake your head. “You don’t understand—”

“Then make me understand.”

The words cut through the air between you, heavy and full of something you’re not ready to name.

You swallow, feeling exposed. “I don’t want to need you,” you whisper.

Soobin’s expression shifts. He steps closer. “Why?”

“Because it’s dangerous.” Your voice shakes. “Because I’ve spent years trying to forget what it felt like to love you, and every time you’re near, I realize I never really stopped.”

Silence.

Then, Soobin exhales sharply. “You think you were the only one?”

Your breath catches.

“I tried,” he admits. “I tried moving on. I tried pretending you weren’t the best thing that ever happened to me. But it never worked.” His voice drops lower, more vulnerable. “You never left me, _____. Not really.”

You feel yourself crumbling, breaking open under his words.

“So tell me,” he continues, stepping even closer. “Do you really want me to leave?”

You open your mouth—

But the answer is already written all over your face.

And Soobin sees it.

Slowly, hesitantly, he lifts a hand, his fingertips ghosting over yours on the table. “If you tell me to go,” he says softly, “I will.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling shakily.

Then—

You flip your hand over, letting your fingers intertwine with his.

“You should stay.”

Soobin exhales, like he’s been holding his breath for years.

And this time—

He does.

Soobin stays.

Neither of you says much after that. The weight of your confession lingers in the air between you, delicate and fragile, like glass that could shatter at any second. But neither of you runs.

Instead, you sit there, sharing ramen in comfortable silence, the steam curling between you like something unspoken. His fingers, warm and steady, never fully leave yours—not gripping, not demanding, just there. A quiet promise.

You don’t sleep much.

Even after the bowls are empty, after he insists on washing the dishes, after you both linger in the doorway of your bedroom—uncertain but unwilling to let go—you just lie there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet hum of the city outside.

Somewhere in the other room, Soobin is asleep on your couch.

Or at least, you think he is.

You don’t have the courage to check.

By the time morning comes, you’re still lying in the same position, arms curled under your pillow, the weight of last night pressing down on your chest.

You should get up.

But then—

A soft knock at your door.

You inhale sharply, heart stuttering.

Then, his voice, groggy, uncertain. “Are you awake?”

You swallow. Your fingers curl into the sheets.

You shouldn’t answer. You should pretend you’re asleep, give yourself time to think. But your voice betrays you before your brain catches up.

“Yeah.”

A pause. Then—

The door creaks open.

Soobin stands there, sleep-rumpled and unfairly attractive in the dim morning light. His hoodie hangs loose on his frame, his blonde hair a tousled mess. He looks softer like this—less like the untouchable actor everyone knows, and more like the boy you once loved.

Still love.

He hesitates, fingers gripping the edge of the doorframe. “Can I…?”

You nod before he can finish the question.

And just like that, he steps inside, quiet, careful.

The bed dips under his weight as he sits at the edge, close but not too close. He rubs a hand over his face, sighing.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he admits, voice low.

You exhale, shifting onto your side to face him. “Me neither.”

A small, tired smile flickers across his lips. “Figures.”

Silence stretches between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s just… there. Something old and familiar. Something neither of you knows what to do with.

Then, softly—

“Did you mean it?”

You freeze.

His voice is careful, like he’s afraid of the answer.

You know what he’s asking.

You could lie. You could say it was the alcohol, or the moment, or the past clouding your judgment.

But you don’t.

“Yeah.”

Soobin exhales, shoulders sinking like he’s been carrying the weight of that answer for years.

Then—hesitantly, slowly—he lifts a hand, brushing his fingers against yours on the sheets.

And this time, you don’t pull away.

Not when his fingers trace over your palm. Not when his touch lingers, warm and sure.

Not when he whispers, so quiet you almost miss it—

“Then don’t make me leave.”

The air between you is thick, suffocating. The moment you told him to stay, the balance shifted. The door remains closed, the walls pressing in, the weight of years apart and the lies you’ve told yourselves coiling tighter and tighter.

Soobin doesn’t let go of your hand. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t move closer either. He’s waiting. For what? For you to give in? For you to push him away again?

You don’t know. But you know this: you can’t breathe.

He exhales sharply, like he’s been holding back words he doesn’t trust himself to say. “I don’t know how to do this with you.”

“Do what?” Your voice barely makes it past your lips. Your fingers twitch in his grip, and that alone has his jaw tightening.

“Pretend,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing against the pulse point of your wrist. His voice is quiet, careful, but there’s an undercurrent of something dangerous. “Pretend that I’m okay. That seeing you doesn’t do something to me. That I haven’t spent the past five years wondering if you ever thought about me, too.”

Your breath stutters, but you force yourself to keep looking at him. “Soobin—”

“I should hate you.” His voice is steadier now, but his grip on your hand betrays him. Tight, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again. “Do you know that?”

You swallow. “I know.”

“I tried.” He lets out a sharp laugh, bitter and tired. “God, I fucking tried.”

“So did I,” you whisper. “I tried forgetting you, too.”

His fingers tighten around yours. “Did it work?”

“No.”

The word sits heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you move. The ramen has gone cold. The room feels smaller. Your heart is a hammer against your ribs, and still, he doesn’t let go.

Then, his eyes flicker downward—just for a second. To your lips.

And that’s when you do it.

You rip your hand from his and step back, breathing uneven. “This isn’t fair.”

Soobin looks at you like you’ve just torn something out of him. “No. It’s not.”

You turn away, hands trembling as you grip the edge of the counter. “We’re not kids anymore. We can’t just—just fall back into whatever this is.”

“What is this, then?” His voice is lower now, rough, frayed at the edges. “Tell me. Because I think about you, and it makes me fucking sick how much I still—”

He stops himself. He presses his lips together so tightly it looks painful. He takes a deep breath, then another. But it doesn’t help. You can see it. The storm in his eyes. The anger. The longing.

You shake your head, pushing down everything clawing its way up your throat. “You should go.”

“No.”

You whip around. “Soobin—”

“No.” He steps forward, and this time, you’re the one who freezes. He towers over you, his presence burning into your skin. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to pull me back in just to push me away again.”

His voice drops lower, dangerously soft. “I stayed away for five years. I did what you wanted. I let you go. And now you tell me to stay, and then you tell me to leave?”

You close your eyes. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

He exhales sharply. Then, after a long pause, he whispers, “Neither do I.”

Another silence. But this one is different.

You open your eyes, and he’s right there. Close enough to touch. Close enough that you can see the way his lashes tremble, the way his fingers curl into fists at his sides like he’s physically holding himself back.

And you can feel it—

The breaking point.

It’s coming.

His breath catches. His fingers flex against the fabric of his hoodie, knuckles whitening like he’s barely holding himself back.

His silence is unbearable, but you don’t know how to fix it.

So you move before you can talk yourself out of it.

Slowly, carefully, you reach for his hand, mirroring the way he was holding you. Just a brush of your fingertips at first, testing, waiting—until he lets out a shaky exhale and turns his palm over to catch you.

Your fingers intertwine again, the simplest thing in the world.

Soobin's voice is hoarse when he speaks. "Tell me what you want."

"I don’t know," you admit. "I don’t know if I can do this again. If I can survive losing you twice."

Something flickers in his expression—something raw, breaking.

"I never wanted you to lose me."

"Then why did it feel like I had to?"

Soobin squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over the ridges of your knuckles. His voice is unsteady when he says, "Because I was scared. Of ruining things. Of choosing wrong."

"And now?"

Now.

Soobin doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he lifts your joined hands, pressing his forehead to the back of yours like he’s trying to ground himself. You can feel the unspoken words vibrating against your skin, seeping through his touch.

Now, he's still scared. But more than that—he doesn’t want to lose you again.

His lips part, breath warm against your skin. "I think I've been in love with you this whole time."

Your heart stops.

Then—before you can overthink it, before logic creeps in and tears this moment apart—you let go of his hand.

Only to reach for his face.

Your fingers thread through his hair, pulling him in, and before you can fully process what you're doing, your lips brush against his.

Soft. Tentative.

The moment you start to pull away, Soobin makes a sound—low and desperate in the back of his throat—and suddenly, he's kissing you like he's afraid you'll disappear.

His hands are warm when they cup your face, tilting your head so he can deepen the kiss, so he can drink you in like he’s been starving for you.

And maybe he has.

Maybe you have, too.

The past and the present blur together, all the years apart collapsing into this one unbearable, impossible moment.

And when you finally break apart, forehead resting against his, breaths mingling in the quiet night, you realize something terrifying.

Loving him was never the problem.

It was surviving it that scared you.

And now?

Now, you're not sure you care about surviving at all.

Soobin can’t stop kissing you.

It’s reckless. Messy. A raw, consuming need that shakes through him, leaves him breathless, leaves you breathless. His fingers dig into your waist like he needs something to hold onto, something to tether himself to reality, because this—this doesn’t feel real. It feels like something forbidden, like something he shouldn’t have, but is taking anyway.

It’s crazy. It’s physically impossible for him to stop.

And you don’t want him to.

Your hands are in his hair, tugging, nails scratching lightly against his scalp, and he shudders. His lips press harder, deeper, stealing the air from your lungs, but you don’t care. You’d let him. You’d give it to him.

Then you whimper. Just the softest, neediest sound—one you didn’t mean to make, one you probably don’t even realize you made.

How dare you.

Soobin groans against your mouth, low and guttural, and suddenly, his hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, pressing you closer, closer, like there will never be enough space between you to satisfy him.

"Please," you breathe, and it’s wrecked.

His lips hover just above yours, his forehead resting against yours as he exhales sharply. His eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, but there’s something else, something deeper—like he’s drowning in you and has no desire to come up for air.

"Fuck," he mutters, his voice rough, strained. Your name follows, dripping from his lips like a prayer. "You need to stop making those sounds." He swallows hard, his jaw clenched. "Unless you want another thing."

Another thing.

You shiver, your fingers curling around the fabric of his hoodie, barely keeping yourself grounded.

But Soobin doesn’t stop. His lips keep finding yours between words, between breaths, and god—he kisses like he’s never going to get the chance again. Soft, then rough, then soft again. Like he’s caught in between worshipping you and ruining you.

And then you moan.

A real moan. Not soft. Not restrained. A full, broken, breathless moan.

And that’s it. That’s the end of his control.

Soobin curses under his breath, something low, something desperate. Then suddenly, he shifts—presses you down, his body covering yours completely. His hands, once hesitant, now move like they have a purpose, sliding up, gripping, mapping out every inch of you like he’s memorizing it.

His lips are everywhere now—your jaw, your throat, your collarbone—hot and lingering, teeth grazing, tongue soothing.

"God," he breathes against your skin. "You don’t—" He presses another kiss just beneath your ear, his voice unraveling. "You don’t get it, do you?"

You can barely think, barely form words. "Get what?"

"How long—" He exhales sharply, his breath fanning against your skin. "How long I’ve wanted this."

Your chest tightens. "Then why—"

"Because I was a fucking coward," he admits, voice thick, raw. His fingers tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are unreadable—too many things crashing together at once. Lust. Longing. Something deeper. Something dangerous. "But I can’t be, not right now. Not when you’re—"

You kiss him before he can finish.

Because you don’t want to hear whatever doubt lingers in his words. Not now. Not when his body is so warm, not when his lips taste like regret and longing and every single thing you’ve ever tried to suppress.

Soobin groans into your mouth, deep and ruined, and it sets you on fire.

And the worst part?

You know this won’t be enough.

It never will be.

"Stop moving," Soobin growls against your neck. His voice is low, strained, barely holding together. His lips are hot where they press into your skin, and his hands—god, his hands—grip your waist like you’re something fragile, something he’s trying so hard not to break.

But you don’t make it easy for him.

You shift again, just the slightest movement, but it’s enough. Enough for him to tighten his grip, enough for him to press his hips just a little closer, enough for his breath to come out sharp, ragged.

"Or what?" you ask, breathless, teasing, your voice tinged with something dangerous.

You know exactly what you’re doing.

His eyes flick up to yours, dark, heavy, filled with something that makes your stomach flip. And it’s only then that you realize just how close his face is to yours—how you can feel every unsteady breath he takes, how the heat between you feels unbearable, suffocating in the best possible way.

Your lips are swollen, kiss-bruised, and when his gaze drops to them, his jaw clenches.

"Or you’re going to regret it," he murmurs, voice rough, thick with a warning you know he fully intends to follow through on.

But you don’t stop.

Maybe you want to push him. Maybe you want to see what happens when he snaps.

So you shift again, just the tiniest bit, your knee brushing against his thigh, your fingers ghosting over the fabric of his hoodie. Innocent movements, but not really. Not when his breath stutters, not when his fingers twitch against your waist like he’s barely holding himself back.

"Soobin," you whisper, and you don’t even know what you’re asking for, but you can feel the shift in the air between you. Heavy. Charged. Unforgiving.

His hand moves suddenly, gripping your chin, tilting your face up until there’s nowhere to look but at him. His thumb brushes the edge of your bottom lip, and his breath is uneven, his restraint hanging by a thread.

"Do you even know what you’re doing to me?" he asks, his voice low, almost desperate.

And before you can answer, before you can even think, his lips are back on yours.

But this time, it’s different.

This time, it’s not just desperate—it’s deliberate. It’s slow, like he wants you to feel every second of it, every inch of the way he kisses you, the way he presses against you.

Like he’s trying to prove something.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re about to find out exactly what happens when you push him too far.

You moan again.

It’s soft, wrecked, the kind of sound that makes his restraint snap like a thread pulled too tight.

The heat between you is suffocating. You’re burning, aching, every nerve in your body hypersensitive to the way Soobin touches you—like he needs to, like he has no choice.

His breathing is ragged, uneven, his grip on you tightening as if you might slip away.

"Fucking hell, ___," he rasps, voice dark, rough, filled with something dangerous. "Be clear. What do you want now? What do you fucking want?"

His forehead presses to yours, his lips ghosting over your mouth but never quite kissing you, torturing you with the distance. His fingers dig into your waist like he’s barely holding himself back.

"You," you whisper, the word breaking apart in your throat. It’s desperate, needy. You don’t care.

Something shifts.

Soobin exhales sharply, a curse slipping past his lips before he finally—finally—loses the control he was clinging to.

His mouth crashes into yours, rough, insatiable, as if he’s been starving for you and is only now letting himself feast. His hands roam your body, urgent but reverent, like he’s trying to map out every inch of you, trying to commit this moment to memory.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, to drink you in. His pupils are blown wide, his lips swollen and glistening.

"I shouldn't be thinking about you the way I do," he murmurs, his voice almost unsteady. "You make me so fucking crazy."

His lips trail down your neck, hot, open-mouthed kisses pressed into your skin, each one sending a shiver down your spine. His teeth graze your collarbone, and your breath catches.

"That red dress you wore yesterday—fuck." His voice is barely controlled, like the thought alone is unraveling him. "At your brother’s wedding… you have no idea what you did to me."

His hands slide lower, skimming the curve of your waist, gripping you like you belong to him. His mouth follows the path of his hands, kissing, tasting, worshiping.

"You were always beautiful," he breathes against your skin, voice thick with something deeper than lust. "You always were. But yesterday... yesterday, you were fucking stunning."

He pulls back just slightly, his breath hot against your chest. His hands settle over your ribs, thumbs grazing sensitive skin, just barely there, just enough to drive you insane.

And then he stills. Waiting.

"Can I touch you here?" he asks, his voice lower now, raspier, the last shreds of his restraint hanging by a thread.

You shudder. There’s no hesitation.

"Yes."

It comes out breathless, desperate.

The second the word leaves your lips, his hands move—slow, deliberate, fingertips dragging over your skin like he wants to savor every reaction, every tremor that runs through you.

Like he wants you to feel every single second of it.

Soobin takes his time.

He isn’t just exploring you—he’s worshiping. Every inch of your skin is sacred under his touch, and he treats it like something to be memorized. His fingers drag over your ribs, featherlight, teasing. His lips trace slow, reverent paths down your collarbone, pressing kisses that feel more like devotions.

"I'm gonna take these off, okay?" he murmurs, fingers slipping beneath the straps of your bra.

You can only nod, breathless, as he peels the fabric away, eyes darkening at the sight of you. He exhales sharply, almost in disbelief, his hands hesitating like he needs a second to take it all in.

"These are so pretty," he whispers, voice rough. His fingers graze over you, barely there. Then firmer. His thumb flicks over one peak, and you shudder. "Fucking missed them. So much."

His lips replace his fingers, hot and wet and needy. He sucks, licks, nips—his mouth working you over like he's making up for lost time.

"God," he groans against your skin, his voice half-wrecked. "They didn’t look this full before."

The moan that leaves your lips is absolutely shameful—high-pitched, desperate, almost embarrassing. But you don’t care.

Soobin definitely doesn’t care.

He groans at the sound, his grip tightening as if he's trying to steady himself. But then he does it again—scraping his teeth lightly against you, his tongue soothing over the sting, sucking just enough to make you whimper.

"Shit," he breathes, voice shaking. "You're too good. Too fucking good."

He looks up at you, eyes burning. And then he does it again.

And again.

Until you're nothing but gasps and shivers and pure, unbearable need.

"Please," you whimper, your voice barely more than a breath. "Please."

Soobin’s lips hover just above your skin, his breath warm against your cheek. He doesn’t move, doesn’t give in. His fingers dig into your waist, keeping you still, keeping you desperate.

"What do you want, sweetheart?" His voice is low, teasing, thick with something dark and knowing.

"You."

His lips quirk up slightly. "But you have me right now, hm?" His tone is deceptively soft, but there’s something else underneath—something dangerous.

"You know what I mean," you say, almost frustrated.

He tilts his head, pretending to consider. "No, I don’t," he murmurs. "Tell me."

Your cheeks burn. Your entire body burns. But you say it anyway, voice shaking with need.

"Please, I want you inside."

Something in him snaps.

"Oh? Me?" He pulls back slightly, just enough to look you in the eyes, his own gaze dark, unreadable. "The man you wanted so bad to leave?"

Your nails dig into his shoulders. "Fuck you, Soobin."

He laughs, a low, breathy sound that vibrates against your skin. He leans in, his lips brushing your ear.

"Ah, yes, babe, I’m fucking you," he whispers, his voice dripping with wicked amusement. His hands tighten their hold on you. "And you’re gonna take it—every inch—because you know damn well that you’ve been mine just as much as I’ve been yours."

His words send a shudder down your spine, a delicious ache curling in your gut.

"Mmm," Soobin hums, dragging his hands down your sides, his touch maddeningly slow. "Should I take my time with you... or not?"

Your body is burning, aching. You can’t take it anymore.

"Just do it," you snap, your voice needy, desperate.

He chuckles, tilting his head, dark amusement flickering in his eyes. "That eager, huh? Then help me out, baby." His fingers toy with the waistband of your shorts. "Take these off. Let me see that beautiful body of yours—fully naked."

Your fingers shake as you push them down, the cool air against your exposed skin doing nothing to cool the fire raging inside you.

"This is unfair," you mumble, looking up at him. "You’re still dressed."

That’s all it takes.

In one smooth motion, Soobin pulls off his shirt, then his pants, and finally, his boxers. He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t tease. He just stands before you—bare, unashamed, strong.

And big.

Your breath catches in your throat. God. It’s been a while since you last saw him like this, but—oh, wow. Yeah. Big. He was always like that.

Your mouth parts slightly, your thighs instinctively pressing together.

He catches it. Of course, he catches it.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he leans down, pressing his mouth to your ear. "Speechless?" he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Missed me that much, baby?"

His hands find your hips, gripping them firmly as he pulls you flush against him. Skin to skin. Heat to heat.

"You have no idea," you whisper.

You moan when he dares to tease you, his fingers ghosting over your aching heat, his breath hot against your skin. It’s unbearable.

Your patience snaps.

"Fuck you, Soobin," you nearly growl, frustration dripping from your voice. "Why the fuck—just please."

He looks at you, amused, entirely too in control. He loves this. Loves watching you unravel.

"Poor, desperate thing," he muses, tilting his head like he’s savoring every second of your frustration. "So fucking needy. Do you want me that bad?"

Your face burns. Humiliation and desire mix in a dizzying cocktail, but you can’t lie.

"Yeah," you admit, barely above a whisper.

Soobin hums in satisfaction, his hands gripping your thighs, thumbs smoothing circles against your heated skin. "Mmm, I think I should have my fun first," he murmurs. Then, without another word, he drops to his knees before you, eyes dark, pupils blown wide with hunger.

His breath hits you first, warm and teasing, and then his voice—low and devastating.

"Has this sweet little hole missed me?"

Before you can even react, he licks a slow, deliberate stripe up your center, sending a violent shudder through your body.

You cry out, hands flying to his hair. Oh, god. No, no, please—oh, don’t stop.

And then you lose it.

Soobin devours you, his mouth hot and greedy, tongue working you like he’s been waiting for this moment forever. The wet sounds, the low, satisfied groans he lets out against you—it’s filthy, overwhelming. His grip tightens, pressing you further into his mouth, making sure you feel every movement, every flick of his tongue.

"Let me worship this pussy," he groans against you, his voice muffled and rough. "It’s been too fucking long."

Your back arches.

"Fuck, you taste even better than I remember." His lips press against your thigh, only to return to where you need him most. "Mmm, let’s take our time with this, babe. Some good, long foreplay, yeah?"

You can’t help it—you start moving, rocking your hips against his face, desperate for more friction, more of him. The pleasure is too much, too overwhelming, and you barely register the strangled sound Soobin makes as you grind down against his tongue.

"God," you whimper, your breath hitching. "I’m—"

His fingers tease at your entrance, slow, lazy, completely unbothered by your urgency. "What? Gonna cum already, babe?" His voice is muffled, drenched in amusement, lips slick and glistening from you. "Mmm, you really are needy, huh?"

He presses a teasing kiss against your thigh before slipping a finger inside, just barely, making you jerk.

"Bet that boyfriend of yours doesn’t give you shit," he murmurs, voice laced with something sharp, something possessive.

"I don’t—" You gasp as he pushes in deeper, a single finger stretching you open just enough to make you shudder. "Fuck, fuck," your head tilts back, eyes rolling as he adds another. "I don’t have a boyfriend."

That makes him pause. You feel his smirk against your skin before he speaks.

"You don’t?" He croons, curling his fingers just right, making your whole body jolt. "No wonder you’re this fucking desperate. God, you needed this, didn’t you?"

"Soobin—"

"Wanna cum, babe?" His breath is hot against your core, his fingers still working you open. "Say it."

"Yeah," you pant, gripping at his hair, hips still rolling instinctively against his hand.

"Mmm," he hums, withdrawing his fingers just enough to make you whine, just enough to leave you aching. "Let’s edge you a little first."

"No—fuck you," you snap, your voice dripping with frustration.

His low chuckle sends shivers down your spine. "You get so fucking mean when you’re horny," he muses, pumping his fingers in again, slower, teasing. "I like this coming from you."

And then he presses his tongue against your clit again, and all coherent thoughts disappear.

The coil in your belly winds so tight, so unbearable, that when it finally snaps, it sends you spiraling.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—" your voice breaks, and your entire body trembles as the pleasure crashes over you in waves. Your thighs clamp around his head, fingers tangling in his hair as you convulse, lost in the euphoria of it.

Soobin groans against you, feeling everything—the way your walls pulse around his fingers, the way your body shudders under his grip, the way you completely come undone for him. And fuck, it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

But he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t dare stop.

He laps at you, drinking in every drop, his tongue relentless as he works you through the high, dragging it out, making your legs shake. His hands tighten around your hips, keeping you still, keeping you his.

"Soobin—oh, god—" Your voice is hoarse, wrecked, but he doesn't let up. His tongue flicks over your sensitive clit again and you jerk, body twisting, overstimulated and desperate.

"You taste so fucking good," he groans against you, voice thick with hunger. "Missed this. Missed you."

You whimper, pushing at his head, your body twitching, too much, too much—

But Soobin just smirks against your trembling thighs, eyes dark, voice husky.

"One more," he murmurs. "Give me one more, baby. I know you can."

When you come again, it blindsides you. You weren’t lying—it was too much, your body was too sensitive, but somehow, it still betrays you, still obeys the relentless pleasure he’s forcing on you.

The orgasm rips through you, fast and hard, stealing the breath from your lungs. It’s overwhelming, all-consuming—your thighs quake, your back arches, and your hands claw helplessly at the sheets, at him, at anything to ground yourself.

And then—fuck.

A rush of wetness spills from you in pulsing waves, leaving you breathless, wrecked.

Soobin stills for half a second, then groans, long and deep, as if you just gave him the most precious gift. His hands tighten on your thighs as he watches, completely mesmerized, watching how your body gushes for him, soaking his mouth, his chin, the sheets beneath you.

“Holy fuck.” His voice is thick, raspy, wrecked. "Look at you, baby." He doesn’t miss a single drop, drinking you in like he’s been starving for you, eyes dark with pure, unfiltered lust.

You whimper, trembling, overstimulated beyond belief. “Soobin—fuck, I can’t, I—”

He shushes you, pressing slow, deliberate kisses to your inner thighs, letting you feel the way his lips linger. His hands caress your shaking legs, soothing and possessive at the same time.

“You can,” he murmurs against your skin. “And you did.” His voice drips with pride, with something dangerously close to reverence. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

And then, with a wicked smirk, he licks his lips, tasting you all over again.

“Think you can give me one more, sweetheart?”

“No”

Soobin chuckles, low and deep, the sound vibrating through the air between you. His hands trail lazily over your trembling thighs, teasing, never staying in one place long enough to satisfy.

"No?" He mimics your weak protest, tilting his head as if he’s actually considering giving you a break. But the smirk playing on his lips says otherwise.

Then he sees it—sees the way your eyes keep flickering downward, dark and hazy, locked onto him. The way your breath hitches just slightly at the sight of his cock, thick and hard, standing between you.

“Mmm, we should let this body rest, shouldn’t we?” His tone is soft, almost pitying, but there’s a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “You’re so sensitive, all worn out, we should stop—”

He pauses, trailing a teasing finger up your inner thigh.

“But,” he drawls, watching the way you squirm, “the way you’re looking at me right now? Fuck, sweetheart, you’re practically salivating.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “You know you’re trouble, don’t you?”

Your breath stutters, but you shake your head weakly. “Mmm… no.”

His eyes darken instantly. “Liar.”

You swallow, voice barely above a whisper. “Want you.”

His grip on your thighs tightens.

You’re relentless now, pleading, your voice thick with need. “I really want you.”

Soobin hums, his fingers skating dangerously close to where you need him most, barely there, teasing. “Didn’t you just say you needed a rest?”

You nod, breathless. “Yeah…”

He raises a brow. “So what happened?”

You whimper, arching into his touch, impatient. “I—fuck—I want you,” you admit, your voice trembling with desperation. “It’s been too long. Please.”

Something in him snaps.

A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face as he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and heavy.

“You want me that bad?” His voice is dark, full of something you can’t quite name.

You nod rapidly, your whole body begging for him.

He chuckles again, low and satisfied, pressing a soft, teasing kiss against your jaw.

“Then, baby,” he murmurs, “you better take what you asked for.”

And just like that—despite the way your body trembles, despite the way you're still reeling from the last two orgasms that left you oversensitive and dazed—he enters you.

It’s slow at first, agonizingly slow, as if he’s savoring the feeling of stretching you open, of feeling you take him inch by inch. Your breath hitches, a gasp spilling from your lips at the fullness, the overwhelming sensation of being filled.

But then he snaps.

A sharp inhale, a guttural curse under his breath, and all that patience vanishes. His grip on your hips tightens—no hesitation, no holding back.

"Gotta fuck this pussy like she deserves to be fucked." His voice is rough, wrecked, tinged with something possessive.

He drives into you, deep and unrelenting, his hips slamming against yours with a force that makes your head spin. The room fills with the obscene sound of skin against skin, the wet, messy proof of just how much you need this, how much you need him.

Your hands claw at his back, nails digging into his skin as he pounds into you, dragging you closer, forcing you to take every inch. Every thrust sends a new wave of pleasure tearing through you, unbearable and yet not enough.

"So fucking tight," he growls, watching the way your body swallows him whole, clenching around him, greedy. "Like you were made for me."

You can't even respond—your words lost to the moans and cries spilling uncontrollably from your lips.

His hand grips your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his. "Look at me," he commands, voice dark, dangerous. "You feel that? Hm? You feel how deep I am?"

You nod weakly, barely able to think.

"Good," he grits out, snapping his hips even harder. "Because I'm not stopping until I ruin you."

He does ruin you. Completely.

The sound of it—wet, obscene, filthy—fills the space, each thrust echoing between the walls like a symphony of pure sin. Your body is a mess beneath him, pliant and wrecked, reduced to nothing but sensation, but pleasure.

And Soobin devours you.

His lips find every inch of your skin—your neck, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat—leaving open-mouthed kisses, sucking bruises that will linger long after this moment. His hands roam, gripping, kneading, worshiping. Every touch is possessive, claiming.

Your only response is to take it. To surrender to the way he stretches you, fills you so perfectly. It’s been too long since you’ve felt like this, since you’ve felt this full, this good.

"You feel that, baby?" he mutters against your jaw, his voice thick with lust, his thrusts sharp and punishing. "This is what you’ve been missing. What no one else can fucking give you."

You moan—a broken, desperate sound.

"Say it," he demands, his fingers slipping between your bodies, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and pressing down hard.

You jolt, eyes rolling back. "You," you gasp. "Only you—fuck—no one else."

He groans, burying his face against your neck as if the admission undoes him. And then he snaps, fucking into you like he wants to make sure you’ll never forget this, never forget him.

"I'm gonna fucking cum," you practically scream, your voice breaking, body trembling.

Soobin chuckles, low and taunting, never slowing his ruthless pace. "Oh, poor baby," he coos mockingly, his fingers slipping down between your bodies, finding your clit with wicked precision. He presses down, rubs slow, lazy circles—just to watch you squirm.

"You wanna cum that bad?" he murmurs, voice dripping with amusement, eyes dark with something feral. "So fucking desperate. Look at you—shaking. You can’t even take it, can you?"

You whimper, your fingers clawing at his back, his arms, anything you can reach. It’s too much, too good, too perfect. Your body is fire, every nerve on the edge of combustion.

"So needy for me," Soobin groans, leaning down, his lips brushing over yours. "But you know I love it when you beg, sweetheart. So why don’t you be a good girl and ask me for it?"

Your pride and sanity shatter.

"Please," you gasp, wrecked and mindless. "Please, Soobin, let me cum. Please—"

"That’s my girl," he growls, and then he rubs harder, fucks you deeper, until you break—until you fall apart around him with a sobbing cry, your body seizing, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave.

And Soobin watches it all, drinking in every second, every sound, every tremor of your body as you unravel beneath him.

It takes him a few seconds—just long enough to watch you come undone beneath him, to feel your walls flutter and clench so tightly around him that his restraint snaps like a frayed wire.

A deep, guttural groan rumbles from his chest as his hips stutter, losing rhythm. His fingers dig into your waist, hard, holding you still as he buries himself to the hilt.

"Fuck—" he rasps, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as he spills inside you, the heat of it making you shudder. He pulses, each wave of his release drawn out by the way your body still clenches greedily around him.

He pants against your skin, his breath hot and uneven. "Shit," he mutters, pressing absentminded kisses against your jaw, your cheek, anywhere he can reach. His hand slides up your side, lazy, possessive. "You feel so fucking good—"

You're still trembling, body sensitive, spent, but you turn your head, catching his lips in a slow, messy kiss. He groans into it, hips rolling shallowly, like he can't stop, like he’s still savoring every aftershock.

Neither of you move for a long moment. Just the sound of your mingled breathing, his weight pressing you into the mattress, the warmth of his release still deep inside you.

Then, finally, Soobin exhales a small, breathless laugh against your skin.

"Yeah." He nuzzles into your neck, voice lower, softer now. "You're mine."

You smile, breath still uneven, body still trembling. "I always was."

Soobin exhales sharply, like the words hit him somewhere deep. His arms tighten around you, pressing your body closer, unwilling to let go just yet. He kisses you—slow, lingering, almost tender now. Like he’s sealing something between you.

You don’t remember falling asleep, only the warmth of his body wrapped around yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, the way his fingers lazily traced circles into your hip until everything faded into darkness.

You wake up to sunlight slipping through the curtains, golden and soft, warming your skin. The bed smells like him—clean and musky, something uniquely Soobin. His arm is still draped over your waist, heavy and possessive, fingers curled slightly like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

You shift slightly, your body sore in ways that make heat curl in your stomach. That definitely happened.

A low, sleepy hum comes from behind you. "Mmm, morning." Soobin’s voice is rough, thick with sleep. He tightens his hold, nuzzling into your neck. "Where do you think you’re going?"

You let out a soft laugh. "Nowhere."

"Good." He presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder, his lips warm and slow, like he’s savoring the moment. "Stay right here."

You roll over to face him, and god—he looks unfairly good in the morning. Tousled hair, drowsy eyes, lips still slightly swollen from last night. He blinks down at you, then smirks. "You look wrecked."

"Whose fault is that?" you mumble, stretching.

"Mine." He grins, completely unapologetic. "And I’d do it again."

Your cheeks heat, but before you can reply, Soobin rolls on top of you, caging you in effortlessly. His weight is comforting, his bare skin warm against yours.

"What are you doing?" you ask, even though you already know.

"Making sure you don’t regret it." He brushes his nose against yours, voice still thick with sleep, but his hands are already moving, slow and teasing. "And if you don’t, then I think I have some unfinished business with you, sweetheart."

It’s practically lunchtime when you and Soobin finally decide to leave the bed. Your body aches in the best way possible, but more importantly—your stomach aches for actual food.

You call for delivery, and right in front of you, like fate, they drop off food from your favorite restaurant just a few blocks away. Perfect.

Soobin busies himself preparing the table, setting out plates, pouring water into glasses, smoothing out the tablecloth like this is something the two of you do all the time. Like he belongs here. Like this isn’t completely new and terrifying.

Everything is so domestic, so effortless—it almost scares you.

You watch him for a moment before blurting out, "Soob, you’re truly an idiot."

He freezes mid-reach for the utensils, turning to look at you, confused. "Huh?"

You inhale sharply, then murmur, "We didn’t use protection last night… or today."

Soobin’s eyes widen. "Fuck." He looks absolutely stricken, like the realization just knocked the air out of his lungs. "Oh my god, I was too focused on— I mean, I was so into you that I just—fuck."

You cross your arms, watching him spiral.

"Babe, I swear, I’m clean." His voice is urgent now, panicked. "I got tested two weeks ago—I think I still have the document on my phone. You can check—"

You can’t help it—you laugh. "Lucky for you, I’m on birth control."

Soobin sags in relief, pressing a hand to his forehead. "Jesus." Then, his expression shifts to something more serious, his brows knitting together. "This is a thing for two—I should have been more responsible. I’m sorry."

You step closer, poking his chest. "Damn right you should have been."

His lips quirk into a sheepish smile. "I’ll make it up to you."

You raise an eyebrow. "How?"

Soobin leans down, voice dropping, teasing, "Well… I could start by feeding you before you get grumpy."

You roll your eyes but let him press a kiss to your forehead anyway. The moment should feel awkward, heavy even, but instead, it feels warm. Familiar.

You don’t even think before you say it. The words just spill out as you sit across from him at the table, food untouched between you.

"We need to talk."

Soobin looks up immediately, jaw tightening like he’s already bracing for the worst. His fingers tighten around his chopsticks, but he doesn’t interrupt.

Before you can even gather your thoughts, he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Before you say anything, I know." His voice is quieter now, a little rough. "I know how hard it was for you back then."

You open your mouth, but he keeps going.

"Babe, I didn’t pay attention to you."* His eyes flicker with regret, dark and heavy with memories that still linger between you. "And I am so sorry. But I didn’t have the time back then—I had just made it into university, and I was juggling a full-on trainee schedule. I barely had a second to breathe."*

He looks down at his hands like he can barely stand to face you.

"At the time, I didn’t understand why you made such a fuss. I thought you were overreacting. But looking back… fuck, I was selfish. I was spending fourteen hours a day training, barely sleeping, and the little time I had left, I should have given to you."

His voice cracks, and when he looks up, his eyes are shining with something raw. "You were at university too, just as busy, and still… you made time for me. You always made time for me. You’d cook my meals, check up on me, make sure I ate something even when I got home at 2 AM—and I took you for granted."

Your heart clenches painfully.

"I will always be deeply sorry for that," Soobin continues, his throat bobbing as he swallows. "I should’ve been better. I should’ve been there for you like you were for me."

His hand reaches out across the table, tentative, fingers brushing against yours.

"But I never stopped loving you. Not even once."

Silence stretches between you. The weight of his words sinks into your skin, deep and unshakable.

It would be so easy to let that be enough—to fall back into him completely, to pretend the past doesn’t matter.

But it does.

So you take a breath, steadying yourself, and finally, finally, you start to say everything you’ve been holding in for years.

"You really hurt me, Soobin." Your voice is quiet, but steady. "I don’t think you ever realized how lonely I felt back then. It wasn’t just that you were busy—it was that I felt like I didn’t exist to you anymore."

He flinches, like the words hit him straight in the chest.

"I’d wait for you. Every night, I’d wait. I’d cook you something, even if I knew you’d barely touch it. I’d leave you messages, even if I knew you wouldn’t answer until hours later. And I told myself it was fine. That I could handle it. That I was just being selfish for wanting more of you."

You shake your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. "But it wasn’t fine. And I wasn’t selfish. I just wanted to be with you."

Soobin grips your hand tighter. "I know. I know, and I was a fucking idiot. I don’t think I really let myself see how much it was affecting you. I was so focused on surviving every day that I just… I don’t know. I thought you’d always be there. And that was unfair of me."

He swipes a hand down his face, exhaling shakily. "I can’t change what I did back then. I can’t undo the times I hurt you. But if you’ll let me—if you still want this—I swear I’ll spend every day making up for it."

Your chest tightens.

The truth is, you never stopped wanting him.

And maybe that’s the most terrifying part of all.

You squeeze his hand. "I’m still scared, Soobin. I don’t know if things will be different this time."

"They will be." His voice is firm, certain. "Because I’m different. And if you give me the chance, I’ll prove it to you."

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you watch the way his fingers tighten around yours like he’s scared you’ll slip through them again. You watch the way he looks at you—like you’re something he refuses to take for granted ever again.

"For the record," Soobin starts, voice quieter now, steadier, "my career will not be a problem anymore."

Your breath catches, but you let him speak.

"I don’t want to hide you. I never did, and I won’t—not unless you’re uncomfortable with how public it’s going to get. If you are, then I swear I’ll respect that. But me? I will always stand for you."

His fingers tighten around yours, warm and firm, like an unspoken promise.

"I will always be there from now on." His voice wavers just slightly. "I should’ve been there before, but I wasn’t. I don’t deserve you after all the ways I hurt you… but I love you, and I want to make you so fucking happy, babe."

A lump rises in your throat.

"You’re the only reason I keep working so hard," he continues. "Every day, I push myself so I can prove that it was all worth it. But the thing is… none of it means anything without you."

Your heart stutters.

"I have everything I ever dreamed of, but I don’t have the one thing I want most." He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your knuckles. "You."

The word sinks deep, heavy with meaning.

You exhale shakily, watching him. Soobin—your Soobin—who once felt like a memory you had to let go of, is here, right in front of you, holding on like he’s terrified you’ll slip away again.

"Do you mean it?" You ask, voice barely above a whisper.

His brows furrow like the question physically pains him. "Of course I do. I’d never say it if I didn’t."

You hesitate, searching his face for any sign of doubt, any hesitation. But there’s none. Just unwavering determination, just love—raw and unshaken.

Soobin lifts his free hand, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. "Give me the chance to make it up to you. Let me prove to you that I can be the man you deserve."

You don’t realize you’re leaning into his touch until your eyes flutter shut.

And then, all of a sudden, Soobin is kissing you.

It’s not rushed, not desperate—just sweet, meaningful. The kind of kiss that says more than words ever could. His lips press against yours with a quiet reverence, like he’s savoring the moment, memorizing the feel of you. Like he’s afraid of letting go.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far. His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

"Could you be my girlfriend?" His voice is barely above a whisper, hesitant, hopeful.

Your eyes flutter open, meeting his gaze—soft yet so intense, like he’s holding onto every second.

"I can make my company release a statement," he murmurs, pressing a lingering peck on the tip of your nose. "They can say that I’m very much taken. That I belong to you."

Your breath catches, but Soobin isn’t finished.

"I have an event coming up—a fancy, over-the-top party, filled with industry elites, idols, actors, CEOs. Everyone who’s someone will be there." He swallows, brushing his fingers down your arm. "I can introduce you to the world."

Your heart pounds.

"You don’t have to," he adds quickly, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. "I know this isn’t easy, and if you don’t want that kind of attention, I’ll keep us private. But I don’t want to hide you. Not anymore. I want everyone to know that you’re mine, and that I—" He exhales shakily, eyes glistening with something raw. "That I’m yours."

Your lips part, but words don’t come.

Soobin doesn’t rush you. He just waits, watching you like your answer is the most important thing in the world. And to him, it probably is.

You take a breath, steadying yourself as Soobin watches you with hopeful, expectant eyes. The weight of his words lingers between you, thick with meaning, with promise.

"Yes," you finally say, your voice soft but sure. "I want to be your girlfriend."

Soobin's entire face lights up, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly, like he's grounding himself in the moment—like he can’t believe this is real.

You exhale a small laugh, shaking your head. "I don’t love the attention, and I know the media follows you everywhere... but if you want to release the statement, you can. I just—" You hesitate, chewing on your lip. "I don’t know about the party though."

His eyes search yours, carefully gauging your comfort. "We don’t have to go," he assures you, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles against your palm. "I don’t want you to feel pressured, babe. If you’re not ready, we’ll do things your way. The world can wait."

You smile, warmth blooming in your chest. "You’d really be okay with that?"

Soobin chuckles, tilting his head. "I waited this long to have you again. What’s a little more waiting?"

His words make your heart clench, and before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning in, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that’s soft, full of quiet gratitude.

Soobin sighs into it, his hands finding your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. "God, I love you," he breathes against your lips. "I’ll do this right this time."

And you believe him.

When Yeonjun finds out, it’s messy.

There’s yelling. A lot of it.

"How the hell did this happen, and I didn’t notice?!" Yeonjun practically explodes, his voice bouncing off the walls. His expression is a mix of pure disbelief and mild betrayal, his hands flying through his hair like he’s on the verge of losing his mind.

Then, in the middle of his outburst, realization hits. His mouth clamps shut, and his face shifts from outrage to something quieter—understanding.

Of course, he didn’t notice.

He wasn’t here.

He was studying in the U.S. when everything went down. He missed it. All of it.

His gaze flickers between you and Soobin, and for a long, drawn-out moment, it’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking. Then, without warning, his eyes lock onto Soobin’s with a silent threat—If she ends up hurt, I’ll make sure you regret it.

Soobin swallows thickly.

But then—almost unexpectedly—Yeonjun smiles.

It’s not exactly a warm, welcoming grin, but it’s something. A reluctant acceptance, maybe. A begrudging fine, but if you screw this up, I will personally end your life.

Soobin lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, tension leaving his shoulders.

And then it clicks.

A memory. A conversation. Something that doesn’t make sense.

His brows furrow, and he turns to you, completely thrown. "Babe... that day at the wedding… did you say something to Yeonjun about us earlier?"

You blink at him, confused. "Huh?"

"Taehyun told me he overheard you talking to Yeonjun about us.*"

Your face scrunches in confusion. "That never happened."

Soobin freezes. "What?"

"I never talked to Yeonjun about us before everything happened. Not at the wedding. Not before it. Never."

The realization crashes down like a ton of bricks.

"He probably lied to you," you murmur.

Soobin’s eye twitches.

Oh.

Oh, he’s gonna kill Taehyun.

And then, after that, he’s going to buy him one of those weird torture-looking gym machines he’s always obsessing over. That’ll shut him up.

Thank fucking god for Taehyun.

Let me know what you think about this hehe :D

#txt fanfic #soobin smut #txt smut #txt au #txt x reader #soobin x reader #txt #tomorrow x together smut #choi soobin smut #txt soobin #txt ff #soobin ff #soobin #tomorrow x together #kpop ff #kpop fanfic

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crossfandomskylines · 2 days ago

Text

Anywhere But Here

Summary: A Valentine's Day singles event was the last place you wanted to be until an unexpected conversation with Bradley Bradshaw turned the night into something else entirely. What started as shared sarcasm and an easy connection quickly became something deeper. And by the time the night was over you realized maybe fate had other plans after all.

Warnings: 18+. Suggestive Content (some nudity, heavy making out, implied smut but none directly), Alcohol Consumption, Mild Language.

Word Count: 4,389

Author's Note: Still struggling with a little bit of writer's block because of my headspace but managed to write this over the past few days and I think it turned out okay. This is my first time writing for Bradley so I'd love any feedback you guys have! I'm also still a little rough around the edges when it comes to writing smut so I'm sorry if that part isn't good. Hope you enjoy xx

You should have known better than to let your friends talk you into this. The dim lighting, the too loud music, the room full of strangers who all seemed to have the same agenda. It was everything you hated about Valentine’s Day wrapped into one overcrowded venue.

Somewhere across the room your friends were probably watching and feeling satisfied that they’d successfully dragged you out, but they weren’t the ones stuck making small talk with men who either wanted a rebound, a hookup, or a therapist.

You sighed as you swirled the cheap cocktail in your glass as the third guy of the night launched into a monologue about his “complicated” relationship with his ex.

“Sounds rough,” you said nodding absently.

“Right? And she just doesn’t get that I need space,” he continued, leaning in like you were supposed to be impressed by his emotional unavailability.

You were about to excuse yourself and find your friends when suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the conversation.

"Is this seat taken?" Bradley Bradshaw’s voice was easy, casual, like you hadn’t just been trapped in a one-sided conversation about someone’s divorce for the last fifteen minutes. You blinked in surprise, looking up to find Bradley standing beside you. You couldn’t help the relief that flooded through you at his arrival, a smile tugging at your lips.

“Bradley,” you said with a chuckle, knowing full well he’d been watching from the corner of the room.

You’d always known of Bradley. He was part of the same circle of friends though you’d never really talked outside of the occasional greeting or passing comment at group events. He was always nice enough, just not someone you ever felt a need to connect with more deeply.

He raised an eyebrow at the guy you were talking to, still unaware of his impending rescue. “Mind if I steal her for a minute?” Bradley asked, looking at you with an easy grin.

The guy hesitated for a moment, eyes darting between you and Bradley before he finally nodded, mumbling something about catching up with some people. Bradley’s lips twitched in amusement as he pulled the barstool out and took a seat next to you, making it clear he wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

As the guy shuffled away, Bradley glanced at you and whispered, “I’ve got to hand it to you, you were handling that a lot better than I would have. I’d have run for the hills by now.” His grin was teasing, but there was a warmth in his eyes, an unspoken understanding.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “It wasn’t that bad, I just didn’t know how to get out of the conversation without being rude.”

Bradley leaned back, getting comfortable. “Yeah, well, you’re lucky I was nearby. My friends usually do a pretty bad job of saving me from stuff like that. But if it helps, I’m pretty good at the rescue mission.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him with a smirk. “I’m sure you are. But I’m guessing Jake and Mickey had something to do with this little rescue operation?”

Bradley chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Guilty as charged. They’ve been trying to convince me to get out here all night. Apparently, they think I’m a really good wingman.” He grinned, clearly not taking the comment too seriously. “But between you and me, I’m just here for the free drinks.”

“Free drinks? I think I missed that memo?”

Bradley grinned as he motioned towards where Jake was across the room. “His price for dragging me out tonight was picking up my tab.”

Bradley leaned against the bar, nodding toward your empty glass. “Speaking of…need a refill?”

You hesitated, but he shrugged, adding, “Promise I won’t try to trauma-dump on you.”

That earned him a small smirk. “Well, in that case… sure.”

He flagged down the bartender, ordering for you without making a big deal of it. As you waited, you glanced around the room at the couples awkwardly chatting, the guys clearly scanning for their next target, the women trying to seem interested but mostly looking bored.

“This might be the worst Valentine’s Day event in existence,” you muttered.

Bradley let out a low chuckle. “That bad, huh?”

You turned back to him, arching a brow. “Come on, you’ve gotta admit half these people don’t even want to be here.”

He shrugged, smirking. “That includes us, doesn’t it?”

You laughed. “Fair point.”

The bartender slid your drink across the bar, and you murmured a thanks before turning back to Bradley. Somehow, standing next to him felt…easy.

“So, what were you doing before you got roped into this disaster?” he asked, taking a sip of his own drink.

You shrugged. “Had plans to drink wine, eat chocolate, and watch literally anything that wasn’t romance related. But my friends staged an intervention.”

Bradley smirked. “Tragic. What were you gonna watch?”

“Probably a concert film. You know, something that really captures the Valentine’s Day spirit.”

His grin widened. “Concert film, huh? What band?”

You lit up, immediately launching into a mini rant about your favorite band. You talked about their best albums, the time you saw them live, how their early work was underrated but their newer stuff still held up.

And Bradley listened. Not in the way people do when they’re just waiting for their turn to talk, but in a way that made it clear he was actually interested. He nodded along, grinning at your enthusiasm, occasionally asking a question or making a comment that proved he was keeping up.

At some point the noise of the bar faded into the background. The awkwardness of the event, the forced conversations, the reason you even came here in the first place…it all disappeared. It was just you and Bradley talking like this was the most natural thing in the world.

And you kind of liked it.

The DJ must have had a cruel sense of humor because without warning the music shifted from upbeat pop to something softer. Something that clearly signaled it was time for couples to pair off.

Around the room, people hesitated before awkwardly stepping closer to their dates or scanning for someone to dance with. You weren’t planning on participating until you caught movement out of the corner of your eye. It was him. The guy Bradley had saved you from earlier. He was lingering near the bar, glancing in your direction like he was debating coming over for round two.

You groaned under your breath. Bradley must have followed your gaze because he leaned in slightly, voice low and amused. “Uh oh. I think your ex therapy patient wants a second session.”

You shot him a look. “Don’t even joke.”

His lips twitched like he was fighting back a laugh. Then after a beat he nudged you with his elbow. “We could always pretend to be together. Save you from another deep dive into his complicated emotions.”

You arched a brow. “Oh, we could, huh?”

Bradley shrugged. “I mean I’d hate to see you suffer.”

You rolled your eyes but honestly? The idea didn’t sound half bad. Better than standing here pretending not to notice your former conversation partner lurking nearby.

“…Fine,” you sighed.

His grin was instant like he’d known you’d agree. Without another word he reached for your hand, his fingers warm as they laced easily through yours. Before you could process that he was already tugging you toward the dance floor.

“Smooth,” you muttered as you followed.

He glanced back smirking. “I have my moments.”

You stopped near the edge of the dance floor where other couples had already started swaying to the music. Bradley turned to face you, his expression a mix of amusement and something softer, unreadable.

“Alright,” he said, his voice teasing but gentle as he placed one hand at your waist. “Try not to fall in love with me.”

You snorted. “I’ll do my best.”

Dancing with Bradley was… easy. You had expected it to be awkward and stiff like the kind of slow dances you endured at high school prom. But he moved with an effortless confidence, his hand steady at your waist, his grip firm but not overbearing.

“So,” he said, his voice warm and low over the music, “how am I doing so far? Best fake Valentine’s date you’ve ever had?”

You smirked. “I don’t know. The bar’s pretty low. But I’ll give you points for effort.”

Bradley let out a soft chuckle, his thumb absently tracing small, slow circles where it rested against your waist. You weren’t sure if he even realized he was doing it, but you noticed. And suddenly, the room felt just a little warmer.

The first song came to an end, and for a second, you thought about stepping back, about making some teasing remark and putting space between you. But before you could, the opening chords of a new song filled the air. A song from your favorite band. Your favorite song.

Your eyes widened. “No way.”

Bradley’s mouth quirked into a knowing grin. “What are the odds?”

You looked up at him, suspicious. “You didn’t request this, did you?”

He shook his head, smirking. “Nope. But now that it’s playing, it’d be wrong not to keep dancing.”

Before you could argue—not that you really wanted to—he pulled you back in.

And this time, you let yourself sink into it.

Somewhere between the first verse and the chorus, the space between you disappeared. His hands settled more firmly at your waist, his fingers pressing lightly into the fabric of your shirt. Without really thinking about it, your arms slid up, looping around his neck.

You felt him exhale, a quiet little laugh against your temple. “See? You’re having fun.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. “Don’t let it go to your head, Rooster.”

He grinned, tilting his head slightly. “Too late.”

The warmth of him, the way his chest brushed yours with every slow step, the way his voice curled around your name when he murmured it just loud enough for you to hear. It all felt so natural and easy, like you’d been dancing with him forever instead of just minutes.

And when he made a dry teasing comment about one of the couples beside you, something about their awkward middle school dance stance you tipped your head back and laughed.

The sound must have done something to him because his hold on you tightened, just slightly. Just enough that you felt it. Just enough that you didn’t want to let go.

The song drifted into its final chords, but neither of you stepped away immediately. You were still close. Closer than you probably should have been considering this whole thing had started as an excuse to avoid bad small talk.

Bradley was looking at you, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips, like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he knew you weren’t in a hurry to move either. But then the DJ switched back to something obnoxiously upbeat, and the spell broke.

Bradley exhaled, glancing around before leaning down slightly, speaking just loud enough for you to hear. “Alright. You wanna get out of here?”

You arched a brow, pretending to consider it. “Bradley Bradshaw, are you trying to take me home?”

His smirk widened. “Would it work?”

You scoffed, even as heat curled in your stomach. “Not a chance.”

He chuckled. “Good to know.” Then, with an easy shrug, he added, “I was thinking we could go do something actually fun.”

You tilted your head. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

“I don’t know yet. But I promise it’ll be better than this disaster.” He gestured around the bar where people were still fumbling their way through awkward conversations and stilted dances.

You eyed him, considering. “You do realize this is how horror movies start, right? Some girl follows a charming guy into the night, never to be seen again.”

Bradley placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “You wound me.”

You bit back a grin. “Shouldn’t you buy me dinner first?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “You hungry?”

You blinked. “…Are you serious?”

Bradley grinned. “Why not? We ditch this place, get some food, and actually enjoy the rest of the night.”

You should have said no. You should have come up with an excuse, played it safe, stuck to your original plan of going home alone.

But instead, you found yourself saying, “Alright, Bradshaw. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

His grin turned downright smug. “Knew you couldn’t resist.”

You rolled your eyes, but you let him take your hand anyway, following him toward the exit. Leaving behind the bad dates, the awkward glances, and the Valentine’s Day you thought you were going to have, and stepping into the one you never saw coming.

The bar door swung shut behind you, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the stuffy heat inside. You hadn’t realized how loud it was until now. It was so much easier to breathe out here.

Bradley, still holding your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, shot you a look. “Alright, I’m thinking pizza. And not some fancy, sit down place. I mean real pizza.”

You smirked. “Define real pizza.”

His eyes glinted. “Late night counter service, greasy but perfect pizza.”

“…Go on.”

“There’s a spot a few blocks from here. Open late, no frills, just damn good food.”

You pretended to think about it, though your stomach had already made the decision for you. “Fine. But if it sucks, I’m never trusting you again.”

Bradley laughed, leading the way down the sidewalk. “That’s a lot of pressure, sweetheart.”

When you arrived after a short walk from the bar, the place was exactly as he’d described. A hole in the wall joint with neon signs buzzing faintly in the window and the unmistakable scent of fresh pizza wafting out the door.

Bradley let you step inside first, the warmth from the ovens immediately washing over you. The glass display case was lined with massive slices ready to grab and go.

“Alright,” he said scanning the selection. “You a toppings person, or are we keeping it classic?”

“Pepperoni,” you answered without hesitation.

His smile was approving. “Good choice.” He turned to the guy behind the counter. “Two slices of pepperoni, please.”

You arched a brow. “Two? What if I wanted two slices?”

Bradley gave you a look. “Trust me. You won’t want the second when you see the size of these.”

He wasn’t wrong.

A few minutes later, you were standing outside, each holding a massive, perfectly greasy slice, the warmth seeping into your fingers as you took your first bite.

You groaned. “Okay. Fine. You were right. This is really good pizza.”

Bradley grinned, chewing his own bite. “Told you.”

The street was quiet, save for the occasional car rolling by and the faint hum of city life in the distance. For a moment, you just stood there, eating in comfortable silence.

Then, Bradley wiped his fingers on a napkin and glanced over at you. “So.”

You swallowed your bite, eyeing him warily. “So.”

His smirk was lazy, unreadable. “Wanna head back to my place?”

You nearly choked. “Wow. Straight to the point, huh?”

Bradley laughed. “Not like that.” He gestured to the nearly empty street. “It’s still early. I figured we could keep hanging out…unless you’re dying to go home.”

You hesitated for a moment, considering the offer. It wasn’t that late, and you weren’t tired. And if you were being honest with yourself you didn’t really want to say goodnight yet.

“…Alright, Bradshaw,” you said, giving him a knowing look. And just like that, you found yourself following him into the night.

When you reached the curb, he gestured toward an old but well kept Bronco parked under the glow of a streetlamp. It suited him. It was rugged, classic, and also a little effortlessly cool.

You expected him to climb in first, but instead he reached for the passenger door, pulling it open.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Seriously?”

Bradley just shrugged, stepping back to give you space. “What? You think I don’t have manners?”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “I don’t know. I just didn’t peg you as the door-opening type.”

His smirk was subtle but genuine. “Guess I like keeping you on your toes.”

Still eyeing him, you slid into the seat. The door shut with a solid thunk, and a moment later Bradley was rounding the hood and climbing in behind the wheel.

Bradley’s place was exactly what you would’ve expected. Laid back, a little old school, but effortlessly him. Warm lighting, a well-loved couch, a few framed photos on the walls, and a record player in the corner. It felt lived in, comfortable.

“You want a beer?” he asked as he tossed his keys onto the counter.

You nodded, stepping further inside. “Yeah, sure.”

Bradley grabbed two from the fridge, popping the caps off with practiced ease before handing one to you. You took a sip as he led you toward the couch, where he sank down with an easy sprawl.

You hesitated for half a second before sitting next to him, tucking your legs underneath you. The conversation picked up right where it had left off with music, movies, dumb things you’d both done as kids.

At some point you kicked off your shoes and stretched your legs out, your sock clad feet nudging his thigh. Bradley didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he absentmindedly rested a hand on your shin as he talked, fingers tracing lazy patterns against the fabric of your jeans.

You should’ve noticed it earlier. That shift, that subtle change in the air. Because somewhere between the teasing and the laughter, something had settled in the space between you. Something quieter. Heavier. Bradley’s fingers stilled against your leg, his gaze flicking to yours.

You swallowed. “What?”

He shook his head, his voice softer now. “Nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing, and you both knew it. The air crackled, and before you could second guess it, you were shifting closer. Bradley’s hand slid up, palm skimming your knee before settling at your waist. His fingers curled there, warm and steady.

You weren’t sure who leaned in first, but suddenly, he was right there. His breath fanned across your lips, his eyes locked onto yours, searching.

And then he kissed you. It was slow at first, just the soft press of his lips against yours, like he was testing the waters. But when you didn’t pull away and you kissed him back,he deepened it, his hand tightening at your waist as he pulled you closer.

Your fingers found the back of his neck, threading into his hair, and he groaned low in his throat, a sound that sent heat curling through your stomach. By the time you finally broke apart, you were breathless.

Bradley rested his forehead against yours, his lips quirking. “So… I’m guessing you don’t regret leaving that singles event?”

You laughed, still catching your breath. “Not even a little bit.”

Bradley’s hands were still resting at your waist, warm and steady, as you hovered just inches from him. The air between you felt charged, humming with something unspoken but undeniable. You moved first, shifting onto your knees before slowly swinging a leg over his lap, settling yourself against him. Bradley inhaled sharply, his hands tightening their hold on you like he was still processing what was happening, like he needed a second to let himself feel you there.

“Yeah?” His voice was low, rough around the edges, his hands twitching slightly against your hips.

You nodded, fingers trailing up the back of his neck as you leaned in. “Yeah.”

That was all he needed.

His mouth met yours again, deeper this time, the hesitancy from before fading as he pulled you closer, molding you against him. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly, and he let out a quiet groan that sent a shiver down your spine.

His hands, large and warm, traced slow circles at your waist before slipping under your shirt. His palms pressed against your bare skin, mapping their way up your sides, his touch reverent like he was savoring every inch of you.

He paused, giving you a chance to stop him, but you weren’t going anywhere. You lifted your arms, silently telling him to keep going, and Bradley took his time easing your shirt up and over your head, his eyes flickering over your newly exposed skin. His fingers followed the path of his gaze, tracing along your ribs, your back, your shoulders.

“Damn,” he murmured, almost to himself, before leaning in to kiss you again, slower this time, deeper, his lips moving with purpose as his hands roamed over you.

You shifted in his lap, pressing closer, and that was when something changed. His grip on you tightened, his fingers digging into your skin like he suddenly couldn’t get enough. His kisses turned hungrier, his breath heavier as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss until all you could do was melt into him.

You gasped as his mouth trailed along your jaw, then down the column of your throat, his lips and tongue leaving a heated path in their wake. His hands moved again, exploring more boldly now, and you arched into him, letting yourself feel everything. His touch, his warmth, the way he was unraveling right along with you.

Your fingers moved with growing urgency, skimming over Bradley’s shoulders as you tried to push off that damn ugly printed shirt. But the fabric bunched awkwardly at his arms, refusing to cooperate. Frustrated, you tugged harder, reaching for the undershirt beneath it too, wanting them both gone except now you were tangled in two layers of fabric, and nothing was coming off the way you wanted.

Bradley chuckled against your skin, his breath warm where his lips had been trailing along your collarbone.

“Impatient, huh?” His voice was teasing, but there was something deeper laced in it too, something thick with amusement and want.

You huffed, still struggling. “If you’d stop wearing so many damn layers—”

He cut you off with another quiet laugh before leaning back slightly. “Here,” he murmured, his hands covering yours, steadying them. “Let me help you out, sweetheart.”

Your stomach flipped at the easy way the endearment rolled off his tongue, but before you could dwell on it, Bradley took control. He shrugged out of the over shirt first, letting it drop to the floor before crossing his arms to pull the undershirt over his head in one smooth motion.

And damn.

Your breath hitched as you finally took him in. His broad shoulders, toned chest, the soft trail of hair leading down his stomach. His dog tags rested against his skin, catching the low light of the room, and for a moment, you just stared.

Bradley smirked, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Better?”

You didn’t answer. Not with words, anyway. Instead, you leaned in, hands splaying against his bare chest as you kissed him again, slow and deep, making sure he felt exactly how much you appreciated the view.

Bradley groaned against your lips, his hands sliding back to your waist before gripping your hips firmly, grounding you against him. The kiss deepened, turning messier, more desperate, and when you rolled your hips just slightly, testing the friction, that was when he lost the last bit of his restraint.

His grip tightened, his breath shuddering against your mouth. “You’re playing with fire, sweetheart.”

You smirked. “Maybe I like the heat.”

His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening for half a second before he suddenly moved, flipping you onto your back on the couch in one swift motion.

You barely had time to gasp before he was hovering over you, his body warm and solid against yours. His lips found your neck again, his hands roaming over newly exposed skin, and suddenly, you weren’t the one in control anymore.

And you definitely didn’t mind.

Bradley’s hands moved with deliberate slowness, fingers grazing over your hips before settling at the waistband of your jeans. His eyes flicked up to yours, silently asking for permission. When you nodded, he made quick work of the button and zipper, his fingers brushing over your skin as he tugged them down your legs, leaving you in just your underwear.

He leaned back slightly, his gaze raking over you, dark and unreadable for a moment. Then, a slow smirk tugged at his lips. His voice was rougher now, lower, as he shook his head. “You’re even prettier than I imagined.”

Your breath hitched, warmth spreading through your chest at his words, at the way he was looking at you like he wanted to devour you.

Then, before you could think of a response, he dipped his head, pressing his lips to the base of your throat. His mouth was warm, his kisses slow and reverent as he made his way down, lingering at the delicate skin along your collarbone, then lower, teasing over your ribs before his hands found your thighs.

He shifted, lowering himself onto the floor in front of the couch, his large, rough palms pressing against your inner thighs as he spread them apart. The contrast between his calloused hands and the soft skin of your legs sent a shiver up your spine.

Bradley’s breath was warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as his mouth trailed lower until it hovered just above the place you ached for him most. His grip on your thighs tightened, thumbs stroking slow, lazy circles into your skin as if savoring the anticipation.

“Still with me?” he murmured, his voice husky, teasing.

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers sinking into his thick curls, tugging just enough to earn a soft groan from him. “Bradley—”

His lips curved against your hipbone. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

A slow, unrelenting press of his mouth, a sound of satisfaction rumbling low in his throat as he pulled you closer, as your world narrowed to nothing but the feeling of him, the steady, torturous rhythm of his hands and lips unraveling you piece by piece.

The last coherent thought you had before everything melted into sensation was that you’d never look at him the same way again.

#Bradley Bradshaw #Bradley Rooster Bradshaw #Bradley Bradshaw x Reader #Bradley Rooster Bradshaw x Reader #Bradley Bradshaw x You #Bradley Rooster Bradshaw x You

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woso-story · 13 hours ago

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Mila's Biting Phase

Ingrid Engen x Mapi Leon x DaughterMila

It was a rare free weekend for Ingrid and Mapi, and they decided to spend the entire day at home with their little daughter, Mila. At two years old, Mila was the sweetest baby, full of giggles and cuddles. But today, they were about to discover a very sharp problem.

Mapi was sitting on the playmat with Mila, watching as the little girl excitedly showed off a new toy she had received from her Tia Frido. Mapi cooed over it, ruffling Mila's soft hair before scooping her up into her arms.

“Come on, pequena, let's go. Mama is calling us for lunch.”

Just as she stood up, she felt a sharp, unexpected pain in her neck.

“Ay, Mila!” Mapi yelped, nearly dropping the toddler in surprise. She quickly adjusted her grip and held the little girl at arm's length. Mila, instead of looking guilty, flashed a wide, proud grin, her tiny teeth on full display.

“Dios mio, she bit me!” Mapi grumbled as she entered the kitchen, still holding Mila away from her body like a ticking time bomb.

Ingrid turned from where she was setting the table and raised an eyebrow. “Mila wouldn’t do that.”

Mapi scoffed. “Look at my neck, Ingrid.” She marched to the mirror and sure enough, there were tiny bite marks visible on her skin.

Ingrid frowned as she looked between her wife and her daughter, who was happily playing with her toy in her highchair, as if she hadn’t just committed an attack.

“It was probably just a one-time thing,” Ingrid reasoned. “She’s still little. Maybe she was just testing something out.”

But they soon realized it was far from a one-time thing.

Over the following weeks, it became clear that Mila had a new habit—biting. And not just food or teething rings. She bit her toys, her mothers, her Tias, and, most concerningly, she even attempted to bite Bagheera. Thankfully, the cat was quicker and avoided the chomp, though she was noticeably more cautious around the little vampire from that day on.

Ingrid and Mapi were at a loss. Why had their sweet little girl suddenly turned into a tiny predator?

---

One day, at the Barcelona training facility, Mila was waddling around the gym, happily chatting with the players. She found Esmee and Kika, who were more than happy to entertain her. For a while, everything was going smoothly—until a sudden scream echoed through the gym.

“Ow! Mila bit me!” Kika exclaimed, holding her finger while Esmee burst into laughter.

Mila stood next to them, grinning proudly.

Mapi rushed over, already scolding her daughter. “Mila, no! Biting is bad. You can’t do that!”

But Mila wasn’t listening. Instead, her eyes wandered, already searching for her next victim.

Esmee smirked at Mapi. “She’s not taking you seriously, Mapi.”

Mila soon spotted Caroline and trotted over to her, arms raised in a silent request to be picked up. Caroline, unaware of the biting terror, lifted her up without hesitation.

“Caro, be careful,” Ingrid warned. “She’s been biting everyone.”

Caroline just shrugged. “She won’t bite me.”

To everyone's surprise, she was right. After an entire hour, Mila remained perfectly behaved in Caroline’s arms. No bites, no mischief—just cuddles.

When training ended, Caroline handed Mila back to Ingrid.

“How did you do that?” Ingrid asked, incredulous.

Caroline smirked. “Maybe I just don’t taste good.”

---

That evening, Ingrid and Mapi decided to have a serious talk with their daughter. They sat her down, looking into her big, curious eyes.

“Mila,” Ingrid began gently. “You can’t bite people. It hurts them.”

Mapi nodded. “And hurting people isn’t good, peque.”

Mila tilted her head, thinking. Then, with the most serious expression her little face could muster, she said, “But I’m a lion. Lions bite. That’s what they do.”

She finished her statement with a small “Rawr!” and bared her tiny teeth for emphasis.

Ingrid and Mapi exchanged looks, trying not to laugh.

Ingrid pulled Mila into her lap. “Yes, you’re our little lion cub. But even lions have rules. No biting people, and no biting Bagheera.”

Mila pondered this for a moment, then slowly nodded. “Okay. No biting.”

It took a couple more slip-ups, but soon enough, their little vampire-turned-lion cub stopped biting completely. And peace was restored—also much to Bagheera’s relief.

#ingrid engen x mapi leon #woso #woso community #woso fics #barca femeni #mapi leon #ingrid engen #ingrid engen and mapi leon #woso fanfics

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cherrycheolkat · 2 days ago

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• random slutty thoughts, feat. mingyu •

the valentine’s day / co-worker crush one

mingyu has sat in the cubicle next to yours long enough to know exactly how shitty your ex made valentine’s day last year, plus he knows you definitely haven’t even thought about a valentine’s date since you just accepted a stack of last minute work, because to quote you, “fuck this pretend holiday”

but he really hopes to change your mind

mingyu’s had a crush on you since you started working in his group, maybe before that even when he would just see you in the break room sometimes

at first he thought you were a bit unapproachable, but the longer he sat next to you, the more he realized you were a really good co-worker and friend - you always have great ideas for projects and you don’t make him feel like shit for not knowing every single thing like most people in the group, plus you’re always happy to grab coffee when he wants to complain about how something personal

he was glad when you had offered to exchange phone numbers so he could message you “just whenever” - it took him a week to finally decide what to send - a photo proving that he really uses the name ‘james’ as his ‘coffee order name’ because he was tired of the misspellings and you would not believe him - you had practically cackled at ‘james’

he was surprised when you asked if he had a date that night, “no, i haven’t really been talking to anyone” besides you, he thought

“at least you won’t be stuck here all night, though,” you smiled, leaning towards your computer to read something

he nodded, “yeah, true,” even as he spoke, he started to poke around seeing if there were any assignments he needed to complete (he knew there weren’t)

“wait, actually, sorry - there’s this part i kind of need help with,” you mumbled from your slouched over position

he blushed and scooched his chair over to your side of the barrier, you had already moved so he could see your screen - he was glad that you seemed to always have problems with excel functions

he started tinkering with the spreadsheet while you read some documents next to him - before he realized it, he was ready for dinner

he leaned back, “want to take a break?” it was a totally normal question

you nodded, “yes, please, I’m so tired of looking at this,” you whispered and then stood up to look around the office, “wow, it’s like a horror movie in here - absolutely everyone is gone but us”

he smiled knowing you mean zombie movies, which you proclaim to hate but still seem to know a lot about

“so what were you thinking?” you asked as you sit back down next to him - he notices when your knee bumps his leg

“hm, how bad do you think the waits are across the street?”

“oh fuck, i forgot, couples out in droves, right?”

he nods, watching you scrunch your face as you start checking for reservations close by - it takes a few minutes but you’re suddenly grabbing his sleeve, “oh my god, if we leave right now, we can just make it to a decent place,” you practically drag him along

the ‘decent’ place is actually really nice, way more than he was expecting, but he was glad for once that he was in dress clothes - he actually looked like he was your date

they seated you in one of the open booths, another couple were right next to you - he had started to look at the menu when you nudged him with your foot, he glanced up to see you covertly glance at the other couple - mingyu almost laughed when he saw the girl’s foot was practically buried in the guy’s crotch and moving at a concerning pace

he blushed slightly at the scene and glanced back to you, seeing the dangerous smirk on your face, he suddenly felt the toe of your shoe press gently to his calf - he was quick to slip a warning hand onto your thigh, squeezing gently

“i think we can do better darling,” he whispered

you looked too game, “oh, can we, sweetheart?”

he wasn’t sure what to make of your sugary voice, but he knew you were horribly competitive (both of you, if he were honest, could be a bit scary at company retreats)

he didn’t hesitate to nod, “of course we can,” he answered in a low tone, his thumb tracing circles against your thigh

when the waiter came back, you both ordered drinks, but he noticed quickly when the other couple conspicuously got up at the same time and wandered towards the bathroom

he sipped his wine, “did they really just go to the bathroom?”

you giggle, “they definitely did”

he swirled his glass gently, “okay, so if we go into the men’s room after them, do we just need to be louder?” he was genuinely asking

you laughed behind your hand, “seriously?” you grinned, “it’s not like we get a peleton this time,” you shoot back, voice soft in a way that makes his stomach flutter

“yeah, but,” he wasn’t sure where he was going with this, “they were annoying, why not be, you know,” he shrugged

“be more annoying, my darling, dearest,” you smiled and covered his hand with yours

he flushed but had a sudden thought, “look if we freak them out, i will literally pay for a full weekend at that glamping place you keep ogling,” he was very serious

“oh, okay, no wait, it has to be the one with the hot tub that overlooks the trees,” you were getting serious

he nodded, “i’ll give you my card, book whatever you want,” he was too sincere

he noticed the slight blush blooming across your cheeks, “you know it’s like a couples thing, right?”

“so, you can book for two and go alone, whatever,” in his mind this was completely reasonable to offer a co-worker who he clearly had just a crush on, especially when he hadn’t confessed

he watched you bite your lip lightly, “okay, but shouldn’t we both go? it’s like a group activity,” he flushed, knowing you’re looking at him much too clearly

“just come on or we’ll miss our chance,” he stood, glancing around and walking towards the bathroom

he pushed the door open and was immediately assaulted with sounds, really wet sounds

he caught you as you walked through the door, knowing you would laugh at the sounds, he pressed his hand across your lips and guided you to the stall next to the occupied one, locking the door

you glance at the stall wall, rolling your eyes at the sudden feminine cry of “oh, baby - yeah, just like that”

you lean close to him, “make it good, okay,” you whisper, your hands suddenly ghosting down his chest and stomach

he’s shocked when you ran your hands down the front of his trousers, “fuck, daddy, show me how hard you are,” you say in a breathy voice as your hands press roughly to his hips

he bit his lip hard to avoid laughing in total shock, “that what you want baby girl, my hard cock filling that tight pussy?” he asked, his voice lower than he expected, even though he was leaning down close, whispering against your throat, obviously in character

“mhmm, yes, i want you so badly - i’ve thought about it all day, daddy - i’ve just been sitting, waiting for you, all wet and ready for your cock”

he paused hearing this, his mouth immediately dry, he could feel your hand working him through his pants

he kissed your throat gently, “daddy’s good little girl, just waiting at her desk, hoping to get fucked,” he nipped your earlobe gently, “my naughty little girl,” he whispered as he bit your throat

he was momentarily stunned when you pulled your shirt down enough to expose your tits and your perfect nipples, but he didn’t even think before he dipped down, latching onto one and then the other, hearing your moans, as he licked and sucked “yes, daddy” - “yeah, just like that” - “fuck, i bet you could empty me”

he leaned up, catching your mouth in a soft kiss, he licked into you, tasting you as he pushed up your skirt, his cock was way too hard at the idea of your full tits

he slid his fingers under the hem of your panties, immediately feeling the slick waiting for him, “oh, baby, so wet for me,” he barely broke the kiss to murmur

he watched your face as he plunged his first two fingers inside your hot, wet pussy - you gasped softly, pulling his hair roughly as you did, “yes, daddy, play with me, you’ve kept me waiting so long,” you whimper as he crooked his fingers to hit the soft spongy spot he knew your ex had never been able to find

he had completely forgotten the other couple - all he cared about was the way you were writhing in pleasure in front of him - that and the way your cunt was clenching around him, it was so fucking tight and already dripping

he pressed close, “come for me baby girl, i can feel you holding back, just let go, make a mess for daddy to clean up,” he whispered

you pressed close, “give me one more finger first,” you breathed heavily against his skin

he was happy to slip his third finger in, stretching you and then scissoring you open too, pressing against your tight walls

you moaned loudly, “oh, fuck, yes - daddy, don’t stop, make me feel good”

he wasn’t worried about how loud you were - it was part of the point, but when your pussy suddenly gushed, “fuck,” he breathed, feeling your juices wet his thigh

he held you close as he he still worked his fingers inside your pussy, you yelped as a second orgasm tore through you, a new splash of hot pussy juices running down his thigh as you shivered with pleasure in his arms, grasping blindly for him, needing him to hold you as your orgasm worked through you

“mhmm, daddy, oh, fuck, did i do good?”

he was quick, “yeah, baby, you’re so perfect, so messy and wet for me,” he pressed soft kisses to your cheek, nuzzling close to you

it was obvious that you were more fucked out than either of you expected - he definitely didn’t hear anything from the couple in the other stall, but he wasn’t especially concerned either

he suddenly turned you around, pulling your back to his chest, as he unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned his pants, “still want daddy’s cock, baby girl?”

you nod, “yes, please, use me like a toy, make me yours”

he breathed slowly, lining his cock up with your cunt, he needed to control himself or he would come too fast

he plunged in, pausing to breathe, to feel your slick cunt stretching so wide to take all of him - he listened to your whimpers and soft pleas as you adjusted to being full

but he waited to move - and when he did, he was slow at first, feeling every bit of you squeezing him, wanting him

and when you leaned back, “fuck me daddy, fuck me like you want”

the way you gazed up at him told him everything - that you knew - you already knew exactly how he felt

and so he plunged in, setting a quick pace, not being afraid to snap his hips - he wanted to fuck you raw

and when he felt you clenching and fluttering around him, he pulled you close, holding you tight, and reaching down to work your clit, he gasped at the feeling of your third orgasm, the feeling of your slick against the head of his cock was too much

he came, he clenched his teeth together tightly, moaning low against your skin, his cum filling you, he kept moving, slowly fucking his cum deeper into you

“keep it inside baby,” he demanded, breathless, finally letting you go

you nod with a little smile, “what do i get if i do?”

he laughed softly, shaking his head, and fixed his pants

he helped you fix your clothes, glancing to see how massive your pupils were

he stopped and nuzzled close, feeling nothing but tenderness for you, “want to leave?”

you nodded, holding tight to his lapels, “can we still fuck though?”

he smiled, “mmmh, of course we can baby - we can fuck all you want,” he kissed you softly - he meant every word

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨

a/n: happy v day - if you’re not getting fucked tonight, just think of mingyu ^^ we all know he would do it right …every time

♡ kat

tags: @syluslittlecrows

if you want to be tagged, go [here] my [master list] if you want to read more

#svt x reader #kim mingyu x reader #mingyu x reader #mingyu smut #mingyu fluff #kim mingyu imagines #svt fluff #mingyu scenarios #mingyu imagines #mingyu fic #kim mingyu drabbles #mingyu drabbles #mingyu fanfic #kim mingyu fanfic #seventeen x you #seventeen drabbles #seventeen smut #kat_drabbles

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aventurineswife · 1 day ago

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Hello! Hope you're doing well!

So I sorta got rejected for Valentine's this year :cc so I was wondering if I could ask for Aventurine, Phainon, Dan Heng and maybe also Anaxa helping the reader with cope with rejection

Hope you're having a good day! Please take your time!! 🫶

Every Closed Door Leads to a New Beginning

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Phainon x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Rejection, Healing, Emotional Support, Slow Burn, Self-Discovery, Inner Strength, Self-Worth, Healing Journey.

Warnings: Mentions of rejection, Emotional vulnerability, Mild angst.

A/N: I'm so sorry to hear that 🫂 (sorry for the late response too😔🙏)

Tagslist: @themiddletenmasibling

Aventurine had seen countless deals collapse, empires crumble, and fortunes shift with the flick of a wrist. Rejection was just another spin of the wheel, an inevitable part of the game. But when he found you curled up in quiet devastation, he realized—this wasn’t just a failed wager to you. This was real, raw, and deeply personal.

He sighed, leaning against the edge of the table where you sat, hands folded in your lap. “Ah, rejection,” he mused, tilting his head dramatically. “A bitter drink, isn’t it? Like ordering the finest wine and finding it’s corked.”

You didn’t respond, only staring at your hands. The silence was an answer in itself. Aventurine’s usual smirk softened as he observed you—he could read people like open ledgers, and right now, you were on the verge of shattering.

“Tell me, darling,” he said, lowering himself to sit beside you, “what makes this so unbearable? Did you truly lose, or did you just not get the outcome you expected?”

You swallowed. “Does it matter? It still hurts.”

Aventurine clicked his tongue. “Of course it matters. If you lost, then you grieve and move on. But if it was only an outcome you didn’t anticipate, then all that’s changed is the direction of the wind.”

You shot him a glare. “So what? I should just pretend I don’t feel anything?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, no, my dear. Feel it. Wallow in it, if you must. But don’t let it define you.” His fingers ghosted over yours, deliberate yet light. “You know, if I let every rejection—every ‘bad hand’—dictate my life, I’d still be groveling in the dirt, licking the boots of men who never deserved my loyalty.”

You looked up, startled by his uncharacteristic sincerity. He smiled, but this time, it wasn’t sharp or teasing. It was something… quieter.

Aventurine stood, brushing imaginary dust off his coat. “Come,” he offered, holding out his hand. “I’ll teach you a lesson more valuable than gold—how to turn rejection into opportunity.”

“…And if I don’t want to?”

His grin returned, brighter now. “Then I’ll simply stay here, bothering you with endless metaphors and tragic poetry until you beg for mercy.”

A small, reluctant smile broke through your sadness, and Aventurine knew—he’d won this round.

Phainon found you standing alone, the weight of rejection pressing down on you like an unseen force. Your shoulders were tense, your breathing uneven, and he knew—he recognized the look of someone fighting to keep their heart from crumbling.

Without a word, he stepped beside you, his presence warm and steady. “You don’t have to talk,” he said gently. “But if you do, I’ll listen.”

You hesitated before finally whispering, “I wasn’t enough.”

Phainon’s brows furrowed. “That’s not true.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “How would you know?”

He turned slightly, eyes searching yours. “Because rejection doesn’t mean you lack worth. It only means this wasn’t the path meant for you.” His voice carried an unwavering kindness, a softness that wrapped around you like a shield against the pain.

You exhaled shakily. “It still hurts.”

Phainon nodded. “Of course it does.” He reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. “But you’re allowed to hurt. You’re allowed to grieve. Just don’t believe, even for a second, that this defines you.”

You looked down, squeezing his hand back. “How do you deal with it?”

He smiled wistfully. “I remind myself that my worth isn’t determined by someone else’s acceptance. And when that’s not enough… I turn to those who see me for who I truly am.”

You met his gaze, and in that moment, you realized—Phainon saw you. Not as someone rejected, but as someone strong, someone deserving of love and understanding.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

Phainon’s smile grew, bright and unwavering. “Always.”

Dan Heng wasn’t one to offer words freely, but he noticed the way your movements had lost their usual energy, the way your eyes seemed dimmer. He didn’t ask. He didn’t pry. Instead, he simply placed a cup of tea beside you and sat down, his presence solid and unwavering.

You stared at the tea, then at him. “You heard, didn’t you?”

He nodded.

“…And?”

Dan Heng took a slow sip of his own tea before speaking. “It isn’t the end.”

You scoffed. “Sure feels like it.”

His gaze remained steady. “It’s not.”

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was… grounding. You found yourself tracing the rim of the cup, trying to gather your thoughts. “Why does it hurt so much?”

Dan Heng set his tea down. “Because you cared.” His voice was quiet but firm. “Because you invested a piece of yourself into something that didn’t return the way you hoped.”

You clenched your jaw. “Then what am I supposed to do?”

He looked at you for a long moment before answering, “Heal.”

You let out a shaky breath. “And if I don’t know how?”

Dan Heng shifted slightly, as if considering his words carefully. Then, he spoke with a certainty that made your chest ache.

“Then let me help.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the raw sincerity in his voice. Dan Heng wasn’t one for grand gestures or excessive reassurances, but this—this was real.

His presence alone was enough to remind you that even in rejection, you weren’t alone.

And for now, that was enough.

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lizes-posts · 2 days ago

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Love under the stars

( warnings: light smut , fluff

Happy Valentine's for me )

Y/N and Jey Uso had been dating for months, their bond growing stronger despite the chaos of being WWE Superstars. Valentine’s Day had arrived, but with SmackDown scheduled, their time together was limited. That didn’t stop them from planning something special for each other.

After the show, exhausted but excited, Y/N led Jey to the backyard of their Airbnb, where she had set up a cozy picnic under the night sky. A soft blanket was spread out, fairy lights twinkled around them, and their favorite foods were arranged neatly. She had gone all out, putting together a personalized boo basket just for him—a fresh, name-brand snapback he’d been eyeing, a sleek new chain, his go-to cologne, and even Fa’apapa, his absolute favorite Samoan treat. It had taken some persuasion (and her self-proclaimed ‘favorite daughter-in-law’ privileges), but she had managed to get it just for him.

As she sat on the blanket, adjusting everything one last time, she heard footsteps approaching. Looking up, she spotted Jey walking toward her, a grin spreading across his face as he held a massive bouquet of roses in one hand and a boo basket of his own in the other.

"Damn, babe," he chuckled, taking in the sight. "You really outdid yourself."

Y/N smirked, tilting her head. "You ain't seen nothin' yet."

Jey settled beside her, handing her the basket filled with her favorite things—luxury skincare, her favorite snacks, a hoodie that smelled just like him, and a custom-made bracelet with their initials.

"You thought you were the only one with surprises?" he teased, his voice low and warm.

They laughed, shared bites of food, and talked under the stars, letting exhaustion melt away in each other's presence. But the way Jey’s eyes darkened every time she licked her lips or the way his fingers brushed her thigh a little too often told her there was another surprise in store.

"You know," Jey murmured, leaning in close, his lips ghosting over her ear, "I been thinkin’ about you all night. How good you looked out there in the ring, how bad I wanted to get my hands on you…"

Y/N smirked, her breath hitching as his fingers traced lazy circles on her thigh. "Oh yeah? And what exactly were you thinking, babe?" she teased, her voice dipping into something softer, sultrier.

Jey chuckled, low and deep, before pulling her into his lap, her legs naturally wrapping around his waist. His hands settled on her hips, thumbs stroking her sides as he gazed up at her. "That you drive me crazy, baby. The way you move, the way you look at me… You know what you do to me, right?"

Y/N shivered, feeling heat pool in her belly at his words. The night air was cool, but Jey’s body was warm, firm against hers. His lips brushed over her collarbone, trailing up to her jaw before stopping just shy of her lips. He was teasing her, waiting for her to break first.

"You’re talkin’ a lot," she whispered, rolling her hips against him, feeling the way his breath hitched. "Why don’t you show me?"

That was all it took.

Jey growled low in his throat before closing the space between them, claiming her lips with a kiss that was slow, deep, and filled with all the tension that had been building up between them. His grip tightened, one hand sliding up her back, the other palming her thigh as he pulled her closer, his tongue sweeping against hers in a way that made her toes curl.

Their picnic was long forgotten as heat built between them. The sound of the ocean in the distance, the soft glow of the fairy lights, and the privacy of the backyard only made it more intense.

Jey broke the kiss just enough to look at her, his forehead resting against hers. "You sure about this, baby?" he asked, his voice husky, full of need but also restraint.

Y/N bit her lip, her fingers tangling in his braids as she smirked. "I wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble if I wasn’t, babe."

That was all he needed to hear.

Jey stood effortlessly, lifting her into his arms. "C'mon, baby," he said, smirking as she gasped, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck. "I got one more surprise for you."

Carrying her inside, he pushed the door open, revealing a breathtaking sight—roses everywhere. Bouquets covered the countertops, petals scattered along the floor leading to the bedroom, and soft candlelight flickered, casting a warm glow across the room.

Y/N blinked, overwhelmed by the effort he had put into making this night special. "Jey…"

"You like it?" he murmured, setting her down gently. His hands never left her body, sliding up her waist, keeping her close.

"I love it," she whispered, looking up at him with nothing but adoration.

Jey smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face before tilting her chin up. "Good. 'Cause I’m about to make you love it even more."

Before she could respond, his lips crashed against hers, the slow teasing from earlier replaced with raw hunger. His hands moved down, gripping the back of her thighs as he lifted her again, carrying her through the trail of petals straight to the bed.

The second her back hit the mattress, Jey was on her, kissing her like he had been starving for her all night. His lips traveled down her neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin, making her arch beneath him.

"You know what I was thinking about?" he murmured against her skin as his fingers worked to peel off her top. "How good you’d sound moaning my name."

Y/N’s breath hitched as he slipped the fabric over her head, his lips immediately trailing lower, kissing down the valley of her breasts before sucking a mark into her skin.

"Jey…" she gasped, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

He hummed in approval, his hands roaming her body as if he was committing every inch of her to memory. His tongue flicked over her skin, teasing, tasting, before he finally met her gaze.

"Say it again," he commanded softly.

She did—over and over, in whispers, in moans, in gasping breaths as he worshipped her body beneath the dim candlelight.

Every touch, every whisper, every stolen breath felt like a promise—one of love, passion, and devotion. Jey took his time, making sure she felt every ounce of his love, his need, his worship.

And when they finally lay tangled together, the scent of roses lingering in the air, Jey held her close, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

"Happy Valentine’s, baby," he murmured, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along her back.

Y/N smiled, nuzzling into his chest, feeling completely and utterly adored.

"Happy Valentine’s, my love."

#jey uso fic #jey uso fluff #jey uso imagine #jey uso fanfiction #jey uso #jey uso x black reader #jey uso x reader #jey uso smut #the usos #jey uso one shot #jey uso x best friend reader #jey uso fanfic #copyright #copywriting

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us3rnam3-r3dact3d · 21 hours ago

Text

the world (it burns through me)

Chapter 19: Freelancer

The world flips upside down. Sam is in shock. Vincent has a TBI. Freelancer would love if everybody could remember they're first responders. William conducts his immaculate orchestra.

TW: Car crash, blood and injury, broken bones, head injuries, shock, traumatic shock, seizures, medical talk, medical operations.

“No,” Sam shook his head as he rocked with the momentum of the moving bus, shoving the backboard into its narrow place under the bottom cabinets, “that was most definitely not my weirdest call. Maybe the weirdest call this year, but…”

“It’s February.” You snorted, handing over the material that didn’t fit cleanly into your go bag before storing that in the sliding cabinets next to the gurney.

“Buckle up, please.” Sam gave you what Vincent had lovingly dubbed his ‘ disapproving mother’ look, “it’s against protocol to be standing and unsecured in the bus when it’s moving.” You rolled your eyes, but acquiesced, sliding into one of the two passenger seats in the back, buckling your seatbelt as you did. You made no mention that Sam wasn’t following that particular protocol himself, moving around the back and restocking over the drive as was his routine. Sam liked to have the bus fully back together as soon after every call as possible, especially when you were taking it back in to dock at the end of a shift. That way, you and Vincent only had to do inventory while Sam ran his reports and everybody was out of the building within an hour of docking.

He’d gotten tossed around once when Vincent took a turn a touch too fast and had sported a bruise against his side for several days as a result. He still refused to change his routine.

He was like you, after all. A creature of habit.

Engine One was right behind you, fire and medical having been called out to the scene of a multi-car collision just off the highway. With the way the cars had looked, you’d been expecting to have to call in reinforcements for transport, but everyone involved was, by and large, untouched. No broken glass, no deployed airbags, no broken bones or head wounds. They were all very lucky.

The sun was setting. Night shift would take over when you got back to the station. Damien and Hux were over tonight and Damien was making sinigang. You had tomorrow off. Everything was right in the world.

“Okay, so four people walking away from that bad of a crash is not weird?” You laughed.

“Of course it’s weird.” Sam said, “But I’ve pulled a matchbox car out of a kid’s nose before. That was weird. This was… a best case scenario. Some seatbelt burn and three totaled cars? I’ll take that.”

“Whatever, old man.” You laughed. “I’m marking this as one of-”

The world went sideways. A horrible sound cracked in your ears, loud and explosive and endless. You heard Sam let out a wordless cry, you heard Vincent curse loudly. Your eyes were open long enough to see Sam come off his feet and crash, shoulder first, into the roof of the ambulance. You screwed your eyes shut as your seatbelt dug into your skin. You felt your head connect with the metal wall of the bus. You thought you were probably screaming.

It felt like forever before the sound stopped. You gasped, body hanging against your seatbelt, as you blinked your eyes open to the darkened interior of the bus. The ever-present hum of its engine and machines was silent. You could only hear your own heartbeat, its rapid pitter-patter seeming to drum against your rib cage, Sam’s ragged breathing, a quiet cry from the front.

You glanced up– down ? You didn’t have the wherewithal to handle those particular semantics. Sam was laying on the roof of the ambulance, surrounded by stray supplies that had escaped their carefully chosen places. His eyes were wide and open, glassy as he gasped and squirmed in his place. He was pale, face slack. The little medical student in your brain started to pipe up again. Shock. Probable impact wounds. Broken bones, internal bleeding, likely a head wound. Full work up, head CT, chest X-Ray, ultrasound. Would he be surgical? Sam was a trauma surgeon. He could handle this. He would know exactly what was wrong.

There was pounding on the other side of the bus’s back doors, a shout that you couldn’t distinguish into words. Your body jolted, brought back from your spiral and into action. That was one of your best qualities, you’d always thought. You were great in a crisis.

You had trauma scissors in your pants pocket. They’d come in handy a few times, most notably when you’d responded to a frantic call from a couple who couldn’t get out of the bondage ropes they’d employed on date night- oh man, maybe that had been your weirdest call. You knew they could handle the seatbelt that was digging painfully into your right shoulder.

You didn’t think to brace yourself before you made the cut, so when you snipped through it in a few, desperate cuts, you crashed down against the roof of the bus. You cursed, your head swimming as it made contact. Your hands were under you, though, and you pushed yourself to Sam’s side.

“Sam,” you breathed, digging into your pockets with shaking hands to find your pen light. You flashed it across his pupils, watched them contract and dilate before slipping it into your mouth to provide you some light as you worked.

The back door of the bus groaned menacingly, but you were too focused on running your hand along the back of Sam’s head, fingers digging into his short-cropped hair, in search of blood. When the doors gave way and opened, light flooded into the cabin. You blinked through the blinding and started running your hands down Sam’s sides.

“Sammy?” It was Tank, still in their turnout pants, boots crunching across the equipment surrounding you and Sam. You had forgotten that Engine One was right behind you when you… what exactly had happened? Crashed? You supposed that was probably the most likely case scenario. “What’s wrong with him? Is he okay?” They were demanding as they knelt next to his head, tapping his cheek harshly like they could snap him out of it. They looked almost angry with you as they started running their hands over his body, trying to pinpoint his injuries.

“No head trauma.” You said. “I think?” You scrunched up your brow and batted away their hands so you could start checking his limbs.

“You think?” They snapped, gripping your shoulder in a bruising hold. They were shaking.

“Need a head CT.” You didn’t let their panic infect you. As you gripped Sam’s right arm and tried to position it into a better angle, his back arched, a shout escaping him as his eyes flashed across the bus.

“What the fuck?” Tanker cried, tightening their hold on him.

“Collarbone.” You nodded, shoving their hand off of you. “Right collarbone. Okay. Brace him here-” you guided their hand to his right shoulder, “and here.” their other to his left clavicle. “Don’t apply any pressure, just keep his chest steady.”

“The other driver’s gone.” David leaned into the bus, his eyes snapping across the scene. He looked green in the face, like he’d never seen a fucking car accident before. You would love it if everybody around you could act like fucking first responders.

“He can wait for another ambulance.” You snapped, standing and stepping around gauze to get to the doors. David’s hands came up to steady you as you stumbled out onto the street. “He needs help now !” Tank spat out. You ignored them, snagging your go bag as you rounded the bus and made it to the front. Sam was fine. Well, no, broken clavicles weren’t fine, they were in fact very painful and notoriously difficult to heal. But he wasn’t going to die from it. You need to know that Vincent was okay before you could think about that persistent ache that was taking over your head, the pound from your brow to the nape of your neck that wasn’t letting go, the wetness you felt growing at the back of your head.

As you circled around the bus, you saw what had sent your world ass over tea kettle. An old, rusty pickup truck was on its side a yard away from the bus. It was ancient, no younger than fifteen years, and even though the windshield was shattered, you could still make out the chalk marker price inscribed in neon green. Whoever had hit you had just bought this truck for just under two thousand dollars. Their blood was splattered on the windshield, but just as David reported, they were gone.

Asher and Milo were crowded around the driver’s door, talking quickly amongst themselves. You shoved Ash to the side a bit and knelt next to Vincent.

“You moved him?” You snapped, eyeing Milo and Asher with ire. Milo threw his hands up in defeat.

“No!” he cried, “He moved himself! When we got over here his door was open and he was crawling out. Next thing I know he’s out!”

Vincent was laying flat on his stomach, blood trickling down from a gash on his hairline that wouldn’t let up. You ran your fingers over his spine from the base of his neck all the way down to his pelvis. No obvious breaks, but that didn’t mean much when it came to the spine. Even the slightest jolt could leave somebody in pain or paralyzed for the rest of their life. He shouldn’t have moved from his seat at all, but he clearly had a head injury, so no telling what was going through his head when he was getting out of there. Probably the same thing that was going through yours when you did. That you had to make sure everybody was okay.

Wait.

He’d hit his head.

You jolted with realization just as Vincent groaned, shaking hands attempting to press himself up just as you pressed down on his back, trying to keep him still.

“Vincent,” you said clearly, “stay still.” It was an order, but he fought against your touch anyways. One moment, he was muttering something about who the fuck hits an ambulance, and the next you felt a convulsion pulse through his muscles.

“Seizure!” Milo called, gripping the sides of Vincent’s head to keep him from smacking it against the ambulance doors. Asher must have read your mind, because when you grabbed Vincent’s legs he grabbed his shoulders. The three of you moved quickly, pulled Vincent out onto the glass-covered asphalt and onto his side in the recovery position.

“Don’t,” you pushed Asher’s arms away as he attempted to brace Vincent’s shoulders against the convulsions, “you could hurt him. Just let him seize.”

It was a Grand Mal. Really, you needed a head CT to be sure of that, but you knew. You’d had to watch your share of videos of them in med school, and you knew you’d never get the sights and sounds of them out of your head.

You counted the seconds in your head, one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand.

The seizure lasted an agonizing two minutes and twelve seconds. It was almost worse when the tremors subsided, as his limbs twitched and shook with the last of it until, with a groan, he went still. At least, when Vincent was seizing, you knew for a fact that he was alive.

You pressed your fingers into the junction of his throat. His heart beat, thready and fast, under your touch.

“We’ve gotta move.” You said sharply. “We can’t wait for another ambulance.”

“In the rig.” Asher said sharply.

“Milo, backboard and neck brace from the bus,” you jerked your head, taking up his position holding Vincent’s head. You knelt, cushioning his head on your folded legs.

“Dad?” Vincent mumbled, fists clenching and unclenching. You bent awkwardly and pulled your penlight from your pocket and flashed it across his eyes. His pupils were dilated and sluggish, barely responding to the light.

“Vincent, can you hear me?” You said, loud and firm. “Talk to me, buddy.”

“I need… the belt thing… it didn’t…” his voice trailed off, eyes growing distant. Absence seizure? You pressed your clenched fist into his sternum and pressed hard, trying to rouse him. Nothing.

“We’ve gotta move.” You emphasized. Milo returned, backboard slamming onto the ground.

“Sam’s in bad shape but not as bad.” He reported, lifting Vincent’s head to strap on the neck brace.

“Vince, we’re gonna move you,” you said clearly and loudly, hoping that he could hear you. The three of you worked in tandem to strap Vincent to the bright orange blackboard while keeping him braced on his side. It was awkward, but he was secured and his spine was intact. That would have to be enough for now.

As you stood, your head swam, and you had to brace yourself against the front wheel of the ambulance to keep from falling out. Your knees shook, but you pushed forward.

You passed by the back of the ambulance as you went, hand snaking around the straps to track Vincene’t heart rate. David and Tank had managed to get Sam out of the back of the ambulance and sitting on the curb, gauze tied into a makeshift sling to take the pressure off of his collarbone. His eyes were still glassy and distant, but as he watched Ash and Milo job by with the blackboard, he shot up to his feet.

“Vincent!” He shouted. David grabbed Sam’s good shoulder, kept him from running after you without when he should be in a fucking bed.

“I’ve got him!” You shouted, not stopping to reassure him. “I’ve got him, Sam!”

Asher made for the driver’s seat, and you heard him calling fast, precise reports back to dispatch as he pulled away from the scene. Milo braced Vincent’s backboard on its side as he slid on your knees to kneel next to him.

“What do we do?” Milo asked frantically. You fought the urge to roll your eyes. Milo wasn’t just a first responder in this moment. This was his friend battered and seizing on the ground, not just a random victim. You should probably be freaking out too.

“Monitor.” You snapped. You pulled out your stethoscope and pressed it against Vincent’s chest. “If he seizes again, I need you to count it. Precise seconds, Milo. It’s incredibly important we know how long they are. He’s had a TBI before, that means that we’re working with damaged goods, here.”

“We’re three minutes out!” Asher called from the front. You nodded decisively. Three minutes. You could keep him alive for three minutes.

He mumbled something again, a muffled cry for his dad, for somebody named Livy. You pressed you heard the stutter in his breath just before he started seizing again. Milo counted, just like you’d told him, steady and precise.

A minute fifteen. Shorter. You couldn’t remember if that was a good thing or a bad thing or if it didn’t mean anything at all.

When it subsided, Vincent wasn’t breathing anymore.

“Fuck.” You hissed. “Set him down flat.”

“You’re not supposed-”

“He’s not breathing, I need to intubate.” You barked, shoving Milo forcefully to get him to drop Vincent. You should put on gloves. You should keep your materials sterile. But Vincent couldn’t afford anymore brain damage, which meant that you couldn’t waste a single second.

You had practiced this a hundred times before. It was one of the first things besides stitches that they had you practicing in med school, given that you needed to be a natural at it by the time you had to perform it on actual people. So, when you pulled the tube and AMBU bag from your jump bag and opened Vincent’s mouth and slid the tube down his throat, you didn’t even have to stop to think. The little medical student in your head preened over the perfection of the operation.

By the time you got to the ER, there was already a crowd of nurses out front. Somebody threw open the doors to the back rig and a crowd of trauma gowns descended upon you. Somebody pulled the backboard away from Milo, and you trailed after in an awkward duck walk to keep administering steady breaths through the AMBU bag.

A woman with fiery red hair was barking orders, and as Vincent was laid out on the waiting gurney, her sharp, grey eyes scanned over him. She trailed her fingers down his throat, scrutinizing the intubation before nodding sharply.

A nurse with dark hair looked over Vincent for less than a second before shouting; “Trauma One!” She turned to lead the pack of nurses there, but stopped short when she saw Milo.

“Bambino?” She asked, handing the chart she held off to another nurse. She framed Milo’s face in her hands and turned it this way and that.

“I’m fine, Ma,” He said sharply. You lost the rest of their interaction as you followed the doctors inside. Somebody snatched the AMBU bag from your hands and you were shuffled aside. The crowd filed into a separate trauma room. You watched through it’s broad windows as Vincent was surrounded by a sea of white coats and hunter green scrubs. Somebody cut off his uniform, trauma scissors cutting through the pretty, embroidered patch that read ‘ Solaire.’ Diodes were attached to his chest, displaying his erratic heartbeat on the monitor over his head. A hand slid up your back. Asher had stepped up to the window next to you, and his face was twisted in horror.

The red haired woman and a man in maroon scrubs talked quickly over Vincent’s prone form, communicating in sharp, direct words. Then, another man stepped into the room. You recognized him.

William Solaire looked the same standing above his son’s body in Trauma One as he did on the jacket of his book. His long, light hair was pulled back away from his face. Clad in navy scrubs, his sharp eyes cut across the room quickly. He stepped forward, shooing away another doctor to examine Vincent’s head wound.

He and the two other doctors worked in perfect tandem, passing equipment back and forth without even having to ask. A sentence would start in one’s mouth and end in another’s. Perfect synchronization, perfect order. Solaire was the conductor, leading the other two through an immaculate orchestration. You could almost hear the music through the window. The woman’s sharp violin, the man’s scattered piano.

Medicine was art. You’d felt that way since you’d unearthed your first medical text at the age of eleven. Watching the three of them bent over Vincent’s body was just more proof of that belief.

When he started seizing again, everyone snapped into motion, flipping him again onto his side. Someone started a timer. The woman with red hair barked an order and the group was moving again. They cut through the emergency room and towards a set of double doors that read ‘ NO ENTRY BEYOND THIS POINT.’

They left behind an empty room, the monitor still ringing out the absence of his heartbeat.

The monitor and William Solaire, his back to the wall, his face pale and slack.

Shock, the little medical student in your head provided.

“-should get you looked at.” Asher was talking to you, but you couldn’t organize his words into a sentence that made sense. You shook your head sharply and tried to clear out the cotton that was filling it up.

You blinked and there were hands on your shoulders, shaking and rough as they flexed against your uniform.

“How many seizures did he have?” Solaire’s accent was thick, thicker than it was in the interviews you’d watched on YouTube. “How long? Why did you intubate?”

You tried to answer his questions, to explain Vincent’s condition, to rattle off the facts of the situation since you knew that would be comforting for him. He didn’t just have a medical student in his head, he had an entire doctor.

“The ambulance flipped.” You managed. That wasn’t what you wanted to say, but it tumbled out of you anyway. Solaire’s face quirked into frustrated confusion.

“What? What are-” his voice swam as your vision did, and you reached out and latched on to his forearm for stability. You felt Asher’s hands rest against your hips, steadying you as you swayed.

“-bleeding.” Asher’s rasp sounded right in your ear. “They were in the crash too but-”

Your world tilted again. You fell back into someone’s chest. Cold, slender hands slid over your skin.

William Solaire was your medical idol. This was so fucking embarrassing.

#my redacted content #redacted asmr #redacted audio #firefighter story #redacted sam #redacted david #redacted darlin #redacted asher #redacted milo #redacted freelancer #redacted william #William solaire #redacted Vincent #Vincent solaire #redacted Alexis #Alexis solaire #redacted porter #porter Solaire

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natashaslesbian · 1 day ago

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Dads and Fathers | SJ|CJ

Summary: it’s your fathers weekend to look after you but you quickly realise who your dad truly is

Request: Could you do one about Scarlett's daughter with Ryan Reynolds. The daughter is autistic. She is with her dad's but her mom is called when she has a meltdown.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings/Content: Some swearing / Autistic meltdown (written from my personal experience with my own autism)

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“I don’t wanna go” you whined as Scarlett zipped up your backpack “y/n he’s your dad and you know how the custody situation is set up” your mom said. “Why can’t I just see him for a day, I don’t wanna stay overnight” you argued, pulling your bag away from Scarlett’s hold. “Y/n” your mom sighed “please mom, it’s not like you want me to go for the weekend either” you pleaded. “It doesn’t matter what I want” Scarlett said, taking the bag back “and me neither right” you shrugged before storming out of your bedroom. Your mom frowned as her eyes followed you, she knew what your father was like.

Most kids would be thrilled to have the actual Ryan Reynolds as their dad and then gaining Blake Lively as a stepmom, but not you. You were always a mommy’s girl and when you were old enough to realise what your dad had done to your mom, you hated your father for it. Ryan wasn’t truly a bad man but he’d made mistakes and it was evident that he loved and cared for you, but he didn’t truly know you.

“Hey pumpkin” Colin said as he emerged from Cosmos bedroom, having just put the young boy down for his nap. You paused in your journey at looked up at him with water filled eyes “what’s wrong?” Colin asked before you came crashing into his arms. “Hey, hey, hey, what’s happened sweetie?” He questioned, tightening his hold on you. “I don’t wanna go to Ryan’s house this weekend” you mumbled. “Aw kid, c’mon we talked about this huh?” Colin said kindly “you gotta give it a try y/n, if you go in with a negative attitude it’s never gonna work is it? Okay so chin up, he’s your dad right?” He finished. “No, he’s not, you are” you whined, pushing your face into his neck. Colin sighed as he rested his chin atop your head, you basked in the pressure he provided, he knew just what to do to calm you.

All of a sudden, Rose came running down the hallway “daddy Colin my Lego broke!” She screamed. You groaned as the sound invaded your ears, pulling your hands up to cover them. “Rosie sweetheart, Colin will come help you soon okay, go back to your room darling” Scarlett said as she appeared behind the young blonde, giving her a quick peck on the forehead “Come on kid we gotta get going” your mom said, carrying your backpack. You looked up into Colin’s eyes and begrudgingly pulled away. “Did you pack little Natasha?” You asked. “Of course” Scarlett sadly smiled, reminded of your beloved stuffed bear dressed as her iconic character. “Okay” you mumbled, finally ready to leave the safety of your parents. “I’ll see you on Monday kiddo” Colin said.

You were silent the whole journey to your fathers house, you wouldn’t even let Scarlett turn on the radio. All Scarlett wanted to do was turn around and take you home, but she had an agreement with Ryan and like it or not you were his daughter, he had every right to see you. Your leg bounced anxiously as the car rolled to a stop, you could see Blake and her forced smile waiting to greet you. Scarlett passed you you’re things while you were still in the car, she of course wanted nothing to do with Blake. “Got everything?” Your mom asked. “Mhm” you mumbled, struggling to speak. “Okay. I love you” Scarlett smiled, not truly being able to wish that you would have a good weekend.

You felt bad not being able to connect with your mom and hug her goodbye, all you could do was watch the car pull away. “Hey y/n!” Blake falsely cheered as you came up the front path. Your stepmom pulled you into an awkward hug and the feeling made your skin crawl, it wasn’t necessarily her, you just didn’t want to be touched right now. “Your dads just at the store, think he’s grabbing some chocolate ice cream” the woman said, talking to you as if you were no more than 5 years old. “Ok” you hummed, forcing the words. “Why don’t you head up to your room and I’ll call you down when your dad’s back?” Blake said. Your room? Those four walls felt nothing of the sort.

It was a few hours later now, your dad brought back lasagne for dinner and you appreciated the effort to make your favourite meal. “Y/n dinners ready” Ryan called up the staircase. You winced at the sudden voice echoing throughout the walls, you’d told him time and time again that you didn’t like raised voices. You dragged your exhausted body to the end of the bed, making sure to grab little Natasha from your pillow. You padded lightly down the stairs, almost crashing into Blake at the bottom. “Woah watch it y/n” she said. You laughed uncomfortably, not sure if she was joking or not.

You followed the blonde into the dining room, cringing at the clattering of china plates. “Oh for goodness sake y/n” your dad said as he turned around “you’re still dragging that thing around?” He sighed. You followed his eye line down to the brown bear in your arms. You wished he was just annoyed that the stuffie was dressed at black widow (everyone knows how jealous he is of the characters success) but you knew it was something more, he was embarrassed by you. “Sorry, I’ll go put her away” you mumbled. “Good, you’re not sitting at this table with a stupid teddy bear, what are you five?” Ryan snarled.

You fought through dinner with gritted teeth at every scrape of metal against the plates. You desperately craved the familiar softness of your stuffed bear and the distracting sound of Colin’s voice. Your leg was bouncing underneath the table as you struggled to swallow each mouthful of food. Your brain was so loud, it sounded like there were ten thousand conversations happening, when it reality it was just the two voices at the table with you. Everything was too much. Too much sound. Too much light. Too much air. It was all too much.

Scarlett and Colin were enjoying a quiet night together after dropping off their two youngest children at the actress’s moms house. The two were partly focused on a movie while conversing over light day to day topics when Scarlett’s phone began to ring. “Three guesses who” Colin sighed, referring to you and your siblings. The blonde giggled softly before reaching for her mobile “Ryan?” Scarlett asked, confused and worried, it was only in certain situations the two had agreed to talk over the phone. Colin instantly stood to attention when he realised what was most likely happening, he knew you weren’t okay and now he regretted ever letting you go to your fathers.

Scarlett didn’t even wait for the car to stop before she ran out towards Ryan house, only slowing her pace when she wakes through the door. “Where is she?” Your mom asked “dining room” Ryan sighed. Colin finally caught up with his wife as they both came into the dining room. You were huddled in the corner, rocking back and forth slightly “where’s little Natasha?” Scarlett asked, not seeing the bear in your arms as she had expected. “It’s upstairs, she’s not sitting at the table like a three year old with a teddy bear. That’s what all this is about” Ryan gritted. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Colin huffed as he left to retrieve your bear.

“sweetheart” your mom cooed quietly, her heart broke as you flinched back slightly. “What actually happened, she’s never like this” Scarlett angrily whispered, walking back over to her ex husband. “I don’t know! She’s been in a mood since she got here and now she’s acting like a baby, she just wants attention” Ryan shrugged. “She’s autistic Ryan! How many times have we gone through this” Scarlett said, calming herself before returning to your side.

Colin came back into the room, little Natasha in his arms “I packed her bag” he said. “Oh hell no this is my weekend!” Ryan shouted, causing you to whimper from the corner. “I don’t care, if you can’t look after her properly then I’m taking my daughter home” Colin said. “Your daughter!” Blake chimed in. “Stop it!” You cried. “It’s ok sweetie, we’re going home, come on” Scarlett said, helping you to stand.

You sat in Scarlett’s lap in the back seat on the way home, she was lightly scratching your scalp while squeezing you gently in her arms. The exhaustion of your meltdown finally caught up with you and you fell asleep a few blocks away from your house. Colin opted to carry you back inside, he took you straight up to your bedroom while Scarlett grabbed your things. Your mom made sure your room was safe for when you woke up, she unplugged all the electronics and pulled down the black out blinds, she put your safe playlist on her phone and switched on your sensory light.

“Come here babe” Colin said with an outstretched arm, attempting to calm Scarlett’s frantic pacing. Your mom sighed as he sat on the bed, close to you but not too close. “She told me she didn’t wanna go. Why did I make her go?” The blonde whispered. “It’s not your fault babe” Colin said, tightening his grip on her hand. “I have to fix this for her” Scarlett sighed “we will, I promise” Colin sadly smiled. Your mom leant over and moved little Natasha bellow your chin, allowing more air to flow through your lungs.

It was around 30 minutes later when you woke up and you were instantly settled by the company of your parents. “Hey sweetie” Colin whispered, attempting to gauge how you were feeling. “Hi dad, hi mama” you mumbled. It was a good sign that you were verbal, your parents had got to you just in time. “I’m sorry you had to come, you were supposed to be enjoying your night” you frowned. “Hey, no, no, no, nothing is more important to us than you and your siblings okay. You needed us, so we came” Scarlett said, lightly brushing your hair. “Why doesn’t he understand me?” You cried, talking about your father. “I don’t know baby” your mom said.

You looked up to Colin with sad eyes “why isn’t he like you? I wish you were my dad” you sniffled. “I am your dad sweetie” Colin frowned with a questioning look, you had never disputed that he was your dad before. “Will you adopt me?” You suddenly asked on a whim. “Is that what you want?” Colin asked, you nodded weakly in response. “Then of course I will baby” your dad said, pulling you into a tight hug. “Looks like we have a lot to talk about” Scarlett smiled, shuffling closer to both of you. “I’m gonna call Ryan in the morning and we’re gonna sort out when he gets to see you, then I’m calling my lawyer because Colin’s your dad play” your mom smiled. “Okay” you whispered, pulling both of your parents into a tight cuddle.

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A/N: sorry I feel like I made this more about Colin x reader instead of Scarlett but I love this fic so much!

- Astara Bell

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[Taglist]

@saraaahsstuff / @dannipotatoo / @tobiaslut / @nev-valkyriesdottir / @marvelnatasha12346 / @yelenasdiary / @mousetheorist / @ashadash0904 / @strange-night-owl / @acciowriting / @hatergirl-69 / @lovelyy-moonlight / @escapereality4music / @jizzuo308 ?/ @imjustvibingsworld / @ciaoooooo111 / @fxckmiup / @natbelovasblog

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#scarlett johansson x reader #scarlett x reader #scarlett johansson #scarjo #colin jost x reader #colin x reader #colin jost

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pkg4mumtown · 2 days ago

Text

I Bet You Look Good in Pink (On the Dancefloor)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Male!Reader

Rating: Mature

Summary: You panicked and grabbed some poor stranger off the street to be your fake boyfriend to get your mom off your back. What could go wrong?

Content Warnings: Crack, fluff, meet cute, first kiss, first person pov, male reader, fake relationship

A/N: This is pure crack influenced by this guy I saw doing videos walking up to dudes saying “I’m out with my husband, say hi mom” and wanted to explore Hotch reacting to that while Rossi ran amok at the end. That’s it. That’s the fic. Enjoy!

Also available on AO3. I recommend having work skins on if you do, so you can see the social media and text skins.

I was set out on a brisk jog—more of a speed walk, who was I kidding—before work to prepare my mind for the day's stresses. All that went to hell in a handbasket when I felt my phone buzz and my earbuds start playing a jingle, which only meant that my mother was calling me.

I’d been dodging her calls for weeks knowing she was asking whether or not I was bringing my “boyfriend” to my cousin's wedding. I had made the smart decision to tell my mom I was seeing someone—a total lie—thinking I could make several excuses about his absence and things would be okay, considering I didn’t see my mom as often as I should.

Then, my cousin just had to announce a wedding on short notice.

I had never wanted someone to call off a wedding so badly in my life. My mother couldn’t resist meddling either and marked me down as having a plus one without consulting me first.

“Patience” and “understanding” were not words I would use to describe my reaction.

I groaned when I saw that it was a video call, too. Sighing heavily, I answered the phone and picked up the pace again, hoping the loud sounds of the city and my huffing and puffing would get her off the phone faster. Knowing her, I wouldn't be so lucky.

“Hey, Mom,” I breathed heavily, my feet pounding on the pavement.

“Hi, honey, I wanted to talk to you about Vanessa's wedding.”

“Yea? What about it?” I asked nonchalantly barely able to hold in my labored breaths, looking forward rather than at the phone so I didn't trip and eat the pavement.

“You haven't double booked anything have you?” she asked, a wary tone to her voice, expecting me to cancel at the last minute.

“No, Mom. I didn't forget.”

“Then, your boyfriend is coming, right? I think it’s been long enough that I should meet him, sweetie,” she smiled on the other end.

Honestly, she was right. I had told her about “him” about six months ago, being as vague as possible every time he was brought up.

My brain—on the other hand—had other ideas causing me to immediately panic, not knowing how to respond. If I told her I lied to her and that he wasn’t real or that we “broke up", she would be back to hounding me and trying to set me up with every man she met. If I made another excuse, she would be suspicious. I almost felt bad lying to her, but “getting the hint” was not one of her strong suits.

As my brain warred with itself, I spotted another man running just up ahead dressed in a dark t-shirt, shorts, and plain running shoes. He was slowing down as we approached a crosswalk with flashing red lights indicating that it wasn’t safe to cross.

This might end up topping my list of idiotic plans, but—

“Yes, Mom. My boyfriend is coming,” I raised my voice slightly as I finally got to the crosswalk where the man was bouncing on his toes to stay warm.

I noticed the vague glance he shot my way at my voice and presence, but that was the only acknowledgment I received.

He was kind of cute this close-up. His soft dark hair contrasted sharply with his light complexion. He was in his mid to late forties but clearly in excellent shape and by his stone-faced expression, a government worker like many people in this area.

“We’re actually finishing up our run, soon,” I stepped closer to him, meeting his hawk-like eyes with a pleading, pitiful expression. With reflexes I wasn’t aware I possessed, I switched the call to speaker and turned the phone toward him, “Say, ‘hi’, babe!”

The glare he gave me was a mix of incredulous confusion and wariness as he checked his surroundings like he was expecting someone to come out and attack him while I distracted him.

Definitely a government agent, then.

“Um,” he started cautiously. “Who are—"

I hurriedly tapped the mute button on the call, wanting to grab his wrist and plead like a child asking for sweets. I restrained myself, expecting that he would have me face down on the concrete in a second if I did.

I probably wouldn’t even mind that.

“Hi, sorry,” I quickly spat my name out at him in my haste. “Please, play along. I’ll owe you my entire life, please,” I begged.

Was I being dramatic? Totally. But I was desperate to give her an actual face to get her off of my back.

One last glance around us and he relented, bending somewhat to be level with the phone’s camera. I tapped the mute button again.

“Sorry, Mom, his hearing is a little bad. Babe, say ‘hi’ to my mom,” I raised my voice, positioning myself so I was just in front of him and both of us fit in the frame.

I heard him slowly exhale behind me, then a soft smile spread over his face in the camera preview, “Hello, Ms...”

I felt him smack my back with the back of his hand, making me jump but I murmured her last name out of the corner of my mouth.

“Right, hello,” he smiled again. “I’m age—Aaron. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Oh, how handsome,” she winked and I felt my soul immediately leave my body.

How childish would it be to launch my phone into the street right now?

“Yea, um, so—we're—” I started but was interrupted.

“Aaron, sweetheart, I love my son to death but his memory is awful. I hope he told you about his cousin’s wedding. I’d love to meet you there,” she interrupted me.

Aaron’s smile faded somewhat, probably internally panicking as much as I was.

“I should have stayed home,” I heard him murmur under his breath. “Uhm, no, but it’s been a pretty hectic couple of weeks for me, so it’s not entirely his fault,” Aaron covered smoothly, bringing a hand up to my shoulder and stepping closer.

Damn, he was good.

“You poor thing,” she cooed. “Well, I hope you can make it.”

“Of course, I’ll do my best.”

“Oh, and she changed the colors to pastel pink, so I hope that’s not too hard for you to come up with, honey.”

My jaw clenched. Of course, she changed the colors. Luckily, I had a navy blue suit that would go with the only pastel pink shirt I owned.

“I’ll make it work, Mom, thanks.”

I could feel Aaron glaring at me through the video preview, his fingertips digging into my shoulder. Like he was questioning every life choice that landed him in this present moment.

I reached my hand back, fingers barely grazing the side of his neck as I looked back at him, “I think you have one.”

Aaron’s eyes flicked down to my lips and back to my eyes so quickly I almost missed it, “You would—uh—know better than me.” He sounded unfocused and dazed as he reacted to my movements.

“I think so,” I winked, pressing my lips to his stubbly chin and focusing back on the phone, seeing my mother’s eyes lit up with glee. “Anyway, Mom, I gotta go home and get ready for work. Love you.”

“Okay, have a great week, sweetie, I love you, too! It was nice to meet you, Aaron.”

“You as well,” he smiled, giving her a small wave before the call ended.

My face dropped as soon as the call was over, turning to face Aaron, “I am so sorry for that! I panicked and I’ll admit it was not my finest moment. And I’m especially sorry if that whole thing made you uncomfortable because I’m...you know...and I kissed—yea—uhm...I’m sorry.”

Aaron scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, “It’s okay.” He shifted in place, looking at the people passing us rather than me, “I’m actually...bi? Is that the word?”

This man was getting better by the minute.

“Good enough,” I smiled.

The silence stretched between us again. Was it too late to run across the street and away from this silence? I glanced at the light as it turned back to red—the third one we’ve missed now.

“I’m—uh—sorry, too,” he finally said.

“Why?” I asked him, confused, “I trampled all over your morning.”

“I thought you were distracting me to—er—hurt me, rob me, ambush me...” he trailed off, looking just past me.

I couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up my throat and morphed into a full-bodied laugh, “Honey, please...look at me.”

Aaron’s shocked face slowly cracked, laughing with me finally. His shoulders relaxed a little, not as on edge as he was when I first approached him.

He had a beautiful smile, I was learning.

“What—uh—what day is that wedding?” he finally asked as our laughter settled down.

“Oh, you don’t actually have to go. I can make something up, really,” I waved him off. “I just needed to give her a face to give my claims some validation.”

Aaron shrugged, his arms flailing slightly, “My coworkers tell me I need to get out more, so...”

Oh.

“Well, in that case...” I unlocked my phone and checked the calendar to be absolutely sure lest my mother fry me, “It’s next month. The fifth. You have approximately twenty-five days.”

How was this my life right now?

“My schedule is—well it’s unpredictable, so I’ll let you know?” he cringed a little.

Government agent. Right. No wonder his posture was so good.

“And how were you planning on doing that?” I asked with a smirk.

He froze for a second, brain rebooting, “I was hoping I could get your number, actually,” he laughed shyly, looking down and patting his pockets to locate his phone.

He fumbled with the phone for a second and finally handed it to me. Pursing my lips, I laughed to myself as I typed my name in and put “boyfriend” with a heart in parenthesis before typing my number in. I handed it back to him, seeing the way his face flushed at the name I put in.

“I’m serious, though, if you can’t or don’t want to just let me know. You’re in no way obligated.”

“Yeah, I will,” he nodded, making a move to continue his journey.

We both crossed the street, him breaking back out into a run and me a brisk-ish stroll as I got my music playing again. I caught him looking back a couple of times, making me wonder if he was challenging me to catch up or making sure I didn’t follow him home. A smile pulled across his face as he saw me start to speed up. As we reached the next intersection, I held my hand up in a wave as I turned left while he continued straight and crossed the street.

Aaron POV

Aaron had been understandably wary of the man who approached him that morning. He had a dangerous job and had experienced more than enough trauma for one lifetime.

He was ambushed. Just not like had expected.

All of a sudden, he was talking to a lady and gently touching a man he didn’t know and—

Uh.

Did he just kiss Aaron?

On his chin, but still.

He wasn't sure if he was conscious at that moment, except for the fire burning on his face.

Aaron made it home and to Quantico in a haze. He sat at his desk, staring at the phone in his hand like it might suddenly burst into flames. A phone number, a name, and an invitation. Nothing more. Nothing less.

It had been hours since the incident, and yet, the warmth of a stranger’s lips on his cheek still lingered like an unresolved case in his mind. He wasn’t sure if it was the sheer audacity and absurdity of the encounter or the way he had simply…gone along with it. The sound of the stranger’s voice still echoed—quick, clever, and just a little desperate.

"Babe, say ‘hi’ to my mom."

And Aaron—fucking—Hotchner, a man trained in several facets like terrorism, law, and behavioral analysis, had folded like a damn lawn chair.

Which is why he now found himself in a situation far more dangerous than being ambushed in the middle of a morning run—standing in Penelope Garcia’s office.

Penelope turned in her chair and blinked at him, fingers frozen over her keyboard assessing him.

“Sir,” she said slowly, looking him up and down like he had just walked in wearing a clown wig. He certainly felt like it. “Hi, sir. Hotch. Uh, sir. What… are you doing here? Do we have a case?”

Aaron didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he set a paper down on her desk where he’d written the man’s number and slid it toward her with two fingers. “Can you run this for me?” He cleared his throat. “Unofficially.”

Her eyes flicked from the paper to his face, then back to the paper. Then back to his face.

She gasped, “Oh my God. Is this—” She clapped her hands over her mouth, muffling an excited squeal. “Are you asking for a background on a new lady friend?”

Aaron’s jaw tightened, teeth grinding under the pressure, “Garcia.”

“You are.” Her voice was an octave higher, her whole body vibrating with barely contained glee. “Oh, my stars, this is my favorite day—”

“It's not—” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not like that.”

Garcia wiggled her fingers at him. “Oh, no, no, no, sir, you do not get to walk into my office, ask me to dig into some poor lady's entire life, and then pretend like this isn’t about romance.”

Aaron exhaled sharply.

There was no easy way out of this now.

“He approached me this morning,” he admitted. “Called me his boyfriend—to his mother over the phone—and I…played along. His mother invited me to his cousin’s wedding.”

Garcia gawked at Aaron, completely glossing over the fact that Aaron had implied a man. He shouldn’t be surprised that she didn’t care, “You played along?”

He glanced away, embarrassed, “It was—unexpected.”

She pointed at Aaron accusingly. “You liked it.”

“I did not.”

“You so did.”

“Garcia—”

She cackled, typing the number in furoiusly and bringing up several windows, “Well, now I have to know who this mystery man is. I would have never guessed, boss man, but I can't judge a book by it’s cover. Oh, what if he’s a spy? Or an undercover agent? Or—”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a scam artist,” Aaron muttered.

She hummed, making a tsk with her tongue and teeth, “Doubt it. Cute guys don’t run scams, they just break hearts.”

Hotch gave her a flat look, “That’s how you—”

“Not a word,” she held a finger up. “Give me five minutes.”

And just like that, Garcia’s fingers were flying over the keyboard. The glow of her multiple monitors flashed across her face as she scrolled through the man’s life with the skill of a seasoned technical analyst and the enthusiasm of a gossip columnist.

Aaron crossed his arms, exhaling sharply at her wild glee, “Anything?”

“Oh, my dear sir, I have everything.” Garcia’s eyes widened. “Oh. Oh my God.”

Aaron's posture stiffened, leaning in closer to the screen. Dread filled his stomach at what she could have found, “What?”

“He’s adorable!”

Aaron immediately frowned, he was too old for this shit, “That’s not relevant.”

“Oh, but it is,” Penelope turned one of the monitors slightly so he could see. “Look at this. Your mystery man is a dog dad—and look at this cutie pie of a pup! He posts pictures of her in cute sweaters—sir, he’s a sweater-on-dogs guy.”

Aaron barely glanced at the screen. “And?”

Garcia gasped, “Oh, and? And? That means he has a soft heart, sir. That means he is a man of culture. Also, look at him.”

Hotch did not look at the screen. He refused actually.

Garcia, however, had no such reservations. She clicked on another post. “He hikes! Look at him in the mountains with that perfect lighting—who is taking these pictures, wow? Oh, that’s so unfair. Pretty people should not have good lighting and cute dogs.”

Aaron exhaled through his nose, long and slow. “He sure was struggling to catch up to me today.”

“He strolls, sir. Not everyone runs marathons.”

“Garcia.”

She ignored him, clicking another post, “Ooh, he bakes. He’s posted about trying new recipes. There’s a caption—‘Husband material 😏😉’.” She turned to him, eyes wide with revelation. “This is so fate.”

He finally looked at her, doing his best to look unimpressed but he was slowly softening to the man, too, “Fate?”

She pointed at the screen. “Sir, this man makes baked goods, is absolutely adorable, and randomly fake-dated you? That is the universe working in real-time.”

Aaron pinched the bridge of his nose. Why had she put so much stress on “you”? He was a catch, too.

“Oh, wait, what’s this?” She clicked on another post and let out yet another squeal, “He dressed up as a cowboy for Halloween. Sir, I swear to you—”

“I’m leaving.”

Garcia lunged forward, grabbing his wrist before he could retreat. A playful glare had her releasing him instantly. Still, Garcia looked up at him, eyes twinkling, “He’s precious.”

Aaron sighed, rubbing his temple. “Did you find anything that would suggest he’s dangerous?”

Garcia grinned. “Only to your heart, sir.”

Hotch turned on his heel and left.

Garcia called after him, sing-song, “So, are you going to call him or what?”

Aaron was not going to dignify that with a response. He had just made it to the door when Garcia made more excited yelps and beckoned him back.

“Oh, oh, wait, wait, sir, come back!”

With a sigh, he turned, “Hmm?”

Garcia spun one of the monitors toward him, biting back a grin, “So, uh. You remember when he mentioned a wedding?”

Aaron frowned, “Yes?”

“It’s real,” She clicked on a recent post. It was a screenshot of a text conversation:

Garcia wheezed, “Sir, you are his manifested date.”

Hotch stared at the screen, resisting the urge to chuckle at his ridiculous antics. It was good to know he was actually that awkward online, too.

“…I see. To be fair, he did give me a choice.”

Garcia tilted her head, watching him carefully. “Perfect, you could just text him and say you’re not going. Or—” Her smile turned devious. “You could meet up and—you know—practice before the real thing.”

Aaron gave her a deadpan look.

She beamed.

Without a word, Aaron turned and walked out but sighed, stopping the door from shutting all the way with his hand. He poked his head back in, “Thanks, Penelope.”

MC POV

I honestly, didn’t expect Aaron to text me. It had been about a week since I ran into him. Throughout that time, I hadn’t seen him out and about any other morning. So, I couldn’t tell if he’d been avoiding me, we were completely missing each other, or he was just busy.

I chose to believe he was busy because boy would I not mind seeing him and those perfect hands again.

My thoughts were put at ease when I got a text ten days after I ran into him, smack on a Saturday morning.

I had no idea what to reply as I stared at my phone with a puppy chewing on my sweater sleeves.

“Mochi, no,” I absentmindedly corrected her. “Daddy needs to think.”

While I thought about a response, I saved his contact to my phone under “Aaron (Mom's Fav)”.

I could practically feel his exasperation through the phone. But I did hope he thought I was somewhat funny, too.

My heart felt like it was ready to jump out of my throat as I read his text. Tonight? Like TONIGHT?

“Mochi, come here, baby. I need support,” I dragged the over-excited puppy into my lap and hugged her to my lap with one hand while the other held my phone.

What do I even say to that? Deflecting with humor sounded like a safe bet.

Aaron’s address was sent shortly after and I wasn't surprised to see that it was only a couple blocks north of mine in the direction he ran the day we met. I threw my head back on my couch, giddy to see Aaron again. My brain finally caught up with what that meant. I was going to be alone with the man, with only Mochi as a chaperone and she couldn’t care less about who I embarrassed myself in front of. I had nothing to hide behind, no buffer, no screen, no over-excited mother to parry off of.

Fuck. Why was I like this?

Then I realized I had a lot of work to do and leaped off the couch to make him a study guide. I had pictures of the important people: my parents, siblings, bride and groom, and some assorted aunts and uncles. I wouldn't subject him to memorizing the kids because—let's be honest—they didn't care about the old folks anyway. It wasn’t too long of a list, only about three pages that I printed out to make it easy for him.

Once I had that sorted, I thought about what to bring. Can you go wrong with brownies? Actually...I’m sure you could, but it was the most practiced thing I knew how to make without messing up considering the state of my head.

The time snuck up on me quickly and I frantically took the brownies out of the oven to cool before running to my room to get ready with Mochi hot on my heels. She guarded the shower, attacking my towels and shower mat as I hurriedly washed myself. Doing my best to not trip over her and slip on the slick floor—medical emergencies were not ideal right now—I ran back to my room to towel off and get dressed.

“Ok, little girl, what color are we feeling today?”

I laid out a couple different collars for her, which she hopped excitedly around and chose one to attack. Lilac it was.

“Should we match?” she gave me a beady-eyed stare, focused only on gaining possession of the collar again. “You don’t give two shits.”

I fastened the collar around her neck and tugged a matching sweater over her, taking the time to gush over how adorable she looked.

I surprisingly found a passable first-date shirt that sort of matched her and finished getting ready. In my haste, I nearly forgot the small tray of brownies as I fed Mochi and packed a couple of toys to distract her. Nearly screaming, I covered the tray and put it by the door with the other stuff so I wouldn't forget.

I was a wreck the entire drive to Aaron’s. For no reason, too. As much as I teased him, he was right.

This wasn’t a date. But, he was hot and I was me.

I located his apartment with relative ease and waited nervously outside with an impatient puppy at my side and a glass tray under my arm digging into my ribs. His cheat sheet lay balanced atop the foil. Making a nervous whine in the back of my throat, I finally knocked with my free hand that held Mochi’s leash.

The door swung open, Aaron on the other side with a dish towel over his shoulder in a dark polo. I stared at the skin past the unbuttoned top buttons, completely missing whatever he said to me.

“—need help?” I caught at the end of his sentence.

“Oh, uh, yea sort of,” I winced as I shifted the tray, which he gladly took from me, noticing the paper on top as he ushered me inside and shut the door behind me.

“You can let her off, it’s fine. I closed all the doors already,” he nodded to where Mochi was eagerly wanting to sniff every surface she could reach.

Wow, he’s perfect.

I unclipped her leash, laughing at the way she made a beeline for Aaron’s jeans, nipping at the material before skittering over to his sofa. I tossed the toys I brought with me to the floor, so she would leave his belongings alone.

“This is...a good look on you,” I smiled nervously, taking in the domesticity of his clothes. My bravado over text completely flew out the window.

“Mm, I was married once upon a time,” He smirked, turning back to the stove.

“Was?”

“Yea, we found out I was married to my work more.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Aaron just shrugged, “It was a long time ago.”

I chewed my lip, desperate to change the topic. My eyes landed on the papers I brough with me.

“Oh! I brought this so we could go over my family.”

I picked up the papers and met him near the stove, leaning against the counter where there was free space he wasn't utilizing. He smiled softly in my direction as he cooked, nodding and stirring.

“Go for it,” he nodded.

I was surprised he wanted to start now while he was busy cooking but went ahead anyway. I would show him the picture, tell him their name and relation, and move on. He listened diligently, repeating names and making sure they were pronounced correctly before moving on. His eyes moved over the pictures like they were calculating and cataloging every little detail of their faces. He would lean in for a closer look at the pictures, standing much closer and making me stumble over my words. My face would feel like it was on fire.

Aaron didn’t comment on it.

He was weirdly good at it, remembering faces and recalling details from short-term memory.

I wanted to ask how but didn’t want to intrude more than he was allowing me. My big mouth couldn’t be stopped, though.

“Wh—,” I started, my voice hitching when he moved into my space and grabbed something on the other side of me. His arm wrapped around me, chest scraping mine as he looked at me expectantly to keep talking. “—wh—uhm…hmm,” I raised my eyebrows, scratching the back of my neck awkwardly under his gaze.

He sighed with an amused smile, “You can’t act like this every time I touch you at the wedding, boyfriend.”

I cleared my throat, blinking rapidly, “Act like what?”

Aaron shook his head, adding the item he grabbed and stirring briefly. He gave me a pointed look, “You freeze up and stutter.”

“I do not.”

“You do. You just did.”

Aaron set his large spoon down and crowded my space, “If you’re nervous about being close to me, then you need to get used it.” His hands framed my hips on the counter behind me, “Touch me.”

I nearly choked on my own saliva.

“I—I’m sorry?”

Aaron was unfazed, “If we’re going to sell this, you can’t tense up and shy away every time I stand next to you. So, touch me. Now.”

I stared at him, his brown eyes boring into mine with long lashes framing them.

He’s so pretty.

I raised my hand up and pressed a finger to his chest. His very firm, very nice chest that stretched the fabric of his polo.

“Not like that,” he sighed, taking my wrist and guiding my hand more firmly to his chest.

Oh.

Brain.exe has stopped working.

I swallowed, pressing my palm more confidently against him and looking just past his head. Aaron tilted his head, purposely catching my gaze again. Picking up my free hand, I rested it on his bicep, where his shirt met his skin.

“So—uh,” I tried to think at the same time, gently squeezing the muscle and sliding my hand around to the back of his arm. “You have a really good memory.”

“Mhm.”

“Where do you work?” I finally asked.

“For the DOJ,” he answered automatically.

“Got it, top secret,” I laughed.

He dropped his head sheepishly, “Sorry. It’s kind of an automatic answer for people I just met.”

He lifted his head up, smiling and moving a hand to my lower back. I fought the jump that threatened to move my body and lost, tensing just a little.

“I work for the FBI,” he finished.

“That makes so much more sense,” I laughed, sliding my hand up from his chest to his shoulder.

I licked my lip as his head tilted away from my hand.

An invitation.

Slowly, my hand made its way to his neck. His eyes fluttered shut as my fingers slipped around the back of his neck while my thumb brushed just below his ear.

“Good,” he hummed with his eyes still closed, helping my confidence just enough since I was no longer under his watchful gaze.

“This is so stupid, why am I nervous? I literally kissed your face on a whim in front of my mother.”

Aaron shrugged, “You tell me.”

Frankly, I did know. I was legitimately attracted to him beyond this whole fake dating bullshit.

He still stared, expecting an answer.

“Oh, you want me to say it out loud?”

“Yea.”

“Well, I—”

“Look at me.”

It wasn’t a suggestion.

Looking directly at him, I continued, “I think I’m just actually attracted to you and all of my confidence over text goes out the window when that happens. I don’t have anything to hide behind, you know?”

“Mm,” he hummed. “Would be hard to sell if we didn’t find each other attractive.”

Wait.

We?

Aaron leaned forward.

I held my breath.

His lips touched my cheek, pressing a soft kiss there before straightening up and going back to the food before it burned.

My cheek was on fire.

He found me attractive, too?

Dinner was a little easier, reviewing my family again to make sure things were sticking with him. Mochi had come over at some point to chew on my shoelaces as we talked. Aaron picked her up, having finished his food first, and let her chew on his arm with her little dagger teeth. As soon as I finished, I grabbed his plate and took it to the sink—which he protested.

“You’re babysitting, it’s the least I can do,” I slapped his hand away.

Aaron kept me company instead, leaning against the counter with Mochi in his arms. We diligently went over our backstory, how we met, our first date, etcetera—knowing full well that my mother would ask every single question she could think of. Whether it was meant to be private or public.

Mochi eventually wiggled out of his grasp, running over to one of her toys, snagging it, and doing laps around the couch.

Aaron smiled as he watched her, then turned to take the wet dishes from my hands to dry them. My fingers tingled as his own fingers brushed mine, but I kept my cool and he noticed with a proud nod.

“See? You’re doing better already.”

I roll my eyes, watching him push off the counter to put the dishes away. I turned the water off, busy drying my hands when I felt two hands come to my hips with Aaron’s breath against my shoulder. His body heat was plastered against my back. I was proud of myself for not tensing up, instead waiting for him to do something while I placed my damp hands over his as his hands met at the front of my hips.

“I’m assuming you know how to dance?” He murmured.

“Yes, I know how to dance at a wedding. I know you’re out of practice and all but this is not how you do that,” I laughed.

“Just making sure you wouldn’t jump,” he muttered, his nose brushing the shell of my ear and his lips skimming the back of my neck.

“I’ve calmed down a little, okay?” I rolled my eyes, turning to face him.

I gripped his upper arms, his arms still wrapped around me, and slid them up his shoulders until they could meet around his neck.

“Can I try something?” I asked.

He seemed to already know, eyes half-lidded and already staring at my mouth, “Go ahead."

I leaned in, pressing my lips to his gently, separating only to come back and press a little harder. Aaron’s hips closed the gap between us, arms pulling me close at the same time.

This had to be heaven.

My hand cupped the back of his head, eagerly bringing him down as my lips parted. The tip of his tongue flicked out at my bottom lip, nearly making me whine in the back of my throat. The friction of our pants did not help in that department.

I pulled back; the kiss having been much briefer than it felt. Aaron’s mouth chased mine, barely able to mutter, “Again,” before his tongue was licking my mouth open.

A moan ripped from my throat as his tongue skimmed the hypersensitive skin of the roof of my mouth. The shiver I fought made me grip him tighter and I had a vague thought about how far he was willing to take this as I felt the unmistakable brush of his hardness against mine. I pulled back, letting my hands drop to his chest to create some space.

His lips were swollen, eyes a little dark, but he was otherwise annoyingly calm. I was flustered, the line between real and fake being blurred so intensely in that moment.

“This might be a problem.”

He didn’t have to look down to know exactly what we both felt, “Only if you make it one.”

I shook my head, smacking his arm and squeezing myself out from between him and counter, “You’re insufferable.”

“You kissed me first,” he followed, stopping to grab two brownies out from the covered tray.

He followed me further down the counter, handing me one of the brownies and watching me with a vaguely amused look. I took a bite just to give myself something to do, staring at the floor and murmuring my thanks.

We just made out. We barely know each other. This is insane.

“You’ve been giving me an out this entire time but It looks like you might need one,” he took a slow bite of his own, clearly in no rush. “You’re thinking too hard about this.”

“You just kissed me stupid, give me a second.”

“You still kissed me first.”

“Are you seriously not letting that go?”

“No.”

He was so fucking smug. I hated and loved it at the same time. It made me want to kiss him again. I shoved the last of the brownie in my mouth, finally meeting his eyes and swallowing thickly.

“So, at the wedding, we’re not kissing like that.”

“Obviously, unless you plan on scarring your family,” he exhaled, sounding like a laugh. He crowded my space again, my brain going into overdrive at his heat and smell. “You specified ‘at the wedding’, which I find interesting.”

Aaron’s eyes flicked down to my mouth, leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to my chocolate-flavored lips, then another, and another before pulling back. My eyes were still closed as he spoke, relishing the contrast of his gentle movements versus the intensity of before.

“We act normal. Just like that,” he smiled, grabbing another brownie and bringing it to my mouth.

“You’re way too chill about this,” I scoffed but took it from his hands.

“It’s more fun than I expected,” he shrugged. “Plus...I did mean it.”

I tilted my head questioningly.

“About the attraction. I was cautious of course last week because of my job, but I don’t know. After making sure you weren't a threat…I—” He paused, trying to figure out his next words, “You’re unfortunately magnetic.”

“So, what you’re saying is that my incessant text flirting worked?”

“Only a little,” he joked. “The cowboy outfit was the kicker for me.”

“Oh my God, stop!” I covered my face.

“What I’m saying is,” he laughed, prying my hands away from my face, “if you’re amenable of course—that maybe it doesn't have to be entirely fake.”

I feigned thinking, squinting one eye in thought, “So, this was a first date?”

“I think it was about three dates wrapped in one,” he pursed his lips.

“Well, I don’t put out on the third date, so it might be my time to leave,” I teased.

He just grinned, swooping in and claiming my lips. I decided then that the brownies tasted much better with him. I kissed him as fervently as I needed air to breathe, gasping as his hips ground softly into mine purposely.

It felt so good.

So good that by the fourth time it happened, I had to remove myself from him, “I was—mm—I was serious about the third date thing—as-as eager as I might be.”

Aaron nodded in understanding, chest heaving.

“And if you were serious before, I just-I just want to make sure, you know? If that’s okay?”

“Of course,” he smiled down at me, his reddened lips still so inviting but I needed to go before my resolve crashed and burned.

“I should go before it gets out of hand,” I smiled sadly, “but study up and keep those,” I pointed at the brownies. “Take them to work or something.”

“That’s probably for the best,” he cringed a little as he glanced down at the unruly bulge in his jeans. “You’re definitely not freaking out anymore,” he pointed out smugly.

I made some kind of noise. A flustered scoff? Panicked laugh? A dignified, manly squeak? I didn't know but I did know that if I stayed here any longer, we were either ending up in bed or I was leaving with soiled pants.

“Shut up,” I murmured, a smirk playing at my lips. “Mochi, it’s time to go home!” I called the puppy, leaning over and seeing her curled up on top of an afghan thrown over Aaron’s couch.

I clapped my hands together, her ears perking up as she stretched. Aaron didn't try to stop me as I gathered my belongings, just leaning back against the counter looking completely satisfied with himself. He met me at the door, opening it as I carried the sleepy puppy.

“Drive safe,” he said casually, voice warm and comforting. Before I could walk out completely, his fingers pinched the center of my shirt, guiding me backwards and pressing a gentle kiss to my lips. Then obnoxiously, “See you soon, boyfriend.”

“Good night, sweetheart,” I sassed back, running my shoulder straight into the doorframe on my way out.

Luckily, they had the shirt in his size and it came in a couple days before the wedding.

I rushed up to his apartment door, fully dressed for the wedding with the pink shirt in hand. The wedding wasn't far from here and it was still an hour before we needed to be there. I knocked frantically on the door, met with a still damp Aaron from the shower.

"Oh, I could get used to that sight," I commented appreciatively, looking at his bare chest and taking my sunglasses off.

"Are you sure it wasn't too much?" he asked about the shirt

"Hush, go get ready," I pushed him away by the chest.

He took advantage, tugging my arm to him so I would stumble forward into him. His hands grasped my hips immediately, lips finding mine easily in all the movement.

"Aaron," I murmured trying to get him moving. "You're wet."

"Mhm," he smiled into the kiss. “Just getting some practice in before showtime.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

He finally let me go and took the shirt, shaking it out and nodding as he felt the material between his fingers.

When he came out of the room fully dressed, my jaw was on the floor looking at his form in a fitted navy suit. We were fucking matching.

"You are feeding my mother, I swear," I laughed. "We look like we're about to take engagement photos."

A satisfied smirk stretched over his face at my admiration. He strode forward but stopped short.

"Where's Mochi?" He frowned.

"Oh, she would cause mayhem. My neighbor is watching her."

"You trust your neighbor with her?"

"You're so perfect," I gushed, wanting to squeeze his face. Cute aggression, I swear. "Out the door, please," I waved him toward the front door.

I didn't know how I convinced him to let me drive, but he luckily backed off as soon as I started ranting about his alpha male need to control everything and that he probably took over driving everywhere at work.

"Just be a good little passenger princess," I settled my hand on his thigh as I took off.

"I don't always drive," he muttered under his breath.

"Somehow, I severely doubt that."

The country club was a short drive, allowing us to arrive fifteen minutes early before the actual wedding ceremony was due to start. We entered the country club, following the signs for the wedding outside. The reception would follow indoors. Several signs along the way instructed guests to turn their phones off, which Aaron hesitated to do.

"Just put it on silent or vibrate. They don't want all the aunties' phones in the photographers shots," I touched his wrist, seeing him contemplate. "If you're on call just do vibrate."

"I'm not technically, I just don't want to miss a call if they do. It's a little unpredictable."

"Whatever you do, do it fast," I wound my arm around his as I spotted my mother among my family.

I heard Aaron clear his throat and shove his phone in his pocket, plastering an award winning smile on his face.

“Oh, sweetie, you're here!” My mother ran up to me, nearly stumbling in her heels.

“Woah, careful,” I lunged, holding my hands out to catch her but Aaron was faster, grabbing her hands and stopping her forward momentum.

“Aaron, honey, how sweet are you?” she gushed, holding onto his forearms. “It's so nice to finally meet you.”

Aaron and I were dragged around to my family and he—unsurprisingly—remembered all of the information I had fed him. Throughout the ceremony, Aaron had his arm wrapped around me, hand resting on my lower back. It was strange being here with someone after expecting to be here by myself, but as I leaned my head on his shoulder I was glad it was Aaron I picked off the street. He caught me looking at him, giving me a soft smile and kissing my temple.

The ceremony was blissfully short as the afternoon sun started to heat up. I just about dragged Aaron inside after, eager to not sweat through this light-colored shirt.

The reception started off without a hitch. Aaron offered to drive while I had a few drinks—who was I to decline such an offer—and dancing commenced while we waited for the food.

Aaron begrudgingly danced with my mother—only to slow ones per his request—but he kept his awkwardness at being interrogated hidden well. When it was my turn to dance with my fake boyfriend, I did so happily, not one to complain about being close to Aaron.

Aaron’s hand was warm on my lower back as we swayed to the music. His thumb brushed small, lazy circles along my spine, and I was very much not immune to it.

"You're suspiciously quiet," I teased, tilting my head up to meet his gaze. "Having fun?"

"Something like that," he said, lips twitching in amusement.

"You're thinking about work, aren’t you?"

"No," he replied, then smirked. "I'm thinking about the conversation I just had with your mother."

I groaned, "Oh God. Do I even want to know?"

"Probably not," Aaron said, but the glint of humor in his eyes gave him away.

I gave his shoulder a light, playful shove. "Tell me."

He hummed, swaying us slightly to the left as another couple passed by. unable to resist, he pressed a quick kiss to my lips and continued speaking, "She asked when we were having kids."

I almost tripped over my own feet. My hand tightened on his bicep as I choked out, "She asked you what?"

"When we were having kids," he repeated, perfectly calm.

My mouth opened and closed, my brain short-circuiting. I finally sputtered out a laugh, "Jesus Christ, she didn't even ease into it?"

"Not even a little," he confirmed.

I tipped my head back with a groan, "Okay, well, the real question is—which one of us is gonna carry the baby to term?"

His lips twitched. "Hmm. Probably you."

"Excuse me?" I gave his shoulder a scandalized smack. "Why me?"

"You've got the instincts for it," Aaron said, voice low and teasing.

I blinked. My jaw dropped, "Did you just insinuate that I'm Mochi's mother? Because she knows damn well I'm her daddy."

Aaron’s shoulders shook with restrained laughter, "I'm just saying. You hover. You told me you checked her paws for three days straight when she yelped after stepping on a leaf."

"That’s called responsible pet ownership, Aaron. She’s just a baby."

"Mhm,” His thumb traced another slow circle against my back, and I absolutely did not shiver.

Nope, not at all.

We were both grinning like idiots when my mom passed by again, shooting us a look that said: You’re next.

Aaron leaned closer, voice low in my ear, "She seemed pretty convinced we're soulmates."

"Oh God. We are never gonna live this down."

"Probably not," he agreed.

"You're enjoying this way too much."

"I really am," he murmured, then kissed my temple.

I rested my forehead on his chest, laughing so hard I almost missed his hand tightening just slightly on my waist.

It was inevitable that I would have to run to the bathroom after several alcoholic beverages. I swayed slightly as I washed my hands, grinning at my own reflection. My face was warm, appearance slightly disheveled from dancing with Aaron, and my smile wouldn't go away—not that I wanted it to. I’d spent the better part of the afternoon glued to Aaron’s side while my family peppered him with questions. He’d taken it like a champ, even dancing with some of my aunts before my mother would steal him back, all while keeping his arm casually draped around me like we’d done this a million times.

Honestly, he was too good at this. I was beginning to suspect he actually enjoyed the chaos.

As I stepped back into the reception hall, the music thumped under my feet, mingling with the sound of clinking glasses and laughter. I scanned the crowd for Aaron’s broad shoulders, but before I could find him, my mom’s voice sliced through the noise.

"Who the hell are you, and why are you taking my son’s boyfriend?"

My heart just about stopped, what the fuck?

I turned toward the commotion and froze. Across the room, Aaron stood stiffly near the entrance with a vaguely exasperated expression, one I saw a handful of times on our date. My mother had one hand on her hip, the other gesturing toward a very well-dressed group of strangers attempting to pull Aaron toward the door.

"Ma'am," the oldest of the group spoke to my mother, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "I assure you, we come in peace."

"You're not answering the question," my mom snapped.

Oh, mom.

"He’s my ex," the man blurted out without missing a beat. His voice dropped into something heavier, "And I’ve come to win him back."

The entire room went silent. I swore someone actually gasped.

Aaron’s jaw twitched as his eyes found mine across the room. He looked annoyed, amused, and frustrated all at the same time.

"Your...ex?" my mom repeated, voice pitched with disbelief.

The man sighed, bowing his head like he was carrying the weight of an old, familiar pain.

"Yes. We were once...so much more," He lifted his eyes to the ceiling with a wistful expression, voice trembling just enough to sound authentic. "I gave him my heart, but he belonged to the world. And now, seeing him here..." He placed a hand over his chest. "It's like I’ve been wandering through a desert of loneliness only to find an oasis I no longer deserve."

Someone near me whispered, "That’s so beautiful."

My mom’s jaw slackened. "I...I don’t know what to say."

He continued, "Sometimes, the greatest act of love is letting go." He cast a mournful glance toward Aaron, "Even if it means watching the only man who ever understood me walk away with someone else."

A sniffle echoed from the corner. I glanced over and saw my cousin Vanessa—the bride—dabbing her eyes with a cocktail napkin.

I nearly fell over at the absurdity of it all.

"And these people?" my mom asked, voice cracking slightly as she gestured to the rest of the group.

The youngest man in the group awkwardly rose his hand, "We're, um..."

“We were in an polyamorous relationship—with Aaron,” a dark-haired woman spoke up.

A fit man with a shadow of a beard—damn he was hot, too—hid a laugh behind his hand while hiding his face behind the dark-haired woman.

My mother did not look impressed.

Meanwhile, Aaron stood there like a hostage, shoulders rigid and lips pressed into a thin line. I knew that look—he wore it when I ambushed him on the street—his I am using every ounce of my patience right now face.

I made my way toward the group just as my mom turned back to the older man.

"Listen here, buddy," she snapped, poking him in the chest. "I don’t care how much you still love him. He’s here with my son, and you’re not going to ruin this by dragging him off for some last-ditch romantic gesture."

Rossi gave her a deeply sympathetic look, "I—we just want to beg for another chance, ma'am."

The crowd melted.

Someone whispered, "That’s love."

Another person sobbed openly into their champagne flute.

By the time I reached Aaron's side, the tension had shifted. My mom was still skeptical, but several of my cousins were openly swooning at the spectacle.

I gave the crowd a tense smile as I approached, resting my hand on Aaron's upper arm and leaning in to his ear and whispering, “What the fuck is going on?”

The older man gave me a nod, lowering his voice, "We hate to break up the party, kid, but we need Aaron. Urgent case."

"Right," I said, suddenly more sober. He was needed, I could text him later.

The team ushered Aaron through the door to the sound of faint applause from the wedding guests.

I stood there, shaking my head at what the hell just transpired.

My mother actually wiped her eyes and sighed, "I'm so sorry, honey, I tried to stop them. I didn't realize he had so many partners before you.”

“Mom, those were his coworkers picking him up for an urgent issue.”

"Oh, sweetie," she said, patting my cheek. "You just don’t understand modern relationships.

Later that night I was sprawled over my couch, my mother having driven me home as I had a few more drinks to make up for Aaron’s absence. My guest room was prepared ahead of time, thankfully.

I groaned, loosening my belt lazily, still in my suit. I had gotten Mochi from my neighbor, needing my baby to ease the sing of Aaron’s depsrture. She lay across my lap, belly-up and snoring. My mom sat in my recliner, a glass of wine in hand now that she could decompress from the wedding.

“It was such a beautiful day,” she mused. “Until Aaron didn’t come back after that discussion with his exes,” she grumbled.

“Mom…” I groaned into a pillow. “Mom, they’re not his exes, they’re his team at work. They were messing with you.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, not sounding the slightest bit convinced.

The TV hummed in the background, low enough for us to ignore until I heard a familiar voice break through our conversation.

“…we were able to quickly apprehend the suspect and bring an end to these tragic events."

My mom gasped, leaning forward, "Oh, honey! Isn't that Aaron?"

I sat up so fast Mochi nearly flopped off my lap, and sure enough—there he was on the news, standing in front of a sheriff’s station with a microphone in his face. Same pink shirt. Same navy suit. Same faintly irritated expression.

"I told you he was working," I muttered, running a hand down my face. “All of a sudden you love him again,” I rolled my eyes.

"—ultimately, the case was resolved after it was determined that the suspect was, in fact, the sheriff," Aaron said, voice monotone and precise. "He left his own boot prints at three of the crime scenes and, when confronted, confessed almost immediately."

There was an awkward pause as reporters scribbled notes.

"Wait," one asked, "so it...was just the sheriff the whole time?"

"Yes," Aaron said.

"And he...admitted it right away?"

"Yes," Aaron repeated, slower this time. His jaw twitched in annoyance.

"So," the reporter pressed, "you flew in from Quantico...for that?"

The muscle in Aaron’s jaw jumped again, "Yes."

I barked out a laugh.

The camera zoomed out as Aaron stepped away from the microphones. His team followed closely behind, the blonde agent talking with the older agent animatedly. The last shot before the feed was cut off was Aaron rubbing his temples.

I shook my head and stood, scooping Mochi up under one arm, "I'm going to bed."

"Tell Aaron I said ‘hi’ next time you talk to him!"

"Mm-hmm." I carried Mochi toward my bedroom, but halfway there, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I smiled, tucking my phone away again and held Mochi tighter.

I called back down the hallway, “Aaron says ‘hi’.”

“What a sweetheart. I really do like him, honey,” she called back.

“Yeah, me, too, Mom.”

#criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotchner x reader #hotchner x you #male!reader #Fic: I Bet You Look Good in Pink

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