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yois2aki · 2 days ago

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wc. 4.2k

cw. fluff, smut, worshipping, caleb is head over heels for you, he calls you pipsqueak during it, use of toys, bondage, unprotected sex, edging, fingering, caleb admits to being a perv at some point

the night was quiet, the only sound in the room the soft rustling of the sheets as you shifted closer to caleb. the warmth of his body enveloped you, the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back a soothing rhythm. his arm was draped over your waist, his fingers absentmindedly tracing slow circles against your skin, as if he needed to remind himself that you were real.

“you’re still awake,” he murmured, his voice a low whisper against your ear. it wasn’t a question—he knew you too well, could tell by the way your breathing hadn’t evened out yet.

you hummed in response, shifting so that you could turn and face him. in the dim glow of the moonlight filtering through the window, you could just barely make out the softness in his expression, the way his gaze lingered on you as if you were the most precious thing in the universe.

his fingers brushed against your cheek, featherlight. “you’re so beautiful,” he whispered, his voice full of something tender, something reverent. “do you know that?”

you felt a warmth spread through you at his words, a slow and steady burn that settled deep in your chest. “you always say that,” you murmured, your voice barely above a breath.

“because it’s always true,” caleb countered, his lips quirking into the faintest of smiles before he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “every time i look at you, it’s like i fall in love all over again.”

your breath hitched slightly at his words, at the way his voice dipped lower, softer, meant only for you. he had always been protective, always intense in the way he loved, but moments like these—where his entire world seemed to narrow down to just you—left you feeling weightless.

his hand slid down, tracing the curve of your waist before settling on the small of your back, pulling you even closer. “i love the way you fit against me,” he murmured, his lips ghosting along your temple. “like you were made just for me.”

you shivered, not from the cold, but from the way his voice wrapped around you, warm and intimate. you tucked your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. he smelled like home—like something safe, something constant.

caleb let out a quiet hum of contentment, his hand slipping under the hem of your shirt, fingertips grazing along the bare skin of your spine. “i could stay like this forever,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “just holding you… feeling you against me.”

your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as you pressed closer. “me too.”

he smiled against your hair, his breath warm as he whispered, “i love the way you say that.”

you pulled back slightly to meet his gaze, a teasing glint in your eyes. “say what?”

“me too,” he repeated, his thumb stroking lazy circles against your skin. “like you mean it.” his eyes softened, his expression turning impossibly tender. “like i’m your home, the way you are mine.”

your heart clenched at his words, at the sheer devotion in them. you reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw before guiding him closer, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips. he sighed against you, his grip tightening as if he never wanted to let go.

when you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, his fingers threading through your hair. “i love you,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “more than anything. more than the planes in the sky, more than the air in my lungs.” he let out a quiet, breathless laugh. “god, i love you so much it terrifies me. every time i remember the things i would sacrifice for you, i get scared."

you felt a lump form in your throat at the raw honesty in his voice, the way he bared his soul to you without hesitation. “caleb…”

he shook his head, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “i don’t think you understand what you do to me,” he murmured. “how you make everything feel right, even when the world is a mess. i don’t care where we are, what happens, as long as i have you.”

your fingers tightened around his shirt, your chest aching with how much love you felt for him in that moment. “you have me,” you whispered, your voice unsteady. “always.”

his breath hitched, and for a second, he just held you there, his grip unrelenting, like he was afraid you might slip away if he let go. “you promise?”

you reached up, cupping his face between your hands. “i swear it.”

caleb exhaled, something in him finally settling, and then he was kissing you again—slow and deep, like he wanted to memorize every inch of you. his hands traced your sides, his touch reverent, worshipful.

“i love every part of you,” he whispered against your lips. “the way you smile at me when you think i’m not looking. the way your nose scrunches up when you’re focused. the way you sigh my name when you’re falling asleep.” his voice dropped even lower, barely audible. “the way you let me love you.”

your eyes burned with unshed tears, overwhelmed by the depth of his affection. “caleb…"

he shook his head again, silencing you with another kiss. “you don’t have to say anything,” he murmured. “just let me hold you.”

you nodded, burying yourself against him, and he tightened his arms around you, pressing soft kisses along your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. “i’ll never stop loving you,” he whispered. “never.”

the words settled deep in your heart, filling every space with warmth. and as you lay there, wrapped in caleb’s arms, his voice a constant murmur of love and devotion, you realized that no matter what happened, no matter where life took you, you would always be safe here—in the quiet of the night, in the strength of his embrace, in the love that bound you together.

caleb’s hands moved slowly, reverently, as if he were memorizing every inch of you. his fingers traced the curve of your back, his touch featherlight, sending a shiver down your spine. the warmth of his palm pressed against your skin, grounding you, making you feel like you were the only thing in the world that mattered to him.

“you’re so soft,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple before trailing down to your cheek, then lower, grazing the edge of your jaw. “so perfect.”

your breath hitched as he tilted your chin up, his fingers tracing the line of your throat. his touch wasn’t hurried—it was deliberate, lingering, as if he wanted to savor every second.

you sighed as he pressed his lips to the spot just below your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “caleb…”

he hummed in response, his lips curving into a small smile. “i love the way you say my name,” he whispered, his voice low and thick with emotion. “like it belongs to you.”

his fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, pulling it from your body. “it does,” you murmured, your voice barely above a breath.

his eyes darkened, something tender and intense flickering in them as he gazed at your naked torso. “yeah,” he agreed softly, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. “it does.”

he suddenly made you lay on your back, his position shifting to stay on top of you. hands moving to your waist, his fingers splaying out against your skin as he pulled you even closer, your bodies perfectly aligned. his touch was gentle but firm, like he wanted to hold you there forever.

the kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, as if you had all the time in the world. he tasted like warmth, like safety, like home. every brush of his lips, every soft sigh that escaped between you, felt like a silent promise—one of love, devotion, and unwavering need.

when he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath uneven. his fingers traced slow, lazy patterns along your back, his touch both soothing and electric. “i never want to stop touching you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

you smiled, your fingers threading through his hair, relishing the way he leaned into your touch. “then don’t.”

his breath hitched at your words, and in the next moment, he was kissing down your neck, his hands roaming your sides, holding you like you were something fragile and precious. but there was a hunger in the way he moved, a deep, aching need to be as close to you as possible and claim you as his.

“you have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with emotion. “how much i need you."

you let out a breathless laugh, your heart racing. “then show me.”

a soft, reverent groan escaped him as he pulled you even closer, his lips trailing down your collarbone, pressing slow, lingering kisses to every inch of skin he could reach.

“i plan to,” he whispered, his voice full of love, devotion, and something deeper—something that made your heart stutter and your body melt into his.

the night stretched on, filled with soft whispers, gentle touches, and endless love, as caleb made good on his promise—to hold you, to cherish you, to love you in

"relax, pipsqueak," caleb's deep voice resonated, his sulky tone adding a touch of exotic charm. his breathing sent a shiver down you spine, and you found yourself nodding, eager to surrender to his expertise.

caleb sat up, his long legs brushing against your bare thighs. you felt the warmth of his skin, and a rush of excitement coursed through your veins. his strong hands rested on your knees, and he gently caressed your skin, his touch sending sparks of pleasure up your legs. "tell me, do you trust me?" he asked, his eyes holding yours in a captivating gaze.

"yes," you whispered, your voice hoarse with desire. "i trust you, caleb."

a slight smile played on caleb's lips, and you swore you could see the way his gaze changed. he leaned closer, his breath tickling your ear. "good. i'm going to make you feel like the luckiest woman alive, baby." with that, he stood up, his movements graceful yet commanding. he reached for the bedside lamp and turned it on, noticing the way you cringed at the sensitivity in your eyes.

you could just make out caleb's silhouette as he moved towards the dresser. he opened a drawer and retrieved a small black bag, the contents of which clinked softly as he placed it on the bed.

"you'll let me use this to make you feel good, right?" he questioned, his voice a soothing murmur in the darkness. "first, i want you to relax and let go of any inhibitions." he guided you to lie back on the pillows, his hands gently urging you into a comfortable position.

obeying his instructions, you allowed you body to melt into the soft mattress. caleb's lips traced your collarbone once again, sending shivers down your neck. his touch was firm yet gentle, and you felt yourself surrendering to his will. "breathe deeply," he instructed, his warm breath caressing your cheek. "in and out, just like that..."

caleb's hands moved down your body, his fingers, stopping just where he stared at. he felt his entire body warm, and immediately pulled his shirt off to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling, revealing his muscular build.

his hands moved to your breasts, and his touch sent a jolt of pleasure through you. his fingers teased your nipples, rolling and pinching them gently, causing you to arch your back and let out a soft moan.

"that's it— fuck..., you sound so good," caleb whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "let the pleasure consume you." with that, he moved his hands lower, his fingers deftly grabbing the hem of your shorts and sliding down. you lifted your hips to aid his efforts, eager for his touch.

the cool air caressed your bare skin as caleb slowly slid your underwear down your legs, his hands brushing against your inner thighs. his breathing hitched. he'd seen you naked like this many times before, but every time it happens he genuinely thinks he's fainting. "my beautiful princess..."

you felt your wetness, a testament to your growing desire. caleb's fingers trailed along your sensitive skin, making you squirm with anticipation.

"you're so responsive," he murmured, his voice filled with approval. "i can see you're ready for more." he positioned himself between your legs, his knees pressing against your outer thighs. you felt the heat of his body, and your core throbbed with need.

caleb's hands explored you intimately, his fingers stroking your wetness, spreading your essence along your folds. "you're so wet, so ready," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "are you that desperate for me? want me to show you all my love?" he teased your clit with his thumb, applying just enough pressure to send waves of pleasure through your body.

as he continued to stimulate you, your breath became shallow, your moans filling the room. caleb's fingers worked their magic, bringing you closer to the edge of ecstasy. just as you were about to climax, he withdrew his touch, leaving you teetering on the precipice of pleasure.

"not yet, beautiful. i'm sorry," he whispered, his breath hot against your neck. "i'm going to draw this out, make it last." he reached into his bag and retrieved a small, sleek vibrator. "this will help us... is that okay, princess?"

as soon as you nodded, caleb positioned the vibrator against your clit, and as he turned it on, a low hum filled the room. the vibrations sent shocks of pleasure through your body, and you gasped, your hips bucking involuntarily. caleb cursed as he held the toy firmly, controlling the intensity, ensuring you didn't find release too soon.

"she likes that, doesn't she?" he asked, talking about your squelching pussy, his voice a low growl. "everything about her... it's so perfect. she's so desperate like this. my girls." he adjusted the vibrator, moving it lower, pressing it against your entrance. slowly, he eased it inside you, filling you with a delightful sensation.

the vibrator pulsed within your insides, and caleb's fingers worked in tandem, massaging your clit as the toy stimulated you from within. your body trembled, and your moans grew louder, echoing off the bedroom walls. caleb's control was slipping, and his hand seemed to start shaking exactly when he was to push you to the brink without letting you fall.

"please... let me come," you whimpered, looking up at him with pleading eyes, your voice hoarse and desperate.

"pipsqueak, fuck... don't do that," he whispered, his own need aching between his legs as he sucked in a heavy breath against your ear. "i want you to beg for it. show me how much you want it."

caleb's words sent a surge of desire through you, and you arched you back, pleading for release. he increased the intensity of the vibrator, and your body shook with the effort of holding back your awaited orgasm. "please, caleb, please let me..."

"keep going, my love," he insisted, his voice firm yet laced with desire. "you're doing so great, pretty girl..."

"please, caleb, i beg you..." you whispered, your voice raw with need.

caleb's control seemed to falter at the sound of his name on your lips. still, he withdrew the vibrator, and you whimpered in protest. but he wasn't done yet. he reached into his bag once more, this time retrieving a pair of soft silk restraints.

"trust me," he whispered, securing your wrists gently to the bedposts. "i need to see you tied up for me, pipsqueak."

caleb's eyes gleamed with a mixture of protection and desire as he stood over you, his body a powerful presence in the dim light. he resumed his position between your legs, his fingers replacing the vibrator, stroking your wetness, and bringing you back to the brink of ecstasy.

"now, my love, let go," he commanded, his voice a deep, commanding rumble. "let her pleasure consume you."

his words were like a spell, and as he worked his magic, your body exploded in a cascade of sensations. you cried out, the orgasm ripping through you, wave after wave of pleasure washing over your cunt. caleb's fingers continued their relentless assault, drawing out your climax, making it last, ensuring you experienced every exquisite moment.

as your body trembled and your cries filled the room, caleb leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a passionate kiss. he then tasted her release, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of her orgasm. you clung to him, your wrists straining against the restraints, as your body continued to convulse in aftershocks.

finally, as your orgasm subsided, caleb released your wrists, his hands moving to caress your face. "my baby, my love," he whispered, his eyes sparkling with a promise of more. "you did so good for me, my angel. you deserve a reward."

and you, breathless and sated, could only nod, your body still buzzing with the intensity of the experience.

he captured your lips in another searing kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim you completely. caleb’s hands continued their exploration, sliding lower and lower until he cupped your ass, squeezing the firm flesh roughly.

breaking the kiss, caleb spun you around and forced your head down into the pillows, pushing your ass up by grabbing your waist. “i've wanted to do this since the moment i came back home,” he rasped, running a hand over the smooth expanse of your backside. “got a boner just from staring at your back while you baked like a damn teenager."

you whimpered, your body aching with need. “please, caleb. i need you.”

caleb pulled down his sweatpants and stroked his hard, throbbing cock through the fabric of his undergarments.

"remember when i told you i went showering?" he sighed, throwing his head back as he got rid of his last piece of clothing. he made eye contact with you through his entire speech, as if confessing his sins. "lied through my teeth. had to bust one out real quick, otherwise i'd just take you there. insane."

"that's how much i love you, baby," he rubbed the tip against your slick entrance, teasing her mercilessly. “so beg for me, pips. beg me to fuck you. again.”

“please, caleb,” you pleaded, your voice breathy with desire. “fuck me. make me yours.”

with a growl of satisfaction, caleb opened the bag to remove the largest sized condom he could find. tearing it open with his teeth, he slid it down his shaft, something in his gaze changing.

he leaned forward and slammed into you, burying himself deep inside your tight heat. you cried out, walls contracting around him as he began to move, setting a hard, fast pace. the bed creaked beneath you, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room.

“fuck, love,” caleb groaned, his fingers digging into the sheets as he pounded into your pussy. “you feel so fucking good. so tight and wet and perfect.”

you could only moan in response, lost in the overwhelming pleasure of caleb's cock filling you, stretching you, claiming her. you arched your back against the bed, meeting his thrusts with your own, desperate for more, for everything he could give you.

caleb's long fingers went to rub your clit, his touch circling the sensitive nub in time with his thrusts. “come for me, pipsqueak,” he commanded, his voice rough with desire. “come all over my cock.”

your body tightened, another orgasm building with each thrust, each touch “yes, caleb,” you gasped, your head falling backwards as you teetered on the edge. “i'm going to come. i'm going to come so hard.”

“fuck, yes,” caleb growled, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release. “come for me, baby. now.”

with a scream of ecstasy, you came, your body convulsing around caleb's cock as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. caleb followed you over the edge, his cock pulsing inside your hole as he spilled his hot seed.

you collapsed onto the bed, caleb's body covering yours as you both struggled to catch your breath. after a moment, caleb pulled out, his cock slipping free of your still-quivering pussy. he slowly lowered your thighs, massaging any area of your body that had been under too much pressure and kissing you deeply.

“that was incredible,” he murmured against your lips. “i love you, baby. love you so much.”

you smiled, eyes shining with satisfaction. “i had no idea you were such a passionate man.”

caleb chuckled, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone. “i try my best to keep my emotions away, but with you, i find that impossible. you bring out a side of me i never knew existed.”

you reached up to touch his face, your fingers tracing the strong lines of his jaw. “i like this side of you, love. the side that’s not afraid to take what he wants, to claim what’s his.”

caleb's eyes darkened with desire, his cock already hardening again at your words. “is that so? and what if i told you i want to claim you again, right here, right now?”

your breath hitched, body already responding to his words, to the promise in his eyes. “then i would say that i'm yours, caleb. yours to take, yours to claim, yours to fuck until neither of us can move.”

caleb growled as he took off the previous condom, tying it before throwing it somewhere. his hands sliding down to grip your ass as he lifted your hips to meet his. “my good girl,” he rasped, spreading your thighs wide.

“because i'm going to fuck you again, and again, and again, until you’re screaming my name and begging me to stop.”

you moaned, your head falling back as caleb's fingers found your clit, stroking the sensitive nub with expert precision

“yes, caleb,” you gasped, your hips bucking against his hand. “fuck me. make me yours again and again.”

caleb didn’t need to be told twice. he positioned himself at your entrance, his cock throbbing with need. he didn't care about a condom this time, and straight up slammed into her, filling you completely. you cried out, walls tightening around him as he began to move, setting a punishing pace that had the bed shaking beneath them.

“fuck,” caleb groaned, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. “you're so fucking tight. so perfect. i could fuck you forever.”

“then do it,” you panted, nails digging into the pillows as you urged him on. “fuck me forever, love. make me yours for eternity.”

caleb growled, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, deeper. he could feel his orgasm building, his balls tightening as he neared the edge. “i'm going to come, baby,” he warned, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. “i'm going to fill you up, mark you as mine.”

“please, caleb,” you begged, body trembling beneath him. “come inside me. give me everything you have.”

with a roar of pleasure, caleb came, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself inside her. you followed him over the edge, your body convulsing around him as you milked him for every last drop.

your collapsed together on the bed again, caleb's body covering yours as you both struggled to catch their breath. after a moment, caleb lifted his head, his eyes filled with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat.

“that was incredible,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “you're incredible.”

you smiled, hand coming up to cup his cheek. “i could say the same about you, caleb. i never knew sex could be so intense, so all-consuming.”

caleb chuckled, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, sweet kiss. “it's not just the sex, pipsqueak. it's you. you bring out something in me that i never knew existed. something i never knew i needed.”

your heart swelled with emotion, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “i feel the same way, caleb. i never thought i could feel this way about anyone, but with you, it’s different. it’s special.”

caleb's eyes softened, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down her cheek. “you're so beautiful, you're so mine. and this is real. you're real. and i'm not going to let you go.”

your heart soared, a laugh bubbling up from your throat. “i don’t want you to let me go, caleb. i want to be with you, always. no matter what happens, no matter where life takes us.”

caleb smiled, his eyes shining with love and happiness. “i love you, baby. love you so damn much.”

you kissed him then, pouring all of your love, all of your devotion into the kiss. caleb responded in kind, his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you close, your bodies fitting together perfectly.

you stayed like that for a long moment, lost in each other, in the love and passion that had blossomed between you.

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luvyeni · 2 days ago

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han has a new obsession… well two new obsessions

𝓲𝓲 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒𓈒 ( 한 x fem!reader ) ─── ❛ genre ⸝⸝ smut. content warning. oral ( m ), unprotected sex, reverse cowgirl word count. 0.7k 「 req? ⦂ yes/no 」 library !

𝕼 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒 yeni’s note .ᐟ crazy , he has two actual tattoos and i haven’t seen one fic yet about it .. we loosing recipes guys 💔

jisung didn’t believe that ‘once you get a tattoo you won’t be able to stop getting them’ at first … then he got his first one and he was proven wrong.

“i can’t go out to eat tonight.” the boy said; “i have an appointment.” he picked up his bag, grabbing his phone off the practice room couch. “where?” lee know asked the boy. “to-to get another tattoo.” he shyly scratched the back of his neck. “another one?” changbin said. “the staff is gonna have a hard time if you keep getting them.”

“last one i promise.” he said; but he knew he was lying. ”so what you getting done this time?” hyunjin asked. “um i wanted to get butterfly wings.” he said. “right here.” he pointed to his rib cage. “what’s with the sudden interest in butterflies?” minho asked. “you gotta secret girlfriend who loves butterflies or some shit.” he’s glad his beanie covered his ears , because that would be a dead giveaway. he chuckled nervously. “no of course not.” and he wasn’t lying , he didn’t have a girlfriend; but he did have a new obsession with butterfly wings…

“oh fuck.” he laid back against the seat; his fresh tattoo sitting right below of his already tatted peck — a fresh pair of butterfly wings covered in wrap. his head was thrown back against the seat as you bobbed your head up and down on his cock. “th-that feels so fucking good.” you smirked around his length , hollowing your lips , he grip your tattooing chair until his fingers turned white. “i-i missed your mouth.”

he bucked his hips up; you gagged on his length , your heat needy for his cock. “fuck im gonna cum!” he moaned loudly; another reason you always booked him for later appointments. “fuck!” he hissed, shooting ropes of cum down your throat , you pulled away coughing as you swallowed his sweet load. “you liked that?” he nodded as you stroked his cock. “good , cause we’re not done.”

you stood up; lifting your shirt over your head , along with your bra; revealing the huge pair of butterfly wings on your back. “you want me to ride you again?” he moaned at the mention of you bouncing on his cock like you did the last time. “pl-please.”

you grabbed the base of his cock; lowering yourself down on him. “mmmmh fuck.” you moaned, your back was facing him , your tattoo fully on display much to jisungs liking. he loved your tattoo ; the beautiful shading of blue , he remembered being mesmerized the first time you both had sex in this same chair. “fuck i love your cunt so much!” he held your waist. “so-so big sung , love the way you feel.”

bouncing you up and down on your length. “fuck sung im gonna cum.” you moaned out. “me too.” his hand coming your clit rubbing your clit. “oh shit im cumming.” you shouted , cumming; sitting down on him fully , letting his fuck up into you. “shit shit shit , im cumming.” he groaned , he pulled out of you , just as he came , stroking his cock out as ropes of cum shot on your back , some getting on you tattoo.

he slumped in the chair as you stood up to clean yourself. “can you help?” you handed him a wipe. “of-of course.” he said , wiping off your back. “so is there a specific reason you wanted butterfly wings?” you smirked. “or did you get them just because they’re pretty?”

of course you knew the answer; that’s why he was currently sitting in your chair , wiping his cum off of your back. “be-because they’re pretty.” you hummed. “they are, aren't they?” he watched you put your clothes back. “ye-yeah.”

he cleaned himself; putting himself away. “i-i guess it’s time to pay.” he said. “yeah.” you smiled , your tattooed arm reached out taking the money from the boy. “i guess i’ll see you soon.” you questioned. “well…” he trailed off; of course he wanted to see you again, but he also promised he wouldn’t get another. “how about this , give me your number and when you’re ready for another call me?” you smirked.

“or if you want to see my butterfly wings it doesn’t matter to me.”

©️LUVYENI

#stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #skz smut #stray kids hard hours #skz hard hours #stray kids hard thoughts #kpop x reader #kpop smut #skz hard thoughts #skz fics #stray kids fic #skz drabbles #stray kids drabbles #han jisung hard hours #han jisung drabbles #han jisung smut #han jisung scenarios #han jisung x reader #han jisung imagines

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sunseed-fandump · 1 day ago

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OH BOY TIME FOR ANOTHER TAROT ANALYSIS!!!!

Here's Shadow Milk Cookie's REAL cards before they were changed! Despite not having the numbers, the imagery is consistent enough and makes it easy to know which card is which!

First up we have XV - The Devil, in the upright position.

In summary, The Devil represents oppression, addiction, obsession, dependency, excess, powerlessness, and limitations.

"Getting the devil card in your reading shows that you have feelings of entrapment, emptiness and lack of fulfillment in your life. It might also mean that you are a slave to materialism and opulence and no matter how hard you try, you just can’t seem to shake off the feeling of wanting to indulge in luxurious living. You might be aware that this kind of lifestyle is leading you down the rabbit hole, but you have that feeling of not having any form of control over your actions or urges."

Second we have XIII - Death, also upright.

This card represents transformation, endings, change, transition, letting go, and release.

"Death is one of the most feared cards in a Tarot Deck, and it is very misunderstood. Many people avoid mentioning this card because it has that much power. Most times, people take the name of the card literally. However, the real meaning within the Death card is one of the most positive in the whole deck.

The Death card signals that one major phase in your life is ending, and a new one is going to start. You just need to close one door, so the new one will open. The past needs to be placed behind you, so you can focus your energy on what is ahead of you."

Lastly, we have XX - Judgement.

In the upright position it represents self-evaluation, awakening, renewal, purpose, reflection, and reckoning.

"The traditional Judgement meaning focuses on the moment when we reflect and evaluate ourselves and our actions. It is through self-reflection that we can have a clearer and objective understanding about where we are now, and what we need to do in order to grow as humans. The Judgement card appearing in a reading signifies that you are coming close to this significant point in your life where you must start to evaluate yourself.

To see this card can also indicate that you are in a period of awakening, brought on by the act of self-reflection. You now have a clearer idea of what you need to change and how you need to be true yourself and your needs. This can mean making small changes to your daily life or making huge changes that not only affect you but the people close to you."

When applied to Shadow Milk Cookie, an interpretation of these cards are hinting at a great event or change that will force him to reevaluate either himself or a decision he's made. Leading to some sort of renewal or reckoning. Now is this his actual fate? Is it hinting at a possible redemption or is he going to get hit with the karma stick in a future update leading to his demise? I'm not sure! It could swing either way.

But what about the altered cards? What was the fate Shadow Milk Cookie wanted?

Our first card in this reading is X - The Wheel of Fortune.

Upright, it means change, cycles, fate, decisive moments, luck, fortune, and unexpected events.

"The Wheel of Fortune turns evermore, seemingly to communicate that life is made up of both good and bad times, and that the cycle is one that we cannot control. It is something that is subjected to both kings and workers, and that nobody on earth can avoid what is fated. When you have good moments in your life, make sure that you enjoy to the fullest, for what comes up must always go down. The same is true in reverse - when you are in a bad situation, things will eventually become better again."

Next we have Black Sapphire Cookie as IV - The Emperor.

This card represents stability, structure, protection, authority, control, practicality, focus, and discipline.

"It’s all about control when it comes to the Emperor, for this card means authority, regulation, organization and a fatherliness. The Emperor represents a strategic thinker who sets out plans that he must see through. He is a symbol of the masculine principle - the paternal figure in life that gives structure, creates rules and systems, and imparts knowledge. Where the Empress's desire for their kingdom is to create happiness, the emperor desires to foster honor and discipline. He guides with a firm hand, following the calling of the crown above all else. Though he is a ruler, he understands that to reign is also to serve - thus he acts rationally and according to what is for the greater good of the kingdom."

Lastly we have Candy Apple Cookie, one might mistake her card for the Empress, but don't be fooled! Due to the distinct symbolism of the black and white pillars behind her, I firmly believe that she's actually II - The High Priestess!

This card represents unconscious, intuition, mystery, spirituality, higher power, and an inner voice.

"The meaning of the High Priestess is related with inner knowledge. Her appearance in a reading can signify that it is time for you to listen to your intuition rather than prioritizing your intellect and conscious mind...

The card itself shows a night-time scene, meaning that the world in which she protects and guards is one that may at first seem frightening, but has the potential to lead us into the growth of the self. When she appears in a reading, she is calling to you to listen to her message, and follow her into your own depths. There is searching within yourself to be done for the answers that you seek. The answers to the questions you have are within, not without."

What do these cards mean when put together?

An ever shifting troubled fate leading to the establishment of a ruler or mentor figure followed by listening to this mentor's message and guidance towards a new outlook/enlightenment.

I think, with this reading, Shadow Milk Cookie is sort of hint-hint nudge-nudging at PV again. Basically more of his "join me and i'll lead you to a better world. i'm destined to guide you." sorta gaslighting BS.

Sorry for the long post. All and all, these are both very interesting readings!

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #shadow milk cookie #black sapphire cookie #candy apple cookie #ep 8 #ep 8 spoilers #crk spoilers #spoilers #cr spoilers

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hellfire--cult · 22 hours ago

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+18 thoughts of husband!steve x pregnant!reader because--

You thought that becoming pregnant, your belly swelling and becoming bigger would not be appealing to Steve anymore. You understood it, even if you wanted to, you would respect it.

You couldn't be more wrong.

It happened one day. One random day.

It was a saturday, you asked for an early maternity leave from work, knowing that the temperature was not going to be your best friend in this pregnancy. You were not even doubting it anymore, not caring for the stretch marks that could be seen. You were getting into the fucking pool. So you threw on your new bikini, because your breasts are almost double the size now, and then you had to sit down in order to pull the bottom part on you. And Steve--

He was out in the garden, under the summer heat and the sun kissing his skin just right. He was shirtless, helping you tend your flowers, knowing you cannot bend down as easily as before, and your back screams at you if you do so. You smiled as you looked at him through the kitchen window, preparing some lemonade for him. He had already cleaned the pool, and you knew that Steve loves summer and doesn’t mind it, but it was still hot out there.

You walked out, tray in hand, the sun hitting your skin as you stepped down the little stairs and your feet hit the grass below your feet. You hummed in relief, feeling the fresh cut grass, and the freshness from also being watered. You walked towards Steve, his back still turned to you, and you could already see the color of a tan on his skin. You made sure your husband was covered in sunscreen before heading out, and you were glad you did.

“Hey, I have some lemonade.” Your voice snapped him out from his intense work, smiling as he got up, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He turned around, and you didn’t see how his eyes were scanning you all over, the sunglasses covering any evidence of it. His chest hairs were all damp in his sweat, and your hormones were screaming at you to have him, but you didn’t want to overstep with him that way.

It’s been two months since the last time you two had sex. You assumed it was because of your belly suddenly blowing up out of nowhere. You were bigger, and your baby moved inside your belly a lot. Right now, he was asleep, so you could happily get into the cold water for some relief.

Steve reached one glass of lemonade, full of ice and little leaves of mint. You saw how he gulped the glass in one single gulp, surprising you. You moved towards the small garden table, putting the tray down. Your hands found the bottle of sunscreen that he left there, and you wanted to make sure your belly was fully covered, so you squirted a bit at the top of it and passed your hands all over.

You didn’t notice how Steve was looking at you. How your movements were making him lose his self control bit by bit. He held back the past two months, knowing the stretching of skin was not that comfortable, and the baby was being very active on you. He heard your complaints, your little whines of pain at night when the baby didn’t let you sleep.

But fuck, you didn’t know what you did to Steve.

He knew he had a breeding kink. That is the exact reason you two were in this situation right now. When you gave him the go to start trying, he went feral. Every day or every two days, he was on you. He wanted a baby with you, yes or yes. He wanted to see you round with his baby, making you a proud mama with his own child.

And you looked marvelous. Right now, with that bikini on you, your breasts, your belly, your entire body was just making him strain in his own swim shorts. He watched you slowly get inside the pool by the steps, your body contorting a little at the feel of the cold water on your skin, and the moment he heard you moan from relief was the point of no return from him.

He dropped the garden gloves to the floor, threw the sunglasses on the table, long strides heading your way to the pool. You smiled up at him as your hands held your belly from underneath, feeling relief that the water was helping you not feel the weight of your belly. He professionally dove in, his arms up and jumping in with a forward position. You giggled as you stood a little closer to the less shallow part of the pool, your shoulders just coming out of the surface.

You saw him finally coming up, shaking his head and wiping his face as he immediately started swimming your way. He stood in front of you, a smile on his face as he looked down at you.

“You came in to freshen up?” He asked and you nodded, his hands coming to rest on your waist, rubbing your skin softly.

“Yeah, it’s pretty hot today and well, I feel it ten times more than normal.” His eyes found purchase on your breasts for a second and then back up to your eyes.

“Mhm, it is pretty hot… you know what else is hot?” You tilted your head slightly, his face coming to your neck, his lips kissing your skin softly, tasting a bit of chlorine from the water. “You look so good in this bikini…”

You were surprised to hear that, your eyes widening slightly at the change of events. You didn’t think Steve would even try to make a move on you, at least not until you got your baby out of you. Your body lit up in flames once more, and the cold water was not taming them down at all. His lips kept kissing your skin, going down to your shoulder.

In just two seconds, your arms were straightened over the edge of the pool, the lower part of your bikini pushed aside, as your husband railed into you, the water splashing behind your back and your sides. You were trying to hold your moans in, lips into your mouth as your head was thrown back. Pregnancy has made you more sensitive. Nipples, clit, your insides, just everywhere. Even your skin felt more sensitive.

He was groaning as he looked all over your body, and fuck it was doing it for him. It was doing so many things to him. You looked so beautiful as he moved in and out of you, the water not being his best friend right now. He wanted to go faster but obviously, it was not possible. He cursed at himself for not being able to hold himself back for a few more minutes and get out of the pool to have you on the grass at least.

You were whining, feeling the drag of his cock inside of you, the incoming climax warning you it was going to be a strong one. It’s been a while since you last had an orgasm, and this was going to kill you.

“I can feel you baby, cum on me. Come on…” His lips found your neck again, kissing your pulse point, biting on it, sucking on it. The intense attention you were receiving also helped to have your senses heightened. Your walls fluttered around him, and your belly was tightening, which you didn’t think you would feel. Your body trembled underneath the water, and he wanted to rip that top off of you, but it was enough he was risking the neighbors seeing the two of you fucking in the pool.

Your eyes clenched tightly as you started seeing stars behind your eyelids, your legs gripping him tightly around his waist, your walls clenching completely around him, making him choke out a moan. He had also been pent up. Unlike you, Steve could jerk off, being able to reach, but if you couldn’t touch yourself, he wasn’t going to do it to himself either.

Moans escaped you, trying to keep your mouth shut but failing as a little whimper came out, riding your orgasm out on him. His breaths grew frantic as he felt as if he was going to explode and then, he finally came inside of you. His hips jerked into you at each spurt he delivered in you.

You two ended up breathing heavily and his lips found yours, desperately as he sat inside of you. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, kissing him back as you felt him twitch once again.

After that, Steve fucked you whenever he could and whenever you felt comfortable to do so.

Which was whenever as well.

He fucked you into the bed, in the couch, in the shower, in the kitchen. Just everywhere. You were in cloud nine, your libido and his matching perfectly despite the predicament of your belly. It was a little tricky sometimes to get comfortable, but Steve made sure you did. He made sure you were the one enjoying this the most. Not that he didn’t, but he cared for you more than he did for himself.

There were times that he was spent, but you were still horny. He would go down on you there, fuck you with his fingers, with his tongue, even with his thigh so you would cum for a second time, even a third. He was there to please you, and he got off of it.

“You look so fucking good like this.” His voice was in your ear as you two laid on your sides, one hand pulling your left leg up as he railed into you from behind, spooning you. “Such a good mom already…”

His dirty talk got heavier, surprising you, but you didn’t mind it. You actually felt pleasure from his words, which were encouraging even if dirty. You would whisper soft ‘thank yous’ and you would call his name if he said something that really got you going.

You learnt that when wearing a dress, you should not be wearing any underwear. The moment Steve walks through the door and sees you in the kitchen, either washing dishes or cooking, he was on you. Pulling that summer dress up your hips as he got on his knees. All fours was a position that hurt you, but it didn’t if he ate you out.

Another position you found yourself comfortable in, which surprised you, was being on top. Just for a little while. Your feet planted on the bed, crouching on him as you bounced up and down, your thighs helping your belly to not bounce on you. He was in awe each time you were on top, moaning your name like crazy, his eyes scanning your entire body as if you were the embodiment of Venus herself.

“Steve, baby–” You felt so good, today you were clenching more than usual, fluttering all over him, and you were so wet that it dripped down onto his pubes.

“So fucking good. You were destined to become a mom… fuck, and with my children–” He moaned at a particular drag you did, his hands grabbing yours, fingers intertwined as you used him for leverage. He felt you clench around him at his words, making him smirk, “Oh, you like that?”

“Uh huh–” You moaned out, feeling your orgasm approaching more than ever and he started moving his hips, thrusting up into you, making you gasp in pleasure.

“Such a good wife… You’re gonna be such a good mommy, aren’t you honey?” His words always are the little flame that made the fireworks in you explode, clenching around him like a vice, a loud moan escaping you as you trembled on top of him. He groaned loudly, his own orgasm crashing on him, your name tumbling out of his lips. “Fuck yes–”

Needless to say, your baby arrived much earlier than it was due.

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#it came to me in a vision #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #pregnant!reader #husband!steve x pregnant!reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington hc #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut

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sillywizardinthewoods · 2 days ago

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I am the token straight man, I know what he thinks this means. I suck at this sort of thing, which I think makes me a subject matter expert because this guy also clearly sucks at this sort of thing.

Disclaimer: I know the correct thing to do when seeing a young woman alone at a restaurant is to ‘mind my own gosh darn business’, not that my social anxiety would let me try this anyway. I also know that what he refers to as ‘traps’ are in fact reasonable reactions to creeps. A good rule of thumb is that pickup artists are wrong about everything and any video evidence to the contrary is staged.

Crucially, there’s a picture of a woman attached to the original tweet he’s responding to that has been cropped out. I reckon this makes a bit more sense if we could see the picture, but I’m making some inferences based on what he wrote.

Complimenting her manicure is a very safe compliment in that it’s hard to take the wrong way or be offended over, and asking about the cross earrings is just a setup for the religious pickup line, and a possible conversation starter if this guy is anti-smalltalk. Saying he used to believe in angels but the devil is a fallen angel is him saying he’s just gotten out of a rough relationship (his ex being the angel who fell and caused him to stop believing). This very specific fantasy woman wearing cross earrings with a perfect manicure is also drinking apple juice*. Asking if angels drink apple juice is therefore a way to imply he’s hoping she could be the angel who restores his faith, but is prepared to accept no for an answer.

*Possibly beer or cider, I don’t have the image but I’m making an educated guess. It’s more likely beer or cider (can’t speak for everyone but if I’m in a restaurant and have the choice between cider or apple juice, I’m picking cider every time), but I’m guessing our wannabe Casanova has Opinions on what is appropriate for women to drink, saw a yellowish liquid in a glass, and made an assumption.

The two traps are an attempt at a compliment that makes someone uncomfortable and comes across as a catcall, which he avoids by complimenting her manicure, and by coming on too strong by insisting that she is an angel, which he avoids by instead asking her if she’s an angel.

I’m going to finish my critique by pointing out that while this whole opener is a red flag, if I’m right about this then he actually mentioned his toxic ex girlfriend in the second sentence he spoke to this poor imaginary woman, which is honestly a worse red flag IMO. Rookie mistake tbh.

This has got to be the most incomprehensible thing I’ve ever read this is a reply to a dumbass pick up artist twitter thread but it sounds like a riddle that you’d be given 3 chances to solve before getting thrown in the gallows

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diamonddaze01 · 3 days ago

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Fake it Til You Make it

pairing: boo seungkwan x f!reader | wc: 18K genre: coworkers au, fake dating au, fluff, humor, suggestive, angst warnings: language, alcohol consumption, suggestive scenes a/n: for cam&em’s lonely hearts cafe collab (everyone go read every fic or i will Find You) // this is a continuation of morning rush enormous thank you to @ylangelegy and @haologram for beta-ing this <3333

summary: You could honestly throttle Seokmin right now. Of all the half-baked, caffeine-fueled ideas he’s ever had, convincing the entire office that you and Seungkwan—your sworn nemesis and parking spot thief—are madly in love might just take the cake.

Seokmin has a plan. A really, really, really good plan. He’s sure of it.

Mostly.

He leans against the breakroom counter, nursing the world’s saddest cup of instant coffee, and considers the potential fallout. Sure, you and Seungkwan will probably strangle him (or, in your case, make an entire PowerPoint on “Why Lee Seokmin Deserves to Be Laid Off”), but the rewards outweigh the risks. Seokmin glances toward the hallway, where the faint sound of Aera and Ayoung’s laughter echoes, their voices just a pitch too smug. No, this plan is flawless. Foolproof. Nobel Prize-worthy, even.

All he has to do now is sell it to the two people who loathe each other the most in the office.

He hadn’t meant to open his mouth, but God, Aera and Ayoung had to have been demons crafted by the devil himself, the kind that thrived on overpriced lattes and the scent of shattered self-esteem. Seokmin had just been passing through the hallway, minding his own business—okay, eavesdropping a little—when he caught wind of their conversation.

“Honestly, I don’t know why she even bothers coming to these galas,” Aera had said, inspecting her manicure like it held the secrets of the universe. “It’s not like anyone actually notices her. She’s basically furniture.”

“Right? What’s the point if you don’t have someone on your arm?” Ayoung had added, with a theatrical sigh. “But then again, who would even want to go with her? She’s so…. ugh.”

The “ugh” had been the final straw. Seokmin hadn’t thought twice—he’d stormed over, ready to unleash a tirade about how you were the hardest-working person in the office, how you’d single-handedly carried your team through last quarter’s hellish project, and how you absolutely deserved more respect.

Instead, what came out of his mouth was: “Y/N has a date. Obviously.”

The two women blinked at him in unison, their perfectly sculpted eyebrows raising in surprise. “Oh?” Aera recovers quickly, tilting her head. “And who’s the lucky date? You?”

Seokmin laughed, loud and unconvincing. “Me? No, no, I’m going with Soonyoung, like I always do.”

Ayoung narrowed her eyes. “Then who?”

And this is where Seokmin’s brain had short-circuited. He glanced around the room, as if the walls might offer some divine intervention. Nothing. Just the faint hum of the vending machine. His mind raced, searching for a name that would shut them up, and then—

“Seungkwan,” he blurted out.

Both women stared at him, stunned. “Seungkwan?” Aera repeated, incredulous.

“Yep! Seungkwan,” Seokmin had said, doubling down because he knew there was no turning back. “They’ve been together for ages. Super lowkey about it, though. You know how Seungkwan is.”

The silence was deafening.

“Seungkwan,” Ayoung echoed, her expression twisting into disbelief. “Boo Seungkwan. As in, ‘my parking spot is sacred ground’ Seungkwan?”

Seokmin’s grin tightened. “The very same.”

For a moment, the two women exchanged a look, processing this unexpected development. Then, to Seokmin’s immense relief, Aera shrugged. “Huh. I guess that makes sense. They’re both kind of…intense.”

“I mean, they fight like an old married couple,” Ayoung had added, smirking.

“Exactly!” Seokmin said, clinging to the lifeline they’ve unknowingly thrown him. “Soulmates, right?”

The rumor spread faster than an office email about free donuts, and by lunchtime, it seemed like everyone had an opinion about your supposed relationship with Boo Seungkwan. The first domino fell when Mingyu slid into the seat across from Seungkwan in the cafeteria, tray in hand and a knowing smirk plastered across his face. He casually tossed his napkin onto his lap, but there was a glint in his eyes that made Seungkwan pause mid-bite.

“So,” Mingyu began, spearing a piece of chicken with far too much casual flair, “you and Y/N, huh? Cute.”

Seungkwan, who had been halfway through chewing a mouthful of rice, immediately choked so violently he nearly toppled the entire tray. The force of his cough was so dramatic that Joshua, seated a few spots away, paused mid-bite and gave Seungkwan a couple of hard thumps on the back, muttering a half-hearted “Jesus, dude” under his breath. The rest of the table fell silent, watching the spectacle unfold with varying degrees of concern and mild amusement.

“Excuse me?” Seungkwan sputtered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes wide with a mixture of horror and confusion.

“You know…” Mingyu leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially, the way someone would when revealing state secrets. “You. Y/N. The whole undercover thing.” He paused for effect, looking around as if making sure no one else was eavesdropping. “Honestly, I didn’t see it coming, but it makes sense. You two do bicker like an old couple. It’s kinda cute, actually.”

Seungkwan froze mid-chew, his chopsticks hovering in midair, as his brain scrambled to process Mingyu’s words. Undercover thing? Old couple? Y/N?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Seungkwan said flatly, his voice a mix of exasperation and genuine confusion, although a tiny bead of sweat had already begun to form at his temple. He glanced around, noticing the way a few of his coworkers at the nearby tables were suddenly pretending to be deeply invested in their food, but the side glances they were stealing were hard to miss.

Mingyu squinted, his expression becoming exaggeratedly serious. “Don’t play dumb, Seungkwan. Aera and Ayoung said you and Y/N have been secretly dating for ages. Ages. Like, seriously. You two are practically the office power couple.”

Seungkwan stared at Mingyu, not entirely sure whether he should laugh or start hyperventilating. His eyes flickered to Joshua, who was now giving him a sympathetic glance, and then back to Mingyu, whose grin had only grown wider with every passing second. The conversation around them had slowly started to fade into the background, leaving only the sound of Seungkwan’s rapidly beating heart in his ears.

For a brief moment, the only sound was the clatter of utensils against trays, and the faint sound of someone sneezing a few tables over, as though the entire room was collectively holding its breath. Then, with the force of a dam breaking, Seungkwan exclaimed, “WHAT?!”

The sound was so loud and high-pitched that the people around them flinched. Mingyu’s smirk only deepened.

“Yeah, you heard me,” he said, as if the news was the most normal thing in the world. “You and Y/N—together. Lowkey, sure, but people are noticing. Honestly, I'm impressed. You've got good chemistry. You bicker, you glare at each other like it's a sport, and boom—no one can resist you two.”

Seungkwan’s eyes widened even further, if that was possible. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out for a solid five seconds. “You... Mingyu, this is—this is insane. We’re not—”

“I mean, you guys do fight like an old married couple,” Mingyu added, completely unbothered. “Classic relationship stuff.”

Seungkwan let out a high-pitched groan, dropping his chopsticks onto his tray as he slumped back in his seat. Joshua patted him on the back with a sympathetic look. “Honestly, man, at this point, I think everyone’s already betting on how long you two last.”

Seungkwan turned a death glare on Mingyu. “Mingyu, I am not dating Y/N, okay? Not. I don’t even—”

“Sure you’re not,” Mingyu said with a wink, leaning back and taking a leisurely sip of his drink. “But hey, if you need help smoothing it over, let me know. I could use a good laugh.”

Meanwhile, you were in the middle of a relatively peaceful afternoon, lost in your work, when Soonyoung burst into your workspace like a caffeinated golden retriever on a sugar rush.

“Congrats!” he announced, voice loud enough to startle the intern two desks down, who nearly spilled her coffee in the process.

You blinked at him, genuinely perplexed. “For what?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him, unsure whether this was a prank you weren’t in on yet.

“For the relationship of the century, duh!” Soonyoung said, plopping into the chair next to you like he owned the place. He threw his feet up onto the corner of your desk, barely missing the pile of reports you’d been working on. He propped his chin on his hands, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You and Seungkwan—genius. Absolutely genius. I mean, I was wondering when you two would finally make it official, but keeping it lowkey? Perfect. Who came up with it? Was it you? It had to be you.”

Your face contorted into a mix of confusion and horror, the words barely registering. “What are you talking about? What relationship?”

Soonyoung leaned in closer, like he was about to share some highly classified info, lowering his voice to a dramatic whisper. “The PR stunt, obviously! Aera and Ayoung are eating it up. Honestly, you and Seungkwan should start charging them rent for all the space you’re taking up in their heads. They're obsessed. It’s amazing.” He gave a pleased little clap. “Love to see it.”

“PR stunt?” you echoed, voice climbing in pitch. “Seungkwan?”

“Don’t be shy!” Soonyoung winked, his eyes practically glittering with pride. “You’re playing it so cool. I gotta hand it to you, you two are perfect at the whole ‘undercover couple’ thing. No one saw it coming. Now, with all those entertainment rumors about you two, people are talking. It’s the kind of buzz I can only dream of.”

You slammed your laptop shut with a dramatic bang. The sound made Soonyoung jump. "I’m going to kill him."

Soonyoung, unfazed, simply leaned back in his chair with a grin. “You should. But first, enjoy the chaos, because it’s already spreading. I mean, even the office Slack is buzzing about your ‘relationship.’ I think it’s time for you to play the long game.”

Before you could respond, Soonyoung was already pulling out his phone and swiping through a group chat on his screen. You could feel your headache forming as he muttered something about “setting the record straight” and “beating Mingyu’s office poll on couple dynamics."

Seokmin was mid-sip of his third coffee of the day when the breakroom door slammed open with enough force to make him spill.

“What the—” Seokmin started, dabbing at the mess with a crumpled napkin, but he didn’t get to finish because you and Seungkwan stormed in, practically radiating wrath. It was like watching a SWAT team execute a mission—except the target was him and his questionable life choices.

“You!” Your voice cracked through the air like a whip as you jabbed an accusatory finger in his direction.

“YOU!” Seungkwan echoed, his tone sharp enough to cut glass. His finger joined yours in solidarity, a united front of pure fury.

Seokmin froze, cornered between the sink and the vending machine, his coffee mug clutched like a makeshift shield. “Me?” he squeaked, his eyes darting between your expressions, both etched with a mix of betrayal and irritation.

“Yes, you!” Seungkwan snapped, stepping closer with the air of a man who had reached the end of his rope. “Do you want to explain why Mingyu just asked me if me and Y/N are naming our future pets after luxury brands?!”

The words hung in the air for a beat, heavy with absurdity.

“Luxury brands?” you echoed, your tone disbelieving.

“That’s not the point!” Seungkwan said, throwing his hands up in exasperation. He rounded back on Seokmin, who looked like a deer caught in a pair of particularly unforgiving headlights. “Explain. Now.”

Seokmin hesitated, his mind spinning like a faulty gear. He could feel a bead of sweat forming at his temple. “Okay,” he began carefully, stalling for time. “First of all, you’re welcome.”

The sheer audacity of the statement hit like a slap.

“You’re welcome?” you and Seungkwan chorused, voices dripping with incredulity.

“Yes!” Seokmin said, puffing up his chest slightly as though he were presenting a brilliant thesis. “You don’t understand how horrible Aera and Ayoung were being. They were saying awful things about you, Y/N! I had to defend your honor.”

“And your solution,” you said, your tone calm but with an edge sharp enough to slice through steel, “was to fake-date me with Seungkwan?”

“Yeah, Seokmin,” Seungkwan added, his hands flailing in emphasis. “I mean, if you wanted to fake-date Y/N, at least pick someone plausible. Like, I don’t know, Mingyu.”

“Hey!” you snapped, your glare whipping to Seungkwan.

“What?” Seungkwan asked, blinking in genuine confusion. “It was just an example.”

“Enough!” Seokmin groaned dramatically, throwing his hands in the air as though burdened by your collective lack of vision. “Look, it worked, didn’t it? Aera and Ayoung bought it! They even said you two bicker like an old married couple!”

“That’s not a compliment!” Seungkwan exclaimed, his voice rising an octave.

“And,” you interjected, stepping forward, your expression unnervingly calm but your tone laced with menace, “now the entire office thinks we’re in a relationship. So, how exactly does this ‘plan’ of yours end?”

Seokmin’s grin faltered slightly, his bravado cracking just enough to reveal a hint of unease. “Uh… with you two faking it for a bit longer? You know, until Aera and Ayoung find someone else to gossip about?”

Seungkwan let out a groan, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration. “You are unbelievable.”

“And you’re fired from planning anything ever again,” you added, your voice dripping with finality.

Seokmin opened his mouth to respond, his face twisting into a defensive expression, but the door creaked open before he could speak.

All three of you turned to see Soonyoung poking his head inside, his phone clutched in one hand. “Hey, not to interrupt, but I just posted a poll in the office group chat: ‘Who’s the power couple—Seungkwan and Y/N or Soonyoung and his plants?’ You’re winning by 72 percent, by the way.”

The room fell into stunned silence.

“You’re all insane,” Seungkwan muttered at last, snatching his coffee off the counter and storming out in a whirlwind of righteous indignation.

“Seokmin,” you said through gritted teeth, each syllable dripping with warning. “Fix this.”

Seokmin raised his mug in a mock toast, his grin resurfacing. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.”

“Oh, no,” you groaned, turning on your heel. “We’re doomed.”

Seokmin’s apartment is as much of a disaster as you’d expect for a man who owns a single fork and three mismatched plates. The couch is one ill-timed flop away from breaking, and the "decor" consists of a faded movie poster, a dying plant, and a string of half-working fairy lights. Yet, somehow, it’s become the Friday night spot.

You, Seokmin, and occasionally Soonyoung gather here weekly like clockwork, cobbling together meals from his barren fridge, drinking yourselves silly, and venting about work. It’s an unspoken tradition, one that began with a pity invite after a particularly hellish week and quickly solidified when you discovered that, despite his lack of utensils, Seokmin could cook better than half the office put together.

Tonight, however, you’ve barely cracked open a bottle of soju when Seokmin starts talking about your “relationship” with Seungkwan.

“I’m just saying,” he slurs, stirring a pot of ramen with a spatula (his one and only cooking tool), “if you and Seungkwan fake-dated, Aera and Ayoung would shut up. It’s genius!”

You groan, sprawled on the lumpy couch with a glass in hand. “Seokmin, I’d rather die.”

“Would you, though?” he says, squinting at you like he’s cracked the code to life. “Because imagine showing up to the gala with Seungkwan on your arm. They’d hate it. And you’d look hot.”

You swish the remaining soju in your glass, frowning. “I don’t need Seungkwan to look hot.”

“Exactly! Which makes it better. He’d be like your hot accessory. Like a really angry Gucci bag.”

You snort at the thought of Seungkwan as a designer handbag and open your mouth to argue when Seokmin’s expression turns suspiciously earnest. “Look, I’m your work husband. I’d never steer you wrong. Just trust me.”

Your brain, already fuzzed from alcohol and exhaustion, betrays you. “Fine,” you mutter, waving your hand. “Whatever. I’ll fake-date Seungkwan.”

“REALLY?!” Seokmin drops the spatula with a clatter and claps his hands. “Great! Let me tell Soonyoung it’s safe to come in!”

“What?” you snap, sitting up so fast the room tilts. “What do you mean, safe to come in?”

“Yeah,” Seokmin says casually, wiping his hands on his pants. “He’s been waiting outside with Seungkwan for the 45 minutes it took for me to convince you.”

“LEE SEOKMIN, I WILL FUCKING THROTTLE YOU!”

You launch your slipper at him, but he ducks. The projectile sails past him and hits a new target—a very startled Seungkwan, who has just walked through the door.

The slipper connects with his thigh with a muted thwack.

Shocked silence fills the room.

Seungkwan glares at the three of you like you’ve all personally wronged him. “Nope. Nope, nope, nope. I’m going home. All of you motherfuckers are insane.”

“Wait!” Soonyoung and Seokmin leap forward, grabbing Seungkwan by the arms and dragging him back inside. He protests the whole way, muttering about how he “knew this was a terrible idea” and “should’ve stayed home.”

Thus begins the chaos.

Seokmin slaps the paper onto the coffee table like he’s presenting a groundbreaking thesis. In messy, barely legible letters, he’s scrawled FAKE DATING CONTRACT across the top.

“We’re doing this right,” he announces, brandishing the sharpie like a microphone. “Discussion topic number one: PDA.”

“None,” you say, raising your soju bottle in a mock toast.

“No PDA?” Soonyoung protests from where he’s sprawled across the armrest of the couch. “How is that going to convince anyone you’re dating? You can’t just stare at each other awkwardly across the room!”

“I don’t stare at people awkwardly,” you snap.

“Yes, you do,” Seungkwan deadpans. “That’s, like, your whole thing.”

“Excuse me?” you shoot back, glaring.

“Alright, alright!” Seokmin waves the sharpie between you like a referee breaking up a fight. “Compromise: hand-holding is allowed.” He starts writing it down, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth.

“And cheek kisses,” Soonyoung adds brightly.

“No way!” Seungkwan bursts out, looking betrayed.

“It’s just a cheek!” Soonyoung protests. “You don’t even have to look at her.”

“Wow,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “Thanks for the enthusiasm, darling.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Seungkwan snaps, arms crossing. “Did you want me to lie and say I’m thrilled to be fake-dating the office menace?”

You grab a couch cushion and smack him over the head with it. “I wouldn’t have to be a menace if you weren’t so insufferable!”

“Guys!” Seokmin groans, pointing the sharpie at both of you like it’s a weapon. “Focus. Cheek kisses are in.” He scribbles it down while Seungkwan mutters something about treason.

“And you,” you add, pointing at Seungkwan, “are bringing me coffee every morning for six weeks from that café across town.”

“Like hell I am!” Seungkwan glares. “You know how far that is?”

“Yes, which is why you’re doing it,” you snap. “Call it emotional compensation.”

“You’re not getting coffee and the parking spot!” Seungkwan shouts, sitting up straight.

“The parking spot was mine first!”

“Your car doesn’t even fit in it properly!”

“Then I’ll make it fit!”

Seokmin scribbles something on the paper and holds it up with an exasperated flourish. “Okay, joint custody of the parking spot. You’ll alternate weeks.”

“That’s stupid,” you mutter.

“So are you!” Seungkwan fires back, and you lunge for another cushion.

“Guys!” Soonyoung yells, snatching the cushion out of your hands. “Rule number three: no throwing things at each other while in public.”

“I’m not signing that,” you say immediately.

“Neither am I,” Seungkwan agrees.

“Fine,” Seokmin grumbles, crossing it out. “Next rule: no kissing on the lips.”

“That should’ve been rule number one,” Seungkwan mutters, and you chuck a slipper at him for good measure.

“Rule number five: you have to act nice to each other in front of Aera and Ayoung,” Seokmin adds, barely pausing as Seungkwan yelps.

“Oh, great,” you say sarcastically. “So now I have to fake-date him and fake-like him?”

“Yeah, real tough,” Seungkwan scoffs. “Try fake-liking you for five minutes.”

“Okay, rule six: no insults while in public,” Seokmin says, scribbling furiously.

“Define ‘insult,’” you say.

“You just called me a moron five minutes ago!” Seungkwan protests.

“That’s not an insult,” you argue. “It’s an observation.”

“Oh my God,” Seokmin groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You’ll both bring snacks to the gala,” Soonyoung interjects, leaning over Seokmin’s shoulder. “That way, when you start arguing in public, at least you can shove food into each other’s mouths.”

“That is not going on the list,” Seungkwan says, shooting him a glare.

“It’s already on there,” Seokmin chirps.

The arguing goes on and on, fueled by soju and petty grievances, until the paper is crammed with hastily written rules, half of which contradict each other. Seokmin holds up the finished product triumphantly.

FAKE DATING CONTRACT(written and notarized by Lee Seokmin, Esq. of Bad Ideas LLC)

No PDA.

Exception: hand-holding is allowed.

Exception to the exception: no clammy hands.

Cheek kisses are mandatory for believability.

Mandatory?! – Seungkwan

Yes. – Soonyoung

No lip kissing, EVER.

We’re not that committed to this.

Joint custody of the parking spot.

Weeks will alternate.

If one party is late to the spot, they forfeit their turn.

Coffee Clause:

Seungkwan will deliver coffee every morning for six weeks.

It must come from the café across town.

Why do I have to do this? – Seungkwan

Because you’re annoying. – Y/N

No throwing objects at each other in public.

Or private! – Seungkwan

Not negotiable. – Y/N

Insult ban in public spaces.

“Moron” is not an insult, it’s an observation.

This feels targeted. – Seungkwan

Be nice to each other in front of Aera and Ayoung.

Smile. A lot. Pretend you’re not arguing.

How am I supposed to do that?! – Y/N

Snacks must be brought to the gala.

If bickering begins, snacks will be used to shut each other up.

This rule is offensive. – Seungkwan

Duration of fake dating: until Aera and Ayoung lose interest or find another victim.

No extensions allowed.

All parties must try to look reasonably attractive during public appearances.

Define ‘reasonably.’– Seungkwan

Just don’t embarrass me. – Y/N

Any disputes regarding this contract will be arbitrated by Soonyoung and Seokmin.

Oh, we’re gonna regret this.

Practice sessions required before the first public appearance.

“Practice” may include hand-holding, smiling, and general fake-couple behavior.

Can we practice not doing this? – Seungkwan

Signed, Y/N & Boo Seungkwan Witnessed by: Lee Seokmin & Kwon Soonyoung

“Done!” he declares. “Time to sign.”

You glance at the chaotic list and groan. “I hate this.”

“Sign it anyway,” Seokmin says, shoving the sharpie into your hand.

You scrawl your name at the bottom with all the enthusiasm of someone signing away their soul. Seungkwan follows suit, muttering curses under his breath.

“Great!” Seokmin beams, snatching the paper and sharpie. “Now, time to practice!”

“Seokmin, it’s 3 AM!” you whine. “Let me go home!”

“NO!” Soonyoung and Seokmin yell in unison.

Practice begins in earnest with Seokmin standing in front of you and Seungkwan like a drill sergeant, clipboard in hand. Soonyoung is sprawled across the couch with a blanket, looking far too comfortable for someone instigating chaos.

“Alright,” Seokmin says, tapping his pen against the clipboard. “First order of business: compliments.”

“Compliments?” you echo, your tone flat. “We’re fake-dating, not auditioning for a rom-com.”

“Yes, compliments,” Seokmin says, with the exaggerated patience of a kindergarten teacher. “If you can’t fake a little affection, no one’s going to buy this. Start with something small. Seungkwan, you go first.”

“Fine,” Seungkwan sighs, turning to you. “Your… outfit is fine.”

“Wow,” you deadpan. “Don’t hold back.”

“Fine! You looked pretty that one day you wore a dress to work,” he says, crossing his arms defensively.

Your stomach flips unexpectedly, and you hate that it does. That wasn’t what you’d expected him to say. The memory surfaces unbidden: you, rushing into the office late for a meeting, fumbling with your presentation slides. You barely noticed Seungkwan staring, too preoccupied with apologizing to the executives that were staring at your whirlwind entrance.

Now, you remember the day too well, and you shove the memories down immediately. “That’s it? One day out of, like, a thousand?” you say, masking your unease with a smirk.

“Take it or leave it,” he snaps.

“Your turn,” Seokmin says, gesturing at you.

You glance at Seungkwan, already regretting what you’re about to say. “You… make people laugh.”

“That’s the best you can do?” Seungkwan scoffs, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his eyes.

“Okay, fine,” you grumble. “You’re good at your job. People like you. You’re… charming, I guess.”

The room goes silent for a beat, and you feel heat creeping up your neck.

“Well,” Seungkwan says after a pause, his voice quieter. “Thanks.”

“Okay, compliments, check,” Seokmin interjects, scribbling something illegible onto the contract for no discernible reason. “Next, hand-holding!”

“Seriously?” you groan.

“Yes!” Soonyoung shouts from his sprawl on the couch. “You’re going to have to do it in public! Get over it!”

Reluctantly, you hold out your hand. Seungkwan looks at it like you’ve just offered him a live grenade.

“Stop stalling,” Seokmin says, smirking.

Seungkwan grabs your hand, and the moment your palms meet, you recoil. “Why is your hand so clammy?” you demand, grimacing.

“Because I’m stressed, you monster!” Seungkwan shoots back. “Stop squeezing so hard!”

“I’m not squeezing—your hand’s just weird!”

“My hand is weird?” Seungkwan huffs. “Yours is dryer than the Sahara!”

“You’re both weird!” Soonyoung yells, throwing a couch pillow at your heads. “Try again, and this time, don’t look like you’re holding hands with a corpse!”

The both of you roll your eyes but try again. This time, it’s… slightly better. Seungkwan’s hand is still clammy, but at least he’s not actively complaining.

By the time Soonyoung pipes up again, the sun is starting to rise, casting pale light through the blinds.

“Alright, final test,” he says, stifling a yawn. “You’ve gotta kiss her cheek.”

“What?!” you and Seungkwan exclaim in unison.

“You’re going to have to do it in public anyway!” Soonyoung argues, gesturing grandly from the couch. “This is practice!”

“I am not kissing—”

“Just do it,” Seokmin says, cutting Seungkwan off with a weary wave of his hand. “The sooner you do, the sooner we can all sleep.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, Seungkwan leans over. His hand finds your shoulder for balance, and then—soft and fleeting—his lips brush your cheek.

It’s over in a heartbeat, but your stomach flips like you’re falling from the top of a roller coaster. You can still feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the faint pressure of his lips, and it sends a shockwave of emotions crashing through you—confusion, nervousness, and something suspiciously like longing.

Seokmin looks at you knowingly, and your heart stutters in your chest.

“I have to go,” you mutter, grabbing your jacket in a rush. You can’t stay here—not with Seokmin’s knowing smirk, not with Seungkwan’s kiss replaying on a loop in your head. “See you Monday.”

Before anyone can stop you, you’re out the door, the crisp morning air biting at your cheeks as you flee Seokmin’s apartment like it’s on fire.

The parking lot is unusually quiet as you pull in, a sharp contrast to the whirlwind weekend you’re still trying to process. You hadn’t slept much since fleeing Seokmin’s apartment, your thoughts tangled in half-drunken banter, hastily scribbled contracts, and—worst of all—the lingering warmth of Seungkwan’s lips on your cheek.

A glint of sunlight off a familiar car catches your eye, parked a few rows back. Seungkwan’s here early. Of course he is. You can already feel your mood souring, bracing yourself for whatever fresh nonsense he’s decided to stir up this week.

Sliding into The Spot, you glance around, expecting the usual hustle and bustle of the office, but your focus sharpens the moment you spot them—Aera and Ayoung, lingering suspiciously close to your desk. You feel the groan build in your throat. It’s too early for this.

“Look who’s finally here,” Aera says the moment she spots you, her voice carrying easily over the din.

You keep walking, shoulders stiffening as Ayoung chimes in. “Big weekend, huh? Let me guess, late-night dinner dates with you know who?”

“Or maybe a romantic getaway?” Aera adds, giggling. “He seems like the type to splurge, doesn’t he?”

You don’t take the bait, just set your bag down at your desk, pointedly ignoring them.

But they don’t stop. Ayoung leans against the edge of your cubicle, her grin sharp. “Seriously, though. How does it feel? Dating the Boo Seungkwan.”

You glance up at her, exasperation seeping into your voice. “What is your problem?”

“No problem,” she says innocently, her expression anything but. “We’re just... curious. I mean, it’s not every day someone like him ends up with... well, you.”

There it is. The thinly veiled insult. Your fingers tighten around your bag strap, heat rising to your cheeks. Before you can snap back, Aera gasps, her attention snagging on your desk.

“Oh my god. Is that a coffee?” Her tone is mockingly saccharine as she picks up the cup, waving it in front of you. “And a note. ‘As requested - xo Seungkwan.’ How adorable.”

Ayoung practically cackles. “He even knows your order. Wow, this is... honestly shocking.” She isn’t wrong - it’s your exact order, right down to the weirdly specific oat milk ratio you insist on.

“Shocking?” you repeat, glaring.

Aera shrugs, clearly reveling in your discomfort. “I mean, come on. You’re you. He’s... him. It’s a little hard to picture, don’t you think?”

You open your mouth to retort, but a new voice cuts in before you can.

“Do you two ever get tired of this?”

You don’t even need to look to know who it is. You turn just in time to see Seungkwan stride over, exuding confidence like he’s been rehearsing this moment. He doesn’t even look at Aera and Ayoung; his focus is entirely on you as he slides an arm around your waist.

The casual weight of it is jarring, grounding—and completely unnecessary. Your heart stutters in response, though you’d die before admitting it.

“Is there a problem here?” Seungkwan asks, his tone all business, though you catch the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes.

Aera’s confidence wavers for the first time, her mouth opening and closing as she scrambles for a response. Ayoung, to her credit, looks equally flustered.

“No problem,” Aera says finally, her voice quieter now.

“Good,” Seungkwan replies smoothly. He glances down at you, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Enjoy your coffee, babe.”

With that, the two of them retreat, mumbling half-hearted excuses as they shuffle back to their desks.

As soon as they’re gone, Seungkwan drops his arm like it burned him, and the absence of his touch is... startling. Disorienting. You hate how much you notice it.

“What the hell was that?” you hiss, rounding on him.

He doesn’t even look fazed. If anything, he looks amused. “You’re welcome.”

“Welcome? For what? Making things worse?”

He nods toward your desk. “They’re gone, aren’t they?”

You narrow your eyes at him, your frustration mounting. “Why did you even—what is this?” You gesture vaguely to the coffee, the note, the whole absurd situation.

“A contract is a contract,” he says simply, already turning to walk away.

“Wait.” You grab the coffee, pointing it at him like a weapon. “How did you even know my order?”

He pauses, glancing over his shoulder with that infuriating smirk that makes you want to throw the cup at him.

“I have my ways.”

“Seungkwan!” you call after him, but he’s already walking off, the faint echo of his laughter trailing behind him.

You slump into your chair, glaring at the coffee like it’s somehow responsible for all of this. Your phone buzzes, and you pull it out, immediately opening the group chat with Seokmin and Soonyoung.

Y/N: which one of you mfs told seungkwan my coffee order [NOT] tiger: 👀 [NOT] tiger: not it seok: pinky swear not me seok: hm seok: didn’t think he’d actually get you coffee Y/N: how the hell does he know? [NOT] tiger: maybe he just [NOT] tiger: knows[NOT] tiger: soulmate fr Y/N: blocking you. seok: wait seok: did he get it right? Y/N: YES Y/N: that’s the problem!!! seok: hmm [NOT] tiger: HMMMMM

You toss your phone onto your desk, groaning into your hands. Mondays were supposed to be bad, but this? This was a new level of torment. And somewhere in the back of your mind, you can’t stop replaying the warmth of Seungkwan’s hand on your waist—and the way, just for a moment, it didn’t feel so bad.

Tuesday morning. You arrive at your desk to the familiar sight of a coffee waiting for you, the cup steaming invitingly as though it’s supposed to make you feel better about the day ahead. As you drop your bag onto the desk and take in the sight of it, your stomach tightens—because this time, Seungkwan’s waiting for you. Standing there like a kid in a candy store, a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth as if he knows exactly how to mess with your head.

But today is not the day.

Not after this morning.

You don’t know if it's the car breaking down in the middle of a torrential downpour, or if it’s the fact that your landlord decided today was the day to demand rent five days early and threaten eviction over the tiniest of issues—either way, you’re running on fumes and patience.

When Seungkwan opens his mouth to speak, you don’t even look up. You take a long, slow breath and mutter, “Not today.”

You don’t hear him move at first, and for a moment, you almost think he’s going to leave it. That maybe, just maybe, he’s finally catching on that not every moment is for him. But then, his voice—sharp, defensive—cuts through the air.

“What’s your problem today? I get it, you’re having a bad morning. But I’m trying to be nice here.”

You can’t help it; the words spill out before you can stop them. “I don’t need your pity coffee, Seungkwan. I don’t need your help.”

His eyes flash, the usual teasing glint replaced with something more serious. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

You don’t answer, just fold your arms over your chest, staring hard at the computer screen, trying to block him out. “Just…go away, Seungkwan.”

His eyes widen, and something flickers behind them—hurt, maybe? But before he can say anything else, you hear the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat. You look up, realizing you’ve attracted a small crowd.

Aera and Ayoung are standing a few desks away, watching you two with wide, curious eyes. They’ve been lurking long enough to catch the exchange, and you can practically feel their glee radiating off them.

“Everything okay, [Y/N]?” Aera asks, barely hiding her amusement.

Your stomach sinks. You know exactly what they’re thinking: public fight, public gossip. You know you’re not supposed to care, but you do. You absolutely do.

Seungkwan must’ve seen it, too, because in a flash, he’s grabbed your hand—your hand, like it’s the most natural thing in the world—and yanks you toward the breakroom. You stumble slightly in the direction he pulls you, not expecting the sudden contact. Your heart races, and for a split second, you wonder if this was what it felt like before. That warm feeling flooding your chest, the butterflies in your stomach.

But then the door to the breakroom slams shut, cutting off the noise of the office, and Seungkwan lets go of your hand.

He crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the counter, eyes narrowed. “Spill. What’s going on?”

You can’t hold it in anymore. The tension cracks, and before you know it, the tears are spilling out.

“I’m just so tired of everything,” you choke out, the words tangled in the rush of emotions. “My car is broken down, my landlord’s being a total jerk, and everything’s just—ugh. It’s just too much.”

You blink, feeling embarrassed, but Seungkwan doesn’t make fun of you. Instead, his gaze softens for a moment, just enough that you almost don’t believe it. Almost.

“Good,” he says suddenly, and your heart stutters. “You broke the contract.”

You lift your head, confusion wrinkling your brow. “What?”

“The contract.” He says it as though it’s obvious. “You snapped at me in front of Aera and Ayoung. That’s my parking spot for the rest of the week.”

You stare at him, blinking in disbelief. And then, before you can stop it, a laugh escapes from your lips—soft, genuine, and so not what you expected.

“Seriously?” you ask, trying to wipe away the tears that suddenly make you feel so small.

His face softens, just for a moment, before that look fades as quickly as it came. But for a brief second, you could’ve sworn he looked... endearing?

“Don’t laugh,” he mutters, crossing his arms again, leaning back against the counter. “I have principles.”

You can’t help but smile at that, and for the first time today, you feel lighter. You can’t quite place the warm sensation in your chest, but it’s there, flickering like the embers of something you don’t want to acknowledge.

“Hey,” he says with a half-grin, “a contract’s a contract.”

And then, without another word, he turns and walks out, leaving you standing there in the breakroom, a little lighter than before.

When you return to your desk, you’re not sure what you expected. Maybe you thought Aera and Ayoung would leave you alone, but no. Of course not. They’re standing by your cubicle, eyes glued to you, ready to pounce.

“Oh, look who’s back,” Aera says, feigning sweetness. “Everything okay? You two seemed like you were having quite a heated conversation.”

Ayoung raises an eyebrow, almost mockingly. “Yeah, what was that? We didn’t expect Seungkwan to be so... protective.”

You stiffen, but before you can say anything, Seungkwan strolls in casually, all too aware of their prying eyes. He throws a casual arm around your shoulder and leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks in a teasing tone.

“A lover’s spat,” he says smoothly, looking at Aera and Ayoung with a shit-eating grin. “Nothing to see here.”

You freeze for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden closeness of his body. You don’t move, don’t push him off, and you hate how right it feels, even if it’s just for show.

They seem to buy it, nodding and turning away, though you know the gossip mill will be churning with this new twist.

The rest of the day passes by in a blur, and when the lunch hour arrives, Seungkwan casually approaches your table, offering in his usual nonchalant manner, “I’ll drive you home today.”

The casualness of it almost makes you choke on your lunch. Seokmin, who had just taken a sip of his drink, immediately spits it out in Soonyoung’s face. You can’t help but laugh, but when Seungkwan shoots you a look, you quickly compose yourself.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, voice calm but firm. “Seokmin already agreed to jump my car and drive me home.”

Seungkwan shrugs, but there’s a knowing look in his eyes. “Whatever you say, babe.”

Later that evening, as you’re in the car with Seokmin, he turns to you, his gaze intense. “What’s going on with you and Seungkwan?” he asks, his voice uncharacteristically serious.

You deflect, shrugging it off with a nonchalant tone. “Nothing. We’re just...” You trail off, unsure of how to explain it.

Seokmin doesn’t let up, his gaze never leaving you the entire drive home.

When you get home, you’re still thinking about Seungkwan—about his hand in yours, the warmth that flickered in his eyes when you laughed.

Later that night, you get a text from Seungkwan. You roll your eyes as you unlock your phone.

Seungkwan (WORK): what color dress are you wearing to the gala?

Y/N: why

Seungkwan (WORK): because it’s in two days idiot Y/N: ok and Seungkwan (WORK): what kind of boyfriend doesn’t match ties to his girlfriend’s dress

You pause for a moment, then text back,

Y/N: midnight blue

There’s a long pause before he replies.

Seungkwan (WORK): we’re gonna aera and ayoung the fuck up Seungkwan (WORK): you’re welcome.

You snort, rolling your eyes, but something in the back of your mind feels a little lighter. You look at the screen again, trying to push away the warmth that’s creeping into your cheeks.

You try to shake off the weird fluttering in your chest, but it’s hard when you can’t stop thinking about the way he smiled at you in the breakroom.

Then, after reading the text one last time, you throw your phone aside and scream into your pillow for a solid 30 seconds.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?” The pillow muffles the sounds of your frustration, embarrassment, and maybe something else all rolling together.

It’s Wednesday, and you’re feeling... strange. So, as a silent apology of sorts, you leave Seungkwan's parking spot open for him, not even pretending it’s not a deliberate move. And to make it worse (or better, depending on how you look at it), you stop by his favorite restaurant—thanks to a very begrudging Mingyu who’d been the one to tell you at 6 AM—and leave a packaged meal on his desk with a simple note: "i’m sorry."

By the time Seungkwan walks in, there’s a triumphant grin on his face and a coffee in hand. You don’t even have to look up to know what’s coming—he’s practically floating from the excitement of seeing his spot waiting for him.

As you stand to meet him, your fingers brush ever so gently when he hands you your order. It’s the smallest of touches, but for some reason, your pulse quickens.

"Thank you for the food," he says, his voice sounding strange—almost sincere, which isn’t like him at all. "But how did you know my favorite restaurant?"

You can’t help the smirk that stretches across your face.

"I have my ways," you reply, leaning in just a little, your voice cool and teasing as you echo his words back from Monday. The playfulness between the two of you feels oddly familiar, and for a moment, there’s something in his eyes—just a flicker—that catches you off guard. But you shove it down before it can fully register.

Seungkwan arches an eyebrow, lips curling into that mischievous smile of his, but before he can say anything, you already know what comes next: more teasing, more playful bickering. It’s almost comfortable, like this entire fake-dating charade is starting to blur the line between what’s real and what’s not.

But the strangest thing of all is the way your heart is beating a little faster than it should.

You don’t know why you’re bothered. You can’t even really pinpoint the reason why, but when you walk past Seungkwan’s desk and see him sitting there, earbuds in, his face subtly twitching in response to a few of your colleagues’ whispers, something inside you snaps. It’s not your usual reaction to the gossip at work—it’s the way he seems oblivious to the hurt he's trying to hide, like he’s expecting it. Your mind races as you overhear them, the words sticking to you like bitter honey:

“Seungkwan’s just a joke with the dating thing. You can tell he’s not even on the same level as her,” Kevin’s voice rings out, “I mean, she’s crushing it, and look at him. He’s just... there.”

“He’s lucky she even pays attention to him,” Juyeon adds with a snide laugh.

And that’s when your heart clenches, the sound of their voices mixing with the hurt look in Seungkwan’s eyes as he watches the screen, his posture slumping in a way that you’ve seen too many times to ignore.

You tell yourself you don’t care.

But you do.

And before you can stop yourself, you march toward his desk. Your palms are sweaty, but your resolve is steady, and when you reach his side, you throw your arms around him from behind, your body leaning into his warmth, your chin resting on his shoulder as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. You’re telling yourself it’s all just an act. Just a game. Fake dating, after all, is supposed to be easy.

But the feeling of his body stiffening under your arms, his breath catching, makes your stomach flip in a way you didn’t expect. You force yourself to smile, to say the words like they don’t matter.

"Hey love," you murmur, pressing a brief kiss to his cheek that feels far too real for what it is, "wanna get lunch?"

For a moment, Seungkwan just stares at you, dumbfounded. His eyes search yours as if trying to figure out whether this is part of the act or something more. You don’t give him a chance to answer. Instead, you interlace your fingers with his, pulling him to his feet and out of the seat, dragging him to the cafeteria without another word.

The air between you feels thick, but somehow, it doesn’t matter. You keep your grip on his hand as if it’s the only thing tethering you to reality. When you reach the lunch line, Seungkwan mumbles under his breath, his voice low but filled with something you can’t quite place.

“Thank you,” he says, and the words feel heavy, like they mean something far more profound than you expected.

You glance at him, trying to keep your face neutral. "Why do you put up with all this?" you ask, hoping to keep the conversation casual. But the question feels more vulnerable than you’d like.

He shrugs nonchalantly, though his gaze drops to the ground as he talks. "Come on, I get worse from you. I can handle a little shit talk from people who don’t know what they’re talking about.”

But something in his voice, something sharp and tired, makes your heart sink. The idea that you’ve made him feel like he’s “just there” rattles you. That you’ve unknowingly added to his burdens—because in this moment, it feels like you are the reason he’s doubting himself.

“Seungkwan, I didn’t mean—” you begin, but he cuts you off with a small, almost bitter smile.

"It’s fine," he murmurs, but there’s a flicker of something unsaid in his expression.

The rest of lunch is quieter than usual, and you both keep stealing glances at each other, unsure of what to say or how to fix the awkward tension that now lingers between you. When the two of you return to your desks, you half-expect him to brush it off and act like nothing happened, but instead, Seungkwan shows up at your desk after lunch, and for a moment, you think maybe he’s just here to grab something he left behind. But when he looks at you, his gaze softens.

"I’m sorry,” he says, looking almost... shy? “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad about the way I said that. I know you don’t... mean to be like that."

You swallow hard, feeling your heart twist, guilt and frustration building in your chest. “No, I... I shouldn’t have said anything either. I’m sorry, Seungkwan."

His eyes flicker, like he’s trying to read you, but then he cracks a smile. "Maybe we both just suck at this fake-dating thing."

It’s a lame attempt at humor, but it works. The tension lifts slightly, though the understanding between you two is still fragile. You force a chuckle, then give him a genuine, if a little uneasy, smile.

And just like that, the awkwardness starts to dissipate.

For now, anyway.

Thursday starts off strangely, though you try not to dwell on it. When you pull into the parking lot, The Spot is open for the first time in weeks. It takes you a second to process the empty space, the absence of Seungkwan's familiar car parked a few rows back.

The sight feels...off.

Your first thought is that maybe he’s running late, but a quick glance at the clock tells you that’s impossible. Seungkwan is never late. Your second thought—that maybe he’s working from home—is more logical, but it doesn’t explain the odd pang of disappointment settling in your chest.

It’s fine. Better, even. You’re busy enough today that you don’t need to see his smug smile or deal with the inevitable teasing that comes with it. Besides, tonight is the gala. He’ll show up there, looking sharp and polished, and you’ll do what you’ve been doing for weeks: play the part.

So why does the thought of not seeing him today feel heavier than it should?

You brush it off as you head into the building, but the feeling lingers. Your desk is bare when you get there—no coffee, no scrawled Post-it, no familiar, cocky energy waiting for you to roll your eyes at. You should feel relief.

Instead, it throws your whole morning off.

By the time you find yourself in the breakroom around noon, your nerves feel frayed. Deadlines loom over your head, your inbox is exploding, and now Soonyoung and Seokmin are leaning against the counter, watching you like hawks with identical grins.

“Excited for tonight?” Seokmin asks, his voice far too cheerful as he tears into a granola bar.

You glance at him, eyebrows raised. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Soonyoung interrupts before Seokmin can respond, “that you’ve been pretending not to care, but you’re actually super nervous about walking into that gala with Seungkwan.”

“I’m not nervous,” you snap, reaching for the coffee pot.

“Sure,” Seokmin says, his tone dripping with skepticism. “You’re totally calm. That’s why you’ve been fidgeting with your bracelet for the past five minutes.”

Your hand freezes, and you glance down to see your fingers toying absently with the charm on your bracelet. With a muttered curse, you reach for a mug instead, but the damage is already done.

Soonyoung smirks. “Uh-huh. Definitely not nervous.”

“I’m not,” you insist, pouring your coffee with more force than necessary.

“Then what’s with the bracelet?” Seokmin presses, grinning like he knows he’s got you cornered.

You glare at him over your shoulder. “Maybe I just like the bracelet, Seokmin. Ever think of that?”

“Or maybe,” Soonyoung drawls, dragging the words out obnoxiously, “you’re thinking about what it’s gonna be like to walk into that ballroom tonight on Seungkwan’s arm.”

Your hand twitches, spilling coffee onto the counter.

“Oh my god,” you groan, grabbing a napkin and swiping at the mess.

Soonyoung clutches his chest dramatically. “You didn’t deny it.”

“There’s nothing to deny!”

Seokmin snickers. “You’re deflecting.”

“I’m ignoring you,” you correct, tossing the soaked napkin into the trash.

“You can’t ignore the truth!” Soonyoung declares, his grin practically splitting his face. “Which is that you’re gonna show up tonight in a dress that perfectly matches Seungkwan’s tie and pretend it’s all part of the act while secretly—”

“Soonyoung,” you interrupt sharply, narrowing your eyes.

“—you’re freaking out inside about how good he’s gonna look and how everyone’s gonna think you’re in love.”

“Why are you like this?” you demand, though the question is more rhetorical than anything.

“Because it’s fun,” Seokmin answers, popping the last bite of his granola bar into his mouth. “And because you’re so easy to tease when it comes to Seungkwan.”

You open your mouth to retort, but the words die on your tongue because the worst part—the absolute worst part—is that they’re not entirely wrong.

There is a part of you that’s been overthinking the gala all morning. Not because you’re nervous about the event itself, but because you’re nervous about him. About standing next to him in front of your colleagues. About the way he might look at you or the way his hand might rest on your back.

And more than that, you’re nervous about the way you’ll feel when it happens.

It’s a ridiculous thought. Seungkwan is your coworker. Your fake boyfriend. This whole thing is a game, a ploy to one-up Aera and Ayoung and win a stupid bet.

So why does the idea of walking into that ballroom with him make your heart race?

Why does it feel like it’s so much more than a game?

The rest of the day drags, your thoughts drifting back to the gala at every lull in the chaos of work. The deadlines on your desk pile higher, emails flood in, and the occasional, overly cheerful colleague stops by to remind you how "exciting" tonight is going to be.

But despite the busy afternoon, a strange mix of nervous energy and anticipation hums beneath it all. It’s not just about the event—the polished speeches, the endless string of handshakes, the clinking of champagne glasses. No, it’s about Seungkwan. About the act you’re supposed to put on together.

The hours pass in a blur of half-checked boxes and unfinished tasks. By the time you leave the office, you’re still not sure if you’ve made peace with the fact that you’re about to spend the evening glued to his side, pretending to be something you’re not.

You have just enough time to run home, change into your dress, and try to will away the nerves that have been simmering since this morning. Standing in front of your mirror, you adjust the midnight-blue fabric, smoothing it over your hips and fiddling with the clasp on your bracelet.

It’s just a gala, you tell yourself, reaching for your earrings. Just a few hours of small talk and pretending. You’ve done harder things.

But even as you head out the door, slipping into the backseat of the rideshare that will take you to the venue, you can’t quite shake the nagging thought in the back of your mind:

What if tonight doesn’t feel like pretending at all?

You spot Seungkwan waiting near the entrance to the ballroom, standing under the warm glow of the overhead sconces. He’s turned slightly away, scrolling idly on his phone, but it doesn’t take long for him to notice you. The moment his eyes land on you, they widen, the barest flicker of surprise crossing his face before he schools it into something more composed—almost indifferent.

Despite the tension simmering between you lately, you can’t help but take him in. The tailored fit of his suit accentuates his broad shoulders and sharp lines, and the midnight-blue tie—perfectly matched to your dress. The soft lighting catches on the neatly styled strands of his hair, and there’s a certain glow about him tonight that makes your heart stumble, just a little.

Focus, you scold yourself. It’s just Seungkwan. The guy who stole your parking spot. The guy who bickers with you more often than not. This is just one night, and then it’s over. Your hands smooth over the silk of your dress as you approach, brushing at imaginary lint to keep them from trembling.

Seungkwan, however, makes no attempt to disguise his once-over. His eyes drag down your figure with slow, deliberate appraisal before returning to meet your gaze. The faintest hint of a smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth, but you notice the way his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows.

“What?” you ask, crossing your arms and raising a brow.

“Nothing,” he replies too quickly, glancing away. But his ears are tinged red, and when you prod again, leaning in just slightly to make him squirm, he mutters under his breath, “You clean up nice.”

For a second, you’re too stunned to respond. The casual compliment feels out of character, as if it slipped out before he could stop himself.

“And here I thought you’d be grumpy all night,” you say, masking your unease with an easy tease.

“Don’t get used to it,” he shoots back, though there’s no real bite to his tone. With a quiet sigh, he offers you his arm, holding it out stiffly as though unsure of himself.

Your breath catches for just a moment before you loop your arm through his, hoping he doesn’t notice the slight tremble in your fingers. The fabric of his suit is smooth and cool against your skin, and he adjusts his grip just slightly, settling his hand more securely over yours.

“Let’s get this over with,” you mumble, though you can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze.

“Right,” he agrees softly, leading you toward the grand doors. The quiet confidence in his step only makes your own nerves worse, and you wonder—just for a fleeting moment—if he feels it too.

The hotel’s ballroom is a picture of opulence, every detail polished to perfection. Warm golden light spills from the glittering chandeliers above, catching on the beveled edges of crystal glasses and the smooth, glossy surface of the checkered marble floor. White-draped tables line the room, adorned with centerpieces of fresh flowers and flickering candles. A string quartet plays softly in the corner, their music weaving through the gentle hum of conversation.

You barely have a chance to take it all in before the heat of Seungkwan’s arm against yours pulls your focus back. He stands tall beside you, his midnight-blue tie gleaming under the lights. You try not to fidget, but every time your gaze flickers to him, the quiet confidence in his expression sets your nerves on edge.

It’s just one night, you remind yourself, willing your feet to move forward. One night, and then it’s over.

The crowd shifts as you both step into the room, and you catch Aera and Ayoung’s gazes almost immediately. They’re standing near the champagne table, flutes in hand, their heads inclined toward each other in hushed conversation. The moment they spot you, their eyes widen, gliding from you to Seungkwan, then back again. Aera’s expression twists into something sharp and incredulous, while Ayoung’s lips curve into a smug smirk.

“Looks like we’re already the talk of the town,” Seungkwan murmurs, leaning slightly toward you. His breath brushes your ear, sending a shiver down your spine that you chalk up to irritation.

“Good,” you manage to say, lifting your chin. “Let’s give them something to really talk about.”

You’re not sure where the confidence comes from, but it carries you forward, your heels clicking against the marble as you walk with Seungkwan through the crowd. You can feel Aera’s glare burning into your back, but you keep your head high, your grip on Seungkwan’s arm tightening just slightly.

From across the room, you hear it before you see them—peals of laughter that could only belong to Seokmin and Soonyoung. You glance in their direction and find them stationed at one of the tables, grinning like giddy schoolchildren as they nudge each other and whisper conspiratorially. Seokmin pretends to hide his face behind his hand, but his eyes gleam with amusement, while Soonyoung practically bounces in his chair, barely able to contain his excitement.

“Subtle,” you mutter under your breath, though you can’t help the way your lips twitch upward.

Seungkwan notices too, his eyes narrowing slightly. “They’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Can you blame them?” you ask, finally letting a wry smile slip through. “We’re a spectacle.”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head, but when you glance up at him, there’s a softness in his gaze that wasn’t there before. You quickly look away, pretending to adjust the bracelet on your wrist.

As you move further into the ballroom, you catch snippets of conversations trailing off, eyes lingering just a second too long on you and Seungkwan. The tension in the room feels palpable, but Seungkwan doesn’t falter. He keeps his pace steady, his arm firm and reassuring beneath your touch.

And for a brief moment, as you glide through the glittering sea of people, you almost forget that this is all an act.

The ballroom is a haze of chandeliers, polished floors, and conversations that hum like a soft undercurrent beneath the music. You move through it all hyperaware of Seungkwan at your side, the faintest brush of his presence grounding and unsteadying you all at once.

He’s good at this, you realize. At shaking hands, sharing effortless smiles, and exchanging pleasantries that seem to charm everyone in his orbit. You try to focus on your own small talk, but it’s nearly impossible not to notice the way his hand occasionally drifts to the small of your back, guiding you subtly through the crowd. It’s light—barely there—but every time his palm presses gently against you, warmth blooms, spreading like ripples in a still pond.

You try not to overthink it. It’s probably all for show, you tell yourself. Just part of the act.

Except…why does he keep glancing at you? After every joke he tosses into the conversation, his eyes flit to yours, watching for your reaction. When you laugh, his smile softens, almost imperceptibly, and when you don’t, his brow furrows for the briefest moment before he’s cracking another.

“Can we help you?” you mutter when Seokmin and Soonyoung sidle up to you for the third time that evening, their grins almost too wide.

“Nope,” Soonyoung says, popping the ‘p’ with dramatic flair.

“We’re just here for the show,” Seokmin adds, barely holding back his snicker.

“Go away,” you hiss, stepping closer to Seungkwan as if that will somehow shield you from their relentless teasing.

Instead of leaving, they both wiggle their eyebrows at you, making exaggerated faces every time you shift a little closer to him—whether intentionally or not. At one point, Seokmin mimes taking a picture with his imaginary camera, pretending to swoon like a tabloid photographer.

“Do you need something?” Seungkwan asks dryly, not even sparing them a glance as he sips his champagne.

“Just enjoying the chemistry,” Soonyoung says, grinning.

“I hate both of you,” you say, shoving past them and pulling Seungkwan with you, his laughter trailing behind you as you march toward the buffet table.

As the night wears on, the hyperawareness doesn’t fade. If anything, it grows sharper. You catch yourself leaning into him, just slightly, when he speaks to you. His scent—something warm and clean—lingers in the air, familiar yet distracting. And though you do your best to stay detached, your stomach flips every time he turns to you, his expression softer than you expect.

It’s just one night, you remind yourself. One night, and then it’s over.

But when Seungkwan tilts his head to meet your gaze, a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes, you wonder if he feels it too.

The conversation with the vice president of finance hits like a brick wall. You had hoped for the night to pass without any more uncomfortable moments, but here it is. The older man comes over with a knowing grin, his eyes flicking between you and Seungkwan. His voice is smooth, polished—like he’s done this kind of thing a hundred times before. “Wishing you both all the best,” he says with a wink, his smile stretching into something almost too warm.

Then, as if to solidify the moment, he adds, “I found my wife at work too. It’s always the best kind of relationship, don’t you think?”

Before you can even react, Seungkwan steps in, his hand tightening imperceptibly around your waist, his grip firm, possessive. He plays along with ease, a smile tugging at his lips. “We do make a lovely couple,” he says, the words slipping out with the same smooth confidence he uses to charm everyone around him.

And just like that, your knees almost give out. You swallow the lump in your throat, trying to cling to any sense of composure, but it’s hard. His voice sounds like it’s meant for someone else. You glance up at him, searching for some sign that he’s only pretending, but his eyes are warm, and it makes your stomach churn. This is too much.

The moment lingers, stretching long and painfully until the vice president finally moves on, leaving you standing there with Seungkwan’s hand still resting on your waist. You feel the heat of his touch, the weight of the promise in his words. And yet, something inside you begins to twist, and you can't quite shake the feeling that this isn’t all a game anymore.

When the quartet begins to play a slow, lilting melody, you feel a wave of dread wash over you. Couples start gravitating toward the dance floor, moving in soft, synchronized sways. You think you’re safe until you notice Soonyoung and Seokmin’s scheming grins out of the corner of your eye.

“Oh, no,” you mutter under your breath, but it’s too late.

“You two,” Soonyoung grins, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Get out there. Show us how it’s done.”

You freeze, the world tilting on its axis for a moment. You don’t want to dance. You don’t know how to dance. And you certainly don’t want to do it with Seungkwan, not like this. But when you glance over at him, you see the faintest edge of a smile on his lips—like he’s enjoying this far too much.

With a few unsubtle nudges and a downright shove from Soonyoung, you find yourself standing under the ballroom lights, facing Seungkwan. He doesn’t even blink, just steps forward and guides your hands to his shoulders as though this is all perfectly normal. His hands settle on your hips, light but steady, and the contact sends a shiver through you.

“You look like you’re going to bolt,” he murmurs, leaning in just enough that only you can hear. “Relax. Aera and Ayoung are still watching.”

You force a smile, more for their benefit than his, and try to focus on the music. But it’s no use. Every part of this feels overwhelming—the way his hands feel solid against you, the way he moves with a calm confidence you didn’t know he had, the way his gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest moment before snapping back up.

The worst part? You’re not sure what’s fake and what isn’t.

You take a shallow breath, your heart racing as the music swells around you, and everything about the night begins to feel too real. Too intense. The way Seungkwan holds you so effortlessly, the way his chest presses against yours, his gaze lingering on you like it means something.

This isn’t just pretend anymore. This isn’t just a game. You feel like you’re drowning in the pretense, in the slow slide of his body against yours, the fake smiles, the promises of weddings that don’t belong to either of you. You don’t know why it feels like this—like a knot is tightening in your chest with every beat of the music, every moment that stretches longer than you can bear.

You can’t breathe.

It’s too much. The weight of it, the weight of him. His hands on your body, on your waist, intertwined with yours. The tension that thrums between you both is too real, and suddenly, you can’t stand it anymore.

You pull back abruptly, the movement so sudden it startles him.

“I need to go,” you blurt, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

Without waiting for a response, you pull away from him, feeling his grip loosen as you shove past Seokmin and Soonyoung, who both watch you with surprised eyes. You don’t care. You don’t care that they’re probably confused, or that Seungkwan is still standing there on the dancefloor, looking as though he’s been left behind.

You don’t care about anything but getting away, away from him, away from this night that feels too heavy to carry. You push through the crowd, your pulse thundering in your ears, desperate to escape the world Seungkwan has created tonight—one where every smile feels like a lie, and every touch leaves you questioning everything.

Why did it feel like something more? Why does he feel like something more?

The hallway is cold, and the echoes of the ballroom seem a world away as you stand there, breathing in shallow gasps. You don’t know what you expected when you fled—maybe a bit of space to clear your head, a few moments of peace to sort through the mess in your chest. But then Seungkwan appears, footsteps rapid and sharp against the marble floor, and you brace yourself for whatever this is.

He stops in front of you, his eyes softening, a look of concern on his face. “You broke the contract,” he says, his voice low but playful. “You’re supposed to act like a couple in front of Aera and Ayoung.”

You should’ve expected it. Of course it’s just a game to him. Of course he doesn’t feel anything real. You press your lips together, the taste of bile rising in your throat. The way his words spill out with that same teasing tone, like it’s no big deal—that’s when it really hits you. None of this matters to him.

Your heart tightens, and you open your mouth to say something, anything, but it feels like the words are stuck in your throat, a knot you can’t untie. The silence stretches between you, thick and suffocating, until you finally spit out, “Fuck you, Seungkwan.”

His expression falters, eyes flashing with something like hurt or maybe frustration, but it doesn’t matter. You just want him to shut up, to stop saying the things that twist in your chest.

“What the hell?” His voice is sharp, defensive. “What’s your problem now? I’m just trying to make sure you’re not freaking out in front of them!”

“No,” you snap, your words slipping out before you can stop them. “I’m freaking out because you keep acting like it’s nothing—like it’s all just a damn game.” You’re pacing now, turning away from him, too afraid to face him. “And it’s not just a game, Seungkwan. But you don’t care. Of course you don’t care.”

Seungkwan’s voice is louder now, rising to match your anger. “Don’t you dare say that—”

“Why shouldn’t I?” you spit, your frustration spilling over. “You’ve been treating me like this whole thing is some kind of joke. Do you think I don’t see it? You think I don’t feel it?”

“You think I’m playing games?!” he practically shouts, his voice breaking through your thoughts. “What do you want me to say, huh? What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know!” The words burst out in a rush, too loud and too raw. “I don’t know what I want! But I sure as hell don’t want this. Don’t want you acting like I’m nothing but some stupid... some stupid game to win! And—”

Your throat tightens. It’s too much. The pain, the frustration, the confusion. The way your heart keeps aching, wanting something that shouldn’t be there. You can’t breathe right, and suddenly, your eyes sting with tears that you didn’t want to shed.

Before you can stop it, you spin to leave, your chest heaving, your hands trembling. You can’t be here anymore. You can’t do this.

But then, just as you take a step, his hand shoots out, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly.

“Don’t go,” Seungkwan murmurs, his voice softer now, and it’s the quietness of it that makes everything inside you snap.

In an instant, you turn back toward him, your body moving without thinking, driven by something primal, something that burns too hot to ignore. You don't care anymore, not about the rules or the reasons you were running or how much you've lied to yourself. Your lips crash into his, desperate and hungry, a sudden, violent collision of need and want. It’s rough, urgent, a complete collapse of all the control you’ve tried so desperately to hold onto.

His lips are warm, soft at first, but there’s no hesitation after that. It deepens in an instant, and you can feel him pushing you back, pressing you against the cold, hard wall. His body presses into yours, all sharp lines and heat, every inch of him a reminder that you’ve wanted this more than you’re willing to admit. You clutch his tie, your fingers knotting into the fabric, pulling him closer, deeper, like it’s not enough. His hands slide up the wall, bracing himself above your head, as if he needs that support to hold himself together too. But you’re too tangled in this moment, too consumed by the feel of him, the way his lips move against yours, the way his breath catches with every shift of his mouth.

His hands find their way to your body, his fingers grazing your hips, and you shudder, the friction between you both igniting something wild inside you. You kiss him back fiercely, and it feels like everything in the world has narrowed down to this singular moment. You don’t know if this is real or if it’s just your mind tricking you into believing it’s more than it is. But you feel it—how right it feels to be tangled up with him, how everything else outside of this space fades away.

His body presses harder, his chest against yours, his warmth seeping into you, filling the cracks where your control once was. You’re dizzy with the intensity of it, a rush of emotions crashing through you, and the silence between kisses becomes unbearable. Your breath is ragged, your heart pounding in your chest as if it’s trying to escape, to be closer to him. And every time you feel him pull away, even just a little, you’re pulling him back, chasing that connection that’s too elusive to hold.

It feels like the world is spinning too fast, and you’re holding onto him, to this fleeting moment, hoping that maybe it won’t slip away. But it does—it always does.

You press harder into him, your hands trembling as they slide up his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your fingers. It’s almost too much, like you’re consuming each other, but you can’t stop. You don’t want to stop.

But then the air feels heavier, and the ache in your chest intensifies. This is wrong, it has to be. His mouth against yours, his body holding you so tightly—it’s all too much, and yet you’re still starved for more. You feel like you’re drowning, and yet you don’t know how to pull away, how to breathe again without the taste of him on your lips.

You break the kiss suddenly, gasping for air, your chest rising and falling with desperation, as if the only thing you need in that moment is to breathe and be closer to him. But you know better. You remember. You have to remember.

And just like that, the realization comes crashing down, shattering everything inside you. It’s all just a game for him. It always was. You turn away, stumbling back, your body trembling as you try to steady yourself, your hands shaking uncontrollably.

“No.” You gasp, heart hammering painfully in your chest. You can’t stay here. You can’t let him see how much he’s breaking you right now.

Before he can say anything, before he can try to reach for you, you turn on your heel and run. You don’t look back, even when your chest aches and your throat burns, because you know that if you do, you’ll see something you can’t unsee.

And you’re too afraid that the feeling you’ve just experienced—that feeling of being whole, of being wanted—is the very thing that’ll make you lose yourself completely.

That night, as the doorbell rings, you know exactly who it is before you even get up. You don’t even have the strength to ask them to leave—Seokmin and Soonyoung just know. They always do.

Seokmin's already cracking open a pint of Ben & Jerry's before you've even had the chance to process their arrival, his voice light but knowing, as if they’ve been waiting for the moment to show up at your door. And it’s not long before they’re seated on the couch beside you, Soonyoung's knowing look cutting right through you as he silently opens the second pint, passing it to you without a word.

You don’t have the heart to ask about Seungkwan. You’re terrified of hearing it, terrified of what they’ll say. You don’t want to know if he’s going to shrug it off, or worse, if he’s forgotten about you already.

Instead, you spend the next few hours in silence, the three of you settled into the couch, alternating between the steady flow of ice cream and shitty romcoms on TV. The sound of laughter and melodramatic dialogue fills the space, but you barely hear it. Every now and then, a sob shakes through you, and you absently grab Soonyoung’s suit jacket, wiping your face on it like some pathetic kid trying to hide from the world.

It’s not a game anymore, you think. But your mind keeps circling back, again and again, and your heart clenches painfully.

You find yourself sniffling during a commercial break, and before you know it, your voice cracks as you whisper into Seokmin’s shoulder, your words barely audible through the tears. “It’s not a game anymore,” you whimper, your chest tight with emotion, a hollow ache you can't seem to fill. “Not to me.”

Seokmin pats your head gently, his hand warm and comforting on your hair, and you can feel him press his cheek against your head in an unspoken gesture of reassurance. Soonyoung doesn’t say anything but looks at you sadly from his spot on your lap, his eyes soft with understanding, but he knows better than to push.

But then Seokmin speaks, his voice quiet, so gentle you almost miss it. “Was it ever?” he asks, the question hanging in the air, a quiet truth you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You don’t answer. Because you know the answer. You’ve known it all along, even when you were pretending not to. The truth is louder than the silence between the three of you, but you’re not ready to face it.

And so, instead of answering, you bury your face further into Seokmin’s shoulder, fighting the tears that never seem to stop. The answer is clear, but you can’t find the words to say it.

Friday feels like the weight of the week is catching up with you, every inch of your body refusing to move as you sit at your desk, staring blankly at the screen. You’ve worked from home plenty of times before, but today? Today, it feels different. The silence is too loud, too consuming, and you can't escape it, not even in the safety of your own apartment. Your phone buzzes incessantly in the corner of your desk, each ping making your chest tighten just a little more. You know it’s him. Seungkwan. You know because his name flashes on your screen, and every time, you hesitate before swiping it away, like a coward.

You don’t want to hear it, not today. Not when everything feels so broken.

But when the photo comes in—a simple picture of your coffee order, just sitting there on your desk with nothing but a blank post-it note next to it—you can feel the tears already threatening to break free. The coffee’s steaming, just the way you like it, but the note’s blank, empty. There’s nothing there. Just silence.

It’s too much.

You let out a strangled sob, your hand shaking as you clutch your phone. Your throat tightens as you struggle to breathe, the weight of everything crashing down on you all at once. You curl up at your desk, tears falling in heavy waves as you finally allow yourself to break. The floodgates that you’ve kept tightly shut the past few days burst wide open, and you can’t stop it. Can’t stop the sobs that wrack through you, shaking you to your core.

You’re not ready to face this. Not ready to admit what’s happening inside of you. You just want it to stop. To go back to before everything got complicated. Before you let yourself feel anything for him.

You don't even bother to wipe your tears away, don’t bother trying to pull yourself together. You don’t even go to Seokmin’s tonight for your weekly ritual. The usual distraction, the routine that’s always been your safe space, feels miles away now.

Instead, you pull the blanket tighter around you, the emptiness of the apartment matching the emptiness you feel inside. You bury yourself in it.

And you let the tears come.

The smell of Seokmin’s cooking wafts into the living room as he sets up the kitchen, making his usual chaotic symphony of clattering pans and sizzling ingredients. He’s persistent, like always, so you know there’s no way you’re getting out of this. He’s here to cook, and more importantly, to drag you back from the spiral you’ve fallen into.

You don’t say anything when he hands you the bowl of food. You just sit down at the kitchen table, quietly shoveling the food into your mouth. It tastes good, as always, but it doesn’t reach you. Not the way it should.

The silence stretches between you two as you chew, the clinking of your utensils the only sound in the room. Seokmin isn’t going to let it slide, though. He’s far too persistent to let you wallow in quiet.

“So,” he starts, his voice quiet but pointed, “what happened?”

You don’t answer immediately, and it’s not because you don’t want to—no, it’s because you’re not sure where to start. Do you tell him the truth? That you let your feelings get tangled up in a game, that Seungkwan tricked you into thinking it meant something more than it was?

But when you look up, you meet Seokmin’s eyes, and for some reason, you just... let it spill.

“I kissed him,” you say, voice small. The words feel like a confession you weren’t ready to make.

Seokmin’s brows furrow slightly, but he doesn’t push. He just asks, “But that’s a good thing, right?”

You snort, bitter and frustrated. “Seokmin, it was all just a game to him.”

The words hang there, sharp in the quiet kitchen air. Seokmin pauses, setting his fork down before speaking again. “Did he tell you that?”

You shake your head. “No, but he doesn’t need to. He kept bringing up the contract.”

Seokmin’s eyes narrow in frustration, but there’s a softness in them too. “Y/N…”

“Don’t,” you mutter, the emotion welling up again in your chest. “I’m done. I’m tired of this, Seokmin. It was never real for him, and it’s too real for me now. I can’t keep pretending.”

You can’t even look him in the eye now, your gaze turning to the table as your hands clutch the bowl. Seokmin stays quiet, letting you speak, but you can feel the weight of his disappointment. It doesn’t make you feel better, but at least you’re not holding it all in.

“What are you going to do on Monday? You have to present together.” Seokmin says, his voice light but his eyes serious.

The question hits you like a punch to the gut. You’ve been avoiding thinking about that. Of course, Monday will come, and you’ll have to face Seungkwan again.

“I’ll ignore him,” you reply, voice almost robotic.

Seokmin raises an eyebrow. “Let me repeat: you have to PRESENT. TOGETHER.” He emphasizes the word ‘together,’ and you can feel the weight of it pressing down on you. “Emphasis on TOGETHER.”

You just stare at your food, not knowing what to say. Your heart is heavy, your thoughts racing.

“Seokmin, I’m tired of this,” you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips. “I’m done. Aera and Ayoung can go fuck themselves, but I’m not playing this game anymore.”

Seokmin doesn’t say anything for a while. You hear him sigh, and when you look up, his face is softer. “If you say so.”

You want to argue, to tell him that it’s easier said than done, but instead, you just slump back into your chair, letting the silence fill the space again. He doesn’t push you further, just lets you stew in your emotions, knowing that you’ll need time. You’re not ready to face Monday, not ready to stand side by side with Seungkwan, pretending like none of this ever happened. But there’s no escaping it. And you’ll have to deal with it soon enough.

Monday morning is a punch to the gut.

You arrive at work, feeling the weight of the weekend's fallout heavy in your chest. The first thing you notice when you pull into the parking lot is that there’s no coffee waiting for you on your desk. The usual sign of Seungkwan’s presence, of him thinking of you in the mornings, is missing. It's a stupid thing to feel the absence of, but it cuts deeper than you'd like to admit.

You walk into the office, feeling all the eyes on you. It’s not even 9 AM, and you already know today is going to drag. You get to your desk, and before you can even sit down, Aera and Ayoung are already on you, their faces lit up with exaggerated curiosity.

"Hey, Y/N," Aera says, eyes flicking to the empty space where the coffee should have been. "Where’s your coffee today? You and Seungkwan usually have that whole ‘he brings your coffee’ thing down to a science. What’s up? You two not sharing that routine anymore?"

Ayoung giggles, and you feel the irritation bubbling up before you can stop it. You’ve had enough of this.

You slam your bag down on your desk, not bothering to hide the exhaustion in your voice. "We broke up. Now get out of my face so I can work."

The words hit the air like a slap, and for a moment, the office is completely silent. Aera’s mouth falls open slightly, her eyes wide in surprise, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Ayoung just blinks, taken aback, but she says nothing more, her usual snark suddenly gone.

You don’t give them a chance to respond. You turn away from them, sitting at your desk, hands shaking slightly as you pull up your emails. You can hear their retreating footsteps, but you don’t bother looking up. You don’t care. It’s easier to just ignore them and dive into your work, focusing on the tasks in front of you.

But it doesn’t stop there. As much as you try to bury yourself in your screen, the emptiness of Seungkwan’s absence—his lack of coffee, the parking spot that you still take for granted—gnaws at you. You tell yourself that it’s for the best, that the game is over. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

The presentation room feels suffocating.

You stand at the front, flipping through slides, forcing your gaze to stay focused on the KPIs and metrics on the screen. The numbers are safe, the charts impersonal. You can talk about this with your eyes closed, but it feels like everything else in the room is conspiring against you.

Seungkwan, of course, keeps trying to catch your eye. Every time you glance in his direction—brief, fleeting—you see the way his expression tightens, the worry flickering in his eyes. You’re not sure if it's pity or concern, and frankly, you don’t care. You’ve worked hard to bury whatever feelings were there, and you’re not about to let him dig them up in front of a room full of people.

You force yourself to talk about the numbers. KPIs, data points, project metrics. Anything to avoid looking at him. You can feel Soonyoung and Seokmin watching you a little too intently, their eyes sharp with something unspoken. It makes your words stutter, your confidence falter just a little, but you push through, unwilling to show any weakness.

But then an executive asks if you're okay, and the words catch you off guard. You can’t help it—you glance over at Seungkwan. Just for a second. Long enough for him to notice, long enough for him to give you that look. The one you’ve been avoiding.

"I'm fine, thanks," you manage to say, voice steady despite the way your heart is hammering in your chest. You look back at the screen, not daring to meet anyone’s gaze. You try to ignore the weight of his concern, the way it lingers like a weight in the air.

The meeting eventually wraps up, and as everyone files out, Seungkwan steps towards you, his arm reaching out. You feel the familiar tug of his presence, the warmth of his hand inches away from your sleeve.

But you don’t want to feel it. You don’t want to deal with it.

You shrug him off, murmuring something about deadlines and reports that need to be finished. The words come out harsh and clipped, almost too much so, but you don’t care. You can feel the tension hanging between you like a storm cloud, but you don’t want to be near him right now. Not with everything still so raw.

You don’t wait for a response, just turn and walk toward your desk, not daring to look back.

You thought it would be easy to avoid Seungkwan. After all, it's just a matter of keeping your distance, staying busy, and letting the work pile up in a way that leaves no room for him to worm his way back into your head. You’ve been doing it for hours, and so far, it’s working.

Three hours, at least.

Seokmin and Soonyoung have been your perfect distractions, filling your day with so much nonsense that you barely have time to breathe, let alone think about Seungkwan and the mess you’ve somehow ended up in.

It started in the break room, just after the meeting. You’d been trying to sneak in a coffee, hoping it might calm the jittery feeling that’s been buzzing through you since you saw Seungkwan's hand reach for yours. But, of course, Soonyoung and Seokmin cornered you before you could even take a sip.

"Y/N, I need your opinion on something," Soonyoung had started, with that grin of his, the one that always spells trouble.

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious. "What now?"

Seokmin leaned in like they were about to discuss state secrets, whispering in a conspiratorial tone, "Soonyoung here is convinced he’s a professional ice cream taster. He wants to know if he should add ‘Certified Expert’ to his resume."

You rolled your eyes, but Soonyoung was undeterred, holding up a pint of Ben & Jerry’s with a flourish. "Can’t you see the wisdom in my plan? Who wouldn’t hire a man who knows his way around a pint of Cookie Dough?"

You snorted, shaking your head. "You’re ridiculous. But go ahead, waste your time on that. I’m trying to focus."

But no, they weren’t letting you go that easily. Seokmin started cracking jokes, distracting you with all the random things he’d overheard in the office. "Did you know that Ayoung is secretly obsessed with ‘90s boy bands? I walked in on her humming ‘I Want It That Way’ this morning, and I’m still recovering."

And Soonyoung, ever the instigator, added with a wink, "I also caught her in the hallway talking about getting a matching tattoo with Aera. Of a tiny cupcake. What do you think? The whole office would get a kick out of that."

By then, you were laughing despite yourself, pushing down the tight feeling in your chest. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to laugh, it was just that... well, everything felt too complicated. Too much.

So, you let them pull you into their nonsense. They carried on for the next hour—Soonyoung performing some ridiculous impression of an old-timey detective, Seokmin explaining his absurd theory that paperclips are an ancient alien technology (you’re still not sure if he was serious)—until you forgot, for just a moment, about everything else. Even Seungkwan.

But of course, they weren’t done. When they saw that momentary crack in your armor, they pounced, practically dragging you into a brainstorming session for next week's office party theme. Soonyoung insisted on a 'Beach Party' theme even though there was no beach within a hundred miles of your office. Seokmin argued for a retro ‘80s prom, and then proceeded to pull out old high school yearbook photos of him in a neon green tuxedo for ‘inspiration.’ You were supposed to be working, but you couldn’t help but laugh at Seokmin trying to explain why the color combo was "unbeatable."

They kept going, laughing, cracking jokes, pulling your attention from the tight knot that had been steadily winding around your chest since you left the meeting. But you knew—knew—this distraction wasn’t going to last forever.

Eventually, reality would catch up, but for now, you let them drag you along with them. The idea of facing Seungkwan, of facing what had happened, felt like too much. So you pushed it down, buried it in the ridiculousness of the day.

For now, you thought, it was working. But you had a feeling the peace wouldn’t last long.

It’s late, and you’re about to congratulate yourself on avoiding Seungkwan for the entire day as you open your car door. But of course, the universe has other plans for you. The sudden slam of the car door makes you jump, your hand still on the handle as you whip around to find Seungkwan standing there, his face set in that tight expression you know too well. The tension between you snaps, palpable in the cool evening air. His voice cuts through the silence, demanding, sharp.

"So this is how it's going to be?" he asks, the words heavy with frustration.

You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest. You were so sure you had made your escape. You had done everything you could today to keep him out of your head, to avoid this moment. Yet here he is, standing in front of you like an inevitable storm, his presence taking up the entire space between you.

You try to steady yourself, the tightness in your throat making it hard to speak. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," you manage, forcing the words out despite how small they sound against the tension hanging between you.

Seungkwan’s eyes narrow as if he’s reading you—really reading you, seeing right through the facade you’ve worked so hard to put on. "Don’t lie to me, Y/N. You’ve been avoiding me all day. It’s not just because of the work, is it? You’ve been avoiding me since... since the gala. Since everything."

You bite your lip, refusing to let the weight of his words sink in, but his voice keeps coming, a steady beat in your chest. “You think I’m just supposed to pretend everything’s fine after what happened?”

The words hit you like a slap, leaving a bitter taste on your tongue. You try to ignore the ache that stirs inside you at the mention of what happened—the kiss, the way it felt so real, so right, and yet so wrong. So much of a game. And now he’s standing here, throwing it all in your face.

"I don’t know what you expect from me, Seungkwan," you snap, unable to keep the edge from your voice. "But it’s over. I told you—I’m done."

Seungkwan’s jaw tightens, and he steps closer, his proximity making you instinctively want to step back. But you don’t. You won’t.

"Done?" he repeats, voice laced with disbelief. "Just like that? You think you can just walk away? You’re really going to pretend this—whatever this is—didn’t mean anything?"

You open your mouth to argue, but no words come out. It’s as if your body’s betraying you, locking you in this moment where nothing makes sense, where the anger you thought would fuel you evaporates the moment Seungkwan looks at you with that frustrated, helpless look in his eyes.

You hate that you care. You hate that, even now, a part of you wants to reach out and undo everything. To erase the distance, the silence, the walls you’ve built between the two of you. But you can’t.

“You always thought of it as a game, Seungkwan,” you snap, your voice a little too sharp for comfort, but it’s all you have to hold onto. The argument. The distance. The lie you’ve been clinging to.

He’s shaking his head before you even finish the sentence, a rawness in his expression you’ve never seen before. “It was never a game for me!” His words crash through the silence, leaving an echo that hangs in the air. It’s too much. Too loud.

And then, just like that, you’re back in that hallway, your heart pounding. The night air feels suffocating, and there’s a closeness between you two that should feel wrong, but it doesn’t. It feels right in the way his chest is rising and falling too quickly, in the way you can barely breathe without him being this close. Your breaths are shaky, uncertain.

“What was it then?” Your voice cracks as you ask, small and vulnerable, that gnawing fear in your chest almost swallowing you whole. You don’t want to know the answer, but you know you need to hear it.

His gaze drops, his voice softens, and it’s enough to make your stomach turn with something too familiar. “What do you think?” he whispers, just above a breath, his words more like a confession than a question.

The truth is right there, suspended between you two, but it feels like a lie at the same time. You try to push it down, try to control it, but the knot in your throat grows tighter. You’re not sure what’s worse—the silence, or the fact that you’re on the verge of hoping for something you shouldn’t.

His hand moves to your face, brushing your cheek, and you can feel the heat of his touch seeping into your skin like a live wire. “I kept the parking spot argument going because I knew it was the only excuse I had to talk to you,” he continues, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place. “You’re so smart. So beautiful. I knew you would never give me the time of day unless I made you.”

It hits you in waves, like the ground beneath you is shifting. You open your mouth to respond, to tell him that this is too much, too late, that he can’t just explain this all away—but he cuts you off, the urgency in his voice making you freeze.

“No, please. Let me finish.”

You swallow hard, the words stuck in your throat, but you stay silent, waiting for him to continue.

He steps closer, the air between you two crackling with every movement. His eyes are dark, intense, and you’re not sure if it’s fear or something else flickering behind them. “I couldn’t just let you go. I couldn’t. So I did what I had to do. I kept pushing you, testing you, because I couldn’t let you slip away.”

The honesty in his voice is like a punch to the gut. Every word seems to break down everything you thought you knew about this whole thing. You can’t speak. You’re drowning in it, caught between the words and the way he’s looking at you.

You want to run. You should run. But instead, you stay there, with his hands on you, his breath too close to yours, and the silence that threatens to drown you both.

The question slips out before you can stop it, your voice small and fragile in the heavy silence that’s settled between you two. It feels like everything is crashing down, the weight of it all pressing against your chest, but the curiosity burns through. You need to know.

"Why did you say yes? To the contract?" Your voice barely rises above a whisper, and you can’t help the way your breath catches in your throat, that desperate need to understand.

Seungkwan freezes, his hand still hovering just inches from your face, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. It’s like you’ve asked the question that’s been hanging in the air, unspoken, for far too long. And for a moment, it feels like the world is holding its breath, waiting for him to answer.

He looks away, his eyes darting to the ground as if the answer isn’t something he can say out loud. His lips part, but no words come out. He takes a breath, almost like he’s bracing himself for what he’s about to admit. And then, slowly, the words slip out, ragged and raw.

“Because I didn’t know how else to get close to you.” His voice trembles slightly, but the honesty in it cuts through you, sharp and real. “I didn’t know how else to make you notice me.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “I was tired of standing in the background, watching you with everyone else, wanting to be more than just... the guy who argues with you about parking spots or steals your coffee.”

There’s a bitter chuckle, half empty, half ashamed, and it almost breaks you. He doesn’t look at you now, but his words hang in the air between you like a weight that neither of you can lift.

“I thought if I had a reason, an excuse, maybe... maybe I could make you see me. See us." He finally glances back up, his gaze soft, too soft for the harshness of his confession. “And I was wrong, okay? I was wrong to use you like that.”

The silence after his words is deafening. Every piece of you wants to scream, to shout at him for what he’s done, for the way he played with your heart like it was a game. But you can’t. Not with the raw vulnerability in his eyes, the way he stands there, exposed and unsure.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice cracks, and it’s all you can manage.

His chest rises and falls with a deep, shaky breath. “Because I didn’t think you’d ever want to hear it.”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, a breathless, almost irritated whisper. "You're an idiot." But it's not frustration you feel anymore, it’s something deeper, something that’s been simmering just beneath the surface for far too long.

And then you can’t help it. The space between you closes, and before you even realize what you're doing, your hands are on him, pulling his face down to yours. The kiss is fierce and unrestrained, lips crashing together with a hunger that feels almost desperate, like you’ve been starved for this moment, for him, for everything that’s been left unsaid.

Seungkwan’s hands find their way to your waist, tugging you closer, his body solid and warm against yours. He responds without hesitation, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that matches your own, a mix of frustration and need, and something else—something raw and real.

The world outside of this moment disappears, the streetlights and cars, the sounds of the city—it all fades away, leaving just the two of you, caught in the storm of it all. It feels right, in a way that makes your chest tighten, in a way that makes everything else feel insignificant. The kiss deepens, and for a moment, everything that’s been left unspoken between you two finally starts to come to the surface.

When you finally pull away, breathless and dazed, his forehead rests against yours, your heart pounding in the space between you. It feels like the whole world has just shifted, everything falling into place in a way that makes sense, finally.

"How did you know my coffee order?" You ask, voice still shaky from the kiss, but your curiosity getting the better of you. You're still trying to wrap your head around all of it.

Seungkwan pauses for a moment, then a sheepish smile tugs at his lips. "I watched you," he admits quietly, his eyes softening. "I memorized little things about you, filed them away. Thought maybe one day I could use them... if I ever got the chance."

You can't help the small giggle that escapes you at his confession, the weight of it all sinking in. It's the sweetest thing you've ever heard. Before you can stop yourself, you're pulling him back into a kiss, hands sliding up to cup his face, as if this moment could last forever.

When you pull away again, your lips still tingling from his touch, you look up at him with a playful grin.

"So what do you say, fake-girlfriend?" he asks, his voice low, teasing. "Wanna be my real girlfriend?"

You laugh, the sound light and carefree, pressing your head against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. For the first time in what feels like forever, everything feels right. You breathe him in, the warmth of his embrace anchoring you.

"Only if you still bring me coffee," you murmur, grinning into his shirt.

"Done," he whispers, pressing his lips to yours again, and this time it feels like a promise—one you both intend to keep.

EPILOGUE

Seungkwan’s car is parked downstairs, and your phone buzzes incessantly as you can practically hear his impatience through the screen. You’re running late, of course, but when you finally slip into the passenger seat, he’s grumbling, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. The moment you slide in, though, his tone softens, and he’s already handing you a cup of coffee—the perfect temperature, the way you like it, the warm press of his lips against your cheek.

"You’re lucky I didn’t leave without you," he mutters, but there’s no real anger in his voice. You smile as you take a sip. This coffee isn’t from the shop across town anymore. No, Seungkwan bought an espresso machine, much to your surprise, and he’s been making them himself. "What kind of boyfriend doesn’t make coffee for his girlfriend?" he had argued one night as you laid in his lap, and you had to admit, it was an endearing (and slightly ridiculous) argument. Still, this coffee tastes better than anything you could buy, and maybe you’re biased, but you think it might actually be true.

He pulls into The Spot with an exaggerated sigh. “It’s so much nicer not having to argue with you every day for the spot,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips.

You roll your eyes and slam the car door shut with a dramatic flair. “I can pick fights about other things,” you shoot back unhelpfully, crossing your arms. “For example, your tie is hideous.”

Seungkwan gasps in mock outrage, his hand flying to his chest like he’s been personally attacked. "You did not just say that!" he yells, and then he's chasing you through the parking garage, the sound of his footsteps getting closer. You let out a shriek as you try to run in heels, but it’s no use—he catches up to you easily, hands dancing across your waist as you beg for mercy.

"Take it back!" he demands, voice filled with mock seriousness.

"No!" You laugh, still struggling against his hold, though it's a losing battle.

"Then no coffee for a week," he warns, his tone playful but authoritative.

"Boo Seungkwan!" you protest, but his grin only widens as he pulls you into the elevator, trapping you between his chest and the wall.

The elevator door dings open, and just as you step out, he pulls you back toward him, placing a kiss on your lips—slow and warm, lingering like he’s in no rush to let you go.

"Have a good day," he murmurs, his lips brushing your cheek.

"EW!" Seokmin’s voice shouts from behind you, and you can’t help but laugh at the sound of him. Seungkwan flips him off without missing a beat, the playful edge in his voice unmistakable. "This whole thing is your fault," he calls out to Seokmin’s retreating figure, who’s already halfway down the hall, grinning ear to ear.

"I know!" Seokmin yells back gleefully, his voice carrying through the hallway. "I had a really really good plan!"

tagging: @ottersmind @blvenote @kyeomsworld @cookiearmy @armycarat2612 @rjea @xylatox @flwrshwa

@christinewithluv @headlockimnida @letwiiparkjay @cherr-y-eji @codeinbelle @baguette-atiny @whoa-jo @noiceoofed

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dollfacefantasy · 2 days ago

Text

BIRTHDAY GIRL ♡

pairing: clark kent x fem!reader

summary: your boyfriend forgot your birthday :( how ever will he make it up to you...

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, oral sex (f receiving)

a/n: happy birthday to @fearcvlt!!! one of my sweet friends who i love so so much. i hope you're having a great day bb <3 alsooo just fyi to everyone, there will be no part 2 to this.

From the moment Clark woke up today he’d been busy, busy, busy.

Given that it was a Saturday, he hadn’t expected the influx of tasks thrown at him. However he’d never been one to complain, so instead of moaning and groaning, he handled each thing as it came.

In the morning, he had to go into town to pick up a few things for his mom. On the way back, he had to stop by the Talon to discuss some details of a recent wall-of-weird incident with Lana. At some point later on, Lex was then calling him up and asking for his assistance on something.

He felt like he spent more time behind the wheel of his truck that day than on his own two feet with how much he was having to go back and forth across the familiar streets.

Really, every moment of Clark’s schedule over the past week had gone something like this. Packed full from dawn till dusk. He had tests to study for and essays to write. His regular responsibilities on the farm never let up as did his small circle of friends asking to do something or the other. And recently, there’d been a strange string of accidents that he felt compelled to investigate.

Last night specifically, he’d been occupied with Chloe and Pete. What was supposed to be a couple hours of research stretched into a few laps through the woods looking for a variant type of meteor rock and then a car ride to Granville and back. Once he finally got home, he passed out for a couple hours and then scraped himself out of bed to get through all of today.

Now in the evening, he finally had a moment of quiet. He sat by himself on the Torch’s computer, fingers tapping away at the keyboard as he looked into connections between all the components they’d found over the last several days. His eyes flicked across the tiny words glowing on the computer screen. Most of the time Chloe handled the research aspect of their investigations, but he felt so close to having this resolved. With a few more details, he could have this thing cracked in an hour.

The sound of footsteps approaching the door pulled his attention away from the article in front of him. He knew from the quick rhythm of them, they belonged to Chloe. His eyes flitted to the entryway as she appeared. She greeted him without any words, her usual smile and slight wave serving as enough for the two of them as she came in and set her stuff down at her desk.

“You must be really invested in this whole thing if it has you working late all alone,” she teased while shrugging off her coat.

“Something like that,” he responded as his gaze drifted back to the screen, “I’m glad you showed up. I think I really have something on this guy.”

“Oh that’s good,” she said, looking much more interested at the prospect of new information. Coming up behind him at the desk, she skimmed the article over his shoulder. “You know, I thought you’d be with your girlfriend tonight, Clark,” she added as she reached for the mouse to scroll down.

His brows furrowed at the mention of you. While he could talk about you for hours and hours, he didn’t understand the point in her bringing you up now. It felt like a joke going over his head. She’d said it with the normal dose of teasing she used towards him, but the statement as a whole sounded earnest.

“Why would you think that?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I just thought you guys might do something for her birthday. I know she’s not having a party, but I guess I assumed she’d still want to hang out with you,” she answered. The way she said it was so casual. It wasn’t meant to mock or come off as a gotcha. That was what it felt like though because in that moment Clark realized something.

He forgot his girlfriend’s birthday.

Actually, that wasn’t exactly true. He hadn’t completely spaced the event. Last weekend, he’d planned this all out in his head. He called in a reservation at your favorite restaurant, stashed away a few small things to give you, even made a note of where he was gonna buy you a cupcake from. It was just that over the past week, he’d gotten so busy and distracted that those plans faded to the back of his mind. Today, he hadn’t even looked at the date, hadn’t even put together that today was your special day.

But none of the excuses mattered. No matter how he put it, when it actually counted, he forgot your fucking birthday. And maybe he could have played it off like everything was a surprise, that he’d only been pretending to be so oblivious and inconsiderate, if not for the fact that his truck should have been in front of your house an hour ago because he told you he’d pick you up for dinner.

He shot up out of his chair so fast that it fell backwards and smacked against the floor. His hands ran through his hair as he frantically tried to think of what to do. Such a strong wave of panic washed over him that he almost burst into super-sprint right in front of Chloe.

“Clark, you didn’t,” she said, looking back at him. He didn’t even have to say the words for her to surmise the reason for his reaction, “That’s bad, even for you.”

“I know,” he agreed, blue eyes still wide and full of worry, “How could I forget? God, I thought about this. I had all of it figured out. This was the one thing I wasn’t gonna miss.”

“Well the day isn't over yet…” Chloe offered with a slanted look.

He rubbed at his brow for a second before nodding. Of course he was gonna try to make it up to you. His mind just didn’t work as fast as his body. He still had to figure out how on Earth he was going to explain this, let alone justify his absence to you. But he could do that on the way to your house. He really didn’t have any more time to waste.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll have to go try to make the most of how ever many hours are left,” he mumbled.

She nodded in support. “I’ll take over here. You go save the day,” she said.

As soon as Clark was out of her line of sight, he bolted. He zipped into a blur, ditching his truck in the parking lot in favor of his own speed. Later he could come back to drive it home. He didn’t have seconds to spare at red lights or finding parking as he collected the things he needed.

It took him around five minutes to pull everything together. He grabbed the pale blue gift bag from his house, picked up a cupcake from the store (the last one they had), and snatched a bouquet of flowers on his way out.

Every step of the way to you, words of apology ran through his mind, ranging from I’m so so sorry, I’m such an idiot to I swear the truck just broke down, I couldn’t get service, but I’m here now. He tried to think of something that would make this salvageable, but truly, this was his worst screw up with you so far. He’d been late to dates before. He’d forgotten important things. But standing you up on your birthday? That might be the fatal blow to your relationship.

He slid to a stop in front of your porch steps. All the windows in your house were dark. He knew your house would be empty with your parents out of town, but he couldn’t even see the glow of your small tv shining up in your room. Dread bubbled inside him as he realized you could have still gone out without him. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t deserve it, but the possibility didn’t sting any less.

Steeling himself for the possibility of no response, he walked up the wooden steps and across the floor panels to your front door. He took a moment to run his fingers through his windblown hair. With one more deep breath, he shifted the flowers to the crux of his arm and knocked on the door. The gift bag hung off of his other wrist while that hand held the small box with your cake in it.

Five seconds passed and then another several moments of silence too. He resisted the urge to knock again. You could just be taking your time.

But after another bout of quiet went by, he tapped his knuckles against the door again three times. If you didn’t answer this time after another minute, he’d have to regroup, he told himself.

That minute went by the same as the last though, and he still didn’t want to leave. He considered saying something or calling for you through the door; though, at this point in time, he wasn’t sure if his voice would be a strong selling point.

He waited another handful of seconds before raising his fist. Third time’s a charm, right? But before his fingers could make contact, he heard the lock unlatch and the knob twist in that clunky way it always did. Relief fizzled all through his body before he even saw your face.

The door cracked open. From what he could see, the interior of your house was as dark as the windows led him to believe. The nearest streetlight doused the small sliver of space in a faint glow. He could see your leg covered in fuzzy pajama pants and the side of your upper half adorned in an old oversized t-shirt. Your face appeared seconds later. At first, your expression looked neutral. Well you looked sad, but you didn’t look angry, which was what he had been afraid of.

Then your eyes lifted to look at his face, and once they registered the sight of the person before you, that fire lit up in an instant.

Immediately, you tried shutting the door, but he was quick. He stuck his foot forward, jamming his boot in the entryway to stop it from closing. The pressure didn’t really hurt, but he still winced for show.

“Baby, wait,” he pleaded, “I know you’re mad, and you have every right to be. I deserve it-”

“Save it, Clark,” you gritted through your clenched jaw.

You threw your entire body weight against the door in an attempt to shut him out. He could hear your feet scraping against the floor along with your soft grunts as you tried forcing it closed. It would probably be cute if he didn’t feel so guilty.

“Just hear me out,” he tried again, “I’m sorry for being late. I’m really sorry. There’s no excuse that would make it ok, so I won’t even try to give you one. But please, sweetheart. I brought you some stuff, and it’s still your birthday-”

“You’re more than late! Late is fifteen minutes! Late is when thirty minutes pass so you call and explain you’re stuck in traffic! Late doesn’t mean an hour goes by and you finally show up because you realize you don’t have anything better to do, so you might as well!” you cut him off.

You couldn’t have said anything worse to Clark in that moment. He never wanted you thinking this was intentional, that he chose to be anywhere else that wasn’t with you. Now he pushed back a little. He leaned into the door, using his strength to scooch you further into the house and allow himself room to slip inside. As he did, he let some grunts slip out and even took a few seconds to give the illusion that you had a fighting chance.

“I swear this wasn’t on purpose. I’d never choose to make you wait or make you think that I don’t care or something,” he continued. A hint of desperation laced his words now. “I didn’t even forget. I’ve been planning this, and I had it all laid out in my head. I just… I just lost track of time. And it’s my fault, but I can make it up to you if you let me.”

You had turned away from him once he actually made his way into the house. Your body stood stiff as a board. He couldn’t even see your face to get some kind of read on how his words were coming across. And even worse, you weren’t saying anything back. He hesitated, mentally debating whether he should proceed with his pleas or give you a second. But ultimately, the former won. Logic and Clark didn’t mix well when it came to getting in your good graces again. He would do anything to make that happen.

“Honey, I know I missed the first part of the night, but I’m here now. And you’re here, and you look beautiful like you always do. And it’s still your birthday and I have some stuff for you,” he added.

“It’s not about the stuff, Clark. It’s not about what day it is or whatever,”you responded. You turned around to face him again. In the darkness, he couldn’t really make out your features, but your voice cracked. He didn’t need any light to know how your eyes were watering right now. How your lip was wobbling in that timid pout.

He hated that he was so familiar with your disappointment.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, though this time they came out much weaker, like the sound of a dying soldier.

You took in a shuddery breath, either in preparation to yell at him or to maintain what you had left of composure. Neither happened right away. That almost felt worse, leaving him to burn under the heat of anticipation.

“I just… I don’t understand you. You can be so sweet. So caring. You make me feel like you really love me, but then you do stuff like this,” you finally said. Your voice cracked again, but this time it nearly stopped your words from coming out. You were losing a battle of your own against your tears.

“I do really love you,” he replied without a second thought. He dropped the flowers onto the nearby end table, shoving the gift bag and small box on after it. His arms opened for you as he took a step forward. He only hoped you wouldn’t push him away.

But you didn’t. You took the same step with your own feet and let him embrace you. The warmth of his body engulfed you all at once as his big arms looped around your frame. One of his hands found your head, cradling it against his chest.

“I do love you, baby. Always. I never want you to think I don’t,” he said softly.

You sniffled and squished your face against his chest. He held you tighter against himself. It didn’t feel tight enough. It never did for Clark. He always wanted you closer, held more securely, but he had to hold back if he didn’t want to shatter your bones.

“Hey, hey. Don’t cry,” he cooed, planting a few kisses on the top of your head, “Don’t cry, babe. Please. I’m not worth it, alright? I don’t want you so sad over my stupid mistakes.”

While you weren’t saying anything, the weight of your emotions filled the air all around you. They were practically tangible to Clark - the disappointment and betrayal. The insecurity he caused. The pain he inflicted. He was almost glad you usually stayed silent while crying because he didn’t think his Kryptonian DNA would save him from being crushed by your words. At the same time, you didn’t have to speak them for him to understand the potential sentiment. He could tell from the muted nature of your sadness right now. You had gotten your hopes up. You believed that because tonight was special, it would be different. He would show up, and it wouldn’t be like countless other dates and occasions.

He stood there with you in the hall, rubbing your back and rocking back and forth with you a little. After a few minutes, he nudged your head back with the tip of his nose. “Let me see those pretty eyes, baby,” he whispered.

His own vision had adjusted to the dark by now. When you tilted your head upwards, he could see the small spheres all glossy, your lashes wet with the recent tears. He leaned in and kissed the shiny streaks running down your cheeks. The right one first, then the left. His hand cupped your face with all the care in the world.

“There’s my girl,” he murmured as he brushed the tip of his nose against yours.

You gazed back into his bright blue eyes. God, you knew you should make this harder for him. He deserved to work for your forgiveness, but nothing made you weak like Clark. One glimpse of his eyes all wide, looking at you like a scolded puppy, and any anger towards him melted away like ice left out in the summer.

He laid a few more kisses along your face, moving his lips from one feature to the next. “You’re too sweet to be crying like this on your special day,” he said.

His thumbs swiped away remaining tears while your eyes began to dry up. Warmth filled your body again, blooming up in the hollow cold left by your prior loneliness. Looking at his face pushed the sadness away. Maybe today hadn’t been totally ruined.

“I won’t let this happen again, alright?” he told you in a hushed tone despite no one else being in the house. He made sure not to promise though. “I’ll get a calendar or something. I’ll write notes for myself. I’ll write ‘em all over my body like in that movie we watched last summer.”

“The movie that you left halfway through,” you said, your voice gently teasing now.

He exhaled sharply, and a smile spread across his lips. His eyes held a degree of shame still. It felt wrong to laugh about something like that when it was a piece of the issue at hand. But he could tell you were trying to lighten the mood, and he wouldn’t make you feel bad about that.

“I still got the idea,” he defended and ducked in, giving you another long kiss.

His arms pulled you tighter against his body while his hands swept down onto your back. One stayed between your shoulder blades as the other ventured South. His fingers glided over the small of your back, coasting over the top of your ass.

“Let me make it up to you,” he said.

You bit your lip at the sensation of his roaming hands. Allowing him a few more smooches, you finally pulled back to catch your breath for a moment.

“How do you wanna do that?” you asked.

He grinned, those sharp canines peeking out near the corners of his mouth. “I have something in mind, but any way you want is fine, baby,” he murmured.

“You can try your way…” you agreed. You had an idea of what he was picturing, and it wasn’t something you felt the urge to interfere with.

“Try,” he repeated playfully before pulling you into another series of kisses.

The two of you stumbled away from the front door and your gifts left on the end table. His feet followed yours down the hallway in the direction of your bedroom. Your back bumped into the wall a few times before you both slipped through the entrance of your room and found your ways to the bed.

The backs of your thighs hit your soft mattress first. Your smooth skin rubbed against the floral sheets spread over your bed. You let yourself fall back, and Clark’s body went with yours.

You shifted around, scooting up so that your head was on one of the plush pillows near the top of the mattress. He ended up with his frame hovering above your own. Only a few seconds passed before he pressed his lips to your again. Sometimes it felt as though Clark could kiss you all night. He paid so much attention to your lips, put so much dedication into every flick of his tongue and teasing pull with his teeth.

Your hands tried to return the same amount of reverence with their touches. You rubbed them up over his broad shoulders and along the nape of his neck. Your fingertips twisted the ends of his dark hair before sliding between the strands and scratching his scalp.

A groan rumbled up from his chest. You responded with a softer moan of your own. To go with the sound, your legs rose up against his sides and pressed into his hips. You pulled him closer, subtly urged him to tend to you where you wanted him most.

He finally pulled his mouth off you a minute later. His breaths now came out in harsh pants. The warm air fanned over your face while you stared up at your boyfriend. A cute shade of pink filled his cheeks while his pupils dilated with lust for you. His lips shimmered with your saliva under the faint light of the moon beaming through the window.

“My perfect, pretty girl,” he mumbled before dropping his head to your neck.

His attention focused there now. He kissed all over the column of your throat, moving without much strategy. Most of the time, Clark was very eager for you. He explored your body based on pure desire and nothing else. It always ended up feeling good for you though. Seeing his passion was half the pleasure.

While his lips worked above, his hands groped at you below. His large palms massaged your hips and smoothed up and down your sides. His fingers kneaded your soft flesh. The feel of it alone had him starting to fill out in his jeans.

“You deserve so much, baby. So much more than I give you. Gonna try to make you feel how much you deserve,” he muttered against your skin, lust-fueled thoughts escaping without resistance.

At your waist, his fingers hooked over the hem of your pajama bottoms and gave the fabric a shove. “Lift your hips for me, honey,” he directed.

You did so without a question, allowing him to pull the garment the rest of the way off. It was so frustrating for Clark sometimes. He had the ability to literally tear your clothes to shreds. If he wanted to, those pants could have been gone faster than you could have asked him not to rip them. But for now, he still had to play the game by normal rules.

He moved his way over to your collarbone and placed a few kisses along the neckline of your shirt before migrating South. His hands fell from your hips to your thighs. He gave them the same treatment, squeezing and grabbing. But he wasted no time in parting them.

With one palm on each, he spread you open for himself and settled between your open legs. The sight of your panties greeted him. The dainty cloth covered the precious part of you he was aching to see. He stared at the material for a moment. It wasn’t wet yet, but it was tight against your folds. He could see so much of you without really seeing anything at all.

Leaning in, he kissed your pussy over the fabric. It was chaste. Something less sinful than anything he’d done to your mouth. His thumb came next. He ran the thick digit from the bottom of your slit all the way up to your clit. He kept the pace nice and slow, teasing enough that a shudder came over you as you fought the urge to squirm.

His eyes flitted up to your face. He couldn’t get enough of how cute you were. The desperation was written all over your face.

“I’m not gonna tease, sweetheart. Not on your birthday. Not when I already made you wait too long,” he cooed.

His long index finger hooked around the seat of your panties and gave them a good tug. He worked the small scrap off of you and tossed it to the floor. They landed near the mirror. He only noticed because beside it was a dress, slung over the back of a chair. It was lacy and layered and cute. Probably the one you had on earlier. He could only imagine how sad you looked while taking it off and swapping it out for the more comfortable clothes you had on now.

He had to make this good for you.

Returning his focus to the junction of your thighs, his eyes fixating on your cunt in front of him. Your folds gleamed with the beginnings of arousal. His teasing had been just enough to get the fire started inside of you.

He looked back up at your face and brought his own that much closer. “You don’t know how lucky I feel to call this mine,” he said before kissing your clit.

A broken whine crackled out into the air. The touch was so gentle, so soft. It didn’t really feel like much. But the sight of him, the sound of his voice, his mere existence had your body reacting like a live wire right now.

Clark stuck out his tongue and dragged it up the wet expanse of your pussy. The first couple licks were exploratory, but after a few more, they became greedy. He lapped at your cunt. The tip of his tongue swirled over your entrance and danced across your sensitive bundle of nerves. His eyes fluttered shut at the taste of you.

Meanwhile, more sweet noises poured from your lips. You whined and moan, a few times only managing to choke out a breathy mewl. One of your hands clutched at his hair while the other alternated between clawing at the blankets and covering your face. It flipped back and forth between the two, trying to find the one that would bring some stability.

Nothing you do could fight off the feeling of him though. His lips spread and closed, making out with your pussy. He got louder down there. Wet noises echoed between your thighs. None of them bothered him. He was wrapped up in the task of pleasing you. Nothing else mattered.

Clark didn’t get embarrassed in moments like these. Sometimes while on top of you he could get flustered, but with your pussy like this, he couldn’t string together the thoughts that would cause actual embarrassment. All he could fathom was a craving for more of you.

In these moments, you surrounded him completely. Your thighs wrapped around his head, pressing your skin against him. Your taste flooded his mouth. Your scent filled his nose. All he could hear were your needy cries. It was heaven, absolute paradise.

Grabbing your legs tighter, he held you in place more. You hadn’t started squirming yet, but by the time you felt the urge to, you’d be pinned in place. Somehow he put more effort into this now. He boosted your hips a bit before devouring you.

His mouth worked with desperation you’d never seen from him before. You called out his name before choking out another moan and letting your head fall back. He ground his hips into the mattress below him, chasing whatever physical pleasure he could find to match the bliss he felt inside.

While on top of you, Clark could run his mouth. Endless babbles of praise and cooed praises would fall from his lips. But right now, he was fixated on using his mouth for something more important. He could feel your muscles flexing against his tongue, clenching around nothing. You were getting close.

“That’s it, baby. Feels good?” he asked when he finally pulled himself back for some air. His fingers took over his mouth's duty, rubbing your clit fast and with good pressure.

Your hips bucked as a yelp flew out of you. Despite that, you still nodded as fast as you could. “Mhm. Gonna cum,” you whimpered, as if he needed the warning.

“Go ahead, birthday girl. You can cum whenever you're ready,” he said. He smacked a kiss on your thigh before diving back in and nuzzling into your cunt. His tongue swirled with fervent admiration before lashing over your little bud.

The rapid motion flicks you right over the edge. You gasped before whining. Your hips squirmed while you closed your fingers into a fist around Clark’s hair. You grabbed the soft tresses so tightly you might have pulled a few out. He didn’t complain about any of it though. How could he? It felt like everything in the world was perfect when he had you like this.

He rolled his own hips against the mattress a few more times. You were so caught up in your own release that you didn’t hear the whimpers coming from him. You didn’t catch the vibrations from his moans reverberating against your skin. His own pleasure did nothing but spur him on to keep working you through yours.

As you started to come down, he was still going. His movements were a bit sloppier, but he didn’t have any plans of stopping. It was when you whimpered and pushed at his head that he backed off.

He looked up at you. Despite the smirk on his face, his voice came out gentle. “No more? You too sensitive?”

You nodded. “If you can stay, we have the whole night,” you offered.

His smirk broke into a full smile, and he crawled up the mattress to peck your lips. “I can stay. It’s still your birthday after all. We got some more celebrating to do.”

“Mhm,” you agreed. You kissed him again, tasting yourself as your lips met. Your hand trailed down his body to the waistline of his jeans. Before you could even ask, his fingers wrapped around your wrist and guided your limb back up.

“I’m fine, baby,” he said with a sheepish smile, “Plus it’s your birthday. It’s supposed to be all about you.”

“Oh my god, you’re really pushing the birthday thing,” you teased.

“I’m gonna keep pushing it until midnight because it’s true,” he said back. His hands cupped your face while he looked down at you.

After the two of you messed around a little more, Clark remembered the things he had left out by the front door. Pushing himself off the bed, he headed for the door. He was quick about getting your things, but he paused on the way back.

Instead of going straight to you, he walked into your kitchen. Rummaging through some of the drawers crammed full of spare parts and random coupons, he found a half-used pack of birthday candles and a lighter.

After opening the box that held your cake, he put it on a plate and jammed a pink-striped candle into the icing of your cupcake. With a click of the lighter, he topped it off with a small flame.

He headed back to your room, walking slowly so as to not have a surprise-ruining mishap on the way. Once he appeared in the doorway, you glanced at him. Your eyes caught on the lit up cupcake, and your whole face brightened. He chuckled and walked further into the room. Seeing that made the beginning of the evening sting less.

“You’re not singing,” you teased as you sat up on your bed and watched.

“That’s because I want you to have a nice birthday,” he replied.

The words brought actual laughter out of you, but you sat there patiently waiting as he walked over with the plate. He sat down beside you and held the plate before you. The whole time he remained careful, conscious of not getting the flame too close to any part of you.

“You gotta make your wish now,” he said and kissed your cheek.

Smiling at him, you thought for a second before turning towards the small flicker of fire. You stared at it for a moment, and then blew a small stream of air. It danced under the breeze before dissolving into thin smoke. He reached over and popped the stick of wax out for you, so you could eat your treat without impediment.

“What’d you wish for?” he asked as he brought the frosting-coated end to his lips.

“You know the rules. If I tell you, it’ll never come true,” you answered and took a bite.

He rolled his eyes, giving you a little poke to the side. “What about last year? That one come true yet or is it still a secret?”

“Still a secret,” you affirmed. You extended the bitten cupcake out to him. “Want some?”

“No, I’m alright. Already had my dessert,” he teased as he got up to throw away the candle. The words earned him a whine and a smack from you along with some grumbling about him being corny. But you had a smile on your face now, and that’s all he could want.

#clark kent x reader #clark kent smut #clark kent x you #clark kent imagine #smallville x reader #ch: clark kent 💌

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gooobraghhh · 1 day ago

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Somno as a way to brat tame is so underrated

Imagine a brat, tired from a long day of acting up, never truly giving in the whole time but they’re completely exhausted after putting up a fight for so long. They innocently fall asleep, proud of their defiance and you just let It happen because you know their training is about to start.

After a while, long enough to where they’re deeper in sleep, it’s all to easy to pull their clothes aside and start gently teasing wherever they’re most sensative. For some that might be their chest, but more commonly clit/ tdick/frenulum will do the trick. Carefully start circling it and tracing it up and down at a painfully slow pace. Normally this would be torturous but their sleeping body is gonna take whatever you want to give it, no complaints. Then just take your time and have patience. You get to enjoy the show of hearing their little soft breathy moans and seeing their face wince between whines. An honest expression of how good they feel, a refreshing change from the normal defiance and snarky comments.

The goal from here on out is just to tease them for as long as possible. Enjoy feeling as they get miserably hard or messy. You want to toy with them an amount they absolutely could not withstand if they were awake. Just be careful not to push them over the edge and actually let them cum, they need to ride that line for as long as possible. Once they’re sufficiently primed and you’ve gotten a good eye and earful of their embarrassing involuntary reactions just fix their clothes a bit and pretend to roll, or nudge into them in your sleep. Not so much that it’s obvious you’re doing it on purpose but just enough to wake them up inconspicuously.

If all goes well they’ll groggily get up and get hit by a wave of crippling arousal. Almost as if they’d been getting denied for hours. It’s hard to even rationally with how deliriously needy they feel but your brat will quickly realize they have a decision to make. Do they wake you up so you can help relieve them, or do they try to get themselves off without you knowing. Going back to bed is nearly impossible at this point so it’s going to be one or the other.

If they wake you up make sure to really rub their face in how embarrassing this is. Have them communicate in detail how desperate they are and make them beg, apologize and humiliate themselves for your help. They should be essentially broken by the beginning thanks to your hard work. You can either not mention that you toyed with them in their sleep and just start letting them believe they’re so much of a slut waking up desperately horny is a new trait they have or around the time you get them close to finishing you can tell them all the details of what you did, and how cutely they reacted, let them realize how easily they were trained to obediently come to you for relief.

If they try to get off themselves that works too. Just pretend to sleep while you listen carefully to their moans and whines. When they start getting more frequent and hectic, letting you know they’re close, simply wake up and catch them red handed. Then you get to tease and make fun of them for being so much of a pervert they tried to get off next to you while you weren’t awake. You’ll watch their face get all red and shy, a lot more pleasant than the usual defiance. Then they are faced with another decision, do they keep going and jerk off in-front of you like a depraved whore, or do they now start begging you for your help. I think that’s definitely the most humiliating combination of outcomes. But after all that teasing and almost getting close themselves, they’re just gonna be desperate for bodily relief, dignity at the wayside. You can really make them beg after that level of humiliation. Then you can hold how desperate they were over their head. After all, that was all of their own volition, as far as they know you didn’t do anything, only have themselves to blame. You can keep up consistent night training if you really want to ensure their obedience. generally just consider adding somno to your routine brat training, it really messes with their head more than most other methods and has them convinced they’re a total needy pervert.

#wrote this for my dog in dm’s then adapted it for a post #thank you jay #trans nsft #t4t nsft #mtf dom #mtf nsft #ftm nsft #somno k!nk #somno fantasy #cnc somno #somnophillia #ftm somno #bd/sm brat #cnc brat #brat taming #gooobraghhh text

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sleepycelestialprincess · 3 days ago

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Urgg! I see this e v e r y w h e r e!

I work a lot with art and photographs, I'm an artist, I work as a picture framer, and I also have a lot of experience with the history of photography and photo scanning and retouching.

Something that I see a lot is the expectation that old photographs will look low quality because they are old and new photographs should look good. This is entirely opposite in most cases. There are all kinds of limitations that may cause the quality of a photograph from any age to look good or bad and I'll get into some of those later.

Early photography was typically a daguerreotype or tintype. These are both images that are made directly on the surface that you look at. Meaning that there was no intermediate negative or copy made. The image you see was left there by light that came from the subject, through a lens, and hit that surface. The clarity of that image is limited only by how well the photographer focused the lens. If well made, there is upwards of 4000dpi (dots per inch). If you have a 2"x3" image that is approximately equivalent to at least a 96MP (megapixels or million pixels) image. If its a 4"x5", it'd be 320MP. This far surpasses any of today's highest end digital cameras. There are obviously other factors to consider in the overall quality of an image but these photographs from the mid 1800s if in good condition, look great by today's standards.

I'm not going to go into all the photography formats and sizes from the last 175+ years but I'll mention a few. When your great grand parents had their 5 wedding photographs taken, it was probably with and 8x10 or 4x5 inch large format film. Film of that era was grainier than today but at those sizes, even with making a print, will hold great tonality and detail. I would estimate between 400MP – 200MP in resolution for 8x10 or 4x5 respectively.

When 35mm film was introduced in the 1910s, it was largely criticized as not having enough resolution to make an acceptable image. It didn't really take off until the 50s when film got more detailed, and finer grained. Great improvements were introduced over the decades bringing the resolution from about 10MP (very rough estimate) to today's finest films being equivalent to about 34MP with very smooth grain.

I really don't know what they were thinking pushing out digital cameras when they did. Photographs never looked worse! Even a cheep point and shoot camera with 24mm film (APS film was 2/3 the area of 35mm film) produced images far far better than any digital camera for many years. Many early digital cameras were between 1/3rd of a MP up to maybe 3MP. And they were way noisier than even early film was grainy. Even when digital cameras became acceptable in quality if you had the budget for a good one, they still had limitations below that of film. I feel like the crossover was no earlier than 2005. I could go into detail but this post is getting too long.

Then of course phone cameras entered common use not long after and set us back again to utter trash being petaled as anything worth using for anything. This further lowered people's expectations of what an image should look like. What once would have been scoffed at by anyone, became the average common image. Family's memories being reduced to images not worth even looking at.

Luckily things have gotten quite a bit better again, digital cameras of any larger variety look decent. But I think its a real shame that most family's have completely lost about 15 years of photos because of the onset of digital cameras. I fear that may end up longer for many people, if social media sites ever loose someone's photos, many people will have nothing.

—

I didn't even get into photo and art printing. But many things were very high quality in the past, then got much worse, and hopefully have gotten a bit better again. But a lot of things right now are at their lowest yet, like buttons.

Historical context is of course very useful for important things like Politics and Science and everything, but will also open your eyes to things like, uh... the way the clothing/textile/crafting industries try to use the word "natural" as an excuse to sell shoddy and bad quality goods and make you think that's normal.

God knows there are worse things going on in the world, but it really pisses me off when I see companies advertising "Real Shell/Pearl buttons!" like that's supposed to be some upscale selling point, and the buttons in question are the thinnest, roughest, most crudely-made buttons in existence... 🙄😒 "But they're made from Natural Materials! You can't expect Natural Materials to look refined and consistent like synthetic ones!" They are lying to you. THEY ARE LYING TO YOU! And I know this because I've seen "real shell buttons" from 100 or even 50 years ago. And most of them are sturdy and smoothly polished, of a consistent thickness, and sometimes even finely carved. The buttons on nice men's dress shirts? Those are the cheap, plastic IMITATIONS of what people expected actual mother-of-pearl buttons to look like! "Natural" isn't an excuse! Your product is cheap and badly and lazily made! And I'm so sick of this, because I see it EVERYWHERE. "Linen-look" has become shorthand for "coarsely woven fabric with visible slubs" and that drives me CRAZY because do you KNOW what kinds of linen I have seen??? Antique linen so light and fine and smooth you can't even SEE the weave unless you magnify it!!! A fragment of a linen damask tablecloth so smooth and glossy, it looks like SILK? 😭 (On that note, "dupioni silk" is so roughly woven that it would have been considered hardly fit to sell a century ago) "This fabric is woven of Natural Materials, so imperfections will be inevitable!" 🙃 No! 😀 You just made it cheaply and sloppily, and that was your choice! 😊

#rant #photography #history #anti capitalism #buttons #thoughts #tech #shel celeste

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bueckersstuff · 2 days ago

Text

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x OC

Genre: competition for dominance, long overdue desire, uconn royalties, angst, enemies to lovers, mad in love but denial paige, happy ending yayy

Authors Note: Hi guys, so this is a one - shot but I think it's too long to be called that. I wrote this in one sitting afraid I'll lose the plot if I chose to post it in chapters. Enjoy!

Present Day

The bass pulsed through the walls of The Tavern, a heartbeat that thrummed beneath the floorboards. Paige had barely stepped inside when she spotted her friend, Taylor, waving her over from a booth packed with soccer players.

"Finally, you made it! Where’s your teammates?" Taylor greeted, tipping her beer toward Paige. "C’mon, meet my squad."

Paige approached, her six-foot frame moving effortlessly through the crowd. She had barely scanned the faces when she spotted her.

Xena.

Legs crossed, draped over the couch like she owned the place, a sly smile playing on her lips as she leaned toward a wide-eyed brunette, some fan hanging onto her every word. Xena’s fingers twirled a loose strand of the girl's hair, her voice low and smooth.

Something twisted in Paige’s chest. Annoyance? Interest? She wasn’t sure, but it was enough to make her jaw clench.

“Xen, stop corrupting the fans,” Taylor joked, nudging the girl playfully. "Paige, meet the legend herself—Xena. Team’s best striker."

Xena’s head lifted slowly, her dark gaze locking onto Paige’s. A slow, knowing smile curled her lips, like she’d been expecting this moment.

"Paige." Xena’s voice was honeyed, edged with something unspoken.

Paige’s brows lifted slightly. "You know me?"

Xena hummed, sipping her drink. "Who doesn’t know the pride of UConn basketball?" Her tone was casual, but there was something beneath it. Something pointed.

Paige smirked, tilting her head. "And yet, I don’t know you." She lied.

A flicker. Barely there, but Paige caught it—the briefest shadow of something in Xena’s eyes before she covered it up with a laugh. "Guess I’m not that memorable."

The air between them thickened. The team chatted around them, but the moment belonged to just them—silent, taut. Then, as if breaking a spell, Xena turned back to her fan, dismissing Paige with an easy flick of her attention.

Paige exhaled sharply, tearing her gaze away. What the hell was that?

The night bled on, filled with cheap liquor, stolen glances, and conversations Paige wasn’t listening to. Xena had disappeared at some point, but Paige hadn’t missed the way she’d moved through the club—fluid, confident, untouchable.

When Paige finally spotted her again, she was slipping through the back door, a hand running through her hair, her head tilting back as she inhaled the cold night air. Paige’s fingers twitched against her glass. Go.

She didn’t think—just acted.

The moment she stepped outside, the door swinging shut behind her, Xena was already turning back toward the entrance.

They collided.

Hands—Xena’s at Paige’s waist, steadying. Paige’s at Xena’s back, pressing. The contact was electric, an unspoken challenge sparking between them.

Xena’s breath hitched first.

“Following me, UConn?” Xena’s voice was soft but taunting, her fingers tightening just a fraction at Paige’s hip.

Paige scoffed, but she didn’t step away. "I don’t chase."

Xena’s lips parted slightly, just for a second, before she smirked. "Good. Because you’d never catch me."

Paige’s grip on her back flexed, just enough to let Xena feel the strength beneath her fingertips. "That so?"

Xena’s thumb traced over the hem of Paige’s shirt, barely noticeable. Barely innocent. "Mm," she murmured, eyes flickering between Paige’s lips and her gaze. "You don’t strike me as the kind to play fair."

Paige swallowed, her mind clouding with heat, confusion, and something deeply dangerous. "Depends on the game."

Xena exhaled a soft laugh, shaking her head. "You have no idea what you just walked into."

Paige tilted her head, eyes darkening. "Then show me."

For a moment, it felt like something was going to break.

Then—Xena stepped back.

Not a retreat. A warning.

"Careful what you wish for, UConn."

Then she was gone, slipping past Paige, leaving behind only the ghost of her touch and a storm in Paige’s chest.

Paige stood there, fists clenching and unclenching, lips tingling with words she didn’t say.

This wasn’t over. Not even close.

1 Year Ago, The Tavern

The music was different that night—slower, sultrier, drowning in red neon haze. Paige wasn’t supposed to be there. It was offseason, and she had workouts early, but something about the buzz in her veins had made her reckless.

She had been waiting for her drink at the bar when she felt it—someone moving close, just close enough to set her nerves on fire.

"Didn’t take you for the type to party on a Tuesday," a voice murmured at her ear, smooth, familiar.

Paige turned her head slightly, enough to catch dark eyes, a teasing smirk, and the scent of something warm and intoxicating. She knew this girl—Xena. Some soccer player, quick on her feet and sharper with her words.

"Didn’t take you for the type to be watching me," Paige shot back.

Xena chuckled, resting a casual elbow on the bar beside her. "Hard not to when you walk in like you own the place."

Paige smirked. "I usually do."

The bartender slid Paige’s drink across the bar, and before she could reach for it, Xena was there, fingers brushing against hers as she stole the glass.

Paige raised a brow. "That mine?"

Xena took a slow sip, tongue flicking out to taste the rim before handing it back. "Now it is."

Heat coiled low in Paige’s stomach, something dangerous curling in her chest. She took the glass back, mirroring Xena’s movement, deliberately placing her lips where hers had just been. Xena watched, eyes dark and full of something unspoken.

That night had blurred after that. A challenge in the way they danced—Xena pressing close, Paige pulling back, both of them waiting for the other to break. And then outside, against the alley wall, lips hovering but never touching, breaths tangled between them.

Paige had wanted it. Fuck, she had wanted it.

But Xena had just smirked, fingers ghosting over the pulse at Paige’s throat.

"Not tonight, UConn."

And then she had walked away. No explanation. No promise of later. Just gone.

Paige had stood there, burning, furious, confused.

She had told herself she forgot about it. But now, standing outside The Tavern with Xena’s voice still lingering in her ears, she knew that was a lie.

Paige pushed off the wall, exhaling hard.

Careful what you wish for, UConn.

She turned and walked back inside, shoulders rolling with tension. The night went on, drinks passed between hands, conversations shallow and meaningless. But Paige felt it—the weight of Xena’s presence still lingering, even though she was nowhere in sight.

When she finally left, she told herself it meant nothing.

The week that followed, Paige drowned herself in the familiar rhythm of morning workouts and late-night shooting drills. She let Nika and the rest of her teammates pull her into study sessions and casual nights out.

But every now and then, when she wasn’t paying attention, she found herself looking. Searching.

Xena didn’t show.

On the other side of campus, Xena pretended she didn’t care.

She went about her days the same way—practices, classes, the occasional night out with her teammates. But in the quiet moments, she found herself gripping her phone too tightly, resisting the urge to check if Paige had posted something, if their paths would cross again.

She told herself it was nothing. That Paige was nothing.

But she had always been a bad liar.

Three Years Ago

Xena had always been protective of her little brother, Leo. He was only twelve at the time, still in that reckless stage where he thought he was invincible. Their family had come to visit UConn that weekend, walking through campus while their parents gushed over her scholarship and upcoming freshman season.

Xena had been distracted, half-listening, her cleats slung over her shoulder, when it happened.

Leo had been messing around, running ahead, pretending the sidewalk was a balance beam. Then, in a split second, he tripped.

Straight into the street.

Xena’s heart shot to her throat, her feet frozen. She tried to scream, to lunge forward, but before she could move, someone else did.

A tall girl in a UConn basketball hoodie—blonde ponytail swinging, reflexes sharp as a blade—had stepped off the curb without hesitation. One second, Leo was in danger. The next, he was yanked back by the scruff of his hoodie, landing hard against the girl’s chest as a car sped past, missing him by inches.

Leo gasped, his hands fisting in the stranger’s sweatshirt.

"Hey, you good?" her voice had been firm, steady, like she’d done this a hundred times.

Leo nodded frantically, eyes wide as saucers.

Xena’s parents rushed forward, thanking the girl, fussing over Leo, but Xena… she just stood there.

She should’ve spoken. Should’ve said something, anything.

But she didn’t.

She just watched as the girl gave Leo a reassuring pat on the back, smiled faintly, then walked away before Xena could even catch her name.

Later that night, when her parents kept talking about how grateful they were, how it was a miracle, Xena found herself searching online. UConn women’s basketball—blonde, tall, fast reflexes.

That’s when she found her.

Paige.

From that day forward, she kept tabs. Not obsessively, not in a way she’d admit, but enough. Enough to see the articles, the highlight reels, the moments where Paige Bueckers owned the court like she was born for it.

Enough to wonder what it would’ve been like to say thank you.

The first time she saw Paige in person again was at The Tavern.

She hadn’t expected it. Hadn’t planned it. But the moment she spotted her at the bar, standing under the red glow of neon lights, it was like something in her tilted.

She hadn’t even thought.

She moved toward her, pulse thrumming, intentions clear. Say thank you. Make it quick.

But when Paige turned, locking eyes with her, everything shifted.

Up close, she was more. More intense, more magnetic, more everything.

Xena’s throat went dry. Fuck.

"Didn’t take you for the type to party on a Tuesday," she murmured instead.

It wasn’t what she had meant to say. But it was what came out.

Paige arched a brow, unimpressed. "Didn’t take you for the type to be watching me."

Xena almost laughed, almost said, I’ve been watching you for three years.

Instead, she leaned closer, let herself feel the heat rolling off Paige’s skin. "Hard not to when you walk in like you own the place."

Paige smirked. "I usually do."

Xena wanted to say something smart. Witty. Playful.

But all she could think about was that day—Paige’s hand gripping Leo’s hoodie, pulling him to safety. How effortless it had been for her to save him.

The words tangled in her throat.

Before she could stop herself, she reached for Paige’s drink, fingers brushing hers as she lifted it to her lips.

"That mine?" Paige asked, voice edged with challenge.

Xena held her gaze, lips parting just slightly as she took a slow sip. Fuck, she tastes good. "Now it is."

Something dark flickered in Paige’s eyes, something hot and unfamiliar. Xena should’ve backed off, should’ve turned the conversation back to what she had meant to say.

But instead, the moment spiraled—dancing, touches that lingered too long, breathless almost-kisses.

Xena had gotten so close, felt the warmth of Paige’s body pressing against hers, so fucking close.

She wanted it. God, she wanted it.

But her throat tightened with something that felt too much like guilt. This hadn’t started as a game.

So she did the only thing she knew how to do when things got too real.

She pulled back.

"Not tonight, UConn." And she walked away.

Paige had stared after her, something raw in her expression, and Xena had clenched her fists, forcing herself not to turn back.

Later that night, she had stared at her ceiling, cursing herself. Why didn’t you just say thank you?

Present Day

The stadium was packed. Paige thrived under the pressure, under the roar of the crowd, the weight of expectation. She moved like she always did—smooth, lethal, untouchable.

Until she saw them.

A cluster of soccer players just a few rows back from the court. And at the center of them—Xena, sprawled out like she had all the time in the world, watching her.

Paige nearly faltered mid-dribble.

Kk noticed. "You good?"

"Fine," Paige muttered, setting her jaw.

The game resumed, but Xena wasn’t done.

Every time Paige glanced up, there was something new—a mocking little wave, a slow, exaggerated clap when she scored, a smirk around the straw of her drink.

When the final buzzer rang, Paige had barely stepped off the court when she heard it.

"Nice work, UConn."

She turned, her pulse still thrumming from the game, sweat cooling against her skin.

Xena was waiting just outside the tunnel, leaning against the wall like she had all the time in the world.

Paige rolled her eyes, yanking at the towel around her neck. "What, here to recruit me for your fan club?"

Xena grinned. "You’d look good in our colors."

Paige scoffed. "Don’t need the distraction."

Xena’s gaze flickered over her, slow and deliberate. "Funny, ‘cause you looked pretty distracted back there."

Paige took a step closer, ignoring the way her skin tingled with every inch that closed between them. "If you think you got in my head, you’re delusional."

Xena tilted her head, smug and infuriating. "That so?"

Paige’s fingers twitched. She wanted—fuck, she didn’t even know what she wanted. To shut Xena up? To wipe that smirk off her face? Or to do something else entirely?

Xena must have seen it. Because she leaned in, voice dropping just enough to make Paige’s breath hitch.

"Tell me, UConn," she murmured, lips almost brushing her ear. "Are you mad ‘cause I was watching… or ‘cause I know you liked it that I’m here?"

Paige’s stomach dropped.

She opened her mouth, but Xena was already stepping back, a satisfied little smirk on her lips.

"See you around," she said, like it was inevitable.

And maybe it was.

The moment Xena stepped into the basketball arena, she knew she was playing with fire. But that was the point, wasn’t it?

If she couldn’t have Paige’s attention one way, she’d get it another.

So she leaned back, smirking, making sure Paige saw her. The little waves, the slow claps—it was all intentional.

And it worked.

Paige’s movements were sharp but just a little off. The thought sent a thrill through Xena’s chest.

And when the game was over, when Paige finally stormed toward the tunnel, Xena was already waiting.

"Nice work, UConn."

Paige barely slowed, wiping sweat from her face. "What, here to recruit me for your fan club?"

Xena grinned. "You’d look good in our colors."

Paige scoffed, but Xena saw the way her shoulders tensed. "Don’t need the distraction."

Xena tilted her head, drinking in the sight of her—messy hair, flushed skin, sharp edges softened just slightly by exhaustion. She wanted to touch her.

Instead, she let her words do the damage. "Funny, ‘cause you looked pretty distracted back there."

Paige’s jaw tightened.

Xena stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Tell me, UConn. Are you mad ‘cause I was watching… or ‘cause I know you liked it that I’m here?"

She felt it, the shift in Paige’s breathing. The way she sucked in a sharp inhale, her composure cracking for just a second. Xena had expected a sharp retort, a push back. Instead, Paige just stared at her, something unreadable in her expression.

For the first time, Xena felt uneasy.

Then Paige scoffed, rolling her eyes, and the moment passed.

"See you around," Xena teased, flashing her signature smirk before turning to walk away.

But as she disappeared into the crowd, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had just fucked up.

Because for the first time, Paige actually looked lost.

And Xena doesn’t know what to do with that.

So she walked away, again.

Days after, she tried to push it from her mind. The way Paige had held her gaze like she wanted to rip her apart and pull her closer all at once. The way Xena had almost expected her to chase after her in the tunnel, to demand an answer, to call her out for whatever the hell was happening between them.

But Paige hadn’t chased her.

She had just watched.

And that was somehow worse.

Xena wasn’t expecting to see her again so soon.

The week had been normal, or as normal as things could be. Soccer practice, classes, casual flirting with girls she didn’t care about. She had almost convinced herself that the tension at the game had been nothing. That Paige wasn’t actually affecting her.

But then—fate, or maybe just bad luck.

Xena was heading out of the student center, earbuds in, mind half-focused on her phone when—

A solid, unmoving force. A warm body against hers. Hands catching her waist.

Paige Bueckers.

The realization hit Xena half a second after impact, but by then, her hands had already found purchase on Paige’s hoodie, gripping the fabric out of instinct.

Paige had caught her. Held her steady.

For a beat, neither of them moved.

Xena’s breath stalled in her chest, the proximity too much, too sudden. The smell of Paige—something clean, something faintly like sweat and mint—wrapped around her like a noose.

Then Paige’s hands flexed against her waist, just a little, before she let go.

Xena forced herself to step back, straightening, masking the split-second of unbalance with a smirk. "You should watch where you’re going, Bueckers."

Paige raised a brow. "Funny. I was thinking the same thing."

Her voice was calm, unreadable, but there was something in the way she looked at Xena—something new. The frustration from the tunnel? Gone. Replaced by something smoother, more deliberate.

Xena tilted her head, studying her. "So, what, you just happen to run into me? You following me now?"

Paige exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking her head. "Not everything’s about you, Xena Blackwood."

That shouldn’t have affected Xena. It shouldn’t have sent a sharp thrill through her spine.

But the way Paige said it—so effortlessly dismissive, so unbothered. Fucking hell.

Xena wasn’t used to that.

She stepped closer, testing the space between them. "You sure? You seemed pretty locked in on me back at the game."

Paige’s smirk didn’t falter. She just hummed, tilting her head slightly. "Did I?"

Xena opened her mouth, ready to push, ready to find the crack in Paige’s armor.

But Paige? Paige moved first.

Not away. Not back. But forward.

The shift was so subtle, so precise that Xena almost didn’t register it until she felt the whisper of Paige’s breath near her jaw.

She stilled.

And Paige fucking knew it.

"You talk a lot," Paige murmured, her voice so low Xena barely caught it. "Always trying to get under my skin. Wonder why that is."

Xena swallowed. "Maybe I just like seeing you flustered."

Paige huffed a quiet laugh, one that vibrated in Xena’s chest. Then, just as quickly as she had closed the space, she pulled back.

And that—that control, that command of the moment—left Xena pissed.

She should have been the one leading this push-and-pull. She should have had Paige stumbling, not the other way around.

But Paige just patted Xena’s shoulder, fucking patted her, before stepping around her like this was nothing more than a casual run-in.

"See you around," Paige said over her shoulder, voice laced with quiet amusement.

Xena turned, watching her go, jaw clenched.

Paige had played the game differently this time. And for the first time in a long time, Xena wasn’t sure if she was winning.

Paige almost didn’t go.

She had excuses lined up, perfectly reasonable ones. Practice had been brutal. She had an assignment due. She didn’t care about soccer.

But then Nika had grabbed her wrist and dragged her out of the dorm before she could finish a sentence.

"Come on, twin," Nika had grinned. "You need to touch grass. Literally."

So now she was here, sitting in the stands with half the basketball team, watching UConn’s women’s soccer squad take the field.

And then she saw her.

Xena.

The sight of her sent a sharp jolt through Paige’s stomach—unexpected, unwelcome.

She wasn’t even doing anything special. Just standing there, one hand on her hip, eyes locked ahead, but fuck. She looked different out here.

Paige was used to seeing her in dimly lit clubs, draped over some girl with a smirk that dared you to want her.

But here, under the bright stadium lights, hair tied back, uniform clinging to her body, expression sharp with focus—this was a different Xena.

Paige leaned forward, elbows on her knees, watching as the game started.

She hadn’t realized how physical soccer was.

Basketball was fast-paced, sure, but this? This was relentless. A nonstop fight for possession, bodies colliding, elbows flying. The stamina alone was insane.

And Xena?

She was fucking electric.

Paige tracked her movements without meaning to. The way she cut through defenders like they weren’t even there. The way she anticipated plays before they happened. The sheer force of her presence.

This is what she looks like when she’s serious.

Paige had seen glimpses of it before—the sharpness in Xena’s eyes when she was taunting her, the edge in her voice when she was trying to get under her skin.

But now, this version of Xena wasn’t playing games.

And Paige felt it.

She hated that she felt it.

Hated that it made something tighten in her chest.

She hated it even more when things started to go wrong.

It started small.

A late tackle here, an extra shove there. The other team was losing, and frustration was creeping into their movements.

Xena was still controlling the game, but Paige could see the shift—the rising tension, the way the opposing players were getting reckless.

And then it happened.

A loose ball. A collision.

Xena went down hard.

Paige barely had time to register it before a second impact came—a knee to the ribs, a cleat clipping against her thigh. The whistle blew, but it was too late, and the damage was done.

Xena didn’t get up.

She rolled onto her side, a sharp, pained gasp slipping from her lips, one hand clutching her ribs.

And then Paige saw the blood.

Her brain barely kept up with her body.

One second, she was sitting in the stands, and the next, she was moving.

Nika shouted after her, but Paige didn’t stop.

She was on the field before she could think twice, shoving past staff, past trainers, past everyone, until she was right there—right in front of Xena.

Xena was trying to push herself up, but she barely made it an inch before her body gave up.

"Fuck," she hissed, dropping her head back onto the grass. "That hurt."

Paige stared, frozen.

Xena’s lip was split. A bruise was already forming along her cheekbone. Blood smeared down the side of her thigh where the cleat had caught her.

She looked wrecked.

And for some reason, Paige couldn’t fucking breathe.

"Goddamn it, Xena," she managed, voice tight.

Xena blinked up at her, dazed. Then—because of course she fucking would—she smirked.

"Didn’t know you cared, Bueckers."

Paige’s jaw clenched. "Shut up."

She dropped to her knees beside her, hands hovering uselessly. What the fuck was she supposed to do?

Xena winced as she shifted, sucking in a sharp breath. "I’m fine."

"You’re bleeding," Paige snapped.

Xena’s smirk didn’t fade. If anything, it deepened, eyes flickering over Paige’s face like she was committing every second of this to memory.

"You’re mad," she murmured.

Paige exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "No, I’m—" She stopped, grinding her teeth. "Fuck, Xena, yeah. Yeah, I’m mad."

Xena hummed, head tilting slightly. "Why?"

Paige opened her mouth, then shut it.

Because she didn’t know.

Because this was supposed to be Xena’s thing—getting under her skin, making her feel off-balance.

But now Paige was the one sitting here, angry and scared over someone she had sworn she wasn’t supposed to care about.

The medical team finally pushed through, kneeling beside her.

Paige started to move back, but -

A hand wrapped around her wrist.

She looked down.

Xena’s grip was weak but intentional.

"Paige," she murmured.

And for the first time, there was no teasing in her voice. No smirk. No walls.

Just her.

Paige swallowed hard. "Yeah?"

Xena’s fingers tightened slightly.

Then, so quietly Paige almost didn’t catch it—

"You came."

Paige felt those words.

A lump rose in her throat, and she wanted to look away, wanted to not feel the way Xena’s voice had softened just for her.

But she couldn’t.

So she just curled her fingers around Xena’s hand—just for a second, just long enough to anchor them both.

Then she let go.

Xena’s eyes tracked her as the medics lifted her onto a stretcher, the connection breaking as they started moving.

Paige sat there, in the middle of the field, hands curling into fists.

She had no idea what the fuck had just happened.

But she knew one thing.

She wasn’t walking away from this the same.

The moment Paige stepped off the field, the questions started.

First, from her teammates. Nika was the loudest, of course. "What the fuck was that, Paige? Since when do you care about soccer?"

Paige ignored her, pushing past them, heading straight home.

Then came the media.

She saw her name already trending on Twitter before she even left the stadium. “Paige Bueckers rushes onto the soccer field—concern or controversy?”

Clips were circulating. People were asking why she —a basketball player, someone who had no business in that game—had reacted like that.

And Paige didn’t have an answer. Because she didn’t know either.

Paige couldn’t sleep. She had tried. She had laid in bed, stared at the ceiling, turned her phone on Do Not Disturb.

But every time she closed her eyes, she saw Xena.

On the ground. Bleeding.

The look in her eyes when she had reached for Paige’s wrist. You came.

Paige exhaled sharply, rolling onto her side, clenching her jaw. Why the fuck did it bother her this much? Why did she feel like she had taken a hit just watching Xena go down?

Frustrated, she grabbed her phone, unlocking it without thinking.

Her fingers hovered over Instagram.

She had never searched Xena before. Not once. But now?

Now she was pulling up her profile before she could talk herself out of it.

And fuck, she hated how easy it was to find her. Hated how her username popped up immediately like Paige had been meant to do this.

Her page was a mix of game clips, candid locker room moments, and too many fucking thirst traps.

Paige scrolled mindlessly, stopping on a video from last season.

The caption was simple: “One of my best games.”

Paige clicked it.

The clip played.

Xena—fucking hell, Xena was dominant.

Paige had watched her play earlier, had seen how good she was, but watching it now—raw, unfiltered, no distractions—was different.

She was fast. Calculated. Ruthless.

Paige clenched her jaw.

She had known Xena was good. But this? This was something else.

And that made the anger creep in again.

Because this was the girl who had been knocked to the ground tonight. This was the girl who had been targeted.

Paige scrolled back up to the top of Xena’s page, biting the inside of her cheek.

Then she saw it.

A recent post. A photo dump.

Most of it was random—locker room pictures, city views—but the last slide caught her attention.

A spread of food. A simple caption: “My favorites.”

Paige stared at it.

An idea started forming before she could stop it.

She sat up, rubbing a hand over her face. What the fuck are you doing, Paige?

She didn’t know.

She didn’t want to know.

But somehow, she was already grabbing her jacket, slipping on sneakers, and heading for the door.

Paige didn’t ask where Xena was.

Not directly.

Instead, she messaged someone she knew from the soccer team, throwing in a casual, “Hey, is Xena okay?”

The response came back fast.

“She’s fine. Got stitched up. Why?”

Paige hesitated. Then—

"Just wondering. Heard she got hit bad."

The reply came almost immediately.

"You could just ask her yourself, you know."

Paige ignored that.

Instead, she sent a quick, “Where is she staying?”

There was a pause. Then—

"…Why?"

Paige clenched her jaw. Then, before she could overthink it, she typed,

"Coach asked me to check in."

A lie. A stupid, unnecessary lie.

But it worked.

A minute later, she had an address. And before she could think, before she could stop herself—Paige was already on her way.

The apartment door looked normal. Paige had no idea what she had expected. She stood there for a second, bag in hand, shifting her weight.

Then she knocked.

A few seconds passed.

Then—

The door opened, and there she was.

Xena.

Freshly stitched, bandaged, but still looking at Paige like she was the biggest surprise of the night.

Paige stared.

Xena arched a brow. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Paige clenched her jaw, lifting the bag. "Brought food."

Xena’s eyes flickered to it, then back to Paige.

For a beat, she said nothing.

Then—slow, taunting, amused—she leaned against the doorframe.

"You stalked my Instagram, didn’t you?"

Paige hated how hot her face felt.

"Shut up," she muttered, shoving the bag into Xena’s hands.

Xena took it, still watching her, still smirking.

Then she opened the bag.

Paige saw the exact moment she recognized the food.

The smirk faded. And for the first time tonight, Xena looked at her softly.

Paige’s stomach twisted.

She hated it. Hated it because she didn’t know why she had done this. Didn’t know why Xena’s face, battered and bruised, made her want to do something, anything to fix it.

Xena studied her for a second longer.

Then she sighed, stepping back, opening the door wider.

"You coming in or what?"

Paige hesitated.

Then—before she could change her mind—she stepped inside.

The first thing Paige noticed about Xena’s room was the smell. It was clean. Not in a clinical way, but fresh—like vanilla and something warm she couldn’t place.

The second thing she noticed?

It was small. Smaller than she expected, considering how big Xena’s presence always felt.

And the third thing? Xena was struggling.

She had the bag of food clutched in one hand while the other pressed against her ribs as she limped toward her bed.

Paige rolled her eyes, stepping forward before she could stop herself. "Jesus, just sit down."

Xena let out a breathy chuckle, plopping onto the mattress with an exaggerated wince. "Damn, Bueckers. Didn’t know you were so bossy."

Paige ignored the way that sent heat down her spine.

"Didn’t know you were so bad at getting your ass kicked," she shot back.

Xena smirked up at her, eyes sharp despite the bruises forming along her jaw. "It's soccer. Shit happens. "

Paige crossed her arms. "Who was the one who tackled you?"

Xena waved a hand, tearing open the takeout container. "Some frustrated defender. It happens."

Paige frowned. "Yeah, well, it shouldn’t happen."

Xena arched a brow. "What, you gonna fight them for me, Bueckers?"

Paige scowled. "Maybe."

The smirk on Xena's lips deepened, and Paige immediately regretted saying anything.

Xena balanced the food container on her lap, shifting slightly—only to wince when the movement pulled at her ribs.

Paige sighed, stepping forward without thinking.

"Here, idiot." She grabbed the container before Xena could drop it, sitting down at the edge of the bed and placing it on the nightstand instead.

Xena blinked at her.

Paige blinked back.

And suddenly, the space between them felt very small. Too small.

Paige’s pulse hammered against her ribs, but she kept her face neutral.

Xena, on the other hand? She knew.

Paige could see it in her eyes—the slow realization, the way her lips curled up like she was about to say something dangerous.

Paige needed to change the subject. Fast.

"So, when can you play again?"

Xena leaned back on her elbows, smirk still intact. "Couple weeks. Maybe less if I can sneak past the trainers."

Paige rolled her eyes. "Yeah, ‘cause that’s a smart idea."

Xena shrugged. "Gotta do what I gotta do."

Paige narrowed her eyes. "You’re an idiot."

"And yet," Xena mused, gaze dropping—slowly, deliberately—to Paige’s mouth. "You’re here."

Paige swallowed.

Her brain short-circuited for a full three seconds before she forced herself to look away.

Bad idea.

Her eyes landed on Xena’s thigh—bruised, but still strong, still—fuck.

She shot to her feet, clearing her throat. "I should go."

Xena tilted her head, amused. "Already?"

"Yeah," Paige muttered, suddenly needing distance. "You need to rest."

Xena didn’t look convinced. "You sure you don’t wanna stay?"

The words were innocent enough, but the look in her eyes?

Not so much.

Paige clenched her jaw.

She wanted to. God, did she want to.

But Xena was injured, and Paige was too wired, too restless, too fucking tempted.

She needed to leave before she does something stupid.

So instead, she dug her phone out of her pocket and handed it to Xena. "Here."

She raised a brow. "What’s this for?"

"Your number," Paige said flatly. "In case you need anything."

She hummed, taking the phone. "So thoughtful, Bueckers."

Paige ignored her and waited as she typed, fingers moving lazily across the screen. After a moment, she handed the phone back.

Paige glanced at the contact name.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star

Paige huffed, shoving her phone into her pocket. "Really?"

Xena grinned. "Accurate, though."

Paige rolled her eyes and made her way to the door, pausing with her hand on the handle. For a second, she considered saying something else—something normal, like rest up or see you later.

But she didn’t trust her mouth not to betray her. So she just nodded and walked out.

Paige barely made it back to her dorm before her phone vibrated. She pulled it out, expecting Nika or one of her teammates.

But instead—

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Appreciate the food, Bueckers. Didn't know you had a soft side.

Paige stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

For a moment, she considered ignoring it.

But then—

Paige: Don’t get used to it.

A beat passed.

Then—

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: No promises.

Paige groaned, flopping onto her bed.

This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. So why the fuck did she already want to see her again?

Paige hadn’t seen Xena in two weeks. Not on campus. Not at the gym. Nowhere. But the texts? Those hadn’t stopped.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Do you always take care of your enemies like this? Or am I special?

Paige: Enemies? You flatter yourself.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: I tend to have that effect on people.

Paige: Delusional.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Are you thinking about me right now?

Paige: No.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Liar.

Paige had stared at her screen way too long after that one.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Send me a pic.

Paige: Of what?

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Of you. What else?

Paige had scoffed, rolling her eyes. Not happening. But the heat crawling up her neck had been undeniable.

Paige: Why do you even have my number?

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: You gave it to me.

Paige: Biggest mistake of my life.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: But you’re still texting me.

Paige had shut her phone off after that one.

Two Weeks Later

Paige was leaving class, one hand adjusting the strap of her bag, the other pulling out her phone.

And then—

It started ringing. She frowned at the screen.

Xena.

She hesitated, then swiped to answer. "What—"

"Look right."

Paige froze. Her head turned instinctively.

And there she was.

Leaning against the wall, phone in one hand, a smug fucking smirk playing on her lips.

Paige’s breath hitched.

Because Xena wasn’t just here—she's fine now.

No limping. No injuries. Just standing there, grinning like she hadn’t just made Paige’s heart nearly combust.

"You’re—" Paige started, words failing. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Xena pushed off the wall, pocketing her phone. "Came to see you, obviously."

Paige narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

Xena stepped closer. "Because I owe you dinner."

Paige blinked. "What?"

"For last week." Xena shrugged. "Consider it a thank-you."

Paige crossed her arms. "You don’t owe me anything."

Xena tilted her head, eyes flickering down Paige’s body slowly, deliberately. "Let me take you out, Bueckers."

Paige swallowed. "You’re impossible."

Xena grinned. "And you like it."

Paige hated how true that was.

Xena drove them to some lowkey spot just outside campus—a hole-in-the-wall diner with neon lights and a too-good smell wafting through the air.

Paige raised a brow. "This is where you’re taking me?"

Xena smirked. "What, you too fancy for greasy food?"

Paige rolled her eyes. "I just didn’t take you for the type."

"And what type am I?" Xena challenged, opening the door for her.

Paige stepped inside, glancing at her. "Annoying."

Xena chuckled. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

They sat in a booth, menus in hand. Xena didn’t even look at hers. "You should get the cheeseburger."

Paige raised a brow. "And why’s that?"

"Because it’s the best thing here," she said simply. "And you look like someone who needs to be impressed."

Paige rolled her eyes. "Cocky."

"Accurate."

"Fine." Paige sighed, closing the menu. "But if it’s shit, I’m never listening to you again."

Xena grinned. "Deal."

Food came fast. Conversation flowed faster.

Somewhere between bites of what was, unfortunately, the best cheeseburger Paige had ever had, and Xena's teasing remarks about how she should "listen to her more," something shifted.

It wasn’t just banter anymore. It was easy.

It was Xena asking about her upcoming game and actually listening when Paige answered.

It was Paige asking about Xena's s recovery, about how she really felt after the injury.

It was Xena admitting, after a beat of hesitation, "It fucked me up, Bueckers."

And Paige, without thinking, reaching across the table, thumb brushing over Xena’s wrist. "You’ll be back."

Xena holding her gaze, softer than ever. "You think so?"

Paige nodding. "I know so."

And then—

The moment broke.

Xena smirked, pulling her hand back. "Careful, Bueckers. You’re starting to sound like you care."

Paige rolled her eyes, heat creeping up her neck. "Shut up and eat your food."

The drive back in the car was quiet. Not awkward. Just charged.

Xena drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, throwing her a glance. "Did you have fun?"

Paige sighed dramatically. "Shockingly, yes."

She grinned. "Knew it."

They pulled up outside Paige’s dorm.

Paige unbuckled, hesitating. "Guess I’ll see you around."

Xena smirked. "You will."

Paige went to open the door. But then—

"Wait."

She turned back. "What—"

Xena leaned over, voice dropping. "What if I don’t wanna wait another two weeks?"

Paige’s breath hitched.

Xena’s gaze flickered to her lips—brief, intentional, dangerous.

Paige’s pulse spiked. "Then don’t."

Xena exhaled sharply, fingers tapping against the wheel. "Fuck, Bueckers."

Paige smirked. "Goodnight, Xena."

And with that, she stepped out, closing the door behind her.

Her phone buzzed before she even reached the door.

Xena - Hot Soccer Star: Goodnight, Paige.

It had been a week.

A whole week since that night at the diner. Since the teasing, the eye contact, and the electricity humming between them.

A whole week since Paige had last heard from Xena.

At first, she ignored the nagging feeling in her chest. Maybe Xena was busy. Maybe practice was brutal. Maybe—

But then, nothing. No texts. No calls.

Paige had tried.

Paige: Yo, ghosting me already?

Paige: Xena?

Paige: Seriously, what’s up?

Paige: Fine. Fuck this.

She wasn’t one to chase. And she sure as hell wasn’t about to start now. But then she saw her.

Paige was walking past towards the athlete's center when her breath hitched.

There, standing against the glass windows, was Xena.

And she wasn’t alone.

Some girl stood close—too close—smiling up at her.

Paige watched as the girl reached out, fingers trailing along Xena’s wrist before moving up to touch her cheek.

Xena just stood there, smiling softly, nodding at whatever the girl was saying.

Something inside Paige snapped.

Before she could stop herself, she walked inside, straight past them.

"Paige—"

Xena’s voice cut through the air, sharp, urgent. But Paige didn’t stop.

Didn’t look.

Didn’t care.

Not when her chest was burning. Not when her throat felt tight. Not when she knew damn well that she had no right to feel like this but couldn’t help it.

She stormed into their locker room, hands bracing against the cool metal, taking deep breaths.

Get it together.

She wasn’t yours.

Xena could do whatever the fuck she wanted.

Paige clenched her fists, swallowing hard.

So why the hell did it feel like she’d just been punched in the gut?

Her teammates noticed. Nika nudged her as they laced up. "You good, dude?"

Paige forced a smirk. "Always."

Azzi shot her a look. "You’ve been weird all practice."

"I’m fine," Paige snapped, harsher than she meant to.

Her teammates shared glances but didn’t push.

After practice, as they packed up, Nika tossed an arm over Paige’s shoulder. "We’re hitting the Tavern tonight. You in?"

Paige barely hesitated. "Fuck yeah."

She wasn’t about to sit in her dorm thinking about Xena.

She needed a distraction.

And if that distraction came in the form of loud music and shots of tequila, so be it.

The Tavern

The energy hit her the moment they stepped inside.

Music thrummed through the air, bodies swaying, laughter echoing across the dimly lit space.

Paige let herself relax, let the atmosphere dull the sharp edges of her thoughts—until she saw her.

Xena was sitting in a booth, with her teammates.

A drink in hand, eyes distant, lost in thought.

No girl.

No soft smiles.

Just her.

Paige’s stomach twisted.

She wanted to go to her.

She wanted to demand an explanation, to yell at her, to—

No.

She reminded herself of what she saw earlier. Instead, she headed for the bar. She had barely ordered when—

"Déjà vu, huh?"

Paige stiffened.

That voice. Low. Amused. Fucking dangerous.

She turned her head.

Xena had slid onto the stool beside her, close enough that Paige could feel the heat radiating off her.

Paige narrowed her eyes ahead. "What do you want?"

Xena answers softly. "To talk."

Paige didn’t turn. "Not in the mood."

Xena tilted her head, studying her. "You sure? Because I think you’re always in the mood to fight with me."

Paige finally looked at her, and fuck, there was fire in her eyes. Not that she can help it at this point. "You think this is a game?"

Xena sighed, leaning in. "No. But I think you miss me."

Paige’s jaw clenched. "You disappeared."

Xena sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Paige—"

"Don’t fucking Paige me!" she snapped, turning in her seat. "You disappear for a week. No texts, no calls. And then I see you, all smiles, letting some girl fucking touch you I —" and Paige stopped herself, exhaling hard. "It doesn’t fucking matter."

Paige was willing herself to cool the fuck down because people are already staring.

"Can you let me explain?" Xena was trying to hold her arm but Paige kept swatting it away.

"Fuck off, Xena." Paige was hurt, though she had no right. But still, she thought they are on the same page. She felt betrayed.

Xena stilled, maybe she felt herself on the verge of also losing it. She stand beside Paige, who's still sitting.

"Come outside. Let's talk." Xena wasn't about to make them a spectacle in front of their schoolmates.

"Oh, so now you want to talk?" Paige bit back hard. She wasn't about to lose to this godforsaken woman who's making her absolutely mad.

Xena sighed deeply, and loudly before looking at her eyes again. The lights passed through it, and although it was just a moment, Paige clearly saw the look on Xena's eyes.

Red-rimmed, troubled, hurt, lost, almost pleading eyes.

So before she says something stupid again, she stands up, grabbed Xena by the hand towards the back of the pub.

"Now what? I'm giving you two minutes to talk and then I'm done here." Paige deadpanned.

Xena hesitated, jaw clenching. "I lost my phone."

Paige frowned. "What?"

"Someone took it at the gym. Or I misplaced it. I don’t fucking know." Xena looked away, exhaling sharply. "And between training, school, and therapy, I just—I didn’t have time to explain."

Xena continues, eyes glassy, frustrated. "And then I see you today, and you just walk past me like I meant nothing."

Paige was about to crumble, but the thing that ticked her off still lingers. "You were happily smiling with some girl — "

"She’s my fucking therapist."

Paige stopped.

Her heart pounded. "What?"

Xena exhaled sharply, running her hands through her hair. "She’s my therapist. She was checking in on me, okay? My stitches, my wrist, my fucking cheekbones. She was happy my bruises are gone, that I’m good now."

Paige swallowed hard.

Her throat burned. Her anger cracked, giving way to new emotions.

Guilt.

Shame.

Fucking everything at once.

Paige exhaled, voice softer now. "I’m sorry."

Xena scoffed. "Yeah? Didn’t fucking seem like it when you were out here losing your shit on me."

Paige clenched her jaw. "I thought—" She cut herself off, hands balling into fists. "Fuck, Xena."

Xena looked at her, deeply, daring her to do much worse. "You're so hot when you're jealous, did you know that?"

And suddenly, there wasn’t any space between them anymore.

Paige surged forward.

Their lips crashed together, months of tension exploding between them.

Xena groaned, fingers tangling in Paige’s hoodie, pulling her in harder.

Paige pushed her against the wall, deepening the kiss, teeth scraping, hands gripping hips—fuck, fuck, fuck.

It was all heat, all fire, all fucking want.

People started filtering out of the bar, their voices pulling them apart, but Xena wasn’t done.

She grabbed Paige’s wrist, pulling her toward the parking lot.

"Come with me."

Paige didn’t hesitate.

They reached Xena’s car, and the moment the doors shut—

They were on each other again.

Xena straddled Paige in the passenger’s seat, hands in her hair, kissing her senseless.

Paige groaned into her mouth, nails digging into Xena’s thighs. "Fuck, you drive me insane."

Xena panted, lips swollen. "Right back at you."

Paige’s hands wandered, Xena’s breath hitched—

But then—

A voice outside.

They both froze.

Laughter.

People walking past.

Paige swallowed hard, forehead resting against Xena’s. "We should stop."

Xena exhaled sharply, hands still gripping her waist. "Yeah."

Neither of them moved.

Xena smirked. "You’re not letting me go."

Paige chuckled, eyes dark. "Not a chance."

"Come back with me," Xena offered, voice low, edged with something undeniable.

Paige stared at her.

This wasn’t a question. It was a challenge. A dare.

Her body screamed yes.

Her mind? Dangerous. Stupid.

Xena smirked, reading her hesitation. "Scared?"

Paige’s jaw ticked. "Drive."

Xena’s grin was pure fucking sin.

The second the door shut behind them, it was over.

Paige shoved Xena against it, her mouth crashing onto hers, hands tangling in her hoodie, hungry.

Xena groaned, pulling her in, her grip rough, her touch possessive.

The air was thick, charged, fucking unbearable.

Paige barely registered the room, only that the back of her legs hit the bed, and then they were falling into it.

Xena pinned her down, lips trailing down her neck, teeth grazing, teasing.

Paige sucked in a sharp breath, gripping Xena’s waist, pulling her closer, needing more, needing everything—

A pause.

Xena hovered above her, breathless, eyes scanning Paige’s face.

A silent question.

Paige swallowed, heartbeat hammering against her ribs.

Then she reached up, fingers curling into Xena’s shirt, pulling her back down.

"Shut up and keep going."

Xena’s grin was the last thing Paige saw before she stopped thinking entirely.

Paige had spent too much time fighting this.

Fighting Xena.

Fighting herself.

But there were only so many nights she could lie awake, replaying every look, every touch, every fucking feeling that Xena made her feel.

So, standing outside the athlete dorms, hands stuffed in her hoodie pocket, heart pounding like a goddamn drum, Paige inhaled deeply and knocked.

It only took three seconds for the door to swing open.

Xena stood there in sweats and a cropped UConn soccer tee, hair damp like she’d just showered, eyes widening at the sight of her.

"Paige?"

No teasing. No smirking. Just genuine surprise.

Paige swallowed. "Can I come in?"

Xena hesitated for a second before stepping aside. "Yeah, of course."

Paige walked in, pacing once before stopping, turning to face her. "Okay, look."

Xena crossed her arms, leaning against the door. "Should I be worried?"

Paige exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "No. I mean—fuck, I don’t know." She ran a hand through her hair, huffing. "This is—"

"Spit it out, P," Xena said softly.

Paige locked eyes with her. "Be mine."

Xena’s breath hitched.

Silence hung between them—thick, heavy, waiting to crack.

"Paige—"

"No, listen," Paige interrupted, stepping closer, voice firm now. "I don’t want anyone else. I don’t want the games, or the push and pull. I don’t want to spend another fucking second pretending like I don’t think about you all the time. I just want you."

Xena just stared at her, like she wasn’t sure if this was real.

"So be mine," Paige repeated, softer this time.

Xena let out a small, breathless laugh, running a hand through her hair. "You make it sound so easy."

Paige tilted her head. "Isn’t it?"

Xena looked at her, searching, feeling.

And then she was closing the distance, grabbing Paige’s hoodie, pulling her in until their lips met, slow and deep, nothing like before—

This wasn’t fire or recklessness or anger.

This was certainty.

This was everything Paige had been waiting for.

Xena pulled back just enough to whisper, "Yeah. Okay. I’m yours."

Paige grinned, feeling light, victorious, complete.

"Damn right you are."

The world didn't change overnight.

But they did. And maybe that was enough.

The days passed, filled with stolen kisses in hallways, late-night talks in Xena’s dorm, meeting both their families. Imagine Paige's surprise when she finally learns about Leo, and how Xena has been plotting about her. Damn, the butterflies on Paige's stomach were indescribable.

Paige sat front row at Xena’s next game, arms crossed, locked in.

When Xena scored, she ran past the stands, pointing at Paige with a cocky smirk.

Paige only shook her head, smirking right back.

Xena came to every basketball game she could, watching Paige dominate.

One night after a win, Paige found Xena waiting by the locker room doors, arms crossed.

"You were a little off in the third quarter," Xena teased.

Paige rolled her eyes. "Shut up."

Xena leaned in, lips brushing her ear. "Come over tonight?"

Paige smirked. "You don’t even have to ask."

They weren’t perfect.

They bickered. They teased. They pushed each other’s buttons.

But they also made each other better.