#but I'm not all that sure I'm pulling it off

[seungcheorry]

types of kissers on svt.

seungcheol: tongue kisser

this dude is slipping his tongue into your mouth the moment he has the chance. don't get me wrong, if he can't kiss you properly he will set for pecks, even just soft kisses using those plump lips - but if we're talking actually kissing, then he wants to taste you and have you sighing. one hand on your hips, the other one on the back of your head.

jeonghan: smooth kisser

jeonghan is sooo smooth when it comes to kissing. you might not even notice him sliding his tongue into your mouth - either because he's also caressing your arm or sliding his hands to your waist -, but once you do and you sigh, jeonghan makes sure to smile against your lips as he leads the kiss in his own way (because you better believe he's doing this his way).

joshua: the smiler

he's happy to be there, kissing you. he's happy to be able to feel you on his lips, taste lingering on it for hours afterwards, hands moving all around your body. he's so happy that, when he's out of breath, joshua takes his time to smile on your lips, to show you how his serotonin levels are way up now (even though sometimes his eyes are saying "i'm gonna ruin you").

junhui: free kisser

his kisses are always gentle, as if he's waiting for you to show him how you want it. will gladly move his lips, put some tongue into you and even some teeth, but you gotta start it. he just loves kissing so much, it doesn't really matter how it goes to him so you have a free card to ask for whatever you want.

soonyoung: nasty kisser

let me get this straight: the nastier, sloppier and wetter, the better. soonyoung likes to hear you kissing him, the sounds your lips make, the sound his tongue caressing yours make. he isn't scared to get saliva all over his chin, so don't even bother stopping him - he's only stopping when neither you or him can breath.

wonwoo: slow kisser

it's not even planned, it's just default by now - he somehow always grab your face with both his hands, holding you in place as his lips open yours to welcome his shy tongue. it's slow most of the times, it's a bit clumsy - when he doesn't take his glasses off -, but it's so full of love. most likely to whisper a 'come here' before kissing you.

jihoon: the intense kisser

this motherfucker treats every kiss as if you're about to disappear. a hand on your face, the other one roaming your body, as he expects you to do the same. grabs your hair and pulls your closer, let's you take control over the kiss and how much movement you want, but keeping you close it's his job. groans and moans against your mouth, especially if you use your tongue on him.

dokyeom: the toucher

can't kiss without touching you. "oh, but it's just a peck on the lips-" yeah, and he's gonna grab you by the neck while you do it. romantic, slow kiss in the middle of his kitchen? his arms are circling your body. make out session on your couch? his hands are grabbing your thighs and/or hips. a shy kiss in the middle of the street? his hands are holding yours. for real, there's no kissing without touching with dk, ever.

mingyu: the teaser (who likes being teased)

mingyu loves to tease in anyway he can, especially if he's trying to build up something more. expect his hand around your neck, his teeth softly biting and pulling your lips, long and happy sighs against your mouth, his tongue sliding on your own - there's many, many tricks he likes to use it. please, match his freak and he will melt in your hands too (pull his hair!!).

minghao: romantic kisser

minghao believes there's only so many things that can be as romantic as kissing, so he likes to put emotion into it. there is less tongue and more lips, he stops in the middle of it to look at you and brush your hair, peck your lips and your chin. he takes his time, it's really sweet - but it can also turn you both on.

seungkwan: shy kisser

he likes kissing, don't get me wrong - but full kisses, with tongue, sounds, hair grabbing and stuff are only reserved for the bedroom. outside of it, seungkwan's kisses are shy, there's always a faint tone of red adorning his cheeks as he pecks your lips for a few seconds. might even whine if he tries to pull away but you grab his neck and make him stay there. it's cute.

vernon: soft kisser

he's slow and gentle. vernon always starts with his hand on your face, cupping your cheek as he savory the kiss. it's his way to convey all his love for you on it. might rest his hands on your hips if he's feeling like letting you control the kiss or sliding them from your face to your neck if he feels like controlling.

chan: the smirker

this motherfucker knows what he's doing when he holds your face, pulling you towards him and giving you a peck before actually kissing you, his lips controlling yours and stopping to smirk against your mouth when you try to pull him closer. he's a menace AND a good kisser, i'm sorry.

have you considered tipping me? | ko-fi 🍒

[vividly-vermillion]

✴︎ CAN I HOLD IT WHILE YOU PEE?

જ⁀➴ Asking the LADS guys if you can hold it while they pee

ﾉ including: Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus

ﾉ cw: suggestive, talks of handjobs and obviously pee (no watersports tho)

ﾉ info: Requested by Anon ||| Requests are OPEN ||| TAGLIST

જ⁀➴ Xavier

♡ Xavier was confused as to why you were following him to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

♡ He stopped in his tracks once he stood in the middle of the room and realized you were in the doorframe.

♡ “You need the toilet too? I can wait,” he offers tired, but you only grin at him as you walk towards him.

♡ You wrap both arms around his torso and give him puppy eyes - it's nearly impossible for him to say no when you're that sweet.

♡ “Can I hold it while you pee?” You ask with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

♡ “Hold what? The roll of toilet paper?” He asked tired, his brain not fully working in this state.

♡ “No, your dick.” You say bluntly and step away from your small hug.

♡ Xavier's eyes went wide for a moment and he was wide awake after you said that and he gulped, unsure what to answer.

♡ “Uh… sure?” It was more a question than a statement and he blinked a few times, trying to wrap his head around as to why you would want that.

♡ You giggled when he stepped closer to the toilet and pulled his pajama pants with his boxers down just enough to get his dick out.

♡ “Well, do you want to hold it now or? I kinda really need to… yeah,” he mumbled, the tips of his ears a cute shade of pink.

♡ “Xav! It was a joke! But if you insist…” you laugh softly and step behind him, gently grabbing his cock so you can aim it.

♡ Xavier had a shiver run down his spine when the first few drops turned into a steady stream, closing his eyes to not think about your hand wrapped around his manhood in such a dirty moment.

♡ He thought it was just a weird dream when he got up in the morning so he never really mentioned it again.

જ⁀➴ Zayne

♡ You knew his answer before you even asked but you still happily skipped after him to the bathroom.

♡ At first Zayne thought you skip past him and into the bedroom or into the kitchen to grab a snack for your movie night.

♡ But he almost closed the door right in your face when he went into the bathroom.

♡ “Are you okay?” He asked with one raised brow, giving you a look over, genuinely wondering why you'd follow him into the bathroom.

♡ “Is it about the call earlier? I told you it's just a coworker who took over one of my patients and-” you cut him off mid sentence, laughing softly.

♡ “Do you think I'm jealous? I trust you, silly” You said amused which immediately eases the worry in his face. Of course you weren't concerned or jealous but there was this mischievous look on your face.

♡ “Then what brings you here?” He asked curiously, leaning against the doorframe to stare you down as if he needs to extract your deepest secrets.

♡ “Can I hold it? While you pee?” You ask as sweet as you can muster and he shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

♡ “You want to hold my penis while I pee?” He asks amused and stands up straight again, still shaking his head in disbelief when you nod eagerly.

♡ “Absolutely not” His voice sounded strict but the look on his face gave away that he was highly amused.

♡ You cross your arms over your chest and pout “Then I'll watch” you protest.

♡ Zayne sighs and gently picks you up to set you down outside of the bathroom where the door closes in your face and the lock shuts close. He won't let you hold it.

જ⁀➴ Rafayel

♡ You didn't really want to hold it when he goes to the bathroom you just saw the trend going around on TikTok where people ask their partner that question and thought it's fun.

♡ Rafayels reaction to random, unhinged questions are always adorable to you, all pink cheeks and confused eyes.

♡ So when he strolls into the bathroom for his evening bath, you follow him like a lost puppy, bumping right into him when he abruptly stops.

♡ “What is it, cutie? Wanna join me in the tub?” He asks with a sweet smile and you almost feel bad for what you're about to ask.

♡ His face changes from soft and gentle to confused and almost repulsed, the apples of his cheeks turning redder by each second until it reaches the tips of his ears and slowly creeps down his neck while avoiding your excited gaze.

♡ “For a second i thought you asked me if you can hold my… while i…” he didn't even say the absurdity out loud but you only nod with a far too happy grin

♡ “Wait- You were serious?!” His voice rises in pitch which only adds to your amusement.

♡ So you unbuckle his pants, not planning on doing anything without his consent, just teasing a little.

♡ “Yes? Is that so weird? I mean you've peed before while I was in the tub when we stayed at that one small hotel room,” you remind him that it's technically nothing new.

♡ Rafayel sighs, it's almost an annoyed whine. He hates saying no to you but this seems so absurd to him.

♡ “One time. Just this once so you're happy.” He mumbles defeated and his blush changes from a soft pink into hues of crimson and deep red.

♡ You didn't want to chicken out now either so you pulled through with it, giggling when you actually got to hold it

♡ No matter how much Rafayel whines and pouts after, he did kinda like it but he would deny it until he's in his grave.

જ⁀➴ Sylus

♡ Sylus is no fun when it comes to pranking, always one step ahead and ready to do the wildest things so you knew he would say yes before you even asked.

♡ You gave yourself away with batting your lashes pretty - you always do this when you want something.

♡ “What is it this time, kitten?” He asked with a lopsided smirk, looking you up and down in hopes to find out more.

♡ At this point you considered chickening out, his know it all attitude ruining the fun for just a moment but you smiled sweetly at him.

♡ “Sylus, mighty leader of Onychinos, my handsome boyfriend,” you started with some flattery, grabbing his chin playfully just to keep him waiting.

♡ “Would you… let me hold it when you pee?” You ask with a straight face but it only lasted 0.2 seconds until both of you broke the facade.

♡ Sylus chuckled and shook his head at how ridiculous you sounded but ended up shrugging.

♡ “You know I won't ever say no to you, especially not when you ask so nicely,” he teased and gently grabbed your wrist before dragging you towards the bathroom despite your protest of it being a joke.

♡ “Oh so you're telling me that you're too scared of getting your hands dirty?” He teases, wanting to see you struggle for the amusement.

♡ You ended up holding it with a pout, your cheeks burning while Sylus smirked at you, arms crossed over his chest - he didn't think you would actually do it but he didn't mind it at all.

[leashybebes]

If it sparks joy:

Cuddling in a blanket fort for BT ☺️

it sparks so much joy. also for @mediocre-mee, because great minds think alike. warning: remarkably little cuddling, but lots of blanket fort

"You guys are really bad at this," Denny says as the third blanket in a row flutters to the floor. He has his hands on his hips, eyeing them critically.

"Give us a break, kid," Tommy says. "We had sad childhoods."

Buck fights a wince but Denny just rolls his eyes at Tommy, picks up two blankets and starts issuing directions. It was Tommy's idea, when they started talking about fostering, that they should start looking after the 118 kids in larger numbers, kind of a series of trial runs. He called it practice, but apparently he doesn't need practice. Maybe Buck does though - he's starting to think Chris is the exception that proves the rule. Once they get past around five years old, kids think Buck is embarrassing. Tommy, though? Tommy's cool, even if he can't build a blanket fort to save his life, even if he's saying objectively uncool things.

They move furniture around under Denny's watchful eye, repurpose lamps and chairs and picture hooks to build the blanket fort of Jee and Mara's dreams.

"Okay. Not awful," Denny concludes. "I'll go get the girls."

"I'll start the popcorn," Buck says.

Jee and Mara are delighted with their blanket fort, and rightly give Denny most of the credit, the three of them piling into the fort to watch a movie while Buck and Tommy work on dinner. 

When Karen arrives to pick up the kids later, Tommy, Buck and Denny are drinking root beer on the porch, while the girls are sleeping off dinner in the blanket fort. 

"Oh, they have you wrapped around their little fingers," she crows at the sight of their living room. 

"Yeah," Tommy admits, completely unembarrassed. 

"This is why we're the favorite uncles," Buck says, from where he's sorting through backpacks, making sure all three of the kids are leaving with everything they brought with them, apart from the friendship bracelets that had been earnestly delivered - Mara's been on a kick lately and Jee is, as ever, delighted to learn from her.

Once they've waved them off, Buck claps his hands together and says, "Okay. Should we put the room to rights?"

"Absolutely not. C'mon, get in the blanket fort with me, Buckley."

"You're kidding, right? It barely fit Denny and the girls. We'll have a structural collapse within five minutes."

Tommy tugs on Buck's hand, pulling him in for a kiss and then leading him into the living room. It takes a bit of effort, but they manage to crawl through the blanket tunnel Denny had carefully constructed and Buck lets Tommy pull him into his arms without protest. He looks so good in the glow of the string lights Jee had cooed over, so handsome and so big and so steady, smiling happily at Buck.

"You know," Buck says, "I used to think I'd hate anything that promised this level of mess on a regular basis."

"And now?" Tommy asks, smiling like he absolutely already knows the answer.

"I'm going to be a wildly indulgent father," Buck admits. "Stick-on stars on the ceiling, redecorating on a whim, cake for dinner. You're gonna have to hold me back."

"Good luck with that," Tommy says, tucking Buck closer into his arms and kissing the top of his head. "They learn that pout from you and I'm a goner."

"Our kids are gonna be demons," Buck says with a sigh.

Tommy strokes his back. "But they're gonna be happy."

In the cosy warmth of the mismatched blankets, in the endless safety of Tommy's arms, Buck smiles.

[rosierin]

heat of the moment | atsumu miya

synopsis; it started with a massage. she’d had a long day, he offered, and she didn’t think twice. but then his hands slip under her shirt, his hands slowed, and suddenly they’re somewhere they were never meant to be.

warning; very suggestive!!! mature content

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

The apartment was dark when she stepped in—just the faint glow of the hallway lamp left on, humming gently against the silence. The scent of fresh linen and something faintly sweet lingered in the air, a comfort she didn’t know she’d been craving.

Her shoes hit the wall with a dull thud as she kicked them off with little ceremony, limbs dragging like she was wading through molasses. Her legs were heavy. Her spine ached like it’d forgotten how to hold her upright. And her shoulders—tight as wire, wound so high they nearly brushed her ears.

She didn’t sigh. She groaned. The kind that came from deep in her soul, coaxed out by too many hissing steam wands, clattering mugs, toddler meltdowns, and customers who still couldn’t grasp the concept of boiling water.

And of course, it had to be Free Drink Day.

More like Free Mental Breakdown Day.

They say not to cry over spilled milk, but after the third oat latte incident of the day, she was ready to weep into the mop bucket.

Her bag dropped with a final, resentful thud. She muttered something obscene under her breath and shuffled toward the living room like the ghost of capitalism’s finest victim—burnt out, steamed dry, and foamed to death.

“Rough day?” came a familiar voice—low, lazy, and way too smug for someone who didn’t just spend eight hours on their feet dealing with entitled customers who kept insisting on speaking to her manager.

She didn’t look at him, just flopped face-first onto the couch with a grunt. “Don’t speak to me, Miya.”

Soft footsteps, then:

“‘Miya,’ huh?”

She could hear the grin in his voice.

“Don’t.”

“I’m just sayin’. You only call me that when you’re feelin’ a certain way.”

“Yeah, when I'm tired, cranky, or borderline murderous."

He snorted. “You sure it ain’t somethin’ else?”

Her only reply was a muffled groan into the couch cushion.

Normally, she’d have some kind of quip locked and loaded—something dry, vaguely threatening, maybe even flirty if she was in the mood. And sometimes she did use his last name with that teasing edge, just to get a rise out of him.

But not tonight.

Tonight there was no smirk behind it. No playful undertone. No provocative lilt that made it sound like something else.

When she said Miya, she meant it. Plain and simple. No code. No joke. Just: leave me alone before I bite.

She was tired. Everything hurt. And she wasn’t in the mood for verbal sparring or Atsumu’s usual theatrics—not even a little bit.

Not tonight.

Beside her, the floor creaked.

And then she felt it—his fingers, brushing the fabric of her hoodie aside, settling gently on her shoulder.

“Let me help.”

Her head lifted slightly and—ow. Even that took a great amount of effort. “What?”

“You're all wound up,” he murmured, thumbs circling slow against the knots in her back. “Let me fix it.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but god… the way his hands were already working over her hoodie—firm, warm, grounding—it was hard to protest.

“Take this off,” he said, tapping her back.

She shot him a glare over her shoulder. Everything?

He raised his eyebrows, amused. “The hoodie.”

“…Oh.”

Still grumbling, she pulled it over her head and tossed it aside, revealing the flimsy camisole beneath. She settled back onto her stomach, cheek pressed to the couch, breath leaving her in a long exhale.

Then his hands returned—bare, strong, and unfairly skilled.

Her eyes fluttered shut.

She hated how good he was at this. How steady his palms felt against her skin. How his fingers dug in deep enough to hurt, but just enough to make her feel relaxed. Like he knew exactly where the tension lived—exactly where to press, where to drag his thumbs to unravel her piece by piece.

“You’ve done this before,” she muttered, face still buried in the couch.

“Mmhm.”

“Who?”

“Not important.”

That annoyed her more than it should’ve. But the way his hands pressed into her lower back, dragging down, circling, gripping—god, it was hard to stay mad when her brain was slowly turning to soup.

A breath she hadn’t realized she was holding left her in a soft sigh.

“You know,” he said casually, “there’s a dangerous amount of trust involved in lettin’ me touch ya like this.”

“Don’t ruin it,” she mumbled.

“M’not. Just sayin’. One minute I’m bein’ nice and helpful, the next…”

She didn't let him finish his sentence.

“Atsumu?”

“Yeah?”

“Be quiet.”

He laughed—quiet, smug—and kept going, kneading along the tight lines of her shoulders, down the dip of her spine, slow enough to make her toes curl.

The kind of slow that made her forget things. Like how tired she was. How annoyed she’d been walking through the door. How many hours she’d spent on her feet.

Each pass of his hands pulled her deeper into the couch, deeper into herself. Her thoughts blurred into a soft haze. And for a moment, it didn’t feel suggestive or flirty or like something to overthink.

It just felt good.

Safe. Easy. Blissful.

Until he shifted.

Straddled her hips.

The weight of him was gentle, careful—not overwhelming. But it still took her by surprise.

“Wh—what are you—?”

“Better angle,” he said, offhand. Like it was nothing.

Somehow, it wasn’t very convincing.

His hands returned, slipping beneath her shirt. The change in temperature made her shiver, but his palms were warm—gliding lazy, deliberate lines along the soft skin of her back. Steady. Measured. Too measured. Like he was focusing too hard on not making it something else.

“You’re tense here,” he murmured, thumbs pressing slow circles just beneath her shoulder blades.

That’s when she heard it. The dip in his voice—the subtle, sultry shift she’d learned to recognize. Rare, but unmistakable. The tone he only used when his thoughts wandered somewhere they shouldn’t. The kind that meant trouble.

(Y/n) tried not to react. Tried not to read into it—keep it casual. But her skin was too aware of his hands. Her breath, too shallow. Her thoughts, not nearly as neutral as she wanted them to be.

“Mhmm,” she hummed, noncommittal. A deflection. Weak, but it was all she had.

His thumbs slid lower.

“And here.”

His fingers fanned at her waist, dragging down her sides with a softness that didn’t feel so clinical anymore. It felt…curious. Attentive. Too much like a question.

Her breath caught. Not loud. Just a flicker—a stutter of air through parted lips. But he caught it. Of course he did.

He chuckled—low, quiet, maddeningly pleased.

“I can feel your heart racin’, y’know.”

She didn’t answer right away. It was difficult to when she was now hyperaware of every point of contact.

“I’m—tired,” she mumbled weakly. “...Not turned on.”

A pause.

Then—

“Liar.”

It wasn’t a tease. Not really. Barely a whisper, but it landed like a spark to dry leaves.

(Y/n) stiffened. Her brain scrambled for something—logic, protest, retreat—but her body had already gone still. Listening. Waiting.

Because suddenly, the room felt smaller.

The couch felt warmer.

The line between playful bickering and something dangerous blurring far too fast.

And Atsumu—still perched on her hips, hands firm and steady at her waist—felt like something more than a friend doing her a favour.

His hands never stopped moving in those slow, rhythmic circles. Not rushed. Not forceful. But no longer innocent, either.

And then—he moved.

Just a small shift of his hips. Barely there. But it was unmistakable.

Intentional.

She sucked in a breath. Her body tightened instinctively, unsure, unprepared—but she didn’t pull away. Not yet.

Atsumu exhaled—quiet, shaky, like he hadn’t meant to do it in the first place. Like her reaction had knocked something loose in him.

“Shit,” he muttered, almost to himself.

He rocked his hips again—slower this time. More tentative. Deeper. Lower.

Her lips parted.

She didn’t mean to make a sound, but it slipped out anyway—a soft little breath, something between a sigh and a gasp, too quiet for full embarrassment but loud enough that he heard it.

Felt it.

His hands tightened at her waist.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he breathed, voice frayed and mildly stunned. “You keep makin’ noises like that and I’m gonna lose every bit of sense I’ve got left.”

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because somewhere between the first touch and now, her resistance had started to unravel. Not all at once. Just enough to let him in.

Her body betrayed her—arching, pliant, already so far gone.

Her eyes were shut tight, pulse hammering in her throat as he ground against her again—slow, controlled, like he was savouring every second of it.

“You feel that?” he murmured, hips moving just enough to make her thighs tense. “That’s what you do to me. You come home all tired and soft and whiny and y'expect me to behave?"

He leaned down, mouth at her neck, hot breath tickling her skin.

“All those little sounds you’re makin’. The way you're meltin' under my hands. You gotta know what you’re doin’ to me.”

Another roll of his hips—harder this time.

Her mouth opened.

A sound escaped her—quiet, shamefully honest. Just enough to make his breath catch this time.

He stilled.

Then groaned. “Jesus.”

Something cracked open after that.

He braced himself over her—slow and heavy—elbows caging her in, breath rasping as his hips ground down again, rougher now, less restrained. Over and over.

His mouth brushed her shoulder blade—hot and barely contained—and then he kissed her there. Once. Then again. Then a third time, slower now, lips dragging over her skin like he couldn’t help it.

(Y/n)’s eyes squeezed shut.

And that’s when it hit her—really hit her. The weight of his body. The heat of his skin. The way his hips pressed into hers like it was instinct, and the way her body arched into him like it had a will of its own.

Her mind screamed at her to push him off. To tell him to stop.

This was too much.

Too intense. Too close.

They didn’t do this.

This wasn’t banter. This wasn’t teasing. This wasn’t some flirty game they’d forget by morning.

This was heat. This was need.

This was her—on her stomach, panting into the couch cushion—while Atsumu Miya kissed down her spine like he was about to lose his goddamn mind.

She should’ve told him to stop.

But she didn’t. Couldn't. Not when her every nerve in her body was screaming for his touch.

“Atsumu,” she breathed.

His movements stuttered—just a fraction. One word. Just his name.

But fuck—did that turn him on.

He groaned softly into her skin, hips still locked against hers, grinding like he needed the friction. Like it physically hurt not to move.

“...What are you doing?” she managed, voice hoarse, thin with disbelief.

“Losin' it,” he whispered, like it wasn’t obvious.

His hand slid up her back, fingers tangling in her hair—then tugged. Lightly. Just enough to lift her face from the cushions, just enough to bare the sound that slipped out of her—something between a wince and a moan, sharp and breathy.

His mouth found her shoulder again—open-mouthed this time, breath hot, tongue brushing slowly over her skin like he was trying to memorize the way she tasted.

“I shouldn’t be doin’ this,” he muttered, more to himself than her, like he was trying to convince his body to back off.

He didn’t.

And she didn’t stop him.

Her fingers dug into the cushion. Her breath caught in her throat. Her body burned in places she didn’t know could ache like this.

Every roll of his hips sent a shockwave through her spine, and every kiss on her skin made her forget why this was a bad idea in the first place.

She felt his breath by her ear.

Felt the restraint in the way his hand clenched at her waist, like he was holding himself together with threads.

And then his mouth was at her neck—warm, open, hungry—before his teeth sank in just enough to make her gasp.

He exhaled hard, barely catching himself as he pressed his forehead to her shoulder, like he needed the anchor—like staying close was the only way to keep from falling apart completely.

“You’re lettin’ me,” he said hoarsely, disbelief threaded between his words. “You’re not tellin’ me to stop.”

She didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

Because if she spoke, she’d confess something they couldn’t take back.

And maybe he knew that—because his hand slid from her hair, tracing along her cheek before curling around her jaw. Gentle, but firm. He tilted her face toward him, made her look at him.

And god, he looked ruined.

Eyes blown wide. Lips parted and pink. Expression completely wrecked.

And still, he moved.

Hard. Needy.

Her moan slipped out—quiet, involuntary, the kind that tore straight from her chest.

It was all he needed.

“Fuck, baby—” he breathed, voice shredded and barely holding together. His hips stuttered, movements turning messy, desperate—like he couldn’t slow down even if he tried.

His mouth found her skin again. Kissed whatever he could reach. Sloppy. Starved. Every kiss less precise than the last.

He was close.

Too close.

A deep, broken sound tore from his throat as his hand locked tighter at her waist—his other still cupping her jaw like he needed to see her. And for one breathless, blinding second, the world narrowed to this:

Heat.

Friction.

Sweat.

His hips snapped into hers, too drunk on her to stop. Like she was the only thing keeping him grounded.

They were right at the edge of something they weren’t supposed to reach.

So close to—

CRASH.

A loud, metallic clang. Something hit the floor in the kitchen.

They both froze. (Y/n) almost whined.

A beat of stunned silence—

Then:

“For fuck's sake—My ramen!”

Suna’s voice cut through the moment like a slap.

A second later—

“YOU’RE CLEANIN’ THAT!”

Osamu’s voice, furious and far too loud.

Just like that, the spell shattered.

Atsumu collapsed onto her back with a guttural groan, his entire weight slumping down like the wind had been knocked out of him.

“…I’m gonna kill 'im.”

(Y/n) didn’t move. Just whimpered into the cushion. “...Why are they like this?"

He slid off her slowly, like he wasn’t sure how his limbs worked anymore. His breath was still uneven, his cheeks flushed. He flopped onto the floor beside the couch like he’d just fought for his life.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

A long, awful silence stretched between them.

Her heart still pounded in her chest like it hadn’t gotten the memo.

Then—

“…Three more seconds and I'd have bust.”

She blinked. Then let out a broken, exhausted snort. “Miya.”

He covered his face with both hands and dragged them down his face. “Don’t say my name like that right now.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Bonus:

The next morning...

The apartment smelled like eggs and impending doom.

(Y/n) sat stiffly at the dining table, fingers curled around her mug like it was the only thing tethering her to reality. She hadn’t spoken more than four words since she entered the kitchen. Not because she was mad. Not because she was tired.

Because Atsumu was in the room.

Leaning against the counter.

Hair messy. Shirt slightly wrinkled. Cheeks still flushed from whatever godless dreams he probably had last night. Arms crossed over his chest like they hadn't just been gripping her hips twelve hours ago while whispering pure filth and sin into her shoulder blades.

She took a long sip of coffee.

Don’t look at him. Don’t think about it. Don’t clench your thighs.

“You’re bein’ real quiet this mornin’,” Osamu said, setting down a plate of toast in front of her.

She blinked. “Hmm? No, I’m fine. Just a bit tired is all."

Suna, across the table, didn’t look up from his phone.

“Someone’s tense,” he muttered. “Again.”

Her soul left her body.

“I’m not tense,” she snapped a little too fast.

Atsumu made a small choking sound behind her. She didn’t turn around.

Osamu raised an eyebrow, glancing between them. “Did you two fight or somethin’?”

“No,” she said.

“No,” Atsumu echoed.

Osamu squinted. “Weird. Yer both lookin' a lil guilty."

Suna finally looked up, eyes slow and calculating. “Did something happen?”

“No,” she said quickly.

“Nah,” Atsumu added, voice a little too casual.

A long silence.

Suna’s eyes narrowed. “Y’know, the couch is looking kinda... dented this morning.”

(Y/n) stared at her mug. “Rin, please stop speaking.”

“And there was a hoodie on the floor. Yours, I think,” Suna added.

Osamu frowned. “Weren’t you wearin’ that last night?”

Suna turned fully in his seat. “Don’t tell me.” Seconds passed. Then—

“No way. Did you guys fu—”

Atsumu broke into the broadest grin.

(Y/n) turned bright red.

“NO!”

Osamu almost spit out his orange juice.

Suna's jaw actually went slack. “Holy shit.”

Osamu looked offended. “On the couch? Seriously?!”

Atsumu leaned forward, elbows on the counter, smirk straight out of a rated-R movie. “All I’m sayin’ is… ya leave a man alone with a pretty girl complainin’ about her back and—”

“It was JUST a massage!” (y/n) yelled, utterly mortified.

The room went silent.

Suna slowly pushed his plate away, crinkling his nose.

Osamu looked like he needed years worth of therapy. “I eat on that couch.”

"Okay," she blurted, pushing her chair back with the grace of a dying goose. "I’m going back to bed. None of you speak to me.”

“You didn’t finish your toast,” Suna called.

“You didn’t finish your massage, either,” Atsumu added.

(Y/n) stormed off, narrowly missing the doorframe on the way out.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Her door slammed shut.

Her body hit the mattress.

Her soul left her body.

She face-planted into her pillow with a strangled groan—the same noise people make when they think they’ve beaten a final boss, only for it to regenerate full health and announce a hidden phase two.

Her brain felt like the scrambled eggs she'd left behind.

Because it was replaying everything—every. single. second.

The massage.

The way his fingers dug into her back like he knew where she was most vulnerable.

The phantom warmth of his hands still lingered on her skin, like her body couldn’t quite let go of his touch. And the weight of him—solid, hot, heavy—still pressed against the back of her hips like muscle memory. Like her body remembered what her mind was trying to erase.

His mouth on her shoulders, her neck.

His voice—needy, breathless—almost desperate.

Her whole body flushed so violently she was surprised she hadn’t burst into flames on the spot.

What the hell was that?!

They didn’t do that. They never did that. Sure, Atsumu flirted—he flirted with everyone. She was used to it. Used to rolling her eyes and brushing it off, calling him insufferable while secretly liking the attention.

But this?

This was not harmless.

This was him, grinding into her like he was trying to memorize the shape of her body. This was her, moaning into a cushion like she was part of some kinky romance novel. This was—

“I should’ve pushed him off,” she muttered into the pillow.

But she didn’t.

She let it happen.

Worse—she wanted it to happen.

Oh my god.

The doorframe she almost walked into? Deserved.

The toast she didn’t eat? Deserved.

The ghost of his voice still echoing in her ears, haunting her?

Absolutely deserved.

She flopped onto her back, stared at the ceiling, and whispered:

“What have I done."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Meanwhile in the kitchen...

Atsumu wasn’t proud of himself.

Okay, maybe a little. But also not really. Not when Suna was staring at him like he was one word away from committing a crime, and Osamu looked ready to throw up in the sink.

“You touched her where?”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I already told ya,” he said, sinking deeper into the kitchen chair. “It was a massage. She was tired. I was bein’ helpful.”

“Helpful?” Osamu echoed, crossing his arms, his expression somewhere between offended and utterly gobsmacked. Probably both.

Atsumu winced. Yeah, maybe that hadn’t been the best word.

“What happened to runnin’ her a bath? Or—I dunno—cookin' her dinner like a normal person?”

Atsumu just shrugged.

Not defensively. Not exactly confident, either.

Just that lazy, noncommittal lift of his shoulders—the kind he pulled when he didn’t have a good answer and hoped no one would call him out for it. Sheepish. A little guilty. Mostly trying not to squirm under the look Osamu was giving him.

Suna, meanwhile, hadn’t blinked once. Didn’t even flinch. Just stared at him, jaw tight. “You’re genuinely insane.”

Atsumu threw his arms up. “Whaaat? (Y/n) didn't seem to mind."

Osamu made a noise. Something resigned, possibly a little traumatised.

“Keep it to yourself,” Suna muttered, voice low, sharp.

“You asked!” Atsumu protested, slouching into the kitchen chair like he was halfway through a trial he was absolutely guilty of. “It wasn’t supposed to go that far.”

“But it did,” Osamu snapped, gesturing dramatically. “On the couch. Where I eat.”

That earned him a grimace. “Okay, ya don’t gotta say it like that.”

He slouched further. Rested his chin in one hand. “It wasn’t even a thing. She came home all cranky and— I dunno. I just wanted to make 'er feel better.”

That was the truth, wasn’t it? At the time, it was innocent. Mostly. He hadn’t planned to grind on her like a man starved.

But then she'd moaned, and the rest was history.

“Right,” Suna said, and something in his voice made Atsumu look up.

The usual flat deadpan wasn’t there. Something sharper had taken its place.

“Are you sure she was okay with it?” Suna asked, meeting his eyes at last. “She didn’t look like she was in a good mood this morning.”

Atsumu blinked. His heart stumbled over itself.

“What? She’s probably just—embarrassed,” he said, a little too quickly. Then, bristling, “Are you sayin’ I did somethin’ she didn’t want?”

Suna didn’t back down. “No. I’m saying you didn't think." A beat passed. "'Least not with your head."

The kitchen got quiet. That kind of quiet that made Atsumu want to throw something just to fill it.

His nostrils flared. He straightened in his seat, bracing his hands on the table like he was ready to stand.

Suna just stared.

Unflinching.

Judging.

Calm and lethal as always.

And yeah, okay, maybe Atsumu hadn’t thought it through. Maybe he had gotten carried away. But he wasn’t some creep.

“She didn’t stop me,” he muttered, then immediately winced because wow, what a terrible sentence.

Osamu, to his credit, jumped in before the stare-down turned into an actual fight. “Alright, both of ya, enough.” He slapped a palm to Atsumu’s shoulder, forcing him back down when he’d started to rise. “I’m sure (y/n)’s fine. She probably is just embarrassed. But, 'Tsumu—” He gave his brother a look. “Make sure ya check in on 'er."

The tension thinned. Barely.

Atsumu slumped back into his chair.

But he never looked away, still locked in a silent death stare with Suna, waiting for someone to blink first.

Osamu rolled his eyes and went back to his breakfast.

But the words were already climbing up Atsumu's throat, too big to keep inside.

“…She moaned.”

Osamu’s fork hit his plate with a clink.

"Please," he groaned, covering his ears. “Spare me.”

“I’m not makin’ it up!” Atsumu insisted, leaning forward like this was somehow a defence. “I wasn’t even doin’ that much and she—" He cut himself off, then added in a desperate whisper, “She was movin’ with me, so she definitely—”

“Atsumu.” Suna’s voice was cold. Firm. “We get it.”

Atsumu’s mouth snapped shut. His ears burned. God, he sounded like a perv.

Osamu exhaled slowly, like his brain had just rebooted. Then, against all odds, he snorted. Covered his face, elbows braced on the table, but that stupid grin was peeking through his fingers.

“What is wrong with you guys?”

Atsumu stared at his cereal. Suddenly way too aware of how pathetic he must’ve looked, sitting here like a kicked puppy, talking about a moan like it was a Nobel Prize.

Still… his lips twitched.

“...What?” he said, trying for innocent. It came out boyish.

Osamu didn’t even look at him. “Nothin’,” he muttered, voice muffled and lowkey judgmental.

Suna shook his head and pulled out his phone. “You’re the horniest person I know."

Atsumu sighed.

Ran both hands through his hair.

And smirked.

Guilty as charged.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The kitchen was quiet.

Dim, too—lit only by the under-light above the stove, casting everything in a sleepy haze. It was late. Past midnight, maybe. She’d lost track of time after her shower, after the world stopped spinning quite so fast.

(Y/n) padded in with socked feet, her damp hair sticking to the back of her neck, water bottle loose in her grip. She wasn’t even thirsty. She’d just needed somewhere to be that wasn’t her room. Somewhere her thoughts wouldn’t chase her down and pin her to the bed like they’d been trying to do all evening.

The massage.

The weight of him.

The way her hips moved.

The sound she made.

God.

She opened the fridge just to cool her face against the blast of cold air. Stood there a moment longer than necessary, trying to freeze the memory out of her skin.

She stared at the contents without really seeing them.

If she was lucky, she could grab a drink and slink back upstairs before anyone—

The floor creaked behind her.

She knew that creak. Recognised the rhythm of those lazy footsteps.

Atsumu.

Of course.

She didn’t turn. Just shut the fridge, hugging the bottle to her chest like it could absorb the flush threatening to rise to her face.

“Hey.”

His voice was quieter than usual.

Not cocky, not teasing, but... soft.

Her heart stuttered.

She braced herself, then glanced up at him. “Hey, ‘Tsum.”

He looked like he’d come down for something too, but now he was just… standing there. In his sweatpants, hair mussed from his pillow, rubbing at the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure what to say.

Her chest tightened. It was impossible to ignore it.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked.

“Somethin’ like that.” He shrugged, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Figured I’d grab somethin’ to drink. But…” he trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck again, “…guess ya beat me to it.”

She gave a breath of a laugh, barely there. “Sorry. I was just... thinking.”

A beat of silence stretched between them.

He hummed, mulling over his next words, like he wasn’t sure if now was the best time to ask—but he did anyway.

“You okay?”

(Y/n) blinked.

The question was soft. Careful. And completely sincere.

It disarmed her more than it should have.

She opened her mouth—then shut it. Swallowed. “Mhmm. I'm okay.”

Atsumu nodded, but didn’t move. Didn’t turn back around like he meant to leave. Instead, he stepped a little closer, resting one hand against the counter, glancing down at her.

“How’s your back?” he asked, lips quirking slightly.

That earned a glare. She stood up, arms folding over her chest, suddenly too aware of how warm the kitchen was. "Very funny."

He almost smiled again—but this time, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She was dodging. That much was obvious.

And he hated that he almost let her.

“What? Too soon?” he offered, like the teasing might lighten things again.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Ya love it, really,” he shot back—without thinking, without blinking. It was one of those lines. One of his lines. Something he said all the time, to her, to anyone, usually with a smirk and no consequences.

It rolled off the tongue like second nature. Easy as breathing.

But this time… it landed different.

Because her face changed.

She looked down at her water bottle, fingers tightening around the cap. Her smile—if it could even be called that—faded. Not annoyed. Not offended. Just... gone.

And for the first time, Atsumu regretted saying it.

He felt the air shift. He took a breath.

“…Listen,” he said, more seriously now, his voice low and laced with hesitation. “About… y’know. The other night.”

She stiffened.

And he noticed.

“I shouldn’t have—uh, gotten so carried away,” he added, scratching the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to make things weird. I was just—”

“—It’s okay,” she cut in, too fast.

He blinked.

She still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s fine, 'Tsumu. Let’s just… pretend it didn’t happen, okay?”

His heart stuttered.

Pretend it didn’t happen?

He watched her closely. She was fiddling with the bottle cap now, like it was the most interesting thing in the room. Her expression guarded. Tight.

She was embarrassed.

Not because he crossed a line—he was sure of that—but because she didn’t know what to do with what happened. Because she let it happen, and maybe, just maybe, she regretted it a little.

And that stung him a little.

“Really?” he asked, careful.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Like. It was a one-time thing. Heat of the moment. Whatever.” She waved a hand in the air vaguely. “Let’s just never bring it up again.”

A one-time thing?

He tilted his head, slowly. “…Never?”

She looked at him then. Briefly. But it was enough.

“Never,” she confirmed. Then, a little firmer: “Forget it ever happened.”

He paused.

“…Even the part where you—”

“Yes.” Her cheeks flared. “Especially that part.”

There was something so sharp and exasperated in her voice that he couldn’t help it—he pressed his lips together, biting back a laugh. “Ya sure? ‘Cause I think about it like… hourly.”

“I swear to god—”

“Alright, alright.” He looked at her a second longer than he should’ve, hands held up in surrender, then forced a grin. “Forgettin’ it. Totally gone. Brain wiped.”

He paused. Tilted his head.

Then, dryly: “…What were we talkin’ about again?”

She groaned, but her mouth twitched too. Just a little.

And he'd have been blind to miss it.

The way she tucked her hair behind her ear, how her shoulders finally relaxed. He wouldn’t push. Not tonight. But he also wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t feel it—didn’t want it.

He cared. More than she probably realised.

And if forgetting it made her feel safer, more in control… then fine.

He’d let her forget.

For now.

[be-xkyy]

Tw: sexual content, breeding, angry sex, jealous boyfriend, mate couple.

Yandere Cat Hybrid Boyfriend who is completely in love (obsessed) with his human girlfriend ♡

He can't help but hide in the corners of the house, alert with his furry ears pulled back and his tail swishing behind him before jumping in front of you every time you pass, scaring you to death

He gets extremely offended and hisses at you when you throw his "gifts" in the trash, gifts that are mostly dead rats, dead birds, spiders, and he even caught a snake once, he did all that just for you little ungrateful one

His sense of smell is highly developed so he can smell when someone else has been around you, always when you come back from the store or work he will pounce on you purring... only for his purrs to stop abruptly when he smells the scent of another male on you...

“Why do you smell like another male?! What were you doing to make him leave his scent so strong on you, huh?! You fucked him, is that it?!”

His tail bristles and his eyes squeeze into thin slits, venomous accusations leave his lips between furious hisses, it's cruel, but it's just a defense mechanism, his heart pounds in his ears and his chest hurts at the thought of you abandoning him for someone else :(

“I thought fucking you and bathing you in my essence would keep the idiots away from you! But you have no respect for yourself or me! I'm going to fuck you with an entire litter of my kittens, so you and the idiots out there know that you belong to me! ”

He doesn't listen to any of your excuses or let you explain anything, he grabs your arm tightly digging his nails into your skin which will surely be full of bruises tomorrow and drags you to the living room pushing you on the carpet, he roughly gets between your legs, the sound of the fabric tearing fills the room when he rips off your clothes revealing your lace lingerie that in any other situation he would have admired but now he's mad at you :(

He doesn't even take off his clothes, he just rips off your panties before his fingers desperately open his belt, he pulls his pants down to his thighs along with his boxers, he takes his fat cock in his hand rubbing it up and down firmly, he's capable enough to see through his annoying haze and know that he has to lubricate you a little since he doesn't want to hurt you ♡

He spits on your pussy, uses his saliva to lubricate you by rubbing your clit a few times before taking his cock, guiding it towards your pussy, he inserts himself with a thrust, throwing his ears back in pure pleasure at the feeling of your tight warm pussy sucking him, his tail swings behind him at the moans you let out ♡

He moves his hips vigorously, the dirty sound of wet slaps along with his hisses and your moans fills the room, his fingers dig hard into your hips as he pushes you down impaling you on his cock that hits your cervix rhythmically over and over again, he leans over you licking your neck with his rough tongue before biting down hard breaking the skin and making you gasp in pain, your body tense up and your vaginal walls clamp down on his cock ♡

He's completely lost in his pleasure, his cock throbs and your walls clamp down on him, a warning that you'll climax soon, just like him, his furry tail wraps around your thigh as he fucks you harder, he frowns and squints, his cock frantically pounds against your bruised cervix and when you least expect it you cum, spurting onto his cock and belly with a high-pitched moan ♡

He hisses with pleasure as he feels your climax and buries himself deep inside you,he cums, milky white ropes painting your insides, his thick semen filling your fertile uterus, you whimper as his knot begins to swell inside you, big, making sure to keep you plugged so that none of his semen goes to waste, so that all his kittens grow in your belly ♡

He collapses on top of you, clinging to your warmth as he catches his breath. He rubs his nose against your jaw while his tail curls and uncurls rhythmically around your thigh, like a caress. He stares at your fucked-out form in fascination and smiles. His fangs gleam, he's almost angelic. His ears perk up happily, and he speaks with a haunting purr.

“I can't wait to fuck you every day! Now that we're making kittens together, you can't officially go back to work... we need to make a whole litter. This is the first of many, right, Mate..?”

[dawngyu]

never have i ever reblogged any enhypen fics (not an engene and i want to keep my blog txt based), but this series was so interesting i couldn't resist. i'll admit it: @heesmiles might be the only one to make me break that rule.

i'm so so excited to read this (and scared) sooo here we go!

spoilers under the cut

as a writer myself, i’ve always believed that the beginning has to be perfect. if the reader doesn’t feel pulled in right away, what’s going to make them stay? with that in mind, i just have to say—you nailed it. the disdain for sports, the way the reader’s thrown right into the middle of the game… i had to pause just to write this, because i was so completely sucked in.

The arena erupts, deafening, and you flinch as a pack of players smother Heeseung in a mess of helmets and gloves. They slap his back, crush him into the boards, grinning like wolves. You can barely see his face, but his name glows in bold white letters across the screen overhead, followed by a replay of the goal—a blur of motion and ice spray.

girl, the imagery?? i swear i started out just reading, but your writing made me feel it—like i was right there. the way i’m vibing with the reader right now? it’s literally me. i hate afterparties, and the second i finish doing something, all i want is to go straight home. yunjin’s such a contrast to her, and honestly, the way she keeps bringing up heeseung? if i had a friend like that in real life, i’d definitely start thinking she’s into him. (sorry)

once again, your writing is unreal. AND WHY DO THEY KEEP MENTIONING HEESEUNG? i might’ve misjudged yunjin at first because… hello? even jake?

“I’m suffering.” Your candor had to have been appreciated because the look Jay sent you was one that screamed ‘i agree’. He definitely wasn’t the party type either. Which was almost unheard of when it came to team captains.

i LOVED this part. or maybe i’m just deeply biased because i’m absolutely in love with jay here. the way you write him huhu he’s just so good and mysterious in this, i can’t deal.

You freeze, disbelief flaring into white-hot irritation as you look up, ready to rip into whoever’s responsible— only to find Lee Heeseung drunkenly staring back at you with a tight lipped fake apologetic look on his face.

god, i just pictured him and—yeah, he must look ridiculously hot. like, he’s already the most attractive one in enha for me, no competition. and now you’re giving me drunk, messy heeseung? i'm not so okay.

A girl no taller than you stood beside him hung onto his arm like her life depended on it. Her lipstick slightly smudged and hair ruffled, she looked like a hot mess.

okay, i take it back. why is he pissing me off now?? i swear, i love how you’re doing him dirty, the way he talks, the word choices ugh. it’s so good. brain is braining and i’m a BIG fan.

The mirror reflects the full horror of your situation—your shirt is soaked, sticky, and clinging to your skin in the most uncomfortable way possible.

i love this sentence. it’s so well written. honestly, i’ve read so many beautifully crafted lines already, but every time, i have to stop myself gushing, otherwise this could easily turn into a full-on novel. so, in short, i just want you to know: you write beautifully. there’s something about the way you build your sentences and paragraphs that feels so you.

and now she has to fcking tutor him. great. i got so locked into the next parts because my blood was actually boiling.

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

AAAAAHHH

Yunjin gives you a look. “But don’t you get it? He had to change. He was treated like nothing for years, and the second he proved himself, he made sure no one would ever look down on him again.” Yo

so… you're this type of writer? if your goal was to soften how i see heeseung… congrats, it’s working. adhshadg

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

I ACTUALLY SQUEALED

family talks or just family issues in fics, get memotional sometimes. they feel so real, and they add so much depth to a character. i absolutely loved their conversation. it honestly felt like… i was getting to know him better too.

“How do you even know my order?”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. “You get it every time we go to the campus café. Not that hard to remember.”

this!! it always gets me too!! whenever the mc is so deeply observed—ugh, i go soft every time.

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

OH MY GOD. You didn't enjoy being the punchline to someone's entertainment. thank you, this killed me.

That was your first kiss. And he stole it from you. It wasn't special, it wasn't meaningful if anything it was the opposite. It was just a joke.

I ACTUALLY SCREAMED. OMAYGHOD

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

AAAAAAHHH THIS HAD ME SPEECHLESS I CANT ANYMORE

“I mean, I could give you a proper first kiss.” You freeze, your heart stuttering in your chest.

LEE HEESEUNG????

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

you know that saying—how some things just feel different because of someone? she didn’t like hockey. didn’t even like watching it. but because of him… :((((

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

IS THIS A MISCOMMUNICATION IM SEEING??? OH

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

OUCH. PAIN. STAB. KICK. PUNCH.

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

THIS WILL ACTUALLY MAKE ME CRY LIKE HELLO? im sorry

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

WHATS WRONG WITH HIM?

You glance at Yunjin, whose mouth is already set in a furious line. But before you can say anything, she grabs a cup off the table—one full of soda and ice—and without hesitation, throws it straight at Heeseung.

YES THANK YOU I LOVE HER NOW SRRY BABY

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

:((((((((((((

i get the reader. trust is such a fragile, easily broken thing. i hate when people act one way around you and completely different with others. and yeah, i know heeseung probably has his reasons—but still, as a person, as an adult, he should know better. he messed up. big time.

And he was staring at you. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you was heavy, charged with everything that had been left unsaid. You clear your throat, gripping the strap of your bag tighter.

i legit started tearing up over something so small. there’s just something so beautiful about looking at each other, wordless as it may be. it’s raw, it’s intimate, and it made me so soft.

“I know. And I’ll spend as long as it takes making it up to you.”

it's not enough, but it'll have to be and maybe one day, it will be. right now, if i were the reader, i'd still have my guard up BUT i’m a big, big believer in second chances. i hope he finds a way to make it right. this reader deserves so much love, all of it. to stumble, to see the wreckage, to choose forgiveness—when all of that meets, when all of that comes together, when all of that collide, that’s love in its truest form. :((( ughhh

i sat down and devoured this fic in one breath. it’s my first from this series and what a way to begin. it’s emotional, it’s beautiful. you did something really special here, and now i get the hype.

and didn’t i say? sometimes all it takes is a single paragraph that makes a reader stay. whether it’s the first line or the whole fic, it has to feel like something and you did that. now i’m not just staying for the next one, i’m in it for the long haul, all the way to the last word.

i loved this. :>

COLLIDE l.hs

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

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

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

crossing the line series.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach sinks. “What?” 

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And wait.

And wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods immediately. “Got it.” 

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

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

“Five sharp.” 

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

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

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

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

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

“You hate him.” Yunjin continues. 

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

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

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

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

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

Yunjin grins. “Oh, absolutely.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hesitate, suspicious. “What is this?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks up, amused. “What?” 

“You read it?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Heeseung blinks. “You do?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink, startled. “What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach flips. “I do not.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.” You deadpan “I’m not.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jake’s jaw ticks. “Excuse me?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn.” 

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

“Neither did I,” Jay adds, smirking. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wasn’t trying to-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His grip tightens slightly. “Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah..” You sigh. “More than okay.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know.” 

“Oh my god.” 

“I know!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then make me get it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay”

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

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

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

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

crossing the line masterlist coming soon.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

Few things: I saw a retelling of this post that’s like, what if the Wayne’s had a show like the Kardashians, except what if WB!R was in it! Just imagine them lingering in the background, making jumpscares and memes, and not to mention the Batfam having to pretend like after this they aren’t gonna ignore R. R uses this to their advantage and makes sure to act extra nerdy and force information onto the family, for funsies!!

(How the reader looks at the camera when the cameraman faces her.)

Keeping up with the Wayne family would have one season, not because the show was bad or anything, but because neither the cameraman nor the director could handle the Waynes. They could not keep up, but the person who really did steal the show was definitely Reader. She is so awkward in front of the camera; it's honestly hilarious. There are five-minute videos on YouTube of Reader just being confused in the background or being in the confessionals, showing off her Pokémon gym badge collection.

Like, Bruce and Dick could be in a heated argument, and the cameraman will just pan off to Reader in the background, who is on her phone, not even contributing to the argument. Trying to pull them back, she'll just wave, give the camera a bright smile, and go back to whatever she's doing. It feels like drama could be happening in the Wayne house, and Reader is off doing God knows what. She'll be in the confessionals hating on the Batfam and just spreading misinformation: "I really don't like Damian's animals. Don't tell him I said that, though, but I think we need to get rid of the turkey. But that didn't come from me; that came from Tim."

She just actively distances herself from the fight between Damian and Tim; she's over there with the cameraman because she does not want to get hit with a stray punch. She doesn't think she's interesting enough to have segments about herself or like a full episode about her, which is wrong, because she is. When the camera crew asked to follow her, she's just like, "Oh, you guys wouldn't want to. I'm pretty lame; I would just bore you."

In the director's words, she is "the sweetest Wayne on set." She has no clue what's going on, but that's the reason why people draw attention to her. I can just imagine Wb!Reader having nothing to say in the confessionals, talking about their OC lore: "Why do they have so much trauma?" someone shooting the scene will ask. "Well, why not?" The Waynes will pretend to acknowledge her, but she knows better.

But now Reader's face turned into a meme because Dick said something absolutely crazy to Jason, and the camera pans to Wb!Reader, eyes wide, mouth open. Now it's all over Gotham Twitter; she accidentally made a whole fan club cult, but that mostly ignored member becomes the most popular.

[differenteagletragedy]

Part two of the one where Simon lets you move into a room in his house You tell Simon that you have at least a few weeks before you need to move out of your apartment and into his spare room, but he doesn't see the point in wasting time. The day after he offers to let you move in, he goes shopping, and the next few days are spent putting everything together. The bed, the dresser, two matching nightstands, some shelves — he makes sure everything is solid and sturdy for you, and he hopes you wouldn't notice how new it all is.

He cleans, too, every inch of the place. He's not a particularly messy man, but he'd bought the small two-bedroom house years ago, and he's not one for company. So he goes over everything, and he does what he can to make sure that his home is a good place for you, from the small stepstool he buys and sticks in the corner of the kitchen to the way he organizes his shaving supplies in the bathroom so you can have half the limited counterspace.

When you tell him you're ready, he brings his truck to the bar to pick up you and your things, and his heart aches, just a little, when he sees that all you have is a couple of bags slung over your shoulder. Without a word, he takes them from you and carries them out, and he tries to shrug off the slight disappointment he feels when you open the passenger door before he can do it for you.

"It's not much," he tells you on the short drive back. "Two bedrooms, just the one bathroom. I'm gone a lot. Stay as long as you like."

"What do you think for rent?" you ask. "I've got a little bit saved, and I can —"

"I meant what I said, love. There's no rush."

He hops out quickly after he pulls into the driveway, opening your door for you this time. He takes your bags and carries them in and into the room that's now yours, setting them carefully on the floor before turning to you, sticking his hand in his pocket and pulling out a key.

"Same one for both doors," he says. "Not much in the kitchen, but help yourself to anything you like. And let me know if you need anything at all."

The first few days, you don't see each other much. He stays in his room more than usual, not wanting to crowd you or make you feel uncomfortable. You pick up an extra shift at the bar, trying to make that rent he keeps telling you not to worry about.

One night during that first week, he comes home late from the gym, and he's pleasantly surprised to see you sitting in the living room, watching tv and having a snack.

"Oh, sorry," you say immediately when you hear the door open, like you'd done something wrong.

He smiles, just a bit, and nods for the couch, wanting you to be comfortable — maybe liking the idea of you warm and cozy in his space a little too much.

"Nothing to be sorry about, sweetheart," he says, stepping closer.

You nod, and slowly sit back down, but on the edge of the cushion now, tense.

He doesn't care for it.

"What's on?" he asks.

"Oh, just this show I watch sometimes. It's a dumb reality thing ... I can check it out on my phone later."

You minimize yourself constantly, he's noticed that for a while now, but it's never been so clear as it is now, with you perched on his couch like you're waiting to run for cover. He still doesn't know your story, but in the moment, he'd love nothing more than to find whatever or whoever it was that put this innate fear in you and destroy it.

It's a war in him, a fight between keeping to himself and wanting you not to do the same. This particular battle is decided when he takes a seat on the other end of the couch and forces himself to tear his eyes away from you to look at the tv.

"Tell me about it."

You do. Nervously at first, but you slowly relax. He gives a small, satisfied smile when you scoot back to sit on the couch more comfortably and start to speak more freely, and he fights back a wider one when he really takes you in, bare feet and a loose t-shirt, lounging around at home. His home.

Yours too, now.

After that night, things get a little easier. You don’t sequester yourself in your room, and he warms up to you a bit more. It starts feeling natural, having you in his space. You fall into a rhythm.

Nearly a month in, he comes home one day to find you in the living room, pulling on your shoes, and he asks you where you're headed.

"We're headed to get some groceries," you tell him.

The directness is new, but certainly not unwelcome, and he follows behind you gladly as you lead the way to the store.

Grocery shopping with you makes him feel like a kid again, but one who had someone to dote on him. You walk by the produce, asking him carefully what he likes. What's his favorite kind of apple? What kind of berry does he prefer?

At one point, you actually tell him, "Simon, you have to get some vegetables," and he can't help but laugh at how you stare up at him pointedly, like he's supposed to know he's worth being cared for.

"What's your favorite dinner?" you ask him as you walk through the aisles, carefully scanning for prices before you put things in the cart.

"Don't know," he mutters. "Never really thought about it."

It's true, sort of. He eats, of course, and he has preferences, but it's never really been something to take pleasure in. There's never been some meal he craves, or some kind of food tied to a good memory. He mostly just wants to see if you'll say his name again.

But then he thinks for another beat and starts walking.

He puts a can of beans into the cart, then goes to another aisle and gets a loaf of bread. He doesn't say anything, but you nod and smile at him.

After you buy the groceries -- more specifically, after he buys the groceries, using his body to block the card reader while you laugh and try to wrestle your way around him to pay yourself -- you walk back home. He sets the bags on the counter, and together you put up all your purchases, but he notices you leave out the things he'd picked out.

"Hungry?"

"Generally."

Simon watches, arms crossed, as you heat the beans in a saucepan you'd pulled from under the stove. He doesn't move when you stand close to get to the toaster, and he watches your throat as you swallow when your arm brushes against his to put the bread in.

"You know, I would have made you anything," you tell him as you wait for the toast. "And this is what you picked?"

"Just had it a lot when I was a kid," he mutters, not offering more.

With the look you give him, a glance that's quick but still penetrates, he knows you understand the reluctance to get into the details. It's not the easiest thing to explain, how one can find comfort in the soft lulls of a tragedy. How oddly soothing it can feel to remember any bit of kindness from hands that ripped you apart.

You give him a plate first. Beans on toast, straight from his childhood. He takes a bite and nods, appreciative, and you grin.

A few bites later, you reach your hand up and swipe off a bit of food from the corner of his mouth, and seemingly without thinking, you lick it from your finger. He keeps his eyes on you for a moment longer, then sets his plate down.

Simon moves slowly, agonizingly so, giving you every chance to stop him. He puts his hands on your waist first, high and respectable, and when you just look at him, waiting, he drops them to your hips.

"This ok?" he asks, and when you nod, he dips his hands lower, over your thighs and to the back of them, lifting you up and dropping you on the counter.

"You didn't have to make me dinner, love," he says softly, working his body just slightly between your knees.

"You don't want me to pay any rent either," you tell him. "I can't just stay here for nothing."

The idea of you bringing nothing to this arrangement is laughable, but he keeps a straight face. He studies you, every fleck of color in your eyes and every line in your skin, maybe too intensely, but you just sit there, and you let him.

"You can tell me to stop," he finally says. "Won't be offended."

"I don't want you to stop."

With that, he brings his lips to your cheek, placing a gentle kiss there, then plants one on your jaw. When you still don't object, and even lift your hands to grasp onto his shoulders, he kisses your mouth.

He doesn't want to rush this, and he doesn't want to ask for something more than you want to give. He doesn't want you to feel like you owe him, but the idea of kissing you like this has been loud and persistent in his mind for longer than he cares to admit. He tries to bridge the two thoughts with his carefulness, but when he feels you start to kiss him back, he snaps.

Not visibly -- he doesn't shove his tongue down your throat or grope you with rough hands. That's not how Simon loses control. For him, snapping is internal. It's in realizing how good you feel in his arms and letting himself feel the weight of that.

He's not sure if it's the dinner you made him or something more innate, but when he kisses you, you taste like home.

In the moment, he can admit that to himself. But he's not ready for you to know. Not yet, anyway.

[silens-oro]

Well Enough Alone: Part IV

Not all fics have adult content, but this blog is 18+. Andrew "Pope" Cody x f!Reader (nicknamed Hawk) Prologue Cut the Loss (companion piece) Part I Part II Chicken Hawk (companion piece) Part III

Masterlist Pope Cody Playlist

General Synopsis: Lines are crossed in more ways than one. Word Count: 6,849 (kill me) Content Warning: explicit smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f! receiving), angst, comfort, typical Animal Kingdom warnings A/N: HERE WE ARE. IT'S JUST YOU, ME, AND THE POPE SHAPED WALL I'VE BUILT BETWEEN US. I screamed writing this entire chapter, so I genuinely hope you all enjoy it because I feel like I'm going to puke :) please comment & reblog

The front door had been shut for a millisecond before Hawk pushed Pope against it. 

“You better be serious about this, Andrew.” Hawk panted against Pope’s lips, their foreheads pressed together, noses bumping intimately. Her hands were cradling both sides of his face, grounding him, and his were holding her against his body in a vice grip. 

This was every fantasy Pope ever conjured in his teen years, every escape he dreamed of in prison. He was the proverbial dog who caught the car he’s chased his entire life and for the first time he could ever remember, there weren’t any thoughts racing through his head. It was Hawk, and purely Hawk that took residence there. The golden sun’s rays hit through the small windows that surrounded the door, illuminating Hawk’s eyes in such a way that it left Pope mesmerized. 

Pope made sure her eyes were looking straight into his before he answered: “For you, always.” There was so much more he wanted to say, what he wanted Hawk to know, but the fear of rejection weighed heavily on his shoulders.

Pope didn’t want to come on too strong too quickly, not after he was given this opportunity that came with a lifetime of degradation about his self worth when it came to her. He’d never be worthy of breathing the same air that Hawk did, and he was even less deserving of what she was offering to him. 

Pope would savor this, because in his mind it was only a matter of time before Hawk came to her senses. That’s how these things happened with him. 

Pope picked Hawk up, her legs instantly wrapped around his sturdy, muscular waist and their lips joined once more as he carried her through the house. His hands were gripping her ass under the coverup and  he couldn’t get enough of her hot, bare skin against his palms. 

“Bedroom,” Hawk murmured against his lips. Her fingers twirled and gently tugged at the hair in the nape of his neck and he groaned, his eyes shutting. His jeans restrained his cock painfully, each step getting more agonizing as shock after shock zipped through his body with each kiss and caress she gave him. 

Pope set her down on the California King sized bed and Hawk scooted back towards the plush pillows as he took his shirt off. Pope’s Dickies hung low on his hips as he kneeled on the edge of the mattress and crawled over to Hawk until he was hovering over her. 

“You want this?” Pope needed to hear her say it and to also give her an out. That sliver of doubt still lingered in his mind, but it quickly diminished the second Hawk wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. 

“I want you.” She whispered into his ear. Pope trailed open mouthed kisses down her neck, to her collarbones. He pulled the tie to her cover-up and let the sides slide open to reveal the black bikini underneath. Pope continued peppering kisses down the center of Hawk’s chest, then further and further down. 

Pope’s fingers slid under the strips of cloth at Hawk’s hips and gently pulled the bottoms off. He took in the view, his thumb teasing her slit ever so slightly and lifted her left thighs to rest over his shoulder. 

It had been an embarrassingly long time since Hawk went on a date, much less allowed someone to grace her sheets, so when Pope’s hot, slick mouth engulfed her clit? She couldn’t help the ground out “fuck” that left her lips as her fingers clenched through Pope’s short hair. 

Pope didn’t move the entire night. He didn’t lay awake. He didn’t wander. He didn’t leave the house. He didn’t leave the bed. He and Hawk spent hours entangled with each other last night and still, Pope couldn’t believe he was here in her bed, his head resting on her chest with his ear over her steadily beating heart as she slept beneath him. Pope’s arms were wrapped around Hawk’s waist and their legs were tangled together. One of Hawk’s limp hands was still carded through Pope’s hair, the other rested on his bicep, and Pope had never felt more at peace than he did in that moment. 

He felt rested, refreshed in a way that was so completely foreign to him that fear began to trickle in, turning his stomach. Pope’s worst nightmare was waking up from this only to be back in that cell with Vic. He unintentionally squeezed his arms and Hawk groaned softly, her fingers continued their feather light ministrations over his scalp and arm. Pope nuzzled his face further into Hawk’s bare chest, kissing the soft skin that gave him unparalleled comfort through the night. 

“Good morning,” Hawk whispered. She felt him mumble a greeting into her skin, his lips following after his words. Pope shifted to his back, pulling Hawk to his chest -making sure to keep contact with her. Her body felt like a lifeline that Pope wasn’t ready to disconnect from just yet. One of his hands hooked behind her knee, hiking her leg up over his hip so he could run his hand over her thigh. 

The sun was just starting to reflect over the endless horizon of the Pacific Ocean from its rise in the east. The view from the sliding door in Hawk’s bedroom let the pink and golden hues filter in, draping her in an almost ethereal light. Time seemed to stand still and Pope wished it could stay that way -for the world to pass by outside and for the inside to remain tranquil.

“Talk to me,” Hawk whispered against Pope’s collar bone. “What’s going on up there?” Her fingers brushed against the curling hair near his temple and he naturally tilted his head to cradle against her palm. He chased her touch, she noticed, and allowed him to catch what he was after with any fuss from her. 

“You don’t want to know.” He mumbled, breaking his eyes from hers to look out the door to the beach below. 

“I do.” She gently grasped his jaw to turn his face back to her. “Don’t close yourself off to me. I think we’re well past that point, Andrew.” Hawk linked her fingers with his. His palm was callused and scars littered his knuckles from a lifetime of violence. Freckles lined the back of his hand and crawled up his arm like he had his own galaxy woven into his skin. Hawk had trailed her mouth over so many of them, over many parts of his body, the previous night.  

“Are you sure about this? About me?” Pope didn’t trust many people in his life, but Hawk was someone who never wavered in his life. She took care of Julia when no one else did. She took care of J -a fact that Pope was slowly coming around on as the kid proved himself to the family. She took care of him while he was in prison without any expectations. She didn’t want money, flashy gifts, even credibility. She didn’t need it. She helped them because she could and most importantly, she wanted to. Hawk never shrank away from Pope’s lingering stares and never made him feel like a nuisance, a monster, a maniac. He felt like a person around Hawk and now…now she showed him what genuine intimacy felt like, and Pope honestly didn’t know if he was equipped enough to handle that kind of treatment after a lifetime of scrutiny. After a taste, he never wanted to be without it and processing that was going to take time and patience. 

“Without a doubt in my mind, Pope. Are you having second thoughts? It’s okay if you are-” 

“-No,” He was quick to answer. “No.” 

“Then what’s going on? Something is clearly bothering you and I’d like to talk about it so we can go into this with some clarity, ya know?” Hawk looked up at him with a softness in her sleepy eyes and Pope nearly broke. Again, he couldn’t hold the contact with Hawk, but she let him look away so he could gather his thoughts. “Whatever it is, Pope, I’m not going to judge you for it. It stays in this bed, under these sheets, and will never see the light of day.” Acceptance was a hard pill to swallow for Pope. Feelings were never discussed without being reprimanded for showing weakness and so he kept them in -all of them until it turned into a nuclear warhead that took out everything and everyone in his wake. 

“I don’t want you wrapped up in any of this shit.” 

“Good,” She agreed. “because I don’t want to know anything about what you guys are up to. I do, however, maintain that nothing crosses the threshold of this house, Pope. And I mean nothing. That includes the cash and the guns. All of it stays out.” He nodded, albeit reluctantly. “What else?” Hawk felt him sigh, his chest slowly lowering under her with the exhale. He said her name, her real name, and his normal frown started to reappear, tugging at Hawk’s heartstrings. 

“I destroy everything good that I touch.” Pope’s voice was so small and Hawk felt the rare vulnerability that he allowed her to see. He lifted the hand that hers held, bringing the scars up to shine in the morning light. “My entire life, I’ve destroyed everything. It’s all I know how to do. All I’ve been good at doing.” Hawk let him speak uninterrupted so he could get it out, all of the doubts she knew he was feeling about himself and his inadequacies. If he kept them bottled up, he would sabotage himself. She had seen it before and this was the only way she knew how to circumvent the situation. Pope continued,

“You’ve always deserved better than anything I could ever give you. I know that. You deserved better than Smurf. You deserved better than Julia. This family has weighed you down your whole life and now…I feel like I might be the final nail and I don’t want to be. I can’t be. That’s why I never entertained the idea that this could happen.” He glanced back down to Hawk, then back to the slider. “It still doesn’t make sense -what you see in me.”  

“I see a lot of things, Andrew. Just because you don’t see them, doesn't mean they aren’t there.” Hawk replied softly. “I’ve always had some kind of affection for you, ever since we were kids. You were always so close, but just far enough away that I didn’t think you ever saw me as anything other than Julia’s friend. But I noticed you, Andy.” Hawk was the only person to call him that when they were kids -before she was Hawk and before he was Pope. The memory tugged at something inside of him and he pushed back the sting in his eyes with a couple of fast blinks. “You were kind and protective and you never treated me the same way your brothers did, or the way Baz did. You never teased me or made my life harder. And I guess the mystery of you not saying more than five words to me at a time had something to do with it.” Hawk smiled, teasing him. He was looking down at their intertwined hands, his thumb rubbing over her much smaller, unmarred knuckles.

“I would’ve done anything for you, and I still would.” He confessed in whisper. He thought about what his life could’ve been like had he pursued Hawk when they were teens before Julia left and everything that could’ve been completely fell apart. What would’ve changed? Would Hawk have taken J in? Would she have distanced herself from the family at all? Would Pope have helped her raise the kid? He shook his head to rid his mind of the hypotheticals because they were together right then in that very moment and that’s all that mattered to him. He spent too many years of his life thinking about what could’ve been’s to waste anymore time.

“What made you change your mind about this?” Pope let Hawk’s question linger between them for a moment. 

“Selfishness.” He admitted, shame flitting over his features for the briefest of seconds. 

“It’s not selfish to want to be loved, Andrew.” Hawk brought his hand up to kiss his knuckles affectionately. “What’s happening between us now has been a long time coming. A very long time coming.” Hawk spoke softly, shifting so she could be at eye level with him. Both of her palms cupped his jaw, the overnight stubble tickled as she ghosted her thumbs over his cheekbones tenderly. His arms slowly snaked around her waist holding her bare torso to his. Where he was hard and rigid, Hawk was soft and yielding. 

Everything inside of him desperately craved what she had.

“You deserve someone who cares about you, Pope. Someone who loves you unconditionally, who would do anything for you, and who reciprocates all of those things you give freely. You’ve sacrificed so much of yourself for everyone around you to the point where there will be nothing left if you don’t pull yourself back.” Hawk kissed him, letting her lips linger. “For once in your life, allow yourself to have something that is yours and yours alone.” 

Pope pulled Hawk fully onto him. Her legs straddled his hips and she jumped forward when she felt his fingers rub her slit from behind, working her until she’s wet enough to enter one finger, then two. Hawk gasped against Pope’s mouth as he watched her come undone with hooded eyes. When Hawk was just about to push ascend into oblivion, Pope pulled out. Her walls fluttered around the empty space he left and she whined, hips canting to find his cock as a suitable replacement. 

Pope taps his tip against her, slowly pushing in until her hips are once more flushed with his. His arms hold her in a bear hug as his hips slowly bounced Hawk’s up and down. The movements are lazy and more intimate than Pope had ever experienced before, but he didn’t want to rush. Knowing she truly wanted him here with her allowed him to relax and take care of her. This wasn’t fucking. This was pure intimacy at its core and if Pope died the second he walked out of this house, he’d die a happy man. 

Hawk moaned into Pope’s neck when he shifted the angle of her hips ever so slightly. She brought one of her hands up to hold onto his shoulder and the other gently ran her fingers through his hair, paying very special attention to the curls that were growing out just behind his ear. The groan he let out nearly had her eyes rolling to the back of her head as he thrusted a little harder than he meant to in reaction. 

“Please, Andrew.” Hawk didn’t know what she was begging Pope for -love, affection, intimacy, all the above, but he would give it to her tenfold and that’s exactly what he was doing. He hiked her thigh up even higher on his hip and held it there, deepening each shallow thrust into her. His lips found hers when she tilted her head up to look at him. 

Hawk tried to impatiently speed things up, to catch the high she was chasing after, but Pope held her steady as he continued to work her into the most blissful wake-up call she’s ever experienced, one slow, shallow, meaningful thrust at a time. His breathy moans and grunts were deliciously erotic as he repeated her name like a prayer. 

Hawk lifted herself up on a shaky arm to look down at him, then down to where Pope was sinking into her. Her breasts were tilted at the perfect angle for Pope to latch onto her right nipple and he took full advantage. Hawk’s hand cupped the back of his neck, supporting him while he continued doting on her. Her breaths were coming out more ragged, uneven, and every slow thrust from Pope felt like it was going to shatter her at any given moment. He released her nipple with a pop and dropped both of his hands to her hips so he could hold her in place. 

A breathy scream left Hawk’s mouth when Pope began to piston his hips up into her, increasing his speed with each thrust. He could feel how close she was, and he wanted to get her over the edge before he came. That was non-negotiable to him. She gave him -someone so substandard who had no right to look, much less touch- her body and he would treat it with the care it deserved. The side of Hawk’s face was pressed against his chest, moaning into a near hysterical mess. 

“Fuck, Andrew. Right there,” Hawk sobbed as she fell over the edge. Pope lifted her face to look at him as her pussy fluttered around his cock. It felt like the most welcomed squeeze and the blissed out twinkle in Hawk’s eyes as she stared up at him, completely lost in their bodies, is what got Pope to follow right after her. Pope’s head tilted back, baring his neck as Hawk felt spurt after spurt of his cum flood her. 

Hawk kissed along his heaving, sweaty chest, then trailed them up his neck, to his jaw, and finally back to his lips. He held her to him, skin to skin flushed together as he stayed bottomed out inside of her, both of their hips moving ever so slightly to draw the feeling out. 

“Could get used to being woken up like this.” Hawk chuckled, resting her cheek on the side of his neck, peppering lazy pecks whenever she felt like it. Pope’s hands rubbed up and down her damp back, pulling the comforter over both of them. 

Hawk woke up alone in the bed later that morning. She didn’t expect Pope to stay rotting in bed all morning, so she wasn’t all that surprised when his side was meticulously made like he had never been there at all. She could still smell remnants of Pope on her sheets, on the pillowcases and comforter. It was a mix of his cologne and a scent that was very distinctly him. She chuckled into her pillow, then took a deep breath and stretched like a cat, her arms and legs stretched out before exhaling with a satisfied groan. Hawk laid there for a moment, a very welcomed soreness making itself known between her legs as the events of the previous night and that morning rushed through her mind. 

“Come on,” Hawk listened with a grin when she heard Pope’s frustrated voice come from down the hall. The fact that he hadn’t left yet was enough to get her to roll out of bed and get her day started. She threw on a black, lacy bralette and boy short set, then grabbed her short, silk robe off of the hook behind her en-suite bathroom door. After quickly brushing her teeth and fixing her appearance in the mirror, she made her way out to assist Pope in whatever he was trying to do. 

“Need help, birthday boy?” Pope looked over his shoulder at Hawk’s entrance. Their normal morning schedules were slightly off track thanks to their early morning activities, followed by a nap that even Pope wasn’t immune to when Hawk wrapped herself around him before she was out like a light. Pope slept more in the last twelve hours than he had in the past week and it was something he could desperately get used to. 

Hawk sashayed into the kitchen, her open robe flowing around her as she padded up to Pope on bare feet. The racy attire revealed underneath made Pope’s mouth go dry. The memory of their morning sent all the blood in his brain south. He cleared his throat after swallowing thickly, and averted his eyes back down to the coffee machine in front of him. 

Hawk placed a gentle kiss to the side of his neck, her chosen spot Pope noticed, then met his lips with hers. She wrapped her arms around his shirtless waist and his hand slipped under the robe to rub her hip. Hawk let her hands linger over his warm, taut abdomen , letting them fall away as she went to the fridge to grab some eggs and a bowl of sliced fruit to make a quick breakfast. 

“Just trying to make a cup of coffee, not fly to the goddamn moon.” Pope muttered as he returned his attention back to the very expensive looking coffee machine. He pressed around the machine unsuccessfully locating how to even turn the goddamn thing on. Hawk laughed quietly and bumped her hip with his to scooch him out of the way. 

“I got it. Go sit,” Hawk directed with a chuckle, pointing to the bar stools where she usually sat. “Hungry?” Pope shook his head, his hand going to his stomach as he grimaced. 

“My stomach’s been messed up since I got out. Probably just not used to real food yet.” Hawk’s mind went to the pills she saw Janine crush up -the same pills that were in her purse. The same pills that manifested as guilt that ate away at her the longer they lingered. She had to say something and she would, but Hawk had to be careful with how she went about it. 

Smurf was her main concern. She knew Pope would be upset when he found out, astronomically so, but if he found out from Hawk…Smurf would put a target on her back and spin this in a way that would not only paint Hawk as the enemy, but would also effectively send Pope into a tailspin that she didn’t think he’d recover from, not after he bared his soul to her and showed her more vulnerability than he probably ever let anyone else see in his life. 

Pope would see this as a betrayal, and no matter how good Hawk’s intentions were by not giving them to him, she still kept her mouth shut about it. 

Any normal person could see that Pope probably needed to be medicated -as many people needed to be, but he definitely didn’t need to be drugged. He wasn’t out of control. He could make those decisions himself and Smurf didn’t have any right to make them for him, but that never stopped her before -especially when it came to Pope. 

Hawk set a cup of black coffee in front of him and loaded a couple slices of bread into the toaster next to the stove. 

“You uh…you’re not on any kind of medication, are you?” Hawk asked tentatively as she cracked a few eggs in a bowl to scramble. She tried not to be obvious, but she needed to know if he suspected anything at this point. “Sometimes they can mess up your stomach, especially if you’re not eating right to begin with.” Pope looked at her weird when she shrugged nonchalantly. He stared at Hawk like the question was so wildly out of the realm of possibility that she shouldn’t have even asked. Hawk brought the bowl to the stove and busied herself with finding a pan and flicking the burner on. “Maybe ibuprofen? Sometimes if I take it on an empty stomach I can’t eat anything for a day or two…” She looked over her shoulder to glance at Pope. 

“No, I’m not.” He responded dryly as he took a sip of coffee, watching Hawk’s every move with his full attention over the rim of the cup. 

“Then you’re probably still adjusting.” She said nonchalantly. It felt dirty and wrong, plain and simple. Her own stomach was starting to turn, twisting and flipping in the worst way as she plated the eggs, toast, and fruit before sliding a small plate over to him. 

“So,” Hawk changed the subject as she sat on the stool next to Pope. “Any plans for today?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure the guys have some dumb shit planned.” He popped a grape in his mouth, still eyeing her odd behavior. “Skydiving, paintball,” He left out the usual birthday strip club appearance. “Adrenaline junky crap. I’ll let you know if Smurf has anything planned tonight though.” Hawk noticed he had trouble maintaining eye contact when they had conversations like this. He’d look at her for a moment, then his eyes would drop as if he shouldn’t have been looking in the first place. 

Pope did the same thing that morning when they woke up together and it was so incredibly abnormal for him -at least to Hawk. Eye contact was his thing, but add on any kind of intimacy to it and he shrank back into himself. She rested her hand on his forearm that was sitting on the island in between their plates and gave it a gentle squeeze. 

“Well, I’d like to see you make it to another birthday, so please be careful.” Hawk joked as she took a bite of toast. His mouth twisted up on one side in the smallest grins that he seemed to save for her, then they quietly finished their breakfasts before splitting up for the day. 

Weeks passed and what was supposed to be a “few days” arrangement, turned into an open ended arrangement that led into…some kind of relationship with Pope. Hawk didn’t push Pope to leave and he, conveniently, wasn’t in a rush to buy a house anymore. For nearly a month they cohabitated together, each juggling the shop, the jobs, Smurf, and anything else that seemed to get thrown their way respectively. At the end of each day, they met back home in a bubble that became alarmingly normal -dinner, a movie, cuddling on the sofa, frisky behavior befitting teenagers. All of it felt like things had always been this way. 

Hawk’s home was a reprieve for Pope. It was an escape from everything else he was dealing with when it came to his family. It was like clocking out from a shift and leaving that life behind for a few hours of normalcy. The concept was new to Pope, and like any new experience, it gave him a rush. Hawk was an extension to that rush. She brought comfort, companionship, compassion and understanding. She wanted him around and that was something he still had trouble accepting. And on Hawk’s end, everything felt natural -in its right place.

The only glaring defect in all of this was J. Hawk noticed he was avoiding the house as of recent and whether that was because of Pope or something else entirely left her worried. She’d see him in passing at Smurf’s, but even the matriarch made a comment that he was rarely there too. Any time she tried to reach out, he’d brush her off under the guise of being with Nicky or just busy. Is this what parents felt like when their kids got too busy for them? Too old to hang out? Had J outgrown her? Hawk tried to not take it personally, but it still stung. 

Things with Pope were good, steady. Living with another adult was a very new concept on her end. Dating wasn’t really in her cards when she was younger between J and opening the shop, and then keeping the shop running and juggling Julia and her brothers separately. Add on Smurf’s bullshit and by the time Hawk got home at the end of the day, her thoughts were between herself and whatever was leftover in the fridge before she crashed on the sofa. She wouldn’t say lonely was what she felt, but she did crave the idea of having someone to come home to. Little did she know that that hole in her heart was Pope shaped, and Pope shaped only.  

In true fashion, things never stayed peaceful long enough to enjoy the silence -not while the Cody’s lived and breathed.  

Hawk’s cell phone rang while she was helping Jane -now the manager of the shop- put an order together for a pick up later that afternoon. Unknown Caller scrolled on the screen and she signed as she swiped to answer it. 

“Hello?” She held up a finger to Jane to let her know she’d only be gone a minute as she shifted to take the call in her office the second she heard the automated voice on the other end.

“This is a collect call from the South Bay Detention Facility on behalf of,” “Andrew Cody” “Do you accept the charges to connect the call?” Hawk’s heart dropped. She hoped to never hear another one of these automated calls so long as she lived, much less having Pope on the other end of it, but she didn’t hesitate to accept it -not then and not now. 

“I accept.” It rang twice before it was connected. “Pope?”

“I’m at SBDF. Can you pick me up?”

“What the hell happened?”

“Hawk,” He breathed out and she could hear the agitation over the line and chose to bite back any lingering questions she had until she saw him. She nodded even though he couldn’t see her.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll be right down.”

“Listen, I know you probably hear this every time someone breaks parole, but there is no way Andrew didn’t pass that test. He’s got a stable living situation, a job, he hasn’t failed a piss test up until now. All things considered, he’s been doing really well since his release. This is abnormal.” His parole officer just raised an eyebrow at Hawk. “Could something like medication cause this?” That was the only thing she could think of. 

“Is he back on his meds?” The PO asked. 

“I’m not sure,” Hawk lied, “but I can figure it out and make sure he communicates it through the proper channels if that’s the case.” Pope’s PO sighed, saying Hawks name as he leaned against the elevated desk that took up the majority of the room. He had made visits to her home, had spoken with her before about Pope’s release, so he was familiar with Hawk. When he looked down at her, he couldn’t fathom why someone like her was involved with someone like Andrew Cody, in whatever capacity it was and she could read his expression as clear as day. 

To the PO, people like Pope didn’t change because they didn’t want to. They learned from their mistakes so they could skirt around law enforcement long enough to not end up back behind bars, but they always did. Eventually. They always ended up back in prison. It was a never ending cycle and yet, these scumbags always had a nice woman on the outside waiting to bail them out. 

“This is a warning lock up.” He warned her. “Andrew doesn’t get another shot after this. It’s straight to the judge, and then it’s a one year mandatory sentence.” Hawk nodded, the gravity of the situation well known. 

“Understood. Thank you again for giving him an opportunity. We both appreciate it.” The PO nodded to the officer at the holding cell to open the door. 

“Cody, you’re free to go.” Hawk could see Pope from where she stood. His eyes were on her and he looked furious as he took his time getting up and walking out of the jail with Hawk trailing behind him. 

“You asked me something a few weeks back,” Pope started, “It stuck out to me then and I couldn’t put my finger on why, but now I get it.” It was about a forty-five minute drive back to Hawk’s house, and they spent the first fifteen minutes in silence until Pope spoke up. “When my stomach was messed up you asked me if I was on any medication.” His eyes cut through Hawk as she drove. He saw her freeze for a moment, then she blinked herself back to the present. “Why would you ask me that?” Hawk’s throat felt like it was constricting as she tried to swallow. 

“It’s…complicated.” Her eyes flitted from the road, to Pope nervously, then back to the road. 

“Uncomplicate it.” It was a demand, clear as day, and he gave her no room to talk her way out of it. Hawk weighed her options -she could deny knowing anything or come clean and hope he didn’t absolutely lose it. He deserved to know the truth and the longer she didn’t answer, the guiltier she became. She decided to bite the bullet. Pope deserved that much. 

“…Smurf gave me a bottle of anti-psychotics to give to you.” The rising tension in the SUV was palpable. The air was thick and uncomfortable and it made Hawk want to crawl out of her skin.

“You? You?” Pope was at a loss for words. His eyes were wild, his chest heaving, and the absolute betrayal that washed over him was too much. Sensing this, Hawk took the next exit off of the highway, cutting off honking vehicles, and pulled over on the side of the off-ramp. 

“No! Listen to me, Pope!” The passenger door was slammed shut before Hawk could put the vehicle in park. “Pope!” She shouted, grabbing the bottle from her purse, then jumped out of the car and ran after him as he stalked through the open field that lined the exit ramp. 

“You of all fucking people, Hawk!” Spittle flew from his mouth as he turned and pointed at her. “All this time I thought-I thought you cared about me! But you’re just like them -you’re just like her!” His voice cracked. “None of you can stomach being around me unless I’m medicated because I’m too fucking crazy! Is that it?! I’m a monster without the fucking pills? Was this whole thing just a fucking ruse to keep me placated?!” He spat at her. 

“No!” Hawk’s voice went hoarse. “Listen to me, Pope. The bottle is still fucking full! It’s still full!” She shook it desperately. “There isn’t a single pill missing because I haven’t given any of them to you! None of this, us, was to trick you. I genuinely, with everything that I have, care about you, Pope.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?! You knew and just let this happen! I could’ve gone back to prison, Hawk!” It never occurred to her that it would pop up on a drug test and the guilt she already felt tripled. Hawk felt like she was about to start hyperventilating. 

“I thought that if I made it seem like I was giving them to you, Smurf wouldn’t, but that’s clearly not what’s happening! I’m sorry! I’m so fucking sorry, Pope! I would never do something like this to you!”

“But you did!” Hawk’s heart broke at the devastation that was clear as day on his normally hard to read face. He wanted her to see what this did to him, how this tore him apart on the inside. His hands were pulling at his growing hair as he paced the field, afraid that if he didn’t take this out on himself, he’d become the monster they all thought he was. “Once again, not a single fucking person thought about me in this! No one! Not you! Not Smurf! This has Baz’s scent all over it, so he’s probably also fucking involved! I wouldn’t put it past him.”  

Pope expected this from Smurf, even from Baz, but never from Hawk.  

“You have every right to be angry with me because I should’ve told you immediately, Pope, but you have to believe me when I tell you that I didn’t do it. I’m sorry for not saying anything. I should’ve said something. That’s on me.” Hawk was bordering on hysterics as the situation continued to spiral out of control. She took a few tentative steps towards Pope and when he didn’t walk away from her, she continued on. 

“Andrew. Please,” Hawk forced the bottle into his hand and cupped his face to bring his forehead down to hers. Pope’s jaw was set, his teeth grinding and breaths heavy through his nose. His watering eyes were unyielding as they barred down at her. His hands were balled into tight fists that he let hang by his sides, one strangling the white bottle so hard the veins in his forearm popped.  

Pope was angry, furious, but under that lay a hurt that he hadn’t felt in so long. It was a feeling that he shielded himself from due to self preservation, but as he opened himself to Hawk, he left himself vulnerable. It was a mistake he wouldn’t make again any time soon. 

“I want you as you are, Andrew, not how she makes you. I know you. I know the man underneath all of the shit she’s done to you. I want you -all of you. Everything that makes you -everything good and bad.” Pope stood there, breathing heavily through his nose and his frown only got deeper. He weighed the bottle of pills in his hand, before physically removing Hawk’s hands from his face. Without a word he brushed past her to make his way back to her SUV. 

Hawk slowly trailed after him once he closed the passenger door. She took a few deep breaths to center herself and stood as tall as she could while she finished her walk of genuine shame back to the car. 

You’re just like her, Pope’s voice rang like an incessant bell in Hawk’s brain. 

Her. 

Smurf. 

You’re just like her. 

Pope’s words cut into her as they were intended to. Hawk’s hands shook as she opened the driver door and she didn’t have a single ounce of courage inside of herself to even look at Pope, but Hawk could feel the very purposeful daggers he was glaring towards her. 

“When did she give them to you?” Pope’s voice was low and gravely. The truth was going to hurt, but she realized she was only protecting Smurf by keeping this from him and that was the absolute last thing Hawk wanted to do. 

“The day before your birthday.” Still, Hawk couldn’t look at Pope. His birthday was nearly a month ago and that bottle had been festering like an open wound since. “They’ve been sitting in my purse, unopened.”

“And you’ve never thought about using them?” His tone was 100% accusatory, and he had every right to be. 

“No,” Hawk breathed out, finally looking at him. Tears lined her eyes and she wiped them away before they had a chance to drop. “Not once.” His eyes searched for the lie, for the tell that would let him know Hawk wasn’t being honest. She had been a terrible liar when they were kids, and Pope noticed that the same tells were transferred over to J, a product of just how much of J’s life was spent with Hawk. Those tells weren’t present in the car as she spoke to him, but that didn’t ease the hackles that had risen. 

“This was a horrible lapse in judgement,” She covered her face with her hands, then dragged them down. “I didn’t know Smurf was still giving you anything. You stopped complaining about your stomach, so I figured she stopped giving them to you after she gave them to me. None of that matters anymore though because the damage is done and I’m partially responsible for it, and there aren’t enough ‘sorry’s’ in the world to repair that.”  

“Start the car.” Pope’s voice was devoid of any emotion. He had already retreated into himself, the self-preservation tactic that he developed as a kid to lock everyone out after he had been hurt over and over and over again. 

Hawk bit her lip hard, blood pebbling to the surface. This was her fault. She hurt him in such a profound way and broke a lifetime of trust he built with her. She couldn’t expect Pope to forgive her when she couldn’t even forgive herself. 

The remainder of the ride was silent, reminding Hawk of their last ride from Folsom. He had been angry at her then too, but nothing like this. The drive back to her house was only a fraction of what it had been from Folsom, but the minutes seemed to stretch endlessly and she couldn’t have been more grateful to turn into her winding driveway than she was in that moment. She needed to get out of that car, to escape the guilt and the anger and the disappointment that permeated the vehicle. And as quickly as she wanted to escape, Pope was five steps ahead of her. 

He was out of the car before the wheels had fully stopped and Hawk could put it into park once she got up the driveway. He bypassed the entry to the house and went straight for his truck, key ring and pill bottle in hand with the darkest cloud hanging over his head. 

please comment & reblog :)

[wingedhallows]

hey baby girl!! can we get a vi x reader who broke up but really want to get back together and if you'd like, you can make it smut! i love you pretty girl! 💓

˚୨୧⋆｡𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 modern/ex!vi x ex!reader

˚୨୧⋆｡𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 smut MDNI

˚୨୧⋆｡𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 hi hi!! so i've had so much fun with this! I'm still new to writing actual smut, i hope it's good. thank you to my bby @moodient for requesting this!! love u

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

five years prior

Seven missed calls. Twenty unread messages.

Your phone lights up like it’s trying to scream at you — like it’s trying to make you feel all the things you’ve been trying to ignore.

You didn’t mean to ignore her. God, you didn’t. It’s just… college is loud. Your classes blur into late nights, and the friends you’ve made — new faces, new habits — they’ve filled up the spaces that used to belong to her.

You tell yourself it’s temporary. That she’ll understand.

But then you see it — the last message she sent.

And it stops you cold.

You’re standing in the middle of your dorm room, one leg halfway out of your jeans, caught in that stupid little in-between moment where everything suddenly shifts.

Your heart stutters. Your throat tightens.

“I think we should break up.”

It’s not even dramatic. No punctuation, no begging, no anger. Just seven words that crack through your ribs and echo somewhere deep inside you.

And just like that — she’s gone.

present. 

“It’ll be fun! Now come on.”

Philippa’s nails dig into your upper arm with zero remorse, her perfectly manicured grip tugging you forward like you’re a wayward child instead of a grown adult. You stumble after her, the too-tight dress cinching at your waist with every reluctant step, and you’re already regretting every life choice that led to this moment.

Your eyes flick toward the front doors — and sure enough, those guys are there. The ones who hit on you back in second year, still leaning like they own the place, still wearing that smug, basement-party confidence. You quickly avert your gaze.

A massive banner hangs above the entrance to the gym, proudly declaring “Year of 11” in uneven, mismatched lettering. The edges are frayed, and someone clearly went to war with a hot glue gun and kraft glitter. It’s nostalgic, maybe — but mostly, it just feels sad.

You sigh, long and heavy, and let Philippa pull you deeper into the gym.

The place is decked out in balloons and shimmery streamers, with glittery nonsense taped half-heartedly to the walls. Someone put in effort, sure, but it still reeks of prom night — too sweet, too staged, too familiar.

And suddenly, it hits you like a memory pressed between ribs.

Prom.

Your prom. The one you spent with her.

The decorations are different, but the feeling? That ache in your chest — it hasn’t changed at all.

It’s been a while since Philippa fluttered off to go play social butterfly — weaving through old classmates with her usual glass-in-hand charm — and you’ve had one too many margaritas served without a salted rim to keep pretending you’re having a good time.

The buzz in your head, the ache in your feet, the way the past clings to your skin like glitter — it’s too much.

So you do what you used to do, back in the day. You flee to the girls’ bathroom like it’s a bunker. A safe haven.

Nothing’s changed much in here.

The walls are still painted that uninspired pale yellow, a color that’s tried and failed to be cheerful. One of the mirrors hangs at a crooked angle, just like it always has, warping reflections in that vaguely unsettling way. They’ve replaced the stall doors, though — sleeker now, but the navy blue wood doesn’t match the rest of the space. It stands out, awkward and out of place. Kind of like you.

You’re bracing yourself against one of the sinks, trying to breathe, when her voice slices through the silence.

“I didn’t think you’d show.”

It hits you like ice — sharp and clean, sliding straight down your spine.

Your heart stutters.

You lift your gaze slowly, like the moment might shift if you move too fast. And there she is, reflected in the mirror — fogged slightly at the corners, but unmistakable.

Violet.

She looks different. And somehow exactly the same.

Her hair is still that impossible pink, like spun candy and rebellion. Her eyes — pale blue and unrelenting — lock with yours in the glass like they never stopped looking.

But there’s a new sharpness to her.

A constellation of piercings gleam beneath the bathroom’s dull fluorescent lights. There’s ink now — a tattoo that kisses her cheekbone and curls along her neck. And still, she’s her. Just... more.

Your breath catches.

You turn to face her, slow and deliberate, the chill of the ceramic sink pressing into your back as if to keep you grounded.

“Violet,” you whisper.

Her name tastes like nostalgia and regret.

And she smiles — not wide, not sweet, but real. You hear the quiet hum of satisfaction in her throat.

“God,” she breathes, voice rough with emotion and something almost dangerous, “how I’ve missed hearing you say my name.”

She approaches slowly — like you’re something sacred.

But it’s there. In her eyes. The hunger.

That raw, aching kind of want, the kind that’s been left to fester in silence for too long. It’s not just lust, not just old feelings. It’s you.

“Vi…”

Her name falls from your lips again, barely audible, but it’s enough.

Her hands find your waist, fingers warm and firm through the thin fabric of your dress, and the contact pulls a sigh from deep within you. It’s instinctual — your body remembering hers.

The corner of her mouth curls, slow and sly, as she leans in, breath brushing soft against your ear.

“Did you wear this just for me?”

The way she says it — like a secret, like a promise — makes your breath hitch. A soft sound escapes you, involuntary and aching, and she hums in satisfaction, like that little noise is all the answer she needs.

One hand trails lower, fingers curving to grip you like she remembers every inch — and wants to relearn it all from scratch.

Your hands clutch the edge of the sink, knuckles white.

She guides you, gently but surely turning you to bend forward over the sink, your ass protruding towards her front. Her touch is reverent, possessive, familiar — a contradiction you’ve never been able to escape.

“Such a pretty thing,” she murmurs, one hand anchoring you by the shoulder, the other groping your ass with a strong grip.

She draws the fabric of your dress up with a slowness that speaks volumes — not just lust, but memory. She palms your ass again but this time her hands trails lower. Her middle finger trails slowly over your already damp and clothed pussy.

“Missed you. Missed this,” she breathes, lips ghosting along the shell of your ear, and you can’t help the quiet, broken sound that escapes your throat in response. “Missed this pussy.” She rasps into your ear.

Then without warning she pushes the strip of cloth from your sticky folds and pushes one finger into your heat. A strangled gasp leaves you as your head lowers onto the cold ceramic. “Look at that - so wet for me.” She whispers more to herself than anything else.

“Vi-oh christ-fuck.” You choke out as she sets a brutal pace. The heel of her palm slams against your bum as she fucks her finger into you. Vi doesn’t waste time to sling the other hand between your legs as well. Her thumb comes to draw circles over your clit with a grumble.

“Ah! shit-” You gasp and Vi chuckles behind you, the sound comes out low and husky as she keeps going. “That’s it, baby. Knew you still had it in you.” She mumbles. Her lips connect with the sensitive spot behind your ear as she drills two fingers into your sobbing cunt.

You’re a gasping, whining mess in her arms and slowly but surely you feel the hot white heat coil in your belly. One of your hands comes to grip at her arm with a chokes gasp.

“Vi-oh god-I’m gonna.”

Vi just grins against your neck, her hot breath against your skin making your pulse spike again.

“Then come for me - come on my fingers, baby.” She murmurs like the smug bastard she is and picks up her pace once more. Her fingers drive into your dripping cunt unrelentingly and before you can babble another incoherent thing, the heat snaps.

Vi slaps a hand over your mouth, a raspy laugh tumbling from her lips as your eyes roll back, your muffled cry of pleasure vibrating against her palm.

“Atta girl,” she breathes into your ear, voice low and wrecked and possessive.

When she pulls back, your chest is heaving, your head spinning — and she’s standing there like she just won a war.

You’re panting as she holds you up, your knees shaking as she lets her fingers slip from your pussy.

You catch the flick of her tongue as she licks her fingers clean, slow and deliberate, like you’re dessert and she’s not done savoring you.

Then she leans in, her breath warm against your flushed cheek, lips ghosting the skin like a secret she’s letting you in on.

“You’re still mine, sweetheart.”

[willowsnook]

Papaya Was Never the Problem

request: Y/N spends months crushing on Lando, only to be heartbroken when he moves on with someone else. Ready for something real, she realizes she had her eyes on the wrong McLaren driver all along—maybe it was Pato she should’ve seen from the start.

pato o’ward x reader

—----------------------------------

Your 16-year-old self would be disgusted at you if she knew that you’d be 23 and simping over a man who did not feel the same about you. But you couldn’t help it, everytime you thought it was over, Lando would pull your right back in. 

It wasn’t really even his fault, you had both agreed to keep things casual, that you weren’t looking for anything more. But somewhere along the line, it became a little blurred. You tried to take a step back, but everytime you did he pulled you right back closer. Whether it was random flowers he sent to your door, making sure that everyone knew he took your opinion the most serious out of all the McLaren strategists, or coming over to watch a movie and not hooking up. 

You felt crazy. You knew logically that you needed to cut it off but damn you just loved his attention. He could make you feel like you were the only girl in the world. 

But you knew that wasn’t the case. If you weren’t there on his arm, someone else was. It was never anything serious – until it was. 

It was a race day just like any other and you were buried in data, trying to figure out what you could do between now and qualifying to ensure Lando started P1 on Sunday. You had been at it for a while now, interrupted only by the clearing of a throat. Max Fewtrell stood next to your desk, and the look on his face had you instantly stopping. He looked…guilty? 

“What’s up?” You asked, and he hesitated. 

“I need to tell you something that is going to hurt you,” he started. “But you’ve become one of my closest friends so I can’t let this go on any longer.”

“What are you talking about?” You asked, heartbeat raising. 

“Lando is bringing his girlfriend ot the race tomorrow,” Max said and it felt like you had been doused with a cold bucket of water. 

“Girlfriend?” You asked, the word foreign on your tongue. 

"Yeah," Max winced. "I'm so sorry. I thought you knew. It's serious apparently. They've been together for a few months."

A few months. The words echoed in your mind as you tried to process what Max was telling you. All those nights, all those moments that felt like something more—they had meant nothing.

"Who is she?" The question left your lips before you could stop it.

"Some model he met at a party in Monaco." Max's hand came to rest on your shoulder. "You deserve better, Y/N. You always have."

You nodded numbly, tears threatening to spill. "Thanks for telling me."

After Max left, you sat motionless at your desk, staring at the data that suddenly seemed so meaningless. Months of your life wasted on someone who had been leading you on while building a relationship with someone else.

The next day, you kept your head down, focusing entirely on work. When you spotted Lando in the garage, you ducked out of the way, avoiding him for as long as you could. You were forced to finally see him during the pre-race briefing and you doing everything in your power to not look at him did not go unnoticed. 

“Y/n,” Lando called as everyone walked out. “Can we talk?”

You nodded, gaining the courage to look him on the eye. You knew he knew what was happening the second his eyes met yours. 

“I-I I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I should have told you, but we always said it was casual between us right?” 

“Why didn’t you just say something?” You asked, your sadness melting into anger. “Like what’s fucking wrong with you Lando?”

He flinched at your tone, the guilt written all over his face. “I know. I just wanted both of you as long as I could have it.”

“And then you decided that you wanted her more,” you said for him, your heart ripping in half. “Quite frankly I never want to see you again.” 

Hurt flashed across his face but you didn’t give him a chance to respond, moving past him and out the door. 

The race went horribly. Lando dropped from P2 to P10 and it was just a disaster all around. You knew it was your last race, you’d made the decision last night, before even talking to Lando. There were plenty of things you could do with an engineering degree so you weren’t worried. You could go anywhere you wanted. Away from all of this. 

Zak was in a conference room when you found him and you shut the door behind you as you walked in. He looked up at you in surprise, the doom and gloom from the race on his face. 

“Hey y/n, tough day today,” he said and you nodded. “What can I do for you?” 

“I’m going to be leaving McLaren,” you told him, trying to not let your voice waver. This was your first job and you loved the people here. Loved the work, the environment, everything. But you couldn’t stay. 

“What?” Zak veered back, shocked. “After one bad race?” 

“It’s more than one bad race,” you said quietly and in that moment he knew. He’d seen the two of you together, and wasn’t the only McLaren employee that was confused by another girl’s presence today. 

“What are you going to do?” He asked and you shrugged. 

“I don’t know yet,” you admitted and he shook his head. 

“Y/n, you are one of the most talented young strategists we’ve come across,” he told you. “I can’t let you leave.” 

“I can’t stay Zak,” you said, exasperated. He thought for a moment before lighting up. 

“IndyCar,” he said and your eyebrows furrowed. “If you’re okay to move, let me put you on one of our IndyCar teams, probably Patos.” 

You hesitated. You were open to moving somewhere new and across an ocean was pretty far away from Lando. Plus you’d get to stay in racing, which was definitely ideal. 

“Okay, I’ll do it,” you said and Zak grinned. 

“It’s settled then.” 

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

“Welcome to Indianapolis!” Your new coworker, Hannah beamed at you from outside of the Arrow-McLaren office in downtown Indy. 

“Thank you,” you said politely.

“I know we don’t go to as many glamorous places as you’re used to but Indy is pretty historic for racing,” she said. 

“Yeah, I actually grew up in Kansas City,” you told her and her eyes widened it surprise. “So I’m familiar with all of this, even if it’s been a while. “

“Sorry! They never tell me anything,” she grumbled. 

“No worries,” you told her sweetly. She led you through the lobby and to the upstairs floor, where different mechanics were working. She was around your age so you felt comfortable chatting with her, happy to have someone to be friends with in a new place. 

“Okay Tony is waiting for you in his office up there,” she told you and you thanked her before stepping into the room. 

“Ahh, y/n, pleasure to meet you,” Tony said, standing up to shake your hand. “Zak sings your praises all the time so I’m happy we got to steal you away.” 

“I’m happy to be here,” you said, sitting down across from him. 

“I’m going to put you on Pato’s team - he’s our best driver here and I think you guys will get along,” he said and you nodded. “Ah here he is, Pato! Come in here for a sec.” 

You turned as the door opened, and in walked a man you'd seen on TV but never in person. Pato O'Ward had a vibrant energy to him, his smile genuine as he entered the room. His eyes landed on you, and for a moment, you felt a flutter of something you couldn't quite place.

"Welcome to the team," he said, extending his hand. His accent was thick but endearing. "Tony has been talking about you all week."

"Has he?" You shook his hand, noticing the calluses that came from gripping a steering wheel for hours on end.

"All good things," Tony assured you. "Pato, Y/N is coming to us from the F1 team. She's one of their top strategists."

"Was," you corrected with a small smile. "I'm all IndyCar now."

"Well, their loss is our gain," Pato said, his gaze not leaving yours. You smiled shyly before turning back to Tom. 

“Well, let’s get started.”

—------------------------------------

IndyCar was a whole new puzzle to crack, but you were loving the challenge. The other strategists had welcomed you with open arms, eager to hear your ideas for the car as you headed into a race weekend. 

Pato was fast, but Alex Palou was faster and it was a problem you were drowning trying to figure it out. It was late, the warm air of Riverside blowing gently through your hair as you stepped outside, eager to take a break. No one else was at the track, just you and a bunch of numbers, just like you preferred it. 

Switching to IndyCar had been a good move. Max had called you a couple of times to check in and you were honest when you told him: you were happy here. Much happier than you were back there. You’d become fast friends with Hannah, and she’d introduced you to her friends, quickly accepting you into the group. 

Working with Pato was a breeze. He was focused and driven but also fun and lighthearted. You ignored the way you caught him looking at you every once in a while. You’d seen that look before, just on a different man in a papaya suit. 

“What are you still doing here?” 

Speak of the devil, you see Pato coming up to you, a boyish smile on his face. You smile back, appreciating the way the track lights hit his face. 

“Trying to get you a win,” you said and he laughed. 

“I thought I was supposed to be doing that,” he replied and you shook your head amused, turning back to stare out at the track. 

"No, I think it's a team effort," you replied, leaning against the railing. "I'm just used to working late. It's a hard habit to break."

"You don't have to do that here," Pato said, moving to stand beside you. His shoulder brushed against yours, and you tried to ignore the warmth that spread through you at the contact.

"I want to," you admitted. "I want to prove that I belong here."

"You already have," he said, his voice dropping lower. "Everyone can see how talented you are."

You turned to look at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. There was something in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat.

"Thank you," you said softly. "That means a lot."

A comfortable silence fell between you as you both gazed out at the empty track. The distant sound of cicadas filled the air and you were too lost in your own thoughts to see the way Pato was looking at you.

“You know,” he said, breaking the silence. “I was supposed to meet you last year in Brazil but I was told to stay away.” 

“By who?” You asked, eyebrows scrunched in confusion as you turned to look at him. You sighed as you saw his face, already knowing the answer. “Lando.”

“Mhm,” Pato answered. “Is that why you came here?” 

“Yes,” you said honestly. “I needed a fresh start.” 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said and you looked at him once again, his eyes on yours. “He didn’t deserve you.” 

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, suddenly very aware of how close you were standing to him. "You don't even know me," you said softly, but there was no bite to your words.

"I know enough," Pato replied, his voice gentle. "I know you work harder than anyone else on the team. I know you care about the success of everyone around you, not just yourself. And I know that anyone who couldn't see what they had with you is an idiot."

You laughed, shaking your head. "You're just saying that because I'm trying to get you a win."

"No," he said, turning to face you fully now. "I'm saying it because it's true."

The intensity in his gaze made your breath catch. For months, you'd been so focused on getting over Lando, on proving yourself in this new environment, that you hadn't allowed yourself any opportunity to open your heart.

“I can’t start something with you Pato,” you said sadly. “No matter how much I want to. I can’t go through it again.” 

“I don’t think you understand that it would be completely different,” he said but you didn’t say anything, just looked down at your hands. “Okay, if I have to spend the rest of the season proving that to you then I will.” 

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

It felt like you were back in F1, watching Max lurking like a shark in the background, quickly gaining on whoever was in front of him like a shark who had seen it’s prey. Except this time the shark was Alex Palou and Pato was unfortunately the prey. Pato had led almost the whole race but Alex did what he did best: win. 

The garage was dejected, despite taking second and third and you fully expected the silent treatment from the drivers. Lando always shut down after races, always so in his head that there was no point in talking to him. Pato was quiet during the debrief but you were used to it so it didn’t bother you. 

Picking up your stuff, you headed out the door. Pato was waiting for you outside and you looked at him in surprise. You would have expected him to get back to the hotel as soon as possible. 

“Do you have plans?” He asked and you shook your head. He was still in his fireproofs, sweat and champagne stained on his face. “Get something to eat with me and talk about the race?”

“We just had a chance to talk about it, but you didn’t say much,” you countered and he rolled his eyes. 

“I just want to talk to you right now, okay? I’ll talk to the rest of the team when we’re back in Indy,” he said. 

You hesitated, caught off guard by his directness. This wasn't what you expected after a race that didn't go his way. But there was something in his eyes—an earnestness that made it impossible to say no.

"Okay," you agreed. "But you should probably change first."

He grinned, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Give me ten minutes."

True to his word, Pato emerged from the motorhome shortly after, dressed in jeans and a simple black t-shirt that hugged his frame. You tried not to stare.

"There's a little place around the corner that's pretty good," he said, leading you away from the track. "I found it last year."

The restaurant was small and unassuming, tucked away from the main streets where most of the racing crowd would go. The hostess greeted Pato by name, clearly recognizing the driver and led you to a table in the back. 

"So," you said, taking a sip of your wine. "Second place isn't bad."

"It's not first," he replied, but there wasn't any bitterness in his tone. "Palou is just... consistently good. But we're getting closer."

“We have the advantage on some of the upcoming tracks though – you’ve performed better than he has in the past.” 

Pato’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, a smirk growing on his face. “Watching my old races huh?”

You rolled your eyes but a smile was evident on your face. “Doing my job.” 

The rest of dinner was spent going through the race almost lap by lap until you really just had nothing left to say. Pato paid the tab and held out his hand to you almost challenging as he got up. You rolled your eyes but took it, letting him lead you out of the restaurant. 

“Tired?” He asked, once you were outside and you nodded. “Okay let’s get you home cariño.”

You blushed at the term of endearment and he grinned widely before tugging you along to the car. The ride back to the hotel was short and he walked you back up to your room, gently pressing his lips against your cheek before saying goodbye. 

Remember what happened with Lando

Remember what happened with Lando

Remember what happened with Lando

You chanted this to yourself as you got into your room but it was becoming hard. Pato seemed to be everything Lando was not but you had built up a lot of walls around your heart. You still didn’t know what you wanted, not sure if you could handle another situationship during a season just hoping that it could be something more in the offseason. 

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

There was a few weeks in between races so you packed your bags to head off to a nice vacation during your free time. Hannah had begged you to join her and her friends so you found yourself on the sunny beaches of Punta Mita, baking in the Mexican sun. By day three of the vacation your skin had a nice glow to it and you decided you never wanted to go home. 

You were sitting on loungers outside with your friends watching the sunset, a margarita in your hands when you saw a familiar face sitting at another lounge area, his eyes trained on you. Your head snapped towards Hannah who looked over your shoulder then smirked. 

“Did you know he was going to be here?” You asked. 

“I swear I didn’t, but I’m definitely not complaining,” she said with a smirk and you groaned. Soon enough, Pato was walking over with his friends, asking if they could join you all. The seat you were sitting on was definitely big enough for two so you begrudgingly scooted over as Pato plopped down next to you. His arm rested behind you on the back of the lounger and he gave you a small smile. 

“Hola hermosa,” he said cheekily and you couldn’t help but smile at his antics. 

“Are you stalking me Pato O’Ward?” You said and he let his head dip backwards, laughing. 

“Oof, using my full name, does that mean I’m in trouble?” He asked. 

“Maybe,” you teased. 

“I’d love to see what the punishment is,” he murmured, eyes flickering down to your chest. Your face flamed which only made his smirk deepen. He pulled you in closer to his side and you panicked, feeling yours and his friend’s knowing eyes. 

“Pato, everyone can see us,” you whispered. 

“Kind of the point cariño,” he replied, letting his hand fall to rest on your upper arm, tracing the skin with his finger. You started to say something else but he jumped into a conversation with his friend next to him. 

You couldn't help but feel conflicted as you sat nestled against Pato's side, the warmth of his body seeping into yours. The sun was setting over the ocean, painting the sky in vibrant oranges and pinks, and despite your internal protests, this felt... right.

After a couple more rounds of drinks, the group decided to head to a nearby restaurant for dinner. Pato's hand found the small of your back as you walked, guiding you through the crowded beachfront. The gesture was small, but intentional. Public. A statement.

"You're not being very subtle," you murmured as you reached the restaurant.

"I'm not trying to be," he replied, his eyes meeting yours. "I told you I would prove that I'm different."

At dinner, Pato insisted on sitting next to you, his leg occasionally brushing against yours under the table. The conversation flowed easily, most of his friends having been around a lot of his racing so they could keep up with you and Hannah. When it died down, most of the group decided to turn in for the night but you weren’t ready to retire just yet. 

“Walk with me?” You asked Pato and he nodded, slipping his hand into yours as you headed down the shoreline. Being with Pato was easy. You were never stressed, never waiting for the second ball to drop. 

He walked you back to the resort, stopping before the staircase that led up to your floor. You turend to him in confusion but were cut off by his lips against yours. They moved slowly and you found yourself moving against him, bringing your hand up to cup his face. His rested on your waist, holding you close to him. 

You pulled away after a bit, biting your lip as you stared at him. 

“What are you thinking cariño?” He asked. 

You hesitated, heart hammering in your chest. You weren’t sure if it was the warmth of the kiss still lingering on your lips, or the way his voice sounded like honey under the moonlight, but the words tumbled out before you could stop them.

“I like you,” you admitted, eyes dropping to the sand. “But I’m not sure I want to do this again, just be someone there for your convenience not able to commit during the season. I’ve already done that before.”

The words hung in the air like a challenge, one you almost regretted the second you said it. But Pato didn't say anything right away. His expression shifted, the playfulness draining from his face, replaced by something sharper—something that almost looked like hurt.

“Wow,” he finally said, his voice low. “You really think that little of me?”

Your eyes widened, head snapping up. “Pato, I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did,” he interrupted, shaking his head. “You meant it. And maybe that’s on me—maybe I was too forward, maybe I made this all feel too easy. But I’m not him, Y/N.”

He took a step back, still looking at you like you’d just slapped him.

“I’ve never once treated you like an option. I never played games. I’ve shown up, I’ve been honest, and I’ve waited—for you to see me, to trust me. And I would’ve kept waiting if you needed more time.” His voice cracked slightly at the end, and it cut you to your core.

“I’m not asking you to be mine right now,” he added. “I’m not asking you to give me anything you’re not ready for. But I am asking you to stop treating me like a placeholder for your past.”

Your throat tightened, your own eyes stinging with tears you didn’t expect.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Pato nodded slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll wait for you as long as you need, Y/N. But only if you’re willing to believe I’m worth waiting for too.”

And then he turned, starting to walk back toward the resort, leaving you with your bare feet in the sand and your heart unraveling in your hands.

—----------------------------------

You didn’t hear from Pato for the rest of the break and you tried to not think about the silence. It was hard to not compare him to Lando but it felt like you were right back in it. Big fight, usually a misunderstanding, and then he wouldn’t look at you and you’d pretend it didn’t hurt. 

That’s why you were dreading the return to the office, you knew he was going to be there today and you weren’t ready for the silent treatment in person. Hannah gave you a sympathetic look when she saw you, having heard everything that happened when you both travelled home. You spent the first half of the day at your computer, analyzing some data before deciding to get up to grab some coffee. 

Rounding the corner you ran straight into someone, your sorrys were cut off by two arms wrapping around you, pulling you into their chest. 

“Hola hermosa,” Pato whispered into your ear and you relaxed into him, letting your guard down. You couldn’t help the tears starting to gather in your eyes as he pulled away. “Oh cariño, what’s wrong?” 

You tried blinking away the tears, but one fell and was quickly swiped away by his fingers. 

"I thought you were going to be mad at me," you admitted, voice shaky. "I thought you wouldn't want to talk to me anymore."

Pato's face softened, understanding replacing his initial concern. "Is that what he would have done? Gone silent on you?"

You nodded, unable to meet his eyes.

"Look at me," Pato said gently, tilting your chin up. "I meant what I said on the beach. I'm not him. I was hurt, yes. I needed space to think, but I wasn't going to throw away what we have because of one fight."

"I'm sorry," you whispered. "For comparing you to him. For not trusting that you're different."

"I know," he replied, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "And I'm sorry I walked away. I should have stayed, talked it through."

The admittance that he could have done something differently didn’t go unnoticed by you and you started to say something else when someone called out your name. 

“Y/n!”

You turned around to see Zak Brown coming down the hallway and your face broke out into a massive smile. 

“Zak,” you greeted and he pulled you into a bear hug, lifting you off your feet. 

“Oh how I’ve missed you,” your old boss said. “I hope you’ve been keeping up with the F1 races, I need your advice.”

“Of course you do,” you teased. Zak reached out to shake Pato’s hand before Pato excused himself to head to lunch. 

You walked with Zak to the conference room, chatting about the previous F1 races and what he was thinking. 

“I saw you and Pato,” he said as you reached the doors and you froze before deflating. 

“Just hopping from one driver to the next aren’t I?” You asked quietly. “I know what you’re going to say.” 

Zak looked at you carefully, “Lando didn’t deserve you, everyone knew that. But Pato’s different. He looks at you like you’re his whole world so what I was going to say is that I’m happy for you.”

You looked up at him in shock. "You think so?" you asked, a note of vulnerability in your voice that you rarely let anyone hear.

"Y/N, I've known Pato for years now," Zak said, leaning against the doorframe. "That man has always been passionate about racing, about winning. But I've never seen him look at anything the way he looks at you."

You felt warmth spread through your chest at his words.

"Besides," Zak continued with a knowing smile, "I didn't transfer you here just because you needed to get away from Lando. I sent you here because I thought you'd be brilliant with this team. And maybe, just maybe, I thought you and Pato might hit it off."

"You were playing matchmaker?" You laughed incredulously.

"Call it an executive decision," he winked. "Now, about these race strategies..."

The meeting with Zak flew by, and by the time you emerged from the conference room, it was late afternoon. You checked your phone to find a text from Pato.

Dinner tonight? My place. I'll cook.

After stopping by your own place to change into something comfier, you headed to Pato’s. He smiled as he opened the door when you knocked, stepping aside to let you in. 

“It smells amazing,” you commented. You knew you were no longer going to enjoy your family’s white people taco nights after just one glance at what was cooking in the kitchen. 

Pato grinned, stepping back over to the stove to stir something in a pan. “It’s my mom’s recipe,” he said. “I figured if I was going to earn your forgiveness, I should start with food.”

You laughed softly, walking toward the kitchen island. “You already have my forgiveness,” you said, watching the way he moved so confidently around the kitchen, barefoot and in a soft black t-shirt. “But if you want to impress me, this is definitely the right way to do it.”

“Good to know,” he said with a wink. “Because I plan to keep trying.”

Dinner was relaxed, the two of you sitting across from each other at his kitchen table, a bottle of wine between you. He kept your cheeks warm with compliments and your stomach sore from laughing. It was comfortable—easy in a way that didn’t scare you anymore.

After the dishes were done (you washed, he dried), Pato grabbed a blanket and led you out to the small balcony that overlooked downtown Indy. The sun had long set, but the glow of the city lights made everything feel soft and quiet.

You curled your legs beneath you as you settled onto the outdoor couch, Pato sitting next to you and draping the blanket over both your laps.

“It’s kind of wild,” you said after a few minutes, your voice low. “That I ended up here. That it took me going through all of that mess just to realize the right person was someone I hadn’t even met yet.”

Pato turned to look at you, his profile lit up by the warm patio light. “I hate that he made you feel like you were hard to love,” he said quietly. “Because being with you? It feels like the easiest thing in the world.”

You swallowed, heart thudding in your chest as you met his gaze. “I was so scared of getting it wrong again.”

“You didn’t,” he said, reaching out to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You just hadn’t found the right person to get it right with.”

A beat passed between you before you leaned in, pressing your forehead to his. “Are we really doing this?” you whispered.

Pato smiled, the kind that reached his eyes. “We’ve been doing this for a while now, haven’t we?”

You kissed him again, slower this time—deeper. It didn’t feel like a maybe or a placeholder or a temporary distraction. It felt like a beginning. When you finally pulled away, Pato rested his hand against your cheek.

“So,” he said, eyes dancing, “do I get to call you mine now?”

You couldn’t stop the smile that bloomed across your face. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I think I’d like that.”

“Good,” he murmured, brushing his lips over yours again. “Because I’ve been yours since the day you walked into that office.”

And under the stars, wrapped in his arms, you finally believed it.

[unholyhelbig]

i will be patiently (not really) waiting for that sinners fic

Title: All You've Ever Known [18+] | Main Masterlist

Ship: Female!Reader x Mary (Sinners 2025)

Summary: When Mary walks into your bar she carries a strange and alluring prescence with her that you can't deny attracts you. She offers you an escape that's much more tantalizing that you'd like to admit.

Dt💕: @luciferdidwhat, @thinking1bee @cum-cowboy

Warnings: Blood, biting, cannon-typical violence, pet names (Darling, sweet girl, all the fun southern dialects), fingering (R receiving), slight dom/sub tones, use of good girl, blood drinking, implied death, fire, drinking, and horrible grammar, I don't proofread.

[A/n: God, the obsession I have with Mary is unmatched. I'm convinced this woman would actually be a gentle lover if the mood called for it. This didn't call for it. Anyway, Hailee is for the girls, and mean domme Hailee is even more for the girls.]

In hindsight, the “All Are Welcome” sign on the front door was a stupid idea. The sentiment brought customers, travelers along the stretch of dusty road that needed a cold drink after a long, hot day. It’d worked well enough to break even, and breaking even was all you needed in the summers, a little more in the winters when the temperatures began to drop and the place needed to be heated, but you hadn’t owned it long enough to brave the season yet. 

It was a technicality, really, that Mary could cross the threshold but a technicality all the same. She’d caught the low golden glow of the oil lamps in pooled brown eyes, so dark they were almost black. Animalistic in their swiftness. Her shoulders were pulled taut as if she belonged there, but no one quite did and that struck you as odd right off the bat. Her familiarity with the unfamiliar. 

She analyzed the one-roomed bar with an heir of lazy judgement: The few scattered tables and mismatched chairs, the scratched discolored pool table near the back wall, and the juke-box that gave off an unnaturally dull glow. The music that hummed from the  speakers tinny and harsh. Finally to the shiplap bar that you stood behind, backing lined with the finer liquor, just a few half drunk bottles of whiskey, while the tap held nothing but piss-poor ale, warm as the summer night. 

Tonight, you weren’t alone. A rare occurrence, a traveler from Albuquerque was settled on a cracked stool at one end of the bar, nursing a glass of bourbon and shoving his meaty fingers into a bowl of shelled peanuts. He wasn’t much for small talk. His hair was greasy and his teeth were cracked and it took him two business days to chew one morsel of food out of choice, not necessity, so you let him be. 

Mary was dressed smartly, a delicate silk button-down tucked into pants that came up to her midriff. They worked in favor of her figure, perfectly manicured fingers gripping a clutch that was sure to hold countless riches, certainly more than what was in your register now. Her hair cut off right above her shoulders, perfectly curled, perfectly smooth. 

“Got anything good to drink around here?” Her voice was like velvet, sharp as a knife. Heels clicking on the floor as she crossed it and leaned heavily on the counter. 

“Depends,” 

She lifted a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at you. Up closer you swore there was a metallic element to her eyes, to her scent even, like gun polish. But she was ethereal all the same. Alluring in a way that you couldn’t place. You had no trouble keeping your gaze on her, but hers darted to the man at the other end of the bar, nose crinkling in the slightest degree. “On?” 

“Your standards. You seem like a woman of fine taste.” 

“Better than that horrible music you have playing,” She smiled, teeth sharp but startlingly white “taste don’t bother me none, as long as it’s cold.” 

You gestured vaguely to a stool and she took one with no qualms. The man at the other end of the counter dove his hand back into the basket of peanuts and shoved whatever he could grab into his mouth. He eyed the woman with caution, stare narrowed and lip snarled back like he knew something you didn’t. She didn’t falter. 

You grabbed a bottle of dark ale from below the counter, frosty, a reprieve from the stiff night air, and cracked it on the corner of the beveled counter. When you handed it over, your fingers brushed. You weren’t proud of yourself but you jerked back. You held your judgements well and your tongue better, but her touch was frigid, worse than the ice you’d just plunged your hand into. 

She took mercy on you, didn’t mention your adverse reaction. “Thank you kindly.” Taking a sip of her drink, cringing in the most beautiful way you’d ever seen. “This is… bad.” 

“It’s cold,” You offered with a nervous smile. 

She smiled back, reserved “That it is. What’s a pretty girl like you doing working in a place like this?” 

The man at the end of the counter scoffed under his breath, but neither of you paid him mind. You were taken aback by the fluidity of her comment. Usually they came from the opposite sex and after a few more sips of shitty beer. She had no issues leaning on the palm of her hand, closer to you, eyes just a hint darker. 

You threw a rag over your shoulder, the weight of it familiar and grounding. “Usually what happens when your daddy up and dies and leaves a place like this behind.” 

“Didn’t mean anything by it, sweet thing. No other family to take over the business?” 

“Just me.” 

Perhaps it was the wrong thing to say, but you were close enough to town and there was a loaded rifle within your reach, not that you could particularly bring yourself to shoot anyone with it. Another scoff (or perhaps he was choking on his last handful of peanuts) from the man at the other end of the bar stirred some annoyance within you. Not enough to say anything, though. You wanted his money, regardless of his manners. 

He seemed to sense the shift in energy because Albuquerque fished some damp dollar bills from his pocket and deposited the crumpled prize on the table before grunting behind greasy bangs and slow walking a good three feet behind the strange, beautiful woman. Closer to the tables than he was to the bar. His boots were heavier than his gait. 

The woman didn’t seem to mind his odd behavior, taking another slow sip of her drink, but you tracked him with your eyes until he was gone. When it had been just the two of you, there was no threat detected in the air. Not by you, at least. But the added presence of another woman changed things. Not just any woman. Her. Something about her. 

“Odd fellow,” You took the glass from his spot, deposited it into the nearest plastic bin and dumped the basket of peanuts. Unsalvageable. You wanted to busy yourself under her tender gaze. “But money is money.” 

“Is that what interests you?” 

The question caught you off guard. Made you pause before you answered her. You grabbed your own glass and poured some clear liquid to cover the bottom. Odorless but with enough bite to light up your stomach. “It didn’t used to be. Existing was enough, enjoying the simple things of life. But, now I have this place.” 

“There legacy behind it?” she leaned forward and your eyes met her own. They’d softened somewhere along the line. You’d gotten closer too. No one ever asked you about yourself, hadn’t since they made you sign the black line attributed to your fathers will and that was limited to your legal name and date of birth. Even that had made you uncomfortable. But this woman dragged it out of you, simple like hot honey spread across freshly baked bread. “What I mean is, would it be so bad to let it go?” 

“My daddy’s daddy owned it, and his daddy before that. It used to be a lot nicer than this, if you can believe it. Then the depression hit and a lot of dust got dragged in. A lot of blood too. It’s not much but I had Christmas’s here, Thanksgivings and Easters. There’s a room in the back where I sleep, live and eat. It’s all I’ve ever known.” 

She hummed thoughtfully, lilting her head to the side, resting her chin on the lip of the bottle. It was as if she were scrutinizing you. “All you’ve ever known, huh?” 

“All I’ve ever known.” 

You don’t exactly know when Mary gets you to cross the threshold of the bar, nor do you recall when she whispers her name hotly against your lips, you just know she’s suddenly the only thing there. Her strangely metallic and floral scent, and cold touch balancing into something delicious and alluring. The crispness of her touch didn’t dissuade you, her lips were warm against your own and the taste of the vodka you’d consumed mingled toxically with something primal in her own mouth as she licked into it. 

Mary was not gentle, nor rough in her ministrations. She kissed against the corner of your lips and then across the expanse of your jaw, hands tangled into your hair, breaths panted hot on your skin. “What’s your name, darlin?” 

“Should have asked that before,” You countered, dragging your nails down the exposed skin of her chest, perfect and unmarred. You found the pearlescent button at the top of soft silk, you couldn’t get full thoughts out, not with the way she was touching you. “You had your tongue down my throat.” 

Mary smiled against your skin, genuine this time, the action peaked. “Let me have it and I’ll sing it like a hymn. Speak it like a prayer. Baby, I am not above getting on my knees to beg.” 

You pulled back slightly at this, placing your hand on her chest. She was panting heavy and staring directly into your soul with those onyx eyes of hers. There was nothing but blind devotion there. Almost as if she worshipped a stranger that she hadn’t known an hour earlier. It was working and you hated that it was. That when she slotted her knee against your sex it drew a moan from your lips, her nose nudging playfully against your own. 

“Y/n,” You whispered out, word shaking in the confines of your voice. “It’s y/n.” 

Mary repeated it back to you with delicacy. A softness that no one had ever treated you with before. Her exhale was hot on your lips, the tips of her fingers tracing over your features as if she’d never met another person. There was a darkness that pulsed in her gaze that thrilled you. That pushed a groan from your throat. Her hand moved there, but didn’t squeeze. 

She walked the two of  you until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the pool table, her lips once again connected with yours, but her hands on your hips. Mary lifted you in a show of strength, setting you on the edge. She swallowed your noise of shock, of arousal, only pulling away long enough to remove your shirt and toss it. 

“Wait,” You whispered against her, halting her movements.She was stone still, breathing heavier. Growling with each exhale but complying to your request nonetheless. “I’m the only place for miles. What if Albuquerque comes back?” 

Mary lifted her head from your shoulder, eyebrow raised “Albuquerque?” 

“Where he was from, don’t know his name. Didn’t care enough to ask.” 

Her lip twitched up slightly at this. “I wouldn’t worry much about that, sweet girl. Plenty of things in these woods take care of creeps like that. And if he does come back lookin’ for trouble, I’ll handle it.” 

“You?” 

“Yes,” She leaned forward pressing her lips back to a soft spot under your jaw. “Me. Now, do you want to keep talking about New Mexico or do you want me to take care of you? Make you feel real nice.” 

The second option sounded better. Much better, especially when she nipped at your skin a little and soothed it with her tongue, her deft fingers trailing expertly down your sides and to the button of your pants, unlatching the metal with fluidity.

When she swiped her fingers through your sex, you fell forward into her, burying your face in her shoulder. It was marred with the scent of salt and spice and clove. The sly touch was enough to have you trembling.

“I’ve barely even touched you and you’re this reactive.” She said it like an infinite statement, not a question. “If we’re going to do this, I want to hear every sweet little noise that comes out of that mouth.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Uh-huh.” Mary snarled back at you, mocked you. It was cruel, but it worked regardless. You wrapped an arm around her shoulder as she slipped two fingers into you, a gasp falling from your lips. Her own were back on your neck, a strange fascination there, licking and nipping and soothing all within the same breath. “you’re so tight. So fucking tight.”

Mary thrusts rapidly into you with a steady pace, the lude, wet sounds coming from the both of you was the most action this place had ever seen. The pool table creaked beneath the effort of your shared movements as you rutted closer to this near stranger. Under a spell, intoxicated. 

Her palm applies even pressure to your clit, her other hand palming your breast. Even through the fabric of your bra, the touch is cold and startling but you don’t have much time to contemplate the change in temperature because she’s pushing you onto your back straddling you fully now, balancing precariously on the lip of the pool table. Her hand is trapped between her stoney presence and your writhing body.

She’s got more weight to her than you imagined. You got to move your hand to her hip, but she snatches your wrist, pins it to the green felt above your head. Shows you that she’s in complete control. You tighten around her at this, shutter out a breath.

“There’s too much that goes on in that mind of yours, isn’t there, doll?” her voice was gravelly, ferine in nature. “That’s why you put that sign in the window. Too much effort to make pesky rules about who or what could come in here.”

“Huh?”

It was a weird thing to mention, and frankly, didn’t matter much when she curled her fingers the way that she did. You could feel yourself getting close, could feel that fire building in your belly and she much have felt it too because she slowed down, painstakingly slow. A disquieted whine left your chest.

Mary tsked, pulling back from her continual kissing and nipping against your throat and collarbone, the tops of your breasts. Your eyes were screwed shut. The pressure shifted when she did. She sat back. “Such a good girl, taking me so well.”

There was a strange timbre to her voice that cut through the blissful haze you were swimming in. Your eyes opening, stare meeting with Mary’s, entirely black, ink spreading so easily through what little brown had remained. The oil lamps caught the silver that rested in the middle. The animalistic, feral, hungry part of her that reminded you all too much of a demon.

Fear seized you when she smiled, mingled with the adrenaline and arousal that still lingered. She was deep inside you, working slowly in and out. And by God, you still wanted to kiss her, still wanted whatever she had to offer, because you had known. Deep down you had known that something was off with Mary.

And that was just fine, because it was different. It wasn’t the same shitty four walls. Not this time.

She lilted her head, processing the fear in your eyes, then the acceptance as her tongue ran over the four pointed teeth, saliva abundant. The hand holding yours down subconsciously loosened it’s grip.

“Will you finish fucking me before you kill me?” You huffed.  

“I promised I’d take care of you. Will you let me take care of you?”

Of course you nodded, too quickly, too desperately. You were on the edge of release and needed her to continue her efforts to get you there. Mary purred, lowering herself back on top of you with languid expertise, doubling down.

She picked up her thrusting, her pressure. Her lips were back on yours, this time the sharpness of her teeth cut into your bottom lip. You grunted into her, the sting shocking but nice within the same go. The blood against your tongue a sweet and salty mix of ecstasy.

Mary’s lips trailed from your own, your noises of pleasure becoming louder. The pressure was building in your abdomen, breaths coming faster, sweat forming against your skin. Mary was at your throat now, palm on your chest, strength keeping you flush to the pool table.

She timed it perfectly, the mix of pain and pleasure. The moment her teeth dug into your neck and your orgasm washed over you. You arched into her all the same, and she held you like the gentle lover that she portrayed herself as.

You reveled in the coolness of her now, the way your heat-slicked skin felt pressed close to her own. She ate messily, but quietly all the same, working you through your own release as a light-headedness filled you.

The pain was there; of course it was there. Flesh was bitten into, scarred and torn and ripped as if it were nothing but paper mâché. But you shook all the same from satisfaction. Breath coming heavy and fast, and softly all at once.

Mary pulled her fingers from you, the feeling of being empty drawing a whimper from you, soothed by a squeeze to the hip and she shifting of weight atop you. Your eyes trained on the shiplap ceiling above you, the wet sounds of a tongue lapping at a warmth slicking your shoulder, the felt of the pool table.

Teeth pulling from tendons was somehow a worse loss than her fingers from your sex. Something deeper, emptier. She sat back on your midsection, dragged her arm across her face to smear the cherry red across the perfect sleeve of her shirt. Most of yourself had gotten on her.

“You have a beautiful name, darlin. Beautiful face too.” Mary took her thumb, dragged it against the edge of her lip and licked your blood clean from it. “When was the last time you saw the sunrise?”

It was hard to think. Your body felt slow, painful, uncomfortable on all accounts. A searing pain radiating from where her teeth had sunk into you, thrumming through your body. Was she just going to let you bleed out? Not bring about a quick end? There had been hunger in her eyes, not cruelty.

“I don’t remember,” You rasped out.

Mary frowned, something of sorrow, but it was brief. Both of her hands placed on your chest. “It won’t be long now. Before you can’t see it again. Little things that you miss appreciating when you have a chance. I haven’t seen the sunrise in fifteen years.”

You coughed under her, wet and heavy. Mary took your hand in her own. Bloodied, but still perfectly manicured, “That’s sad.”

“It can be. But fire looks a lot like a sunrise if you squint.” She gave you a smile, the first genuine one of the night that crinkled at her eyes. Not hiding the sharp teeth behind her lips. “What do you say when you wake up, we burn this place to the ground. Give you one last sunrise?”

You blew air out of your nose. “Didn’t think I was gonna wake up.”

“Course you are, angel.” She gave your hand a gentle, yet firm squeeze. “I’m not a monster.”

[luvfae]

DEVOURED

summary: your big brother’s best friend offers you a helping hand… and tongue.

parings: brother’s best friend!thanos x f!reader

warnings: swearing, smut, oral (fem receiving), fingering

You've known Choi Su-bong since you were fourteen.

Back then, he was just your brother's loud, cocky best friend — all muscle and buzzcut, always stealing beers out of your fridge and playing fight videos too loud in the living room.

He used to ruffle your hair. Call you kid.

Never looked at you. Not really. Not like a girl. Not like anything he wanted.

That was years ago.

Now you're grown. Quiet. Still live at home, sure — but you're not that girl anymore.

And Su-bong?

He's still around. Still close with your brother. Still sleeping on your couch after late-night parties and showing up for dinner uninvited.

But the way he looks at you now — when your brother's not watching —

It's different.

You don't act like you notice.

But you do.

It's late when it happens.

You think the apartment's empty — your brother gone, Su-bong out with him, probably drinking or gaming or being loud somewhere else.

You lock your door. You think you lock it.

The lights are low. Your phone is face-down.

You're on your bed, curled in soft sheets and nothing but a tank top and panties, legs parted just enough.

You're not even thinking about anyone.

Just needy. Quiet.

Fingers brushing slow between your thighs, breath catching with every press.

You roll your hips, toes curling, your free hand fisting the sheets.

You're just getting there—

Click. Creak.

The door opens.

Your head snaps up. You freeze.

And there he is.

Su-bong.

Framed in the doorway, hoodie half-zipped, his dark eyes catching the full scene — your knees bent, panties pulled to the side, fingers wet and glistening under the soft light.

You gasp. Scramble.

"What the fuck—!"

You yank the covers over yourself like it's going to undo what he saw. Heart hammering. Face on fire.

His eyes are still on you. Heavy. Unmoving.

And he doesn't shut the door.

"Are you kidding me?" you snap, breathless with humiliation. "Do you know how to knock?"

He doesn't answer. Just steps inside, slow.

"Su-bong, I swear to god—"

"Relax." His voice is low. Careful. Smug. "Didn't mean to catch you like that."

You clutch the blanket harder. "Get out."

But he's already leaning against the wall. Arms crossed. Smiling like the devil.

"Didn't know you got that needy when no one was home," he murmurs. "Pretty little thing like you, moaning into your own hand."

You flinch. "Don't say shit like that—"

"Why not?" he cuts you off, voice soft and dangerous. "'Cause I caught you?" His eyes flick down. "You weren't thinking about me, were you?"

You glare. "No."

He smirks. "Shame."

You sit up straighter, the blanket clutched to your chest. Your skin is still buzzing — from the near-orgasm, from the shock, from him standing there with that look in his eyes.

Then, casually, he nods toward the bed.

"Well. You look like you could use some help."

Silence.

You blink. "You're disgusting."

"And you're still wet," he says, already stepping closer. "So I'm guessing you didn't mean stop. You just didn't wanna get caught."

You should scream at him. Tell him to fuck off.

But your thighs are still warm.

Your pulse is still thudding.

And when he gets close enough to touch — his voice low in your ear — you don't pull away.

"C'mon," he murmurs again, voice hot against your cheek. "Let me help you finish."

You should say no.

You do say no. Almost.

But then he leans in, mouth brushing the curve of your neck, and breathes—

"Bet you taste better than you sound."

Your breath catches. Your pulse stutters.

His lips touch your throat—soft at first, then rougher, open-mouthed, hungry—and he kisses down, slow and deliberate, like he's savoring it.

And you panic. A whisper of clarity through the heat.

You tilt your head away, whisper:

"My brother would kill you."

Su-bong laughs against your skin.

Not like it's funny.

Like it's nothing.

"Don't give a fuck." His teeth scrape your collarbone. "Should've knocked, huh?" Another kiss, just below your ear. "Should've kept your legs closed."

Your whole body jolts.

"Stop," you whisper, but it's breathless. Weak. "Su-bong, I—"

He cuts you off with a quiet hum, hands moving.

One drags the blanket down, slow and mean.

You clutch at it instinctively, but he's stronger. He peels it away like it was never yours to hold.

You're bare under it—barely clothed, panties damp, tank top rumpled, skin flushed with shame and want.

He looks down at you like he's already won.

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice like velvet and smoke. "All that attitude, and you're still lying here with your legs open."

"I'm not—"

But you don't finish the sentence.

Because his hand slides down. Between your thighs. Fingers brushing over the soaked cotton of your panties.

You moan. Sharp and soft. Eyes fluttering shut.

He grins. "There she is."

Two fingers press against the wet heat, slow and teasing, rubbing lazy circles over your clit through the fabric.

"Thought you didn't want me," he murmurs. "Thought I was disgusting." He dips his head lower, mouth at your neck again. "But you're soaking through for me, baby. You really expect me to stop now?"

Your hand fists the sheets. You're not looking at him. You can't.

But your legs shift. Part wider.

And he sees it.

He hums again—low, satisfied.

"That's it." His fingers push harder. Just enough to make you gasp. "You want it slow, don't you?" His lips are at your shoulder now, warm and trailing. "You want me to make you feel good. Like you were trying to do all by yourself."

You nod.

Barely.

And his voice drops lower, almost reverent.

"Then look at me."

You open your eyes.

And his mouth crashes down on yours.

Hot, rough, claiming — his hand still pressed between your thighs, your body trembling under his touch. You kiss him back without thinking, whimpering into the way he sucks your bottom lip, teeth scraping, tongue deep and searching like he needs to know everything.

Then he pulls away. Just enough to speak.

His breath is warm against your mouth.

"Take these off," he says, fingers tugging at the hem of your panties. "Let me see what you were hiding under the covers like a good girl."

You hesitate. But not because you want him to stop.

Because this—

This is real now.

And he's looking at you like he's starving.

You lift your hips, shaky, and he slides them down slow. Leisurely. Like he's unwrapping something precious. Or dangerous.

The fabric sticks a little — slick from earlier — and he huffs a dark little laugh when he sees it.

"Look at that," he mutters, voice low, reverent. "You were making a fuckin' mess without me."

You bite your lip, embarrassed. Your thighs twitch, instinct trying to close.

He grabs your knees. Firm.

"Don't even think about it." He pushes your legs apart. Wide. Until you're bare and open in front of him, laid out like an offering. "You're gonna let me look. Gonna let me taste."

You moan. "Su-bong—please—"

"Please what, baby?" His voice goes soft, like mock concern. "Please don't stop? Please don't tease? Or please put my fuckin' mouth where it belongs?"

You whimper, hips lifting.

His breath ghosts over your inner thigh as he leans in.

"You ever been eaten right?" he murmurs. "Or you just fuck yourself with your fingers and hope for the best?"

You shake your head, overwhelmed, back arching.

And he grins against your skin.

"Good," he breathes. "Means I get to teach your pussy how it's supposed to be treated."

Then he kisses your thigh. Slowly.

Once.

Then again.

Higher. Higher.

But not where you need him.

Not yet.

His lips keep missing.

Kissing just beside where you need him. Featherlight brushes. A drag of tongue over your hipbone. A slow bite to the sensitive skin near your crease that makes you gasp, jolt, tremble.

You're soaked.

Thighs twitching. Stomach fluttering. Every inch of your skin begging for contact.

But he's patient.

A predator with his prey laid bare beneath him. Calm. Controlled.

His fingers stroke slow along your inner thigh as he presses another kiss to the curve just shy of your heat.

"Relax, baby," he murmurs, breath fanning over your slick cunt. "We're gonna take our time."

You squirm. Moan.

"Please, Su-bong—"

"Shhh." His hands spread you wider. Thumb brushing where you're wettest, not touching your clit. Not yet. "You've waited this long. Don't fall apart on me now."

Your head falls back. You want to scream.

But then—

He licks.

One slow, warm stripe from your entrance to your clit.

And your breath shatters.

"Oh—fuck—"

You barely register the way your thighs jump, the way your hips buck against his mouth. His hands slam back down on your waist, anchoring you.

"You stay still," he growls against you. "Let me eat."

And eat he does.

It starts soft. Methodical.

Little kitten licks, teasing the edges, circling your clit but never quite landing on it.

He's building you up. Watching you writhe. Listening to the breathless, broken sounds you try to swallow.

"You're fuckin' dripping," he says, voice raw and wrecked. "Did I do that? Just from talkin' to you?"

You nod, desperate.

"Words, sweetheart."

"Y-Yes. Yes. Please—just—don't stop—"

He hums. Licks again, a little firmer now. "That's better." A pause. A smile against your skin. "You taste like everything I've ever wanted."

And then?

He devours.

Tongue flat, lips parted, sucking your clit into his mouth with filthy, focused greed. He licks in patterns — circles, flicks, long strokes that make your back arch. Every movement sends you higher. Every second his mouth stays on you, the more your brain unravels.

"Fuck—fuck—Su-bong—"

You cover your mouth with both hands as the moans rip out of you. You're shaking. Eyes wide. Vision blurring.

He slides a finger inside. Then two.

Curling. Pumping.

Tongue still working your clit, flicking it mercilessly as his fingers fuck you deep and rough.

You choke on a sob.

"Gonna cum—oh my god—please—"

"Do it," he growls. "Right on my tongue. Don't fuckin' hold back."

You don't.

You can't.

You come with a cry so loud you nearly scream.

Legs shaking. Thighs clamping around his head.

And he doesn't stop.

He moans into you, keeps licking, keeps fucking you with his tongue like he wants to feel every twitch, every squeeze, every goddamn drop.

You sob into your palms, gasping for air. “C-Can't—Su-bong, I can't—"

He growls again. Drags his mouth lower. Licks up your release like he's starving.

His voice is low and vicious when he says, "yes you can. Give me another."

You try to protest, but he's already there again.

Tongue right back on your clit, mouth tighter now, sucking with obscene pressure while his fingers thrust harder, deeper.

"You wanna tell me to stop?" he pants. "Tell me. Say it. I fucking dare you."

You shake your head wildly, hips chasing every flick of his tongue.

"That's what I thought."

He licks you through another orgasm.

And another.

Your voice is gone. Your hands have gone limp. You can't even speak — just moan and twitch and cry out every few seconds as he breaks you open again.

You come four times before he finally slows. Mouth dragging soft now. Gentle.

But then—

A single kiss to your clit.

You sob. Nearly beg.

"One more," he whispers, kissing your thigh. "That's all I need. Then I'll stop. One more, baby."

You nod, barely.

And he makes it count.

Takes his time. Licks you slow and soft until you're begging him to finish it, until you're grinding into his mouth with everything you have left.

"Gonna make you forget your own name," he murmurs, licking slow and lazy.

You arch your hips with a soft, gasping sound, desperate for more.

And that's when it happens.

The door creaks open.

"Yo, have you seen—“ Your brother's voice cuts off like a blade. The silence that follows is immediate. Heavy.

Su-bong doesn't move. His mouth is still pressed against you. His fingers flex against your hips.

You turn your head just enough to see your brother — frozen in the doorway, bag of chips half-raised, expression curdling into horror.

"What the fuck?"

Your heart lurches.

You shove at Su-bong's shoulders, panicked and red-faced, trying to sit up and cover yourself, but his hands tighten around your waist.

He doesn't let you go.

Instead, he looks up at your brother — while still between your legs — and smirks.

"Close the door unless you wanna watch."

Your brother's voice explodes into the room. "What the actual fuck, man?! That's my sister!"

You're covering your face with your hands, mortified, the shame crashing over you in hot waves.

But Su-bong?

He laughs.

A low, dirty sound that vibrates through your skin.

"Why are you so mad?" he says, cool as anything. "I'm helping her out."

"Helping— you're—!" your brother stammers, rage crawling up his throat.

But Su-bong turns back to you like he's already forgotten the interruption. One hand slides under your ass, the other pins your thigh open again, and then—

He dives back in.

Mouth to your cunt. No hesitation. No shame. Just wet, filthy need.

You gasp. Arch. Try to muffle your moans as your brother groans somewhere near the door and mutters something like "fuck this," before backing out and slamming it shut behind him.

Gone.

But you can't even process the horror.

Because Su-bong is devouring you.

No teasing now. No gentle licks. He's tongue-deep, moaning into you, licking like it's his last meal. Long strokes from base to clit, messy and loud. His nose nudges your mound, his mouth locked around you.

"Su—fuck—Su-bong, we should stop—" you gasp, voice trembling.

He doesn't lift his head.

"We should," he growls against your pussy, the vibration making your hips jerk. "But you don't want me to."

You whimper. He's right.

Every word makes your thighs tremble harder.

"You're gonna get me killed—"

"Let me finish and I'll stop," he says, voice dark and cruel. "One more. One more and I'll leave you alone."

He licks you again. Sloppier. Deeper. Fingers now curling into your thighs as you melt back into the mattress.

You don't fight it.

You can't.

You give in, head tipped back, arms splayed out, moaning so loud your throat burns. He fucks you with his tongue until your legs shake, until you're crying out every few seconds, until you grab his hair and grind against his face like your body doesn't care who just walked in — it just needs.

And when you finally break, again—

It's like falling.

You come hard, shivering and wet, his mouth sucking every drop from you as you twitch against the sheets. His grip never loosens. He licks you through it, moaning into your cunt, tongue slow and greedy even as your body begs for mercy.

You're gasping.

Whining.

He finally pulls back — face soaked, lips swollen, smirk carved into his mouth like sin.

He drags two fingers up your slit, collects what's left of you, and sucks them clean.

Then leans over you, cocky and unbothered.

"See?" he whispers. "Helped you out."

You blink up at him, barely able to think.

And he grins wider. "Tell your brother I accept thank-you cards."

[eraserbread]

God forbid a girl asks for some ex-husband kento (pls 🥺)

kento really should leave. it's obvious -- this is not his home anymore.

no, it's his daughters and ex-wife's. he handed it over like stone once the divorce went final, wanting his girl to grow up in spacious security. he'll sign on a lackluster one-bedroom in the city just so all of his money can flow into keeping you afloat.

though you're perpetually trapped by him, using a bank account he monitors and living in a home you don't pay for, he still gives you grace. it's because he's guilty. kento knows he fucked you over, it's why he's pacing your bedroom door where he knows you're asleep.

he's a good dad, carving out time between missions to run and take his daughter to school. it's the one constant his little girl has, and in first grade, she's old enough to understand that he's never really around.

it's why he has her hello kitty lunch box tight in his grip that she left in his car today. he knows you need to pack it for tomorrow and would likely freak out if you lost it, so he needed to hand it to you personally.

or, that's what he tells himself to justify the anxious pacing. he needs to swallow that familiar need for you that brews in his bones and leaves him tossing and turning through his sleepless nights. It's only been a year without you; surely he can handle a lifetime, right?

all he was going to do was drop the box on your nightstand, send a quick text, and be on his way. but, you had other ideas.

it was his stupid pacing; it woke you up, and now you were staring at the windowless wall, scowling into nothingness. blankets are bunched neatly at your lace-covered waist, wrapped in a honeymoon artifact you used to show off for your husband, now your insecure ex who doesn't speak more than two sentences at a time.

unless, it's to tell you to be obedient, or stop talking.

this time, it's you who initiates the talking. "what are you doing?"

you can't see the tense in his shoulders when he realizes you're awake. he thought he could get lucky, sneaking around like a criminal. you wouldn't give him luck -- he doesn't deserve peace.

"just dropping off rin's bento box." the hard plastic hits your side table, and you shudder. his voice is deep like he's tired. "she ran out of my car like she was mad this evening... all to see you. she's a mother's girl, not like I can blame her much."

"she has like eight bentos, you could've left it."

kento sighs, letting your words overtake and shove his efforts right back in his face. "it's her favorite."

"she has eight favorites."

"okay." he deadpans. "anything else i'm doing wrong? or that I don't know?"

"nanami, we'd be here all night if I told you the truth." with every sentence, it's becoming increasingly obvious that you won't be getting much sleep. you sit up, pulling your blankets around your half-decent body. "say it. whatever it is that brought you here with the excuse of a bento."

you know better than to expect kento to listen, but you don't expect him to round the expanse of the bed, dropping to his knees right next to you. he attempts to reach for your tangled hand, but you swat him away, gaze full of indignant fires.

"forgive me... please." he's muttering, head dipped in embarrassment. since he gave you up, he's realized it as his biggest mistake. he can't calm the burning within him at night, he can't stand going back to his old ways - convenience store dinners and storefront sandwiches. but, he also can't let you be dragged into his work again. He could see the effect it pulled you into, the worry that ate you alive every time you saw him. but, there must be an answer, some alternative to cold-turkey. you are an addiction.

"forgive you? forgive you for what? breaking apart our family? giving up? giving in to your cowardice? i don't think you understand -- you leaving me doesn't just affect you and I, it affects rin in ways we won't see until it's eating us alive. that's on you. it's your fault." always level-headed, always the voice of reason even if it's painful. kento nods, but can't look at you.

"forgive... me..." he pleads, emotionless and unblinking at the rugged floor. "...please."

you scoff, pushing away from him on the bed. you crawl to the other side, the side nanami left the bento, and take it as an excuse to run from this situation.

"you're just going to walk away?"

"yes! because i'm not dealing with your bullshit." he follows you out into the hallway, past your sleeping daughters room and into the kitchen. you can feel his shadowed eyes staring at the jutting expose of your ass through the nightgown, but for some reason it doesn't bother you. emotionally, you're as disconnected as possible, but your body still likes him. i mean, it's undeniable, kento will always be the most attractive man you've ever, ever seen.

it was not you who cut those ties. never you.

and he's crowding you as you turn on the faucet, opening rin's box and putting it under. kento is on you the entire time, but he actually corners you against the sink, huge body caging you in, hands planted at your either side. his breathing is nasally and pathetic. you're scowling.

"...ignore that."

you're squinting, trying to gauge what you're ignoring. then, you can feel it. anger rises your body temperature. an erection, pressing right between the swells of your loosely covered ass. "you're genuinely so unbelievable."

you've begun washing the dish, spinning soapy water in the painted pink plastic as he breathes on your neck. you wish you can push him away and lessen him to a lifetime of sexual pining and angst, but you're stoic.

the dish is washed, you're turning around, breathless. and just as you go to close your hand over his cheek and give in, a tiny voice from the hallway catches you.

"mama?" your little girl whines, one eye cracked open in the harshness of the lights. she's all messy-haired, red-faced and sleepy. in her left hand hangs a tattered kuromi doll. "I heard... dad..."

you've never pushed kento away like this, but he's being pushed, taking it like it's nothing, too. he understands that whatever rin needs comes first - he's okay not being at your attention.

and he loves seeing you two interact as you sweep her up in your safe arms. rin settles on your hip, long legs kicking into the air as she rests on your shoulder. "sleepy."

"i know, my baby." you coo, running a hand through her hair. "want me to put you back to sleep?"

staring at her twin, her dad, rin nods her sleepy head, using a fist to tug at her right eye. "dad... bye, daddy."

"bye, my princess." kento stands from his lean on the counter, closing in to kiss rin on the cheek. he lingers for a moment, peeking up to your unreadable gaze. you make him feel so little, now. like he hardly exists as a human, let alone the father of your child and the man you loved for over a decade. "sleep well. be nice to your mama, too. I'll be here to take you to school tomorrow."

as you tuck your girl back into bed, she's peaceful. "mama? are you and dad happy again? will he live here again?"

kneeling at her bedside, you smooth the blankets over her figure, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "probably not."

she whines close-eyed, turning her face away from you. "I didn't do anything to make you mad, so why is it my fault?"

"what? rin, dad and i not being together is entirely our fault." you're mindful to the core when speaking to her, deciding it better not to pin blame on you or kento, just for the respect of her mentality.

she whines again, shoving away from your touch defiantly. she's holding kuromi like she's stressed, and it kills you.

"please, mama. please fix it."

[littlelovelunette]

Hey!

Can we get.. a Sevika x Reader x Ran fluff thats slowly turns into a smut?

Like reader is upset because of something, and Ranvika tries their best to sooth and reassure reader, but reader is also horny aand...

Well, they work it out in the end.

Thanks!

Slowly Build-Up

Sevika x Fem!Reader x Ran

Threesome, sex, manhandling, mean!Sevika, oral, biting, squirting.

You were upset at both Sevika and Ran because they'd been unable to give you time on your anniversary night since there was business they needed to attend to. Silco's business. You spent the entire anniversary pacing about the room and wondering if they were okay. Not the most ideal form of celebration. The ticking of the wall clock only intensified your worries. All it would take is for a bit of the mission to go south and everything would fall off.

You were exhausted by the end of the night and ate a whole tub of ice-cream while watching cringe rom-com on the television. When Sevika opened the door with her spare key, Ran followed suit, tip-toeing around the mess of the room to see you.

"Oh, dear." They sat down next to your passed out form, moving the empty tub of ice-cream away from you. They wiped down your mouth with a wet cloth and moved the pile of candy wrappers from the bed.

"She finished the entire tub of ice-cream?" Sevika asked, moving the blankets so they covered more of your body.

"It even sounds bad when you say it like that." Ran mumbled.

"Yeah... Geez, I feel terrible." Sevika ran her hand through her hair in a stressed manner.

"There's nothing we can do about it." Ran said as if it'd offer the slightest bit of consolation.

"I know but still..."

"If both of us are absent from work on the same day, Silco'd catch on easy." Ran reasoned with her, stroking your hair.

"I know, genius."

When you woke up, you were sandwiched between the both of them but you didn't want to be. "Get off." You said coldly, shoving Sevika's arm off yourself.

"Calm down, babe—" Ran begin but you cut them off.

"You're one to talk!"

"I know you're mad but it was an actual emergency. Circumstances are inevitable sometimes and we—"

"Oh, zip it." You crawled out of bed, crossing your arms. "I'd believe you both if it was the first time it happened. But it's not."

"Baby..." Ran's voice was softer, as if this was their cue to cry but they didn't. "If I could've done something to make sure this wouldn't have happened again, I would've."

You glared.

"I mean it." Ran pleaded.

You looked away, teeth grinding in anger and something else alike pity bubbling in your chest. But you needed to hold onto your anger. It didn't help that usually the both of them woke you up with head. You were aching for some friction between your thighs.

"Baby," Sevika began and tried to grab your waist but you pulled away as if her touch burned you.

Sevika's eyebrows furrowed up, eyes giving you the cutest puppy-like stare ever. You scoffed. "This isn't the first time this happened." You repeated, huffing, "I just want you both to spend more time with me. But I don't say it as much as I want to, I'm scared you'll think I'm clingy. I just—" you looked away. "Fuck you both."

Sevika grabbed your wrist and pulled you into her lap.

"Hey!—" you began but too late, Sevika's mechanical hand hooked behind your knee and pulled your leg up to reveal your soaked panties, your skirt flipping up.

"See that wetness?" Sevika asked Ran.

Ran's eyes were widened, slightly in horror because of the way Sevika manhandled you just now and slightly in awe that you were needy even when you were arguing and cursing the both of them out.

"Who would've guessed?" Ran muttered.

"She's bitchy like this, whenever she's needy and doesn't get what she wants." Sevika said, mechanical fingers rubbing your pussy over your panties earning a reluctant moan from you.

"Please, don't be mean about it," you whimpered, biting your bottom lip hard enough to leave it swollen. "Please." You whispered.

"And now she wants us to be nice to her," Sevika smirked, spreading your legs further.

Ran got off the bed and knelt down in front of you, looking up at you, "You're this wet and complaining?" They leaned closer, fingers hooking at the crotch of your panties and then they effortlessly ripped the cloth right off. You squeaked in surprise.

Their hands slid up your legs, strong fingers pressing into the softness of your thighs. "Don’t hide from me now," they muttered, lips brushing your skin as they dragged them up along your inner thigh, leaving kisses that quickly turned into nips. Sevika held you wide open so Ran could enjoy their meal, whispering dirty praises into your ear as you struggled to contain yourself.

You gasped when their teeth sank gently into the meat of your thigh, a mark blooming there as your breath hitched. "Pretty sounds already?" Ran chuckled against your skin.

They took their time, licking a slow stripe up your slick folds, tasting you like they had all the time in the world. Their tongue was purposeful, firm, lapping over your clit in steady, deliberate strokes. You gripped Sevika's thighs roughly, legs trembling as they switched rhythm—soft licks followed by quick flicks, then suction that made your back arch off the bed.

"Fuck, Ran…" you whimpered, unable to stay still. Your hips rocked against their mouth, and they moaned in approval, the vibration shooting through you.

They wrapped their arms under your thighs, pulling you closer to their mouth, locking you there. One hand squeezed your thigh again, fingers pressing into the bite mark they’d left, as they devoured you. Wet sounds filled the room, slick and messy and absolutely obscene.

"Takin' it like a champ, bet you've been fantasizing," Sevika bit your neck.

And then—something shifted. Their tongue slipped lower for just a moment, teasing your entrance before diving back up, circling your clit fast and relentless. You felt it coming, that tight coil snapping loose all at once. You cried out, your thighs clamping around their head as your body spasmed. Wetness gushed out of you, a sharp, uncontrollable release that left you shaking.

Ran groaned low and filthy, letting you ride out every wave of it. Their lips shiny, chin soaked, they looked up at you with dark, wild eyes. "You squirt so fucking sweet," they muttered, licking their lips.

"Again," Sevika ordered.

[i-get-obsessed-fast]

Party4U

I wish you’d get here, kiss my face

Summary: It’s your birthday, and you throw a party in hopes Spencer Reid shows up because truth is, you only threw this party for him…

A/N: ngl writing this gave me bad flashbacks and now I never want to drink again…(I’m still going to)

BYR(b4 u Reid): Alcohol, mentions of drunk people, drunk kissing (yes lawd), awkward Spencer, season 1 Spencer, reader is over 20, no use of y/n, and sexual content. Lmk if I'm missing anything.

It was getting later into the night, people were stumbling around, dancing, taking shots, and playing beer pong. It had now become a full-blown party, and everyone seemed to be having the time of their lives.

You were a little buzzed, not too much. You were pacing yourself, holding off. You were waiting for someone. He promised he'd come. And Spencer Reid never broke a promise.

Especially not today. Not on your birthday.

“Birthday girl isn’t even drunk yet! This is not good.” Your roomate Sarah shouted, clearly several drinks in. “I’m waiting for someone.” You replied, sipping from your cup.

She rolled her eyes and snorted. “Don’t tell me you’re waiting on that nervous little FBI chihuahua.” Your mouth fell open slightly. “Don’t be rude. He’s sweet. And yes, I am waiting.”

She sighed dramatically. “Well, good luck with that. This is definitely not the kind of place he’d show up to. You’re going to get stood up.”

You shook your head. Spencer wouldn’t do that. If he wasn’t coming, he’d at least call. He’d explain.

Still, as the party kept going and the minutes ticked by, you couldn’t help but feel the little twist in your stomach. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he got too nervous. This really wasn’t his scene.

Maybe the party was a bad idea.

You sighed, slipping into your room. Thankfully, it was empty. No couples, no drunken chaos. Just your stuff, your bed, and the hum of bass through the walls.

You sat at your vanity, looking at yourself in the mirror. You’d put effort into tonight. Found the perfect dress, something cute but not over the top, just enough to feel confident.

You knew Spencer didn’t care about appearances like most people. That’s part of why you liked him so much. But still, you wanted him to see you at your best.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in. It was silly to get this upset over a guy. You told yourself you’d take a few more drinks and forget about it in the morning.

Then your door creaked open.

“Sarah, I’ll be out in a bit.” You said without looking. But then-

“Hey.”

You turned quickly, and there he was.

Your whole face lit up. “Spencer!” You squealed, rushing to him and wrapping your arms around his neck. He froze just for a second before placing his hands nervously and gently on your waist.

“You came! I was worried, I thought maybe…” you pulled back just enough to look at him. “I thought maybe you weren’t going to show up.”

“You were worried about me not showing up?” He asked, eyebrows raised.

“Of course I was! You are my main guest.” You beamed at him. He blinked like he couldn’t quite process your words. You were always open about how you felt, always flirting, always dropping not-so-subtle hints. But somehow, Spencer Reid, certified genius, 187 IQ, turned into a socially anxious mess whenever you did.

It wasn’t that he didn’t notice. He just wasn’t sure how to reciprocate it back in a way that wasn’t so awkward. You made flirting seem so effortless, so easy. He on the other hand would just make a total fool of himself.

You tugged his hand. “Come on, we’re taking a shot.”

But he didn’t budge. You looked back and saw the nerves written all over his face. “Everything okay?”

“I,um, I don’t know anyone here. And I’ve never… drank before.” He admitted.

You tilted your head, smiling at him softly. “Aw, I get to pop your cherry?” You teased, then quickly added. “I’m kidding Spence. You don’t have to drink. We can just hang out and laugh at the ones who had too much.”

His eyes softened. “I don't want you to be bored. It's your birthday.”

“Well you're here so I won't be bored.” you said sincerely. “No, it's okay… I want us to have fun. I’ll get over it.”

“Spencer we don't have to, I promise you,” you assured him, looking deep into his eyes so he knew how serious you were. “I want to.” He replied.

You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll take baby sips first.”

And then, to his surprise, you kissed his cheek. He blushed instantly.

You led him out into the crowd, fingers still laced with his, grabbing two bottles. “We can sip on these until you get a bit more comfortable.” You said into his ear, he nodded.

You then introduced him to a few friends, watching his posture shift slowly, the tension starting to ease once he realized no one was judging him. If anything, your friends seemed impressed with how highly you spoke of him. He noticed the way you held onto his arm, how you made him feel like he belonged.

“How’re you feeling?” You asked as the two of you stepped outside for some air.

“I feel… good. You know a lot of people.”

“Yeah, I tried to keep it small but, well, word got around.”

“I think it’s fascinating. That you’re so comfortable with people.” You looked up at him, smiling. “Some people think I talk too much.”

“I like it. I like listening to you talk.” He said it like it surprised even him. You blushed. “Really?”

He nodded, then straightened up. “Actually… I think I’m ready for something stronger.”

You grinned. “Alright, big guy. Let’s go.”

Inside, you let him pick the drink. You poured two shots and handed him his cup.

“You ready?”

He gave a tiny nod, and you clinked cups. The moment he drank it, he coughed, making the worst face. You handed him a chaser immediately.

“Thanks.” He said hoarsely, lips pink and eyes wide.

Soon, he loosened up even more. You could tell, he held your hand more confidently, his hand occasionally finding your waist. You liked it. He seemed…freer.

“Beer pong?” You suggested. He gave you a look. “I don’t know. I’m not great at throwing things.”

“You’re good at math. I’m sure there’s some equation you can solve to get it right.” He smiled. “I’m pretty sure the game requires physical coordination, too.”

You looked him up and down. “Well, physically, you look good.” You teased giving him a thumbs up. He blushed and you led him to the table.

Shockingly, you two were winning. Granted, your opponents were very, very drunk, but still.

When Spencer made the second-to-last cup, you cheered, high-fiving him. Your fingers interlaced and lingered, until he pulled away.

You turned toward the table, ready to shoot your shot until your felt Spencer’s hand find your waist, then slid down your back to the hem of your dress slightly adjusting it because it had ridden up a bit.

Your breath caught.

So did his.

He couldn’t believe he just did that, neither could you.

You won the game. Of course.

You guys took celebratory shots, Spencer was getting better and better each time.

Spencer sat on the couch and gestured to his lap. “What?” You asked, heart skipping. He didn’t answer, just gently pulled you down to sit on him.

One of his arm wrapped around your waist, resting on your thigh, while the other interlaced with your hand.

“Are you comfortable?” He whispered into your ear. “I always am when I’m with you.”

He looked up at you smiling. Butterflies. Everywhere.

You both sat, just watching people, content in the buzz of the room, the safety of his presence.

His fingers were now smoothing over your skin, rubbing gently, innocently, on your thigh.

You knew he probably didn’t even realize what he was doing, but it made your thoughts spiral. Your heart beat faster.

You both sat together for a little longer, having conversation about everything, your guys cheeks were flush but starting to slowly cool down. You could feel Spencer’s gaze on you, soft but nervous, like he was building up the courage to say something.

“I, um… I have a present for you.” He said quietly, fingers now fidgeting with the hem of your dress. Your heart skipped a beat. “Spence, you didn’t need to-”

“I wanted to.” He cut in, his voice firm but still shy. His eyes searched yours. “Can I give it to you? In your room?”

Your stomach fluttered. You nodded, lips tugging into a smile as you stood and offered your hand. He took it, his fingers trembling slightly against yours as you led the way to your room.

You shut the door behind him, and took a seat at the edge of your bed, and he joined you. Close enough for your thighs to brush. You watched, your chest tightening, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. He opened it carefully, revealing a delicate gold necklace with a tiny diamond that shimmered under the soft light.

“Spencer…” your voice came out barely above a whisper. “This is beautiful.”

“You like it?” He asked, eyes hopeful, and nervous. “I love it.” You said genuinely, looking at him. “It’s perfect. I’m wearing this everyday.”

His mouth twitched into a small, relieved smile. “Can I put it on you?”

You turned without hesitation, he brushed your hair out the way, his fingers lightly touching your skin, featherlight and cautions, and that little contact sent a warm ripple down your spine.

He clasped it at the nape of your neck with slow, precise movements. His fingers lightly ran down your spine, and you turned to him, throwing your arms around his neck in a hug. “Thank you. I love it so much, Spence.”

“I’m really glad.” He said, his voice soft, eyes a little stunned by your closeness. His hand smoothed up and down your back, you pull back a little.

Your guys faces only inches apart, eyes low, and dazed. Spencer couldn’t handle it anymore, he was tired of depriving himself of you.

His hand came up, gently cradling your jaw, his touch careful. Then, slowly, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was soft, hesitant, he was scared you were going to pull away.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you kissed him back like your life depended on it, you had been waiting so long for this moment and you were even willing to wait longer. Your desperation flattered him. He never imagined he could make someone feel this way.

“I’ve wanted this so bad.” You murmured against his lips, brushing your thumb along his cheeks. “Really?” He asked, you just nodded and deepened the kiss more.

His hands found your waist, bolder now, pulling you onto him, your words had given him confidence. You settled there easily, legs on both sides, hands cradling his face as your kisses turned more insistent.

You pushed him down onto your bed, hovering over him, your lips moving from his lips down to his jaw. When his hands dropped from your waist, unsure again, you gently grabbed them and brought them right back to where they belonged.

You continued leaving a trail down his neck, teeth grazing his skin, listening to the tiny breathy sounds he couldn’t hold in. You barely heard it but, it was there. Your name, a whisper that lit something wild inside of you.

You reached for his tie, loosening it, and discarding it somewhere on the floor in your room. Your fingers hovered over the buttons of his shirt, you glanced up at him, silently asking for permission.

He nodded slowly, jaw tight with want, and you undid them, one by one, revealing more of him. He propped himself on his elbows, and pulled you into him for another kiss.

You slowly slid the shirt off of him, moving the fabric off of his arms. His fingers slipped beneath the hem of your dress, dragging it up slowly, cautiously, until the edge of your underwear peeked.

You broke the kiss to take in this sight of him, your fingers exploring the planes of his chest, the softness of his skin. You planted kisses on him, over his heart, and when he tilted your chin up with his finger, his lips found yours again, hungrier.

You felt him, hard beneath you, pressing up against you, and instinctively, your hips rolled down against him, pulling a surprised moan from his mouth.

“Spencer…” you breathed out, your voice barely hanging on. His hands gripped your waist again, then slid lower to your ass, guiding your hips as he moved you over him with more intention. His breath was shaky, his voice low and warm and desperate.

He said your name, like a confession.

You grind your hips down again, his hands gripped you tighter, encouraging you to keep going, to keep moving against him. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, mouth parted in disbelief at the pleasure that rolled through him.

He looked completely undone, and it was just from you sitting on him, fully clothed.

You leaned down, kissing along the column of his throat, letting your lips linger just beneath his ear. “You okay?” You whispered, breath warm against his skin.

He nodded quickly, then stammered out. “Y-yeah. Definitely. More than okay.”

You smiled, biting back a laugh, because the way he looked, completely wrecked already, was maybe the hottest thing you’d ever seen. You sat up slightly, hands trailing down his chest, appreciating every inch of him.

“You’re really something else.” You said, brushing your thumb across his lower lip. He caught your hand, kissed your palm. So gentle and slow it made your breath hitch.

“You’re the one that’s something else.” He murmured, voice hoarse. “You’re perfect, everything you do.”

That made your chest ache, you leaned down, kissed him again, slow, deep, and meaningful. You needed him to feel what words can't say.

Spencer grabbed your waist, gently guided you onto your back, moving over you cautiously.

His mouth moved to the side of your neck, your dress slipped higher as you spread your legs slightly, letting him fit between them.

Your fingers found the back of his neck, pulling him to your lips. Spencer’s hand slid slowly up your body, tentative but curious, his fingers tracing the edges of your dress as it rose. When he finally pulled back to look at you, really look, his eyes landed on your black lace underwear, and he just admired.

He couldn’t believe this was real, you felt like a dream.

His fingers brushed over the fabric, hesitant. Gentle. You watched the awe on his face, the way he took you in like you were something sacred.

“Do you… want to take them off?” You softly ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes darted up to meet yours, wide and startled. His chest rose and fell faster now, the weight of the moment clearly settling over him.

“We don’t have to.” You said quickly. “We can take things slow, Spencer.”

He swallowed hard, and gave you a nod. “I-I want this. I really do. I just… don’t want this to be…” he paused, searching for the right words. “I don’t want it to feel like a one-time thing. You’re not that for me.”

You nodded, smiling at him, your chest warm. “I know. Me neither.”

With a soft exhale, he gently reached for the hem of your dress, pulling it back down to cover you up.

He moved off of you, grabbed your hand pulling you up on your feet. His hands were careful, reverent, as he adjusted the strap of your dress onto your shoulder.

You reached for his shirt, draping it back over his shoulders and slowly buttoning it up, watching his cheeks flush a soft red under your gaze.

He cleared his throat. “What?”

“Nothing.” You said, smiling.

He hesitated, then asked. “Did you… want to keep going?”

You but your lip, nodding. “Of course I did. But I agree. When we do decide to… take that next step… it should be special. Not with a bunch of drunk people stumbling around downstairs.”

He laughed quietly, relieved. “Yeah..”

You kissed him again, softly.

“Should we go back to the party?” You asked, fingers laced with his. He nodded. “You go for now, I’ll be out there in a bit.” He tells you, you smirked at him knowing why he was going to stay back.

“Alright, if you need any help or anything just give me a call.” You teased, he looked at you shaking his head at your teasing. “Very funny.” He sarcastically said, but you caught the small smile tugging at his lips.

You opened your bedroom door and stepped out, flashing him one more smile before closing it behind you.

“Where have you been?” Sarah asked the second you turned around. “I was with Spencer.” You replied casually.

Her eyes widen. “Did you guys just-”

“No, we didn’t.” You cut her off quickly. “Let’s step away, come on.”

You led her away from your room, and thankfully she had gotten distracted by someone else and wandered off.

You glanced around the house, realizing how tired you were of the party. Your home felt overcrowded, loud, and no longer fun. You were close to calling the cops on your own party, but luckily the neighbors beat you to it.

You stood outside as an officer explained the noise complaint and curfew.

“Alright, sir. I’ll shut it down.” You said with a polite smile. He nodded, and you waved him off.

Back inside, you cut the music and made the announcement. “Alright guys, party’s over.” You watched everyone slowly trickle out. “Sorry.” You said to a few as they passed.

Spencer found you shortly after. He looked concerned. “What happened?”

“Police got called.” You told him with a shrug.

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You smiled. “Honestly, I was about to call them myself if people didn’t start leaving soon.” He laughed, and you joined him.

Once it was just the two of you, and your very drunk roommates who had knocked out in their rooms, you both started cleaning up a little.

“It’s a mess.” You said, tossing red solo cups into the trash bag. “Yeah. People are gross.” He muttered as he poured out a half-full beer. “Thank you for helping me.” You said sincerely. “No problem.” He replied, flashing you a sweet smile.

After most of the mess was cleaned, you both settled on the couch. You leaned into his side, his arm wrapping comfortably around you.

“Can you spend the night?” You hesitantly asked, titling your head up to look at him. He nodded almost instantly. “Of course.”

You smiled, but he suddenly stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“Left something in the kitchen. I’ll be back.” He assured you. You nodded, watching him walk off. When he returned, your eyes lit up. He was holding a small cake with lit candles. It was your birthday cake, the one you had completely forgotten about.

He started singing softly, and your cheeks hurt from how hard you were smiling.

“Make a wish.” He said once he finished, and you did. You closed your eyes and blew out the flames.

He held the cake out toward you. “Take a bite.”

You eyes him suspiciously but leaned in anyway, and sure enough, he gently pushed the cake into your face. Just a little frosting dotted your nose and chin.

“Spencer!” You gasped, laughing as you lightly hit his arm. He laughed too, setting the cake down, and then leaned in to wipe the frosting from your skin with his finger. You watched him as he brought it to his lips, sucking it clean.

He moved closer, pressing his lips to yours.

“Happy birthday.” He whispered as he pulled back just slightly. You smiled at him. “Thank you.” And then you kissed him again, slower, softer…

Dividers from @hyuneskkami !!

Writing this was fun!! I love bold Spencer! 🤭 also listen to the song, I just rediscovered it and became obsessed again. Live, Love, Laugh Charli xcx <3

Thank you to all who reblog & comment!! I really appreciate it sm!

~ Tag List ~

@samslovebug @alastorssimp @sleepysongbirdsings @khxna