#but i wanted to finish this today so i just

[strnilolover]

⌗ . . . STEPBROTHER!CHRIS CATCHES YOU AND STEPBROTHER!MATT FUCKING IN THE LIVING ROOM

WARNINGS : SMUT. PNV. VOYEURISM. EXHIBITIONISM. DIRTY TALK. HAIR PULLING. ASS SMACKING. (let me know if i forgot anything).

you always disliked when your mom threw little get togethers with her friends and co-workers. your house always being packed inside the house and then the backyard—so you always stayed far away from it. not because you didn’t like them, you just hated the crowds.

and today was one of those days. everyone in the backyard on a hot summer day—the sounds of voices buzzing through the air. you were hot and angry, the sun making you feel like you wanted to peel your skin off, but you couldn’t leave—not while your mom kept her eye on you.

she forced you to stay outside and socialize with people—people who probably wouldn’t understand anything you try to talk about.

you huffed, crossing your arms and trying to sit as much in the shade as you could without bumping into other people. but it was no use. you groaned and turned in the direction your mom was in—seeing her back turned to you with people surrounding her.

when you saw that, you took your chance, slipping in through the back door and trying to walk quickly from the living room—out of her sight. the AC was cold on your skin, your heartbeat finally starting to slow once you made it far enough inside.

“two hours? really? you couldn’t last any longer out there?” a voice said from over by the couch. your feet stopped, whipping your head into the direction it was coming from. matt was standing near the couch, a cold drink in one hand.

you rolled your eyes, letting out a breath as you wandered over to him. “you try lasting out there in ninety-five degree weather for two hours. i promise it isn’t fun.” you snapped back, reaching your hand out as you stood in front of him, snagging his water. matt just watched you, eyebrow raised and a small smirk tugging at his lip.

“why the attitude hm baby?” he asked, watching the way you lifted the cup to your lips, taking a sip from the ice cold water. you glared at him, finishing your sip before holding the glass out to him. “i don’t have a fucking attitude.” that was a lie—you definitely did.

you watched as matt hummed, taking a sip of water for himself before setting his cup down on the table. “no?” he questioned, slowly walking around your body until he got behind you. you could feel the heat from his body as he pressed closer—it wasn’t helping your irritation.

“matt fuck off.” you spat, going to take a step away from him. you didn’t get very far. matt’s arm reached out and wrapped around your waist, pulling your back flush to his chest.

“god, you’re such a brat.” he muttered into your ear, his hot breath trailing against your neck. you shivered, even though the air inside was cool. his hand was splayed flat on your lower stomach, keeping you tight to him. “matt. don’t.” you warned, voice wavering, despite yourself. you glanced over your shoulder, but no one was inside. still, the hum of voices and music from the backyard was way too close for comfort.

“don’t what? don’t do something about your attitude?” he gritted, his hand tightening on your flesh slightly. “you’re the one being a fuckin’ brat and talkin’ back.” you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, feeling the way your body lit up from his words.

matt grinned, feeling the way your body reacted. “you know,” he whispered, starting to push your hips forward until your thighs hit the arm of the couch. your body bent forward, hands coming out under you to catch the fall. “i think that’s what you want isn’t it? acting up just so i’d do somethin’ about it.”

you shook your head. “no..” you mumbled, but the way your body was practically buzzing said a different story. he hummed, splaying a hand on your back and pushing you down farther, making your back arch—ass high up in the air. you gasped when you felt his fingers toy with the hem of your dress, slowly slipping his fingers underneath.

“matt!” you hissed. “they’re outside!—my mom’s—” your words were cut off when matt’s hand came down to strike against your ass, a moan slipping from your lips as the pain blossomed across your skin. “shh keep that pretty mouth shut baby, unless you want them to hear you.” and you couldn’t help the way your body tingled at the thought of someone hearing you—or catching you. you were so out in the open, one good look through the giant glass door and everyone would see what was going on.

you squirmed, your ass wiggling in front of matt—practically teasing him. he groaned, grabbing the fabric of your dress and pushing it past your ass to rest on your hips. his eyes glanced down, seeing the growing wet patch in the center of your panties.

“look at you.” he cooed, bringing his freehand down to ghost along your inner thighs, leaving light taps. “such a wet pussy for someone who said she wasn’t acting up just to be punished.” you could hear the mocking tone in his voice—feel the way his fingers would inch closer and closer to the edge of your panties before slipping away.

you whined, pushing your hips back as your mind began to turn to mush, forgetting about the party just outside those doors. “tsk tsk.” matt clicked his tongue, his hand coming back down again on your ass, your skin reddening. your body jolted at the contact, eyes rolling into the back of your head as you felt your slick flow out of you more.

“such a little whore.” he said, his hand hooking into your panties and dragging them slowly down your thighs, past your knees, until they rested around your ankles. “stay right there yeah? don’t. move.”

and then he spat on your folds—watching as it trailed down your slit. you whimpered, thighs twitching from the sensation alone. his fingers dragged through it, spreading it over your pussy, up and down, slow and messy. “fuck.” he hissed under his breath as he slid two fingers through your folds again, watching the way you clenched around nothing and whined, your back arching deeper.

“gonna fuck you right here baby. y’gonna let me?” he whispered, leaning down to talk against the shell of your ear—his chest flush against your back. “right where anyone could easily see?” you shook your head, but your moan betrayed you the second his fingers circled your entrance.

“mhm thought so.” he grinned, leaning back up and grabbing at your hips. his other hand reached down to tug his sweats down, freeing his cock. he gripped the base, leaning forward to spit, letting it trail down his dick before be gave himself a few pumps. your heart was pounding in your ears, it was so quiet in the house, except for the muffled music coming from outside. your head lifted slightly, looking in the direction of the back door—you could see so many people outside, but their attention wasn’t focused anywhere in the house.

your head turned, looking over your shoulder at matt. and fuck did he look good. with his hand wrapped around his leaking cock—the hem of his shirt pulled up and tuck between his teeth to keep it up. you shuddered, your hips moving back towards him. “matt, please.” you whined softly, the ache between your legs becoming too much now.

matt smirked, moving to line himself up, his other hand still gripping the flesh of your hip. “please what, hm? be a good girl and use your words or you ain’t getting what you want.” he said, pressing forward. you could feel the tip of his cock press inside you before he moved back. you whined again, pressing your face down into the cushion of the couch. “please—please..want you to fuck me.” you whispered, your face reddening in embarrassment.

“mm good girl. that wasn’t so hard was it?” he praised, his hips pushing forward again, dragging his cock along your folds before he pushed inside again—filling you inch by inch. you gasped as he stretched you open, your hands coming out to grab at the cushions below you. “o-oh fuck.” you moaned, your walls clenching down around him.

matt grunted, his head tipping back at the feeling of your cunt swallowing him whole, dragging a filthy curse from his lips as he bottomed out. his fingers dug deep into your hip, holding you in place as he started to move slowly. “so fuckin’ pretty.” he muttered—his head falling back down to look at you. his free hand coming up now to tangle into your hair, tipping your own head back.

his hips began to pick up the pace, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing throughout the living room along with your moans and his groans. “god—you’d love it if someone walked in right now hm? watching the way your cunt greedily takes my cock.” matt grunted, feeling the way your walls clamped down around his cock. your mouth dropped open, a loud almost pornographic moan coming from your mouth. all you could do was grab at the couch, trying to ground yourself as his tip continued to kiss your g-spot over and over again.

but what either of you didn’t know—is there was someone watching as matt’s hips slammed into your own. watching how he fucked you dumb, loosing all coherent words.

his brother chris. your other stepbrother.

he was outside with everyone else who seemed to be too oblivious and caught up in what they were doing to notice you getting bent over the arm of the couch.

the second he’d come around the corner with a drink in hand and seen you bent over the couch, bare and taking matt deep—he stopped. he hasn’t meant to stop and watch—to get so wrapped up in watching the way you took every inch his brother gave you. the way your face contorted with pleasure every time matt’s cock kissed your cervix.

god he was entranced by how good you looked.

his body was still, heart thudding heavy in his chest as his eyes locked on the sight through the glass. he couldn’t hear you—but he didn’t need to, to know you sounded like a fucking angel.

his breath grew heavier the longer he watched, feeling the way his cock became painfully hard in his pants. he let out a shaky breath, pulling his gaze away from you to look around the yard—no one had noticed still. chris swallowed thickly, his free hand reaching down to adjust himself as his eyes landed back onto your figure.

he watched matt’s hand in your hair, pulling your head back just to make you arch more. your ass jiggling from the force of each thrust of matt’s cock. watched as matt leaned down and whispered something into your ear, making your eyes roll back as your own lips moved to reply. chris didn’t know what it was matt said—but what he did know, is it effected you.

your body began to shake—teeth digging into your bottom lip to stay quiet.

chris knew you were getting close, and god he wanted to stay to watch you cum—but he knew if he didn’t leave now, he’d cum in the next few second just from seeing you. so quickly and quietly—without dragging attention to himself—he slipped away. the image of you burned into his mind.

back inside—your brain was mush. you were chasing your pleasure. matt’s cock hot and thick as he dragged it along your walls. you could feel him pulsing—feel just how close he was to cumming just like you were.

“y’gonna cum baby?” he moaned, fucking his cock deeper into you. “gonna make a mess all over my fucking cock hm? such a messy fucking slut.” his hand in your hair pushed your head down into the cushions.

and that’s what pushes you over the edge.

“pleasepleaseplease—oh my fuck—“ you cried out, your mouth open and drooling against the cushion. you felt your whole body lock up and shake as you came. your walls fluttering around his cock—milking him for all he has. he groaned, his hips faltering for a second before he kept moving, fucking you through your orgasm.

you collapsed against the couch, the only thing holding you up now was matt’s own hands, his hips moving to chase his own high. “gonna fill this pretty pussy up—fuck.” you could tell he was so close, your hips shallowly moving and fucking yourself on his cock despite how tired you were now. “put your panties back on and send you out there with my cum dripping down your thighs.”

his thrusts were getting sloppy now, hips stuttering. you lifted your head and looked over your shoulder at him again, looking at his face. his brows knitted together and his teeth digging into his bottom lip. “c’mon matt—shit—want you to fill me up. please.”

that seemed to be his breaking point.

he groaned loudly, both hands grabbing at the flesh of your hips as he buried himself deep in your cunt—spilling inside you. you could feel each spurt painting your insides white—and how full you felt of him.

his hips moved a few more times before he finally pulled himself out slowly, watching as some of his cum began to leak out of you. he smirked down at you, seeing how you were already beginning to doze off. quickly he began to tuck himself back into his sweats before turning his attention to you.

he reached for your underwear that was around your ankles, slowly sliding them back up your legs and pulling them snugly over your hips to where they belonged. you whined at the feeling, your body shuddering. matt continued to fix your clothing before he reached down and gently pulled you up and into his arms.

he fixed your hair and dress, making sure you looked presentable before even thinking about sending you back out there. the last thing he did was trail his hand down and press his fingers against your now clothed and soaked pussy, making you gasp and grab at his shirt due to how sensitive you were.

“gonna keep my cum right in there yeah?” he whispered, beginning to circle his fingers. you nodded, legs shaking and threatening to give out from under you. he smiled, pulling his fingers away. “good.”

and just then you both heard the door open, your heads whipping in the direction as you both peeled yourselves away from one another, just as your mom stepped inside.

“there you are!” your mom said with a tone of relief like she was looking for you the whole time—she probably wasn’t. her eyes panned over to matt, giving him a small smile before turning her attention back to you. “i see you and matt are finally getting along, that’s good for you guys.”

you nodded, cheeks reddening as you looked at him from the corner of your eye. your mom smiled wide, already beginning to turn away from the both of you.

“come on you two, i need your help with handing out food.” she spoke as she already began to walk towards the kitchen. you and matt both looked at one another, a smirk tugging on his lips as you began to walk. his hand came out and landed a firm smack to your ass.

“get goin’ baby. don’t keep your mom waiting.”

a/n : guys…is this too freaky?

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Undeserving

Fandom: The Pitt

Pairing: Dr. Jack Abbot x F!Reader

Summary: In a tragic car accident, Jack loses his wife, who was your best friend, and you lose your husband, the father of your child. Now both of you navigate life together and co-parenting your daughter, Evelyn, while also trying to figure out your feelings for each other.

Warning: death of side characters

The Pitt Masterlist

Yours and Jack's lives were intertwined for years. Your best friend was his wife. You were the Maid of Honor at their wedding. Then the accident and both of you lost the loves of your lives. You and Jack were close but after losing the most important people in your lives, you leaned on each other through grief and therapy. You vowed to each other that you couldn't lose each other now, you were stuck with one another.

Even moreso when you realized you were pregnant shortly after the accident. Jack was there for every appointment, when your morning sickness was really bad, and when you gave birth. Giving birth to Evelyn was a bittersweet thing. She was the most precious thing and she would never be able to meet her father.

"I'll take care the both of you. I promise." Jack said as he stood over you and Evie in the hospital bed.

It was just you and Evie living together for a short time until Jack proposed you move in with him. You fought him on it, tried to convince him that taking care of Evie will be a lot, but Jack has always been stubborn. He wanted to help you, not because you were his wife's best friend but also because he cared about you. It just made sense. So you relented fighting him.

The first year of Evie's life was...a lot. You had a lot of breakdowns because you were a single mother, you missed your husband, and you felt like you were a burden to Jack.

But Jack, despite his own issues, he'd been the stronger of the two of you. Despite his late hours at work, he still offered to watch Evie while you slept or ran errands.

He was your angel.

It wasn't until Evie got older that you started to question your feelings for Jack. Whenever the three of you went out, people thought you were a couple and Jack was Evie's father.

Hell, even Robby, Jack's fellow doctor at PMTC would joke about you being a cute little family.

But you did your best to ignore those comments. Because you couldn't have feelings for Jack. He was your best friend's husband, he was your friend. It just...can't happen.

_____________________________

"Uncle Jack Jack!" Evelyn calls out as you enter the Emergency Department.

Jack pops his head out from behind a curtain and his brows furrow. He excuses himself from his patient and fully steps out, "Everything okay?"

"Mommy got hurt!"

Jack looks looks you over and see's no visible visible injuries until you lift your wrapped up hand, "Evie dropped a glass. I was picking up some pieces and cut myself. It's...kinda deep."

He takes Evelyn into his arms, "Evie, honey, my friend Bridget," he points to one of the night shift nurses, "She's gonna watch you while I fix mommy's boo boo. Okay?"

"Okay," she says shyly as Jack hands her off.

"I'll be back, baby. Be good okay?" Evie nods as Bridget brings her to the break room to color.

Jack guides you to an empty room. You sit on the bed and hold up your hand to him. You watch him work in silence, but it's not awkward. You two are used to the occasional silence between you two. You take the time to enjoy the silence while he works on cleaning and stitching up your hand.

Eventually, he finishes and tosses his gloves in the trash, "Please be more careful next time."

You nod, "I know. I just...today has been chaotic."

He chuckles, "Tell me about it," he murmurs as he fills out your discharge papers.

"I-Thank you, Jack."

He nods, "Of course, sweetheart."

Your heart flutters at the nickname. He'd been calling you that a lot more recently, but you try not to think too much about it. You don't want to get your hopes up. You don't want to think that Jack has started seeing you differently like you with him.

He escorts you out of the room, his hand on your lower back. You hope he can't feel how hot your body has gotten under his touch.

You open the door and peek in. Evelyn and Bridget are coloring on some pages Dana had printed out, "Ready to go, baby?"

"Yeah," she scurries off the chair and to you. You lift her into your arms with a grunt and she holds out the paper she was working on, "Look Uncle Jack Jack!"

He glances at the unicorn coloring page with rainbow scribbles all over it. He smiles at your daughter, "It's beautiful, honey. You gonna put that on the fridge when you get home?"

"Uh huh!"

The three of you step out and bump into Samira, "Well if it isn't my favorite three year old!"

"Auntie Sami, mommy got hurt!"

Samira looks at you and you shake your head, "Cut my hand on glass. Very minor, Jack stitched me up just fine." You hold up your hand.

"That's good. Hope I never see you here under more serious circumstances."

You snort, "Join the club, babe," you bump hips with her, "I'll see you guys. See you at home, Jack."

"Bye Uncle Jack!"

"See you in the morning, baby," Jack waves at your daughter and watches as you exit the ED.

Once you're out, Samira looks at the attending night shift doctor, "Have you told her yet?"

Jack scoffs, "Fuck off, Mohan," and proceeds to walk away.

________________________

Dana sits with you on the picnic blanket, watching Jack and Evie play on the playground. You're laying on your back, sunglasses on, and enjoying the sun.

"You know he's basically Evie's dad, right?"

"Who?" you ask craning your neck to look at the older woman.

Dana chuckles, "Jack, obviously."

"I-I'm yeah. I guess he basically is." You sit up, but lean back, using your arms to prop you up. It always surprises you how much energy Jack still has for your daughter. It brings a smile to your face when Jack catches Evelyn and she squeals in delight.

"Oh brother, you're so fucked," Dana says with a cackle.

You groan falling onto your back again, "I know!"

"Why don't you tell him?"

"Absolutely not. That man has done so much for Evie and I. We've been such a burden and I don't want my baggage to bring him further down than he already is. He's got enough on his plate."

"Honey, you and he share the baggage. You're living out of the same fucking suitcase!" You shake your head and run your hands down your face. Dana tsks, "He cares about you, loves you and Evie. Does he love you romantically? Hell if I know! But what I do know is that man would go through Hell for you and your daughter. If he doesn't feel the same, sure, it sucks. But it's not like he's gonna kick you out if you tell him how you feel!"

You shake your head, "I'm not risking it, Dana. I can't. Besides...I don't deserve someone as caring as Jack. Besides, we're only bound together because of our shared trauma, which, according to my therapist, isn't necessarily good. So I gotta work through that."

"So what, you gonna quit him cold turkey or somethin'?"

You sit up again, watching Jack and Evelyn, "...I've been looking at apartments. Evie is still a hand full, but-but I think I can take care of her on my own now. I got that promotion I told you about, so I'm making more. I can move out of Jack's, become more independent." You look down and start picking at the grass, "I don't want to keep relying on Jack. He's done a lot for me and I feel like I've reciprocated very little to his life. He'll have more peace and quiet once Evie and I move out."

"Mommy!" Evelyn calls out for you, running ahead of Jack.

You smile at her, "You having fun, baby?" She crashes into you and you both fall back, giggling.

"Uncle Jack Jack gonna get me ice cream!"

Jack finally catches up, slightly planting, "Only if you're okay with it, sweetheart," he stands above you, hands on his hips.

You stand, "I'll get it for her. You go rest. I'm tagging you out."

Jack immediately pulls out his wallet, "Here-"

"Nope! Walking away! Don't see you!" You take Evie's hand and guide her to the ice cream truck in the parking lot.

Jack takes up your previous spot, "What were you two gossiping about?"

"You."

"Oh great," he says with an eyeroll, digging into your tote bag where you packed some snacks for the three of you. He opens a bag of trail mix and tosses some nuts and raisins in his mouth, "Should I be worried?"

The older woman shrugs, "That's for you to decide whenever she decides to talk to you."

Jack's face turns serious, "Dana-"

"It's not life threatening or anything. It's just....a potential lifestyle change."

Jack frowns even more and then turns to you and Evie at the ice cream truck. You're accepting a popsicle from the ice cream man and handing it to Evie. You hand the man cash and shake your head. Jack assumes you're telling the man to keep the change. You then turn and walk back towards Jack and Dana, Evelyn walking a little bit ahead of you.

"I got a rainbow pop!" the three year old exclaims in excitement. She plops herself onto Jack's lap.

You chuckle, "Careful, baby. Don't spill any on Uncle Jack Jack." You then catch Jack's gaze, "Everything okay?"

He softly smiles, "Yeah. We're good," he looks at Dana who nods.

______________________

When Jack comes home from work, you and Evie are already awake. The three year old tends to wake up much earlier than you'd like, but what can you do?

Evie is sitting in her high chair eating breakfast at the counter, "Uncle Jack Jack!"

Jack gives a tired smile to the little girl, "Mornin', baby," he kisses her head.

You're currently not the kitchen, but hearing the toilet flush in the distance lets him know you're in the bathroom.

On the kitchen counter is your laptop propped open. Jack doesn't mean to look at it, but something catches his eye. You're looking on an apartments website. His heart suddenly drops to his stomach.

He recalls the conversation he had with Dana weeks ago:

"Should I be worried?"

The older woman shrugs, "That's for you to decide whenever she decides to talk to you."

Jack's face turns serious, "Dana-"

"It's not life threatening or anything. It's just....a potential lifestyle change."

You plan on moving out.

Jack hears you approaching, "Your plate is in the microwa-" you stop when you see him staring at your laptop.

He turns the laptop to you and points at the screen, "You plan on moving out?"

You gulp, "I've been thinking about it."

He clenches his jaw, "Why? Why didn't you bring this up to me?"

You let out a deep breath and slowly approach him, "It's not a for sure thing yet, Jack." You close your laptop and slide it away from him. Avoiding his gaze, you say,"Just think I should be more independent and stop relying on you."

"I said I'd take care of you." In your peripherals, you see him cross his arms over his chest.

You continue to avoid looking at him, "I know and I really appreciate what you've done for me and Evie over the years, but-but I got a promotion. I'm making really good money now and Evie's getting older. I think it'd be best for us to be on our own. It's a good thing."

He scoffs, and leans one arm on the counter, "How'd it be a good thing? Evie should grow up in a house with two loving parents-"

"You're not her dad, Jack!" you burst out, frustrated that he just won't let you go. He grows still and you know you've hurt him, "I'm sorry, but you're not. And us moving out would be good for you! You get to have more freedom and peace-"

"Stop-"

"You can start dating and bring women over without having to worry-"

"Stop!"

"You're not going to be around forever-"

"Yes, I will because I love you!"

You're rendered speechless but his outburst confession. He runs his hands through his hair and sighs, "I love you. I love you and I love Evie like she's my own." He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, "Never, and I mean never, have I ever once regretted having you live with me. Never have I thought you and Evie were a burden. I can't imagine my life without you both. I love our little family and life that we have."

Your eyes are tearing up as you speak, "If you're saying this just so-"

"Sweetheart, I'm saying it because I mean it. It's not a trick. I'm not trying to manipulate you. I'm trying to fight to keep what we have."

You begin to pace, "I don't-I don't-"

"Mommy," Evie calls for you and she looks upset, "Mommy sad?"

You sniffle and give your daughter a little smile, "I'll be alright, baby."

Jack takes a step closer to you, "Y/N-"

You shake your head, "Go take a shower and go to sleep. You're exhausted, Jack. We'll continue this later," you mumble, helping Evie out of the high chair and bringing her to the sink to clean up.

You don't see it, but Jack's body sags a bit after your dismissal. He wants to continue the conversation, but you're right. He is tired and maybe some rest will allow him to gather his thoughts properly.

PART 2

[blueberrypancakesworld]

What kinks/fetishes the Thunderbolts have

Yelena/Bucky/John/Ava/Alexei/Bob x fem!reader

warning : +18, mdni, kinks and fetishes are discussed here

Summary : Everyone has their preferences, whether it's their favorite color, genres, music, or even in bed with their loved one. It's human nature; they may have been heroes, but at the end of the day, they were human too. Heroes who all have their own preferences and enjoy doing them with their lover.

info : Finally some smut for the team! I've been wanting to write a John Walker one-shot for days, but I can't get away from them. Have fun reading your favorite ;)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yelena

Teasing = She loves teasing her partner, which might start during the day with a wink, a kiss, and a touch, and end up in bed at night. Yelena loves seeing her lover try everything to keep control and not throw herself at the blonde. But how could she resist when Yelena gave her so much with every touch of her body before gently smiling and pulling away? Yelena knew her girlfriend's body and she was far from finished with her teasing.

“You're really cute when you're so desperate. I know how much you want me... Come on, one more time and then maybe I'll let you have me”

Lingerie = Yelena loves wearing erotic underwear herself, but she loves it even more when she sees it on her lover. She ran her fingers tentatively over the lace and lacing before kissing her way down the fabric to the center. Her love looked like the most beautiful thing that had ever existed, and she would take her time exploring her.

“You know exactly what you're doing to me, fuck—worse than any black widow”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bucky

Body worship = Bucky loves to take time for his sweetheart, not only during the day, but especially in bed, where it is important to him to take his time. Every part of her body is kissed and touched, his metal arm always holding her body as gently as possible. His real arm takes time to massage her breasts, tracing every little scar, mole, and stretch mark. For him, there was nothing more important than knowing that she was with him, that she trusted him so much.

“Let me touch you, hold you, let me spoil you, please, I need it”

Dress = Bucky is old, but even back then he liked dresses, and that hasn't changed today. He loved it when his lover wore different dresses, waited for him, and he just had to lift the fabric slightly to see how it revealed her skin, how pretty it looked on her body. It did something to the older man that he couldn't prevent, just seeing how the fabric lay on her body.

“Darling, is that a new dress? You know how you spoil an old man”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John

Praise = If there was one thing he always needed, it was recognition and, above all, adoration from his girlfriend. It was so easy to make him blush, to feel how the soldier gave himself more and more to her. The kisses were intense, and the shiver that ran through John's body when he heard her praise was quite visible, as was the fact that he would give her anything she wanted just to hear her praise.

“Honey, is it good? Yes, please, I'm all yours, just one more time, how good am I?”

Shield = John loves his shield, whether it's bent or straight, but he loved it even more when he saw his love with it. From a nice strip show to seeing her press herself against the shield and him having to pull himself together not to take her right then on the bed when she used the bent shield as a pillow substitute to grind against.

“Fuck-I wow, honey, you have no idea what you're doing, so sexy”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alexei

Daddy = Alexei was a hero of the Russian nation and a proud member of the Thunderbolts. But above all, when it came to his wife, he loved it when she called him that. When he held her so tightly that she clung to him, it made him smile when he heard her, out of breath, begging for more, and Alexei gladly gave his sweetheart more of the Red Guardian

“That's right, Daddy, Red Guardian is here to be all yours”

Leather = His suit is made of leather, as is the suit of his beloved, and maybe it was just the way she looked in it. But Alexei loved seeing the material on her, feeling its coolness and warmth, seeing how it hugged her body and showed off all her best features. Oh yes, with every suit he saw her in, Alexei looked forward to a long evening where it was just the two of them.

“Darling, please keep the suit on after the mission, I want to celebrate our victory properly, just the two of us”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ava

Heat/Ice = She was very familiar with different states of aggregation, but above all she loved to bring them into the bedroom. Seeing how her star's breathing quickened when she ran an ice cube over her heated skin through the wax, the rapid breathing and gasping when the wax dripped onto her skin. Ava knew what she was doing and she loved seeing what she could do to her star.

“Good girl, that's it, just two more drops and I'll be all yours”

Hands = Ava loved having her own hands on her partner's body, knowing that even in such an intimate moment, they were together. But above all, she loved her beloved's soft hands, touching them, kissing them, feeling them on and inside herself. It was a feeling of connection and closeness she had never experienced before.

“Just hold me, I want you, I need you... let me feel you, yes”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bob

Pain = The pain inside him was different, it paralyzed him again and again, but the pain he got from his girlfriend kept him alive. Every little slap, every little pat, and every kiss with a bite made him relax, made him know that he was in control. He wanted it that way, and seeing that his beloved would stop anytime he wanted and kiss him and his pain made him feel completely fulfilled.

“I can take it, trust me, just one more hit and then I'm yours”

Cuddling = On dark nights, he just loved lying in her arms, cuddling her with his love, kissing her, and just letting the minutes pass. Just fucking her quietly and tenderly, sitting her on his lap, them being as close to each other as they could be. Bob always wanted her as close to him as possible so he could feel her warmth, her body, and her whole being.

“Ngh—please just stay like this, stay with me, please”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@neska223 , @bribrisposts , @imtherain , @arickaandherfictionalothers , @brisselfshipping , @tallulinha , @anxiousmilflover , @eurydicesxshadow

[itsnesss]

hihi!! could you please do a younger driver (like ollie or kimi) and a piece on missing the reader’s graduation bc of a race?

𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐫 | oliver bearman × fem!reader

summary | you graduate, but ollie misses it because of a race. you give your speech, heart heavy, thinking of him

warnings | fluff, soft romance, mild angst, long-distance struggles, emotional vulnerability, comfort

word count | 1.5 k

🖇 more ob87 🖇 f1 masterlist

Your dress has been hanging in the closet for days, protected by a garment bag. It’s the same one you picked out with your mom, the one Ollie said made you look like a movie star.

Less than 24 hours to your graduation, and as you place the cap on the bed, you check your phone one more time. Nothing. No new messages. No calls. No news from Ollie.

You knew. You knew there was a chance. A high chance, to be honest, that he wouldn’t make it. But you had made so many plans… He himself promised he would try everything to be there.

“What if I get there just at the end, and I give you a hug when you finish your speech?” he had said excitedly, days before.

You practiced that speech with him. Several times. On video calls from hotels all around the world. He corrected you, laughed when you made a bad joke, asked you to say it slower when you rushed.

And you did it hoping that, when you walked on stage and read the final words, his eyes would be waiting for you in the audience.

But now, less than a day away, everything points to him not being there.

You sit on the bed and dial his number. It goes straight to voicemail.

You take a deep breath, swallowing the disappointment. He loves you. You know that. But sometimes loving someone who also loves their dream is… lonely.

You want to scream. Not at him. At the world.

Then, your phone vibrates.

A voice message from Ollie.

“Hey... love. I’m sure you probably already know what I’m about to say. I tried, really. But I’m not going to make it. I’m stuck here because of the rankings. They won’t let me move anything. I’m so sorry. So sorry. I thought if I didn’t tell you earlier, there might still be a tiny chance. But there isn’t…”

Pause.

“It hurts more than I can explain not to be there tomorrow. I know how much it means to you. To both of us. But even if I can’t see you walk across that stage, I’ll be watching you from wherever I am. And when you finish, when you have your diploma in your hands… call me. Please. Because even if I can’t hug you, I promise I’ll be with you in everything that comes after.”

A tear escapes.

Tomorrow is still ahead.

The sun falls perfectly over campus when you leave the house with your cap in hand and your eyes still swollen from crying the night before. You look in the rearview mirror of your dad’s car and smile automatically. You’ve waited for this day for years. You imagined it again and again. But in all those versions… Ollie was there.

When you get out of the car, everyone seems to be shining. Your classmates take selfies, some rush to meet their families, others joke about not tripping going up the stage. You just look for a face you already know you won’t find.

The ceremony begins. Your name is on the program. You’re going to give a speech. One you practiced with him. One you read over and over so he could hear it between training, interviews, and flights.

“Now, please welcome our graduating class’s guest speaker…”

You’re asked to go up.

The lights blind you a little. The auditorium is huge. It feels bigger without him.

“Good afternoon. I want to start with something very simple… thank you.”

Your voice is steady. No one notices how tightly you grip the edge of the podium, or how your eyes wander over the rows, hoping to see him somewhere. Hoping you could trick fate and make him appear.

“Thank you to my teachers, my parents, my friends… and to someone who isn’t here today. Though he was in every rehearsal, in every word of this speech. This person… believed in me when I didn’t. He listened, encouraged me, interrupted me with bad jokes so I wouldn’t take everything so seriously. And even though he’s not sitting here today… he’s with me. I’m sorry. Because that’s what the people we love do: they’re there, even when they can’t be.”

There’s a long silence. Some people applaud. Others smile, not fully understanding who you meant.

But you know. And that’s enough.

When you step down from the stage, your chest burns a little. Pride, sadness, a warm hollow that carries his name.

You go through the ceremony like a spectator of your own movie. You receive your diploma. You get hugs. Your parents congratulate you. Friends take pictures with you.

And you smile. Because you made it this far.

But something is missing. And no matter how much you deny it, you feel it.

Later, when you’re at home, the dress already wrinkled and the cap on the table, your phone vibrates.

Ollie: Can I call you?

You answer with a simple “Yes.”

Seconds later, his name appears on the screen. You pick up.

“Hi,” you say, barely a whisper.

“You look beautiful,” he says without hesitation.

“How do you know?”

“I watched the whole stream. I had an interview at the same time, but I snuck away. I saw you give the speech. You have no idea how hard it was not to cry like an idiot at the part about ‘the people we love are there, even when they can’t be’…”

You bite your lip. There’s a huge knot in your throat.

“I really wanted you to be there.”

“Me too. Every second. Every damn second. Can I send you something?”

Before you can answer, a notification arrives.

An attached file. A video.

You open it.

It’s Ollie, in his hotel room, still wearing his team suit, holding a small homemade sign that says “Congrats, love. You did it. I’m so proud of you.”

“It’s cheesy,” he laughs from the phone. “But I made it while watching the ceremony. Just in case… you couldn’t see me, so at least you’d know I was with you. In my way.”

And you… you break down crying. Silently. With the full weight of having wanted that moment so badly with him.

“Thank you, Ollie.”

“I’m going to make it up to you. All of it. I promise.”

“No need. Just… thank you for not making me feel alone, even though you were so far away.”

Silence. Warmth.

“I love you,” he says suddenly, steady.

Your heart stops for a second.

“I love you too.”

And at that moment, even though you’re miles apart, even though you haven’t seen each other, even though there’s no photo of you both at your graduation… you know this day will live in your memory as one of the most beautiful ever.

Only three days have passed since your graduation, but it feels like an eternity. After the call with Ollie, everything was bittersweet: you knew he loved you, you knew he tried, but not being able to hug him that day hurt more than you thought.

And you accepted it. You learned to let go of the idea of “the perfect moment.”

Today is Sunday, and you’re at home, in pajamas, watching a documentary you’re barely listening to. Your family is out. You have the house to yourself. Your phone is silent. You don’t even know what country Ollie is in now.

Someone rings the doorbell.

You frown. A package? A neighbor? You get up dragging your feet, expecting anything but what you see when you open the door.

“Hi, love.”

And there he is.

With his suitcase at his side, a cap crooked on his head, hair messy like he just ran out of the airport. His eyes lock onto yours like he can’t believe he’s really seeing you. Like he’s afraid you’re part of a jet-lagged dream.

And you… you’re frozen in shock.

“Ollie,” you whisper.

“I didn’t want to miss another important thing. I took the first flight after the GP. I just arrived. I couldn’t tell you. My battery died, I lost signal, then I got lost in the airport… but… I’m here. And I don’t care how I look now, or that I don’t have a gift, or that I’m sweating like crazy. I just needed to see that you were okay.”

Your eyes fill with tears.

And then you run.

You don’t think. You don’t hesitate. You just hug him like your body finally remembers what breathing well means. Like he fits with your chest, your arms, your story.

He laughs into your neck, his hands firm on your back.

“It was so hard not to cry earlier,” he murmurs. “But this… this is a miracle.”

You pull him tighter.

“It’s not a miracle. It’s that you love me.”

He pulls back a little just to look at you. His fingers brush a strand of hair from your face.

“So much.”

“Want to come in?” you ask with a teary smile.

“Only if you give me coffee and a tour of a brilliant graduate.”

“I’ll give you anything. But the tour starts with you hugging me for another half hour.”

“Deal.”

You close the door. He puts down his suitcase. And without another word, you hug again in the hallway, as if the world has finally aligned.

[kisses4themissus]

Stubborn Lovers | M.R X Reader

a/n: i literally js finished writing this lol pairing: Micheal "Robby" Robinavitch X Single Mom!Reader WC: 4k

previous | masterlist | send me a love letter ♡

Staring down at the negative test you held your breath, your mind had been relieved while your stomach had dropped at the sight. You nodded yourself before burying them under paper towels in the trash can. 

Walking back to your desk, you had physically tensed up. You were confused on your reaction part of you was terrified but the part was glad there was a chance of being pregnant once more.

As you typed along your computer, a nurse rolled up beside you and held up a QR code to her venmo. “Gary found three pregnancy tests in the trash today, everyone’s making bets it’s that new girl, nicole; one of the night shift girl’s said that she was getting close with one of the neurologist’s morning attending!” She wiggled her brows, your hid your expression and grabbed your wallet and polluted out a twenty and handed it over.

“Twenty on that she’s dating him already.” You smirked, already knowing of your brother’s secret girlfriend. “I’ll add you to the pool.” She smiled and walked over, once alone your eyes widened. You were sure to hide your test right?

- - - - - - - 

Robby sighed as he finished up the teen’s ankle cast. “Should be healed up in 6-8 weeks, just keep it elevated when sitting or resting.” Robby smiled in sympathy as the teen groaned and went back to her phone. 

Her mom thanked him before leaving to pull her car up, perlah helped the teen use the crutches up and down the hall for practice for when on her own. Leaving robby alone with lacey in the room.

Lacey sighed and shook her head, grabbing her tiny backpack from under the plastic chair to pull out an unopened juice box. Robby saw lacey struggle from the corner of his eye, quickly walking over and popping the straw in. Lacey blinked up at robby and nodded, “thank you dr. robby.” She quickly sipped on the juice and looked around the room while robby typed up the discharge papers.

“Why haven’t you come back to mine and mommy’s place?” Lacey asked, not knowing her question made robby’s heart hurt. 

“You and your mommy have been busy, i didn’t want to make you both even busier..” Robby responded, taking in a deep breath.

Lacey sat down in the plastic chair and looked at the back of robby’s navy jacket. “Nick doesn’t like that you and mommy are close..” She watched as robby tensed up.

“Is that so? How is your dad?” Robby attempted to change the subject. Lacey sighed and shrugged. “He’s ok, he’s a firefighter now…he got me a cat plushie, i don’t think he knows i’m allergic.” Lacey said sighing to herself. “Him and mommy were fighting the other night at the house, he keeps telling me he has a room set up for me at his house..” 

Robby sighed as he completed the paperwork, taking off his glasses he turned to face lacey. 

“Do you want to be with him?” He asked, lacey shrugged and let her eyes drift off to her shoes.

“Mommy said it’d be nice to spend time with nick but he doesn’t always stay for too long..” She sighed, looking up as the teen walked through the doors, perlah behind her.

“Well, anna you are cleared to go, just come back in two weeks for a cast change, alright?” Robby smiled, the teen nodded and sighed.

“Bye dr. robby!” Lacey waved as robby left the room.

- - - - - - - 

You sighed as you walked to the staff elevators, not looking up as you entered. Bumping into someone on their way out.

Both of you let of a surprised noise before looking up, Mel stood in front of you, clutching the Ipad in her hands. “Dr. king?” You asked as she stared at you.

“Um– i’m sorry but the lab sent notice that the pregnancy tests they had been using we’re expired; it’d explain why your test was positive.” She explained, you nodded. 

“Oh, thank you dr. king.” You smiled politely, now stepping into the elevators with her. Your bag on your shoulder, your heart tightened as robby and collins got on from a different floor.

Feeling robby’s gaze, you pulled out your phone and scrolled through the messages from your family, a few from nick. “Are you feeling better?” Collins asked, making you look up from your phone. “Uh- sort of, took an anti nausea this afternoon.” You nodded, hoping no one would press on.

Mel glanced between the three doctors and stayed silent.

- - - - - - - 

Among your phone with your mom you had agreed to being the sugar plum fairy for the show. The next evening, after you had gotten off of work, you carried your bag into the ballet studio, thankful the next day was your day off. 

“Oh there she is!” Your mom cheered, walking over to you; already fussing over your hair and makeup. Sitting down in her office marissa and your mom got to work as the photographer took shots of other dancers. 

“You should see lovebug, she found extra bows and had marissa sew them to her costume!” Your mom chuckled, making you melt at the mention of your daughter, it had been hours since you last saw her.

“Where is she?” You asked as marissa helped you slip on the sugar plum dress. 

“She’s practicing poses with the other kids.”

Nodding at your mom’s words, finally seeing yourself as you opened your phone’s camera. The sight took you back to your last nutcracker, before lovebug was born, before you decided to pursue medicine.

“So beautiful!” Marissa smiled as you got up from the office chair, your socks touching the wood flooring, as your mother spotted them she gasped and walked towards her desk and handed you a pair of pointe shoes you kept around the studio.

“Do I really need these?” You asked, making your mom nod. 

“We need a photo of our sugar plum on pointe.” She smiled, you could tell she was hiding something. With a agitated sigh you got to work covering your toes before slipping into the shoes.

- - - - - - - 

Robby knew something was up with jake as the two walked out of a flower shop, two bouquets in hand.

“Where do you need to go next?” Robby asked, making the boy tense up before relaxing. “Uh, there’s this studio not too far, my uh– friend is there!” Jake stuttered, thinking of an excuse. Robby silent chuckled before following jake to the parked car.

As robby pulled into the parking lot his heart began to beat faster, spotting your car in the front parking spaces. Turning to jake who had his phone out texting someone. “Your friend a dancer?” Robby questioned.

Jake nodded, putting his phone away before opening his door. “Yeah, she was suppose to be in the show but got injured..” Jake explained, missing the look on robby’s face as he got out and followed jake into the building.

Upon opening the door both of them were greeted to the sounds of controlled chaos. Little dancers all spread out through the building, jake walked to the front desk and looked around for someone. 

“Excuse me?” Jake called out, a tiny fur covered child stopped and turned to face him, robby broke into a smile as lacey turned, her hands on her hips.

“Can i help you?” Lacey asked, turning around to approach the front desk, climbing onto the chair. Jake smiled and nodded, “I wanted to give these to my friend, her name’s anna.” Jake explained, watching as lacey looked over the desk as if it was her job. 

“How do you know her?” She asked, her little features dropping to a serious expression. Robby laughed catching the five year olds attention. “Hi dr. robby!” She waved, before turning to jake. “We go to school together.” Jake explained, lacey looked over the teen boy before turning to robby, her little gloved hand pointing at jake.

“You know him?” She asked, robby nodded and small smile growing. With a nod lacey hopped down from the desk and walked over to the small gate and bit off her glove to push it open. 

Propping it open with her body she smiled at jake, very charmingly; “I’ll let you through since you know dr. robby..” She sighed and pointed jake to where the teen girl sat. As jake went to pass, robby stood in the lobby and looked around. Several photos of dancers, some personal.

He smiled as he saw a photo of you and your brothers, you dress as clara while the boys were toy soldiers, another photo being you three as arabian dancers. Lacey slipped on her glove and walked over to robby.

“That one is my favorite, my mommy looks pretty!” She pointed to a bigger photo of you mid pose in a pastel pink dress, robby smiled as he notice another, it was of you, a bit younger holding a bundled up baby in your arms. 

“Is that you?” Robby asked, lacey nodded and smiled.

Before either could continue talking the front doors opened, both lacey and robby turned, both feeling the same dread. “Hi nick..” Lacey greeted. The firefighter smiled, a bag slung over his shoulder. “Hi buggy, you look like a cute little mouse..” He complimented.

“She’s a rat..”

“I’m a rat.” 

Both robby and lacey said at the same time, causing them to look at each other with smiles. Nick’s smiled dropped as he turned and eyed robby. “It’s Robinavitch, right?” Nick asked, tilting his head, a cocky smile growing on his face. “It’s doctor robinavitch!” Lacey corrected, rolling her eyes at nick.

“Yes and you’re nicholas?” Robby asked, watching nick’s movement as he approached him. “What are you doing here? Thought you’d be with your girlfriend?” Nick asked, his words making lacey pop up, her little eyes lighting up.

“You’re dating mommy?” She asked, a smile growing; making robby’s heart hurt as nick tsked and shook his head, kneeling down to be lacey’s height. “No honey, he has girlfriend already..” Nick explained, both men watched as lacey’s brow furrowed. 

“But–! He kissed…mommy?” She softly asked, her mind slowly piercing a story together. Lacey stared at robby for a moment before turning around towards nick. “He hurt your mommy’s feelings, that’s why dr. robby hasn’t been around you or your mommy, he’s been with his own girlfriend..” Nick watched as his daughter’s emotion was clear.

“Hey, don’t bring her into this–!” Robby attempted to cut in but was stopped at lacey’s look of disgust.

“You were mean to mommy?!” Lacey scoffed at robby, turning around to walk back through the gate towards the dance studios, her head shaking at the news.

“She needed to know what kind of man you are, robinavitch.” Nick smirked, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. “Oh by the way, thanks for sending flowers to her apartment, I forgot to pick something up the other night for dinner, she loved them.” Nick added, his shoulders held back proud. With a smooth pace he walked through the studio gate.

Robby stood in the lobby, shaking his head in disbelief at nick.

Moments later jake walked out, a smile on his face. “You ready, robby?” Jake asked, noticing the look on robby’s face. Wordlessly robby nodded, looking back in hopes to catch a glimpse of you or lacey. 

You sighed as you went on pointe, holding onto the bar to balance, unaware of the visitor in the doorway.

“Woah!” A tiny voice made you chuckle and slowly ease down before turning to see lacey standing in her costume, half of it zipped down to her waist, the hood dragging on the floor as she walked over to you.

“So pretty mommy!” She smiled up at you, her gloved hands lightly touching your skirt. “Look at my little rat!” You squealed, your fingers tickling her neck. She laughed and scrunched up, there was a moment where she stared at you before latching herself to your legs, the tutu hitting her head.

You smiled and rubbed her back, she clutched on and sighed against your legs. “What’s the matter babybug?” You asked, maneuvering her so you could pick her up, not caring if you creased the tutu.

“I love you mommy..” She mumbled against your shoulder, touching your hair softly. You chuckled and kissed the side of her head. “I love you, now what happened?” You asked once more, making her shake her head. 

“You hug me when i get sad, and I thought you’d be sad cause of robby..” She explained, making you furrow your brows. “How do you know about–?!” You went to asked but stopped as you saw nick, watching you both a smirk on his face.

- - - - - - - 

Weeks had passed since lacey turned away from robby, he had attempted to talk to you, but failed. You had blocked his number and would reject any paging from him. 

Robby groaned tiredly as he entered a small exam room, thankful night shift had already began to take over. As he entered the room, robby smiled it was jake’s new “friend” and her mom.

Quickly robby had gotten to changing the cast, checking on the broken bone. Langdon had stepped into the room and waited for robby to finish the bandaging. As he finished up the girls mom popped up and handed both men pamphlets. “The studio was grateful for you guys and is offering free seating for any healthcare working, you just need a photo of your badge to prove it; there’s more info about the shows and everything inside the pamphlets!” She explained, both langdon and robby nodded appreciating the gesture.

As the two walked back to central, langdon let out a chuckle as he opened the ballet pamphlet. “She’s gonna be pissed..” Frank muttered before handing the pamphlet to dana who gasped, immediately opening it to read over the show dates and times.

“Oh, very gorgeous!” Dana complimented, the others looking at the page

Robby ignored the pair as he packed his things up. 

“She’s a dancer too?” Mel questioned, pushing her glasses up to get a better look. Robby sighed and flipped open the pamphlet, quickly letting out a scoff.

The opening page being you as the sugar plum fairy with nick posed with you in a matching outfit. Flipping over the thing, robby gave a tiny smile as it was a photo of the rats, lacey in the center, her teeth on display as she faked a growl.

Walking back with another doctor from the cafeteria, you stopped as day shift stared at you with smiles. “What are you guys looking at me like that?” You asked, walking past them, shaking your head, chuckling.

“See you guys at the park tomorrow!” You waved, not looking back at the workers.

- - - - - - - 

The interns groaned as they stood out in the park’s empty field, late fall- early winter training was a pain; gloria had each floor do endurance tests to make sure everyone was fit to keep up with the fast pace environment.

Whitaker wiped sweat from his brows as he stopped for a water break, victoria and santos joining him quickly after.

“This sucks!” Santos panted, gulping down her water. Victoria wordlessly nodded and fanned herself. Samira chuckled as she jogged over to the trio. “I don’t think dr. abbot forgot his training.” She pointed out as jack had Shen attempt jumping jacks.

“Do you think dr robby’s gonna be this bad?” Victoria asked, glancing at the other who shrugged and took note as robby’s truck pulled up and outstepped jake and robby.

“I hope not.” Whitaker sighed, shaking his head before walking back towards shen and abbot.

“Morning.” Robby greeted, smiling a bit at the interns misery. 

Grumbles and brief good mornings were said as they all passed by and sat down on the grass, waiting for the next test. “I see abbot worked you all to the bone.” Robby noted, lightly kicking whitaker who laid on the grass, staring up like he was wishing for a deity to save him.

Nods were exchanged, jake snorted and walked over to where coolers of drinks sat lined up. Setting up two fold out chairs and motioned for jack to take a seat, which he did with a content look.

“Alright, back on your feet while we wait for the others.” Robby’s words cause groans before they all got up.

“I think vomit if we have to do another lap around the park!” Victoria sighed, before following the others.

“I think i’m having a heat stroke!” Whitaker said as he bent over and held onto his knees, catching his breath.

“Pussy!” Santos commented, standing beside him, a bottle of water in her hand.

Jake chuckled at the interns and got up from his chair to see another department running laps around the park just a few feet away.

“What department are they?” Jake asked shen who sat in the folding chair, his sunglasses slipping down his nose as he turned to see where jake was looking. 

“That’s the ICU department, well one of them.” Shen nodded as he watched you stand infront of your doctors and nurses watching as they all jogged laps.

“She runs her shit tighter then the navy.” Shen added, sitting up in his chair as you glanced over towards them, with a quick glance back at your own department you motioned for your other attending before walking over to their side of the park.

“Dr. shen, hi jake!” You greeted the two.

They greeted you back, the three of you watching as the interns caught their breaths on the benches. “How’s it going over here?” You asked, making shen snort. “Could be better, whittaker has almost vomited twice and samaria tried to limp her way out of running laps.” Shen debriefed making you nod with a smile.

You noticed jack and robby off to the side as they watched the nurses beat the doctors with tug of war. With a sigh you rolled your shoulders back before walking over to the men. “Damn, that sucks and into the snow too..” You shook your head, both robby and jack turned to you.

“Tell me about it, how it going over there?” Jack asked, motioning towards the group of ICU workers who were now doing laps jogging lightly. “Lost half of them since our doordasher got lost so they went o find the guy but i assume their all at a bar now..” You sighed, chuckling a bit.

Jack was pulled away by shen who needed help with getting the interns from their resting spots. Leaving you and robby alone. Robby had expected for you to leave with jack was was mildly stunned as you stayed put.

Turning to robby, you closed your eyes and sighed, making sure none of the ED was paying attention to you both. “Talk.” You muttered, making robby look at you, shocked a bit.

“What?” He asked, shocked.

“You’ve been wanting to talk to me about everything so now’s the chance, talk to me.” You sighed, placing your hands on your hips. Robby froze for a moment before turning to you. “Everything that happened, i wasn’t expecting it; the date, lacey being ok with me around, you opening up to me..” Robby began, earning a nod from you, your eyes still watching everyone else.

“Anything good that happens to me, it doesn’t last long enough for me to enjoy it, like jake i’ve known the kid since he was twelve, six years before it went to shit because of pittfest.. My relationship with collins, it only lasted barely a year before she called it quits, I got panicked that day at the park, you seemed so open to me,” He stopped, now turning his head to face you.

“I didn’t want to lose you or cause lacey any pain from my fucked up life;” He stopped, remembering the look of anger and disgust on lacey’s face after finding out why robby hadn’t been around. “Why didn’t you clear up that rumor of you and collins that day?” You asked, stoic.

Robby stared at you for a moment before answering. “I was too stunned to hear that rumor come around, i did stop it after you left the floor..” Robby explained, your stomach still had a knot as you finally turned to him. “That same day, in the parking lot I saw you and dr. collins; you cupped her cheek and rubbed her belly…how is someone suppose to take that then get told you and her were dating?” You asked, your eyes searching his for an answer.

His eyes hesitated, he sighed and looked down. “A few months ago, collins told me something she kept to herself for years since me and her dated…she felt guilty for it..” Robby began to explain, your eyes moving to see collins who laughed with jack as langdon attempted jumping jacks.

The knot in your stomach fell as you looked at collins, noticing a slight glow about her, then back to robby, looking at you once more, silently robby knew you had already connected the dots. “She was unsure of us back then, good thing too; I would’ve been a shit dad..” Robby chuckled, his hands going to his jacket pockets. 

“She struggled with fertility since then, that day she told me how she had passed her first trimester smoothly and was expecting a child with someone she met..you can’t help but be happy for someone after what they’ve been through..” Robby explained, catching your teary gaze. “I don’t want me and you to be another fucked up thing..” He sighed.

As you both stood there, you nodded and snaked your hand towards his jacket pocket and held his hand. He smiled softly at you.

“Now it sounds like i’ve been a jealous bitch..” You joked, earning a huff of laughter from robby.

- - - - - - - 

“Twenty on robby asks her out!” Shen said, as most of the ED had began to watched you and robby talk to one another; a shift in both of your demeanors. 

“I’m saying fifty their dating.” Jack added, pulling out his wallet while shen began texting the ED’s betting group chat. 

“Dana said thirty on him asking her out in two weeks.” Victoria informed as she scolded through the mass texts coming from other workers. 

As the workers began listing their bets, they were stopped as a pink ride on kids jeep rolled up next to them on the concrete, the little girl wore a fluffy coat and sunglasses, a bag behind her in the mock backseat. She lifted her glasses and asked if anyone had seen you, shocking them as she called you by your last name.

Whittaker pointed to where you and robby stood, talking. 

Lacey nodded as she began to drive her jeep over to you both, bumping up the speed a bit. Silent looks were exchanged among the workers about the tiny diva. 

As you and robby talked, you stopped and turned as you heard familiar whirling noise. By the time you registered the sound and stepped back it was too late, lacey bounced back in her seat as she hit the back of robby’s legs. With a gasp you helped hold robby up as he held back curses.

“Lacey!” You scolded, the little girl shrugged at robby and walked over to you. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked, noticing her leg warmers and tutu under her jacket. “Aunty marissa had to drop me off since jason got into a fight a school!” She explained.

Robby chuckled as he rubbed the back of legs, You shook your head and turned to see your sister in laws car but stopped as the ED workers stared at you three.

Clearing your throat you motioned for lacey, picking her up with ease. “Everyone, this is my lovebug, say hi lacey.” You introduced the little girl. She waved to the workers and jake.

“Hi guys!” Lacey smiled at everyone.

lovebug taglist: @nerdgirljen @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @snowflames-world @whimsicalfungiforager @lovebuggyies @itschelseacisneros @kmc1989 @foolishseven @rhysology @delicatetrashtree @evans-dejong @equallyshaw @Qardasnagan @fallout-girl219 @dantemorenatalie @18lkpeters @ohmystrawberrycheesecake @blackblueberries @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @isla-finkle-blog @baileythepenguin @khaleesibeach @obfuscateyummy @li22ie2017 @hagarsays @catmomstyles3 @antisocialfiore @journalism2004 @capswife @obsessed-fan-alert @sabrinaselina55

[sourszt]

[ 𝟏𝟐:𝟐𝟓 𝐚.𝐦. | 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐭 ]

𝐟𝐭. abby anderson x fem!reader

𝐜𝐰. nsfw, thigh riding, making out, praise, porn what plot lowkey, wlw, lots of kissing, needy!abby, slightlysubby!abby if u squint (idc ik she’s vocal), i think thats it. top!reader, slighttease!reader, okay i think that’s fr it

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. i want her. i need her. i crave her. abby <3 this is jus a lil drabble bc shes so strong i know thigh riding w her just goes crazy. im also obsessed w that scene of her laying down w the book on her stomach. not proofread.

it always started out the same way; you finding abby hidden away in her room, nose deep in some book she was barely reading to escape the day. it was usually when everyone was out eating or messing around in the lounge areas because that was the only time she had to herself. and because she knew you’d find her there every time.

she’d put her book down across her stomach and pull her legs up to make room for you to sit, asking why you were there. it was all apart of the show. she knew why you were there.

you would play along, telling her what she was missing out on. today, it was blackjack in the mess hall. the prize? the fruit cups they were handing out, fresh from the fields nearby. she also knew that she didn’t miss anything and that you would reveal two cups hidden underneath the jacket you took off moments later.

the fruit was sweet — a mixture of strawberries and blueberries and melon. although, neither of you made it entirely through your cups when you leaned forward to pop a strawberry in abby’s mouth, slowly easing between her knees as you stacked your half empty cups and set them onto the dresser.

abby’s lips pulled into a soft smirk, barely revealing her teeth as she mumbled, “what, you’re not gonna let me finish?” despite that, she’d grabbed the spine of her book and set it down beside the fruit cups to accommodate you, her blue eyes analyzing your lips like they were the most fascinating things.

they made their way back up to yours when you started to grin down at her. “sure i will.” the words rolled off of your tongue lowly and teasingly before you finally kissed her. her being half propped up against her pillows, you met her halfway and crawled up to find her lips.

her hands latched onto your waist, squeezing into your clothed skin in a silent plea. a soft whine escaped abby, muffled against your mouth. you were sweet — sweet like strawberries. abby lifted off of the bed an inch, pushing against your mouth with pure need.

“you want it bad, don’t you?” you teased her gently, earning a playful little glare from her. it didn’t last long when she saw your fingers hurrying to unbutton your pants and she whispered a sharp curse before offering a helping hand. the second they hit the ground, she grabbed your jaw and pulled you down into a kiss much deeper than the one before. it made you gasp, her strength nearly knocking you off balance. you caught yourself against her strong shoulders.

it didn’t take long for the kiss to take a turn when abby’s teeth pulled at your bottom lip in your attempt to come up for air. she was panting already, her face flushed and her eyes half lidded. you wanted so badly to tear into her for it and rile her up but you didn’t get the chance to when her hand suddenly snaked around the back of your neck, holding your head firmly in place as she came up to kiss you again.

it was like that for a while, pushing and pulling while your hands did the rest. abby now groped at your ass, particularly liking the noises it drew from you, as she helped your one of your thighs over hers. your hands found purchase on her chest when you sunk down onto the thigh you straddled and abby took your moment of distraction to press her lips to your jaw.

“abby,” you whispered her name, voice cracking when you felt the flat of her tongue against your neck. she hummed into your skin when you grabbed the side of her neck, your thumb lazily stroking her cheek. “shit, baby,” you had to bite your lip to keep a moan down as her teeth grazed your collarbone.

“you sound so pretty f’me,” abby cooed as she settled back against her pillows. you were about to protest the loss of contact when she suddenly bucked her hips up and her thigh grazed against your clothed cunt. the hands that had at some point shifted to your hips held you in place as she flexed the muscles of her thigh.

she watched you from underneath her lashes, taking her bottom lip between her teeth when she saw your jaw slacken in a silent moan. you mumbled a strained curse and let your head dip down towards her chest while you tried to adjust to abby’s gentle rhythm. you could feel the bed gently shifting each time her heel pushed off of it.

“c’mon, baby,” abby pressed a kiss to the top of your head as her fingers grazed up your sides, gathering the hem of your shirt between them. instinctively, you sat up to let her peel your shirt off. for a moment, while abby held you upright to admire the fact that you hadn’t worn a bra, you ground your hips against her thick thigh.

abby’s breath hitched in her throat when you balanced yourself on her abs that you just had to lift her shirt to feel. your other hand toyed with the waistband of her sweats. she huffed, knowing what you were doing. she knew to anticipate your hand sliding down to cup her clothed heat, her eyes fluttering shut as her breathing threatened to go erratic.

she leaned back onto her elbows when you slipped your hand down the front of her pants and found her clit through her panties. all the while, you made up for her dying pace by picking your own up. “fu-fuck,” abby hissed. she nudged her leg to the side to give you better access.

you loved seeing her like this. her eyebrows were beginning to tent together and her reddened lips were parted in soft moans. her eyes struggled to stay open with your fingers working her clit just the way she liked it and she wasn’t sure if she should look at you or the hand down her sweats.

every so often your hand would slow down when you got too caught up with fucking yourself on her thigh, but she didn’t mind. she enjoyed the sweet little whines you’d shamelessly let slip. and every once in a while, amidst your languid thrusts, your knee would hit the back of your hand and it would bump against abby’s sensitive clit.

“that’s it,” abby breathed encouragingly. one hand settled at the small of your back, aiding you along. she could feel the desperation in your thrusts, each one more eager than the last. she grabbed the wrist that was still inside of her sweats, guiding you over her body. “c’mon, baby, almost there.”

your lips clashed messily as you continued to ride abby’s thigh. you knew her sweats were already a mess because of you and that you probably looked just as bad but you didn’t care. all you could think about was how good abby’s thigh felt on your clit and how big her hands were groping your tits. he was all but stealing the air straight from your lungs.

“fuck, abby,” you whined against her lips. “i’m… i’m close, ‘m so fucking close.” that familiar churn in your stomach continued to grow each time you rolled your hips on abby’s firm thigh.

abby cursed under her breath at the sound of your voice, so whiny and full of need. “‘ts okay, let go for me.” she husked. she watched your face twist as you got closer and closer until it finally hit you.

her hands slid up and down the fronts of your bare legs as you rode her through your orgasm. your pace fell short and your moans filled the room. her name fell from your lips over and over, balling her sheets in your fists.

even after you fell slack against her, she kept her hands glued to your sides. her thumbs rubbed soft circles into your stomach while you caught your breath. you were covered in a thin sheet of sweat and your face was still so flushed when you came up to look at her. but that didn’t stop you from seeking out her lips.

she accepted the kiss gracefully, sliding one hand up to the base of your jaw and holding you in place. the kiss was slow and soft, but abby sensed it shifting to something more when you shifted back onto your heels and started lifting her shirt up her toned body. she hummed and pulled away, giving you nothing more than a questioning look.

“i’m gonna let you finish, isn’t that what you wanted?” you teased her breathlessly, throwing her words back at her as you slotted yourself between her legs.

abby went to say something sharp back but the words caught in her throat when you dipped your head down to the hem of her bra and kissed her skin. “fuck,” she moaned softly when you ghosted the tips of your fingers down her sides and stopped at the waistband of her sweats, “you’re fucking insatiable, you know that?” she choked out as she peered down at you.

“you love it.”

not proofread my b 🤑 i need more smuts of my Wife without strap. yes i support strap use #backthatstrap but idc i need HER. just HER.

[heavenlybodies333]

Daddy Issues - S.R

Spencer Reid x Hotch’s daughter!reader

The BAU is quieter after hours. No flurry of footsteps, no clipped commands or rustling case files. Just a low hum of computers left on overnight and the distant tick of the bullpen clock.

You’re curled up in the small corner of the library, cross-legged, back hunched, arms wrapped around yourself like they might hold you together better than he ever could.

You told yourself you weren’t going to cry. Not here. Not again. But the tears crept out anyway. And now you’re here, in the place that always steals him from you, waiting—again—because he swore he’d make it up with dinner, and you believed him. Again.

The door creaks open softly. You wipe your face quickly. “Hey.”

You look up, blinking through tears, and find Spencer standing there in his cardigan and slacks, a file in one hand, a slight furrow in his brow. “What are you doing here?” you ask, trying to sound casual, even as your voice cracks.

“He got pulled into a call,” Spencer says quietly. “He told me to tell you he’d be down as soon as he wrapped it.”

You nod. “Of course he did.” You wipe your face fast. “I’m fine.” He doesn’t respond right away. Just takes in the disheveled state of your textbooks, the uneven stack of flashcards, the smeared mascara on the sleeve of your sweatshirt. He says, soft as a breath, “Tell me what he forgot.”

Your stomach twists. You shake your head. “It’s stupid.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It’s so stupid. I’m twenty, I shouldn’t care.”

“That’s not how people work,” Spencer says, voice warm and achingly gentle. “That’s not how you work.”

You press your lips together. Hard. Trying to hold it in. “He was supposed to come to the presentation,” you whisper finally, like the words shame you. “My psych capstone. It was today.”

Spencer’s chest tightens. “He told me he’d leave early to make it.”

You huff a laugh through your nose. “Well, something came up. Probably another profile. Another victim. Another name on a file that matters more than mine.”

“That’s not true,” Spencer says instantly, but you cut him off with a look.

“You don’t get it. You have no idea what it’s like to be the thing he always chooses last.”

Spencer’s quiet. Not because you’re wrong. But because he knows you’re not. You look away. “He texted me after it was over. Said he was proud. Said he was ‘sure I did great.’ Like I’m some intern giving a slideshow instead of his fucking daughter.”

Spencer’s voice is barely audible. “You’re not second to him.”

You whisper, “Then why do I always feel like it?” voice breaking slightly. “It was on trauma-informed profiling. I used BAU cases for the foundation. His cases.”

Spencer smiles faintly. “Of course you did. I’d like to hear it sometime.” You looked over at him.

“I mean it,” he said. “All of it. The whole thing. In order. Start to finish. I’ll sit through it as many times as you want.”

Your throat tightened. “Even the stats section?” you whispered.

He smiled, warm and soft and proud. “Especially the stats section.”

“I even quoted you, you know.” You nudge him. “Statistically, you’re the most cited member of the team.”

He nudges back. “I’ll never let him live that down.”

And for the first time that day, you laugh. Quietly. Weakly. But it’s real. He holds your hand a little tighter. “I’ll remember your paper,” he says. “And I’ll ask to read it.”

You choke back a sob, “Thanks, Spence.” You lean your head on his shoulder. And for the first time that week, the ache in your chest starts to loosen. Because even if your dad forgets sometimes…Spencer never does.

a/n: Spence is my babygirl

⋆•★⋆ MASTERLIST ⋆★•⋆

[moonlightbuck]

eddie comes home from frolf (FROLF …stupid game 🙄..Buck thinks) but he’s kind of sweaty and looks incredible and buck kind of tosses the kitchen towel onto the counter a little more force than needed and he’s like…so how was FrOlf ..and eddie pauses from dropping his bag down to look up at Buck and give a little smile bc he has ultimate buckstanding and oh..ok so we’re doing this tonight 😌and he finishes letting the bag slide off his shoulder and says “oh it was great…ravi won…but.. i was kind of just phoning it in at the end…” buck: “oh.. well. good for him..im sure he’s a regular kim clemo.🙄.” and eddie laughs like wait who?? and bucks like uhhh most famous frolf player in history??… (he spent the whole time jealous googling) guess yall aren’t THAT big of fans…. hes all grumbly , idle hands fooling w that same dish towel..and eddies all fond eyes and endeared voice , says “what’re we really talking about here buck…” and buck pouts ,( just slightly , to his credit)..” just don’t want u forgetting about me while you’re off on all these frolf adventures with ravi that’s all….” And eddies like oh buck no I won’t! 🥹and buck looks up and eddies like…. Next weekend is basketball remember? (teasing and smirking) and buck snaps the towel at him like shut up 🙄🥰and eddie laughs and holds his hands up in defense from the towel attack and manages to grab it and pull buck in and gets his hands on bucks waist and is like, “you know why ravi won?.. bc I was ready to get home…there’s something else on the calendar today too… a private event..just for us” and he’s pushing up against buck, breath ghosting bucks lips.. and that finally loosens buck up , makes him soft and sheepish in eddies hands and he looks up thru his eyelashes and says.. oh ? And eddie says mmhmm… if you’re free tonight,, you free tonight buckley? as he noses up bucks jaw..And bucks knees are almost buckling and he manages to nod and says y-yeah..I’m free.. and Eddie kisses him..pushes him up against the counter and buck feels the heat and the thin sheen of sweat and everything is eddieeddieeddie but he keeps his mind about him just enough to pull back and say…. wait..Can we also pencil this in for next Thursday too? and eddie laughs, beautiful and free and says bud…as far as im concerned, it’s a standing appointment every Thursday for the rest of our lives… and bucks mind goes jello again and they kiss in the kitchen for a long time yay :)

[confused-squishy]

Protective Boyfriend

DP x DC

Jason Todd x Danny Fenton and a smidgeof Dick Grayson x Jazz Fenton

Danny was absolutely ready for this day to be over with. Mr. Lancer had given them a pop quiz in English class, and gym class had not been too kind to him. Stupid Dash with his accurate aiming skills. Even with his extensive healing abilities, Danny swears the bruises from the dogeball "tournament" was going to take a while to heal.

All Danny wanted to do was go home and finish packing for his and Jazz's upcoming week in Gotham. They were going to stay with their boyfriends while Jazz and Danny tour Gotham University. Jazz was leaving the community college here in Illinois and transferring to Gotham University. Since Danny graduates next month, he wanted to check out Gotham University and their Areospace program.

They'd been planning this trip for almost a year. It did hurt knowing his friends didn't want to go to GU, but he knew they picked their colleges for specific reasons. At least he thinks so he isn't so sure of anything anymore. He's been so busy studying for finales and the entry test for GU that he hasn't really hung out with Sam or Tucker in a while.

Danny sighed again and ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair. It's usually in a small ponytail, but he woke up late this morning and didn't have time to actually put it up. As he arrived at his locker, he ignored the writing and drawings on his locker. Opening it and throwing out the trash and "letters" left for him. Before putting in his books and grabbing a new number padlock before shutting his locker and locking it.

"Hey Fen-turd!"

Danny groaned loudly and tried leaving before he was thrown against the neighboring locker. Danny grunted as the unneeded air was knocked out of his lungs and glared heavily at Dash. Even after Amity found out he was Phantom, his popularity didn't rise. Tha A-listers were only nice to him when he was in his Phantom form, which was really annoying.

"I heard you, and that sweet sister of yours was leaving Amity tomorrow. Any reason why? Are you going to visit that so-called "boyfriend" of yours? HA! Don't make me laugh. Nobody believes you actually got with someone. We all know you made him up cause you're just lonely."

Dash laughed again, and so did the remaining students in the hallway. Danny's hands curled into fists so tightly his knuckles had turned white. Everyone was so caught up in the scene that they hadn't noticed the new visitor coming down the hallway. They only realized when the so-called visitor punched Dash so hard in the face that he practically flew halfway down the hallway. Everyone stared in complete shock as they stared at the new arrival.

Clad in his typical leather jacket, ripped jeans, and favorite shades was Jason Todd-Wayne. Jason sneered at the frozen form on the floor. Before turning to Danny and raising his shades and with a smile, that was so soft directed directly at him.

"Hey baby. I know you and Jazz aren't meant to come to Gotham until tomorrow but Dickie got a little impatient. So we decided to come and get you guys today. Come on. My bikes out front."

Jason wrapped his arm around Danny's waist and then pressed a soft kiss to Danny's temple. He turned glaring at the A-Listers that had finally decided to help Dash up. He narrowed his eyes at the group.

"These the assholes you were talking bout?"

Danny snorted and nodded. Leaning into Jason's side and practically melted when Jason tightened tightened his hold. Pulling him impossibly closer. Jason clicked his tongue as his eyes scanned each person. Before settling on Dash with a darker look.

"So that's the one who takes out Jazz's rejection on you? HA! Pathetic. Beating up the younger brother that's been saving your ass just because the older sister keeps rejecting him. Real fucking mature. Anyways, let's go, babe. We can have B set up your finals early so you and Jazz can settle in Gotham better before starting at GU."

Danny laughed as Jason led him towards the entrance. Not noticing the slacked jaws of everyone present. Only focusing on one another. As they made their way outside, Danny noticed Sam and Tucker laughing at everyone's reaction to his boyfriend and couldn't help the relaxing more into Jason's hold.

"Alright Dickie had Jazz finish your packing of necessities. I can just buy you whatever else you need. B and Alfie have been practically counting down the days you guys were coming back to Gotham. Your parents are already on their way to Gotham, too. Apparently, their store had been mysteriously finished early. No idea why."

Danny laughed loudly at the smirk Jason was giving him. Danny playfully smacked Jason's arm before getting on the parked bike with a wide grin. Jason played off the hit as if Danny had caused him bodily harm before settling on the front of the bike. His core purring in delight as Danny wrapped his arm tightly around his waist and nuzzled into his back. Jason snorted before handing Danny his personalized helmet before putting on his own then started his bike and kicking off the stand.

"Let's ride."

[beanarie]

this is not the next installment of "buck takes a mental health break". i mean, it is, but i'm skipping around a little.

~

"My godbaby just had a lovely christening, Uncle Buck."

"Athena! Hey. Oh, uh. Was that today?" He squints at his alerts. "No one's sent me photos yet."

"Yeah, huh. That was today. Guess the days are less distinguishable out on the open road. What have you been up to? Maddie tells me about your adventures. Didn't see you as a Graceland type of guy."

"That was Albert's idea."

"Oh, he dragged you there, did he? That whip of a thing that you could break like a toothpick?" She sounds good, far lighter than she did the last time he saw her, about a week after Bo's birth.

"Okay, I admit I was a little curious."

"And?"

"Did you know Elvis had an identical twin?"

"What?"

"Jesse. He was stillborn."

"So there could've been two of him walking around," she says. "Interesting thought. Is that all you got from it?"

"He lived in a regular place first, but his neighbors didn't like dealing with the crowds, so he asked his parents to find him a farmhouse."

"A farmhouse?" She laughs.

"Yeah." He chuckles quietly. "It didn't stay that way. You know, when I first saw it, I wondered why anyone would ever need that much. It felt greedy."

"It is!"

"Yeah, no. It is. Just. He didn't start out wanting a palace. He tried something much quieter, more- more normal. The people around him didn't like it."

She makes a thoughtful noise. "Listen, Buck. If you find a place that feels more like home-" She pauses. "Or feels the way this place used to feel, you hold onto it. Don't cut yourself off from something that could be exactly what you need just because it's new. That's an order, Firefighter."

"Understood," he says, blinking rapidly. "I- How are you holding up, Athena?"

"Today was a good day," she says, a little brittle. "I had one last week, too."

"Tell me about it?" he asks, tentatively, unsure if it's his place. And she does.

~

(Buck): Hey, when do I need to make a decision about coming back?

(Hen): What do you mean "make a decision"?

(Hen): You really don't know if you're coming back

(Buck): It still hurts

(Hen): I know. That will never go away completely. Bobby was too important.

(Buck): Not him. You guys. You said I made myself small, but I didn't just decide to do that. It was what everyone clearly wanted.

(Hen): Oh, Buck

(Buck): It might be better if I join another house

(Hen): Is that what you want?

(Buck): Not really

(Buck): But I can't go back to whatever that was. No one would talk to me. I felt like I was on fire.

Hen bubbles him for quite a while. Buck finishes his sandwich and brushes the sand off his pant legs. The sun is strong today, but there's enough of a breeze coming off the water that it doesn't feel overwhelming.

(Hen): I think because we knew your grief would be a lot, we didn't know how to handle it on top of our own. So we didn't even open the door. Then enough time went by, it seemed like you were past the worst of it and bringing it up might cause you to backslide.

Buck stares at her words and listens to the waves crashing.

(Hen): That doesn't make it okay

(Hen): I think Bobby would be pissed at us

(Hen): No, I KNOW he'd have thoughts. Loud ones. He loved you.

(Buck): He told me that, you know. That night.

(Hen): Did he?

(Buck): I didn't say it back

(Hen): He knew. We all knew.

(Hen): I'm sorry, Buck. I really am. This goes a little further than forgetting your birthday.

(Buck): I don't have a yard, or gutters. I don't have a house.

(Hen): I'll help you find one. When you're ready. Just say the word.

tagging: @peppermintquartz @chococara25 connected-dots, tumblr won't let me tag you

[show, you cannot tell me hen and buck have the kind of friendship where he does yard work for DAYS to make up for forgetting her birthday but she leaves him to drown alone in his grief and that's just, fine. do me a fucking favor]

[cbeargyu]

assigned to you

summary: in a dystopian future where the government enforces arranged marriages to combat plummeting birth rates, you’re assigned a husband—choi yeonjun, a stranger you’ve never met.

pairing: yeonjun x fem!reader

genre: dystopia, slow burn, romance, angst, smut, fluff.

warnings: explicit sexual content, soft breeding kink, language, forced marriage system, emotional vulnerability, pregnancy, domestic intimacy, power imbalance due to forced pairing, first time sex, creampie, dirty talk, oral sex,

wc: 19,1k

notes: hi everyone! ✨ so recently this idea popped into my head—i’ve been wanting to write something with an arranged marriage trope but the whole cold ceo x neglected wife thing was starting to feel a bit repetitive, especially since i’ve already written something in that genre (which i still LOVE btw, but i just wanted to try something new) 🥲 then i remembered this anime called koi to uso — it’s about this dystopian world where the government assigns you a partner and yeah… i never finished it because it turned super harem-y and that’s not really my vibe AJSJHSKJJH but the concept really caught my attention, so i thought hmm maybe i should give it a try 🫣

hope you guys enjoy it!! 🫶

everything begins the day you turn twenty.

you wake up to the faint noise of birds outside your window, sunlight filtering through the pale curtains, painting quiet shadows across your bedroom floor. your mother is already in the kitchen, humming lowly, but there’s something off in her tone. a tremble, maybe. or maybe it’s just you. maybe you’re imagining it because today’s the day you have to register.

the day you officially surrender your right to choose who you’ll love.

in this country, love is not a decision. it is a number, an equation, a state-mandated obligation for survival. for years now, the country’s birth rate has been plummeting. desperate to avoid demographic collapse, the government instituted the pairing system: when you turn twenty, your data—genetic markers, temperament, emotional intelligence, compatibility rates—is run through the database. the algorithm does the rest. your match is chosen, your future locked in, and within the year, you are expected to marry and attend compulsory family planning. you have one job: produce offspring.

love is banned unless sanctioned by the state.

you walk into the government building with your hands shaking, your mother squeezing your fingers too tightly, her eyes red-rimmed but dry. she’s been crying in secret, you know. she didn’t want this for you. no one does.

and yet—there is no other choice.

the registration is swift. a photo, a signature, your blood drawn for one final compatibility cross-check. they tell you the letter will arrive in three to five business days. the envelope will be yellow. unmistakable.

“please return home and prepare for assignment.”

you try to keep your days normal after that. university lectures. cafeteria lunches. walking home with your head down, ignoring the couples holding hands across campus, each one with an official barcode tattooed on their ring fingers—a symbol of government approval. your own hand feels heavy just looking at them. branded love. manufactured desire. they never really chose each other.

sometimes you wonder if any of them are happy.

three days later, the yellow envelope is in your mailbox.

you freeze when you see it. fingers trembling, breath caught, skin going cold. the paper almost burns in your hands. you don’t open it right away. you walk straight to your room, lock the door, sit on your bed with your heart racing so violently you think you might throw up. and then, slowly, carefully, you tear the seal.

your eyes skim the top. the official logo of the bureau of demographic affairs. your name, your assigned number. and then:

assigned partner: choi yeonjun. age: 20.

a small, passport-sized photo is attached to the right side of the letter.

you stare.

he’s... beautiful.

cat-like eyes, tilted just enough to make him look a little wild. dark lashes, long and thick. a soft, upturned nose with a gentle slope that suits the elegant structure of his face. lips—full, plush, the kind that look perpetually kiss-bruised even in monochrome. his jaw is sharp but not too much, softened by a slight pout in his mouth. he’s unnervingly symmetrical. there’s a balance to his features, a harmony, like he was designed—crafted—to be attractive.

your throat feels dry.

beneath the photo, there’s a line of text confirming the date of your preliminary meeting—next friday at 2 p.m., government center, family conference room 2B. both sets of parents are expected to attend. your wedding will be planned based on that meeting’s outcome.

you lie back on the bed, letter pressed to your chest, and stare at the ceiling.

it feels... wrong to think this—but he’s attractive. unfairly so. and that terrifies you even more. because you were always taught not to feel. not to dream of fairytales or meet-cutes or falling for someone in the rain. love at first sight is a myth now. it's forbidden. it would disrupt the system. too much emotion, too much unpredictability. and yet—

yet here you are, cheeks warm, heart skipping, staring at the grayscale face of a boy you’re about to marry.

a boy you’ve never met.

friday. 2:00 p.m.government center, family conference room 2B.

you’re early.

your dress is navy, modest, but it hugs your figure in a way you wish it wouldn’t. you didn’t pick it to be pretty—you picked it because it was formal, appropriate. your mother insisted on curling your hair, and your father didn’t speak the entire ride over. only your little brother tried to smile at you, but even his usual mischief was subdued. he kept playing with the sleeves of his hoodie in the backseat, pretending not to be upset.

the building is tall and silent, cold in a way that doesn't come from the air conditioning. it's the sterility of a place that sees life as a series of documents and laws. a place that doesn’t care about dreams.

you sit on one side of the long glass table, your family beside you. your mother keeps wringing a tissue in her lap. your father’s jaw is clenched, his hands crossed tightly. this is the last time they will sit with you like this—before you are someone else's.

and then the door opens.

you hear his voice before you see him. low, warm, laughing quietly at something one of his parents said. and when he walks in, it’s—

it’s hard to breathe.

he’s wearing a black suit that fits too well. slim, tailored, crisp like a page never touched. his hair is pushed back, soft and styled, a few strands falling delicately onto his forehead. and his face—his photo didn’t do him justice. his features move with his expressions, eyes gleaming like obsidian, mouth curved just slightly at the corners as if he’s always on the edge of a smile.

choi yeonjun.

his mother is elegant, her hair in a low twist, expression unreadable. his father looks composed, dignified, already halfway through a handshake with the government official present. this isn’t their first pairing. you remember reading his file—third son. they’ve done this before.

you feel like you’re being auctioned off.

“this is my assigned partner?” yeonjun asks, voice lilting, curious—not judgmental. he’s looking straight at you. and then he bows.

you stand and bow too, polite. your voice stays caught in your throat.

“you’re pretty,” he says softly, once he straightens. “i’m glad.”

it shouldn’t affect you. it shouldn’t. and yet your stomach flutters, just for a second, before you kill the feeling dead.

you don’t say anything. not because you’re rude—but because this isn’t real. this is a performance. this is a sentence.

the government mediator begins to speak, outlining the stages of the arrangement: the preliminary meeting. the planning process. the mandatory cohabitation. the one-year marriage trial before reproduction is expected.

you zone out after a while. your mother is crying again. your father’s voice is hoarse when he answers the legal questions. your little brother won’t look at you. and across from you, yeonjun looks like he’s done this in another life. calm. collected. but not cruel.

then, the mediator clears her throat.

“now, if the parents could please give the pair some time to speak privately. it is customary.”

your mother hesitates. she squeezes your hand until her knuckles turn white. she whispers something—"don’t let them take your heart too, okay?"—and then lets go.

and just like that, you are alone with him.

just the two of you, in a silent room that smells like paper and polished wood.

yeonjun exhales once your families are gone. his shoulders relax a little.

“wow,” he says. “that was intense.”

you nod. your hands are in your lap, clutching the fabric of your dress.

“you don’t talk much, huh?”

you glance up at him. he’s watching you with a soft kind of curiosity. not the kind that pries. more like he’s observing the weather—trying to guess if rain is coming.

“i do,” you say finally, voice quiet. “just... not today.”

he smiles. “that’s fair.”

a pause. he sits across from you again, legs crossed, posture easy, like he’s not under the weight of state surveillance. like this is his decision.

“i know this is strange,” he says. “i’m not gonna pretend it’s not. they pick someone for you, give you a name and a photo, and you’re supposed to start building a future. it's... a lot.”

you say nothing. you’re watching the way his fingers tap on the edge of the table. rhythmical. patient.

“i’m not here to make this harder for you,” he says, gentler now. “i know some people get assigned to assholes. i promise i won’t be one.”

your brows knit together, surprised.

he leans forward, elbows on the table, chin resting in one palm.

“if we have to go through this, we might as well not suffer through it.”

and you look at him then, really look.

his gaze is steady. not forceful. not manipulative. he’s not trying to make you like him. he’s just... honest.

"you’re used to this,” you murmur.

his smile falters. “not really. i’ve just watched my brothers go through it. and i learned what not to do.”

there’s something about the way he says it. like he’s seen what happens when the system doesn’t pair people right. like he knows how love can die before it’s even born.

you swallow, throat tight.

“i didn’t want this,” you admit.

he nods. “me neither.”

silence settles between you again. it’s not awkward. just full. like both of you are trying to breathe in a place with no air.

“but...” he says softly, after a while. “i think you’re interesting. and you’re easy to talk to. even if you don’t say much.”

your cheeks flush, and you hate that you can feel it. he notices, of course. but he doesn’t tease you. he just smiles to himself, quiet and pleased.

“so,” he says, tilting his head. “can i know something real about you? not government data. just... you.”

you blink.

he waits.

slow burn. that’s what this is. he’s not rushing. he’s not playing pretend. he’s offering you a chance to make something human out of something cold.

and even though everything in you is screaming don’t trust it— you speak.

you tell him a little. not much. just enough.

and he listens. attentively. sincerely.

maybe that’s how it starts. not with a kiss. not with a confession. but with someone sitting across from you, asking who you are when no one’s watching.

two weeks later.

the wedding is on a thursday.

you don’t get a white dress. there’s no music, no flowers. no ceremony beyond a document and a pen and the sterile voices of government officials making sure everything is binding and accounted for.

you wear beige.

yeonjun wears black again. no tie this time. his hair is messier, like he didn’t bother too much. he looks good anyway, like he always does. like someone who never had to try.

the room is almost identical to the one where you met: glass, steel, a flag in the corner.

your mother sobs quietly during the signing. your father doesn’t let go of her hand. your brother tries not to look, but when you lean down to hug him goodbye, he hides his face in your shoulder and mutters a broken, “please don’t forget us.”

and that’s when you finally cry.

not loud. not messy. just silent tears running down your cheeks as you sign the paper that says you no longer belong to them. your name next to yeonjun’s. your status: married. active participant in national repopulation initiative.

they even stamp it. a red seal. final. absolute.

you don't remember the ride to your new shared apartment. only the sound of the car, the blur of the buildings, your hands gripping the hem of your coat in your lap like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

yeonjun doesn’t speak for a while. and when he does, it’s soft. careful.

“you don’t have to pretend around me,” he says, eyes on the road. “i know this hurts.”

you don’t answer.

he pulls into a residential complex. government-provided. modern, quiet. two bedrooms, a shared kitchen, everything fully equipped. it smells like fresh paint and new plastic. not like home.

your boxes are already inside. so are his.

the apartment is... neutral. beige walls. grey couch. chrome kitchen. there’s a small balcony, but it faces another building.

you walk into your assigned bedroom and close the door without saying a word.

and to his credit, he doesn’t follow you. not right away.

but now, days pass like fog.

there’s a schedule pinned to the fridge now. a printed routine from the bureau: acclimation period, cohabitation adjustment, health preparation. underlined: mandatory hospital check-up before family planning begins.

you go to the hospital together a week later.

the nurse greets you by your couple ID number.

yeonjun jokes to break the tension—something dumb about feeling like a robot in a factory—and you don’t laugh, but you glance at him sideways. just a little. he notices.

you both go through blood work, fertility testing, infectious disease screening. the nurse asks personal questions. too personal. about cycles and hormone levels and sexual history— you flinch.

yeonjun speaks for you when you freeze.

“she’s not comfortable,” he says simply. “ask me first.”

his voice is calm, but there's steel beneath it. the nurse adjusts her tone after that.

on the ride home, you stare out the window. he drives with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping his thigh, nervous energy he never shows in his posture. it’s the little things you’re starting to notice.

“you didn’t have to speak for me,” you say, finally.

“i know,” he answers. “but i wanted to.”

and again—there it is.

that kindness you didn’t ask for. that warmth he keeps offering, even though you haven’t given him much back.

nights are the hardest.

you pretend to sleep early, even when your eyes stay open in the dark for hours. the room feels too still, too foreign. the bed smells like the laundry detergent they gave you in the relocation kit. the ceiling fan turns slowly, quietly. your chest feels tight, like grief has found a home inside your ribs and refuses to move out.

sometimes, you press your ear against the bedroom wall. you can’t hear much. just the occasional soft shuffle, the hum of yeonjun’s voice when he speaks on the phone in hushed tones. he never speaks long. never laughs out loud. not anymore.

you miss your mother’s voice echoing from the kitchen, your brother’s heavy footsteps running down the hallway. the scent of warm rice and grilled mackerel. the sound of your father clearing his throat before calling everyone to eat.

now, there’s only silence.

until one night, a knock.

not loud. not urgent. just... present.

“hey,” comes his voice through the door. “you don’t have to open. i just wanted to say... i know this feels like the end of everything, but it isn’t.”

you sit up slowly. your hand hovers near the handle but doesn’t reach it.

“i know we didn’t choose each other,” he continues, voice low and careful, “but maybe that doesn’t mean we can’t choose to be good to each other.”

you swallow. your throat feels raw.

after a pause, your voice comes out in a whisper, hoarse but steady. “okay.”

you don’t open the door. but you walk to it, lean your back against the cool wood. and then—almost imperceptibly—you hear the sound of him lowering himself on the other side. sitting with you. just like that. no pressure. just presence.

you stay like that for a while. breathing the same air, separated by a few centimeters and a thin barrier. but somehow... it feels closer than anything else has in weeks.

you don’t talk more that night. but when you finally slide back into bed, you sleep without crying.

that’s a first.

the next morning, there’s tea waiting on the counter.

he doesn’t say it’s from him. but he’s the only other person here, so you thank him anyway.

a nod. a tiny smile. you sip it, and it’s sweet.

from that night on, something shifts. neither of you says it aloud, but the air is different now.

you start having breakfast together. simple stuff—toast, boiled eggs, fruit. you sit across from each other at the tiny kitchen table and talk about nothing. weather. uni schedules. news updates.

one afternoon, you both arrive home soaked from the sudden rain.

you were out grocery shopping. he met you on the walk back by chance. no umbrella. you ran together. you laughed—really laughed—for the first time since being assigned. your clothes clung to your skin, your breath short from the sprint.

in the elevator, he looks at you and says, a little breathless, “you’re kind of cute when you’re mad at the rain.”

you blink at him. cheeks warm. you don't know what to say.

that night, he passes you a hairdryer through your door.

“so you don’t catch a cold.”

you murmur thanks. he lingers in the hallway a moment, like he wants to say something else. but then he leaves.

the next few nights, he knocks more often. never asks to come in. just talks through the door. sometimes you join him on the floor again, your backs pressed to opposite sides of wood. you start to open up. a little at a time.

one night, just past midnight, you both end up in the kitchen again.

you couldn’t sleep. neither could he. you make tea, he brings a packet of cookies.

the city outside is asleep. your apartment is bathed in soft fridge light.

you find yourselves sitting on the floor, backs to the counter.

he asks, voice low, “did you ever fall in love before all this?”

the question feels heavy. you stare into your cup.

“no,” you answer honestly. “i didn’t let myself. what was the point, if it was forbidden? if we were all going to be assigned anyway?”

he nods slowly. you notice the way his eyes flick toward the window, as if remembering something far away.

“i did,” he says finally.

your heart stirs.

“in high school,” he goes on, “i fell for this girl in my class. she had this ridiculous laugh and used to bring snacks for everyone. i liked her for three years. never told her. i thought... i don’t know. part of me really believed she’d be assigned to me.”

you watch the way his lips twist into something halfway between a smile and a wince.

“i used to daydream about it,” he admits, almost embarrassed. “our names printed together on the envelope. hers next to mine. like it was meant to be.”

you don’t say anything. you let him speak.

“and then she got married last year. to someone else. she posted a photo with her husband and... i laughed. like, really laughed. because it was so stupid. how much hope i’d put into something that was never mine to decide.”

you imagine it. the version of him in a classroom, heart racing every time she turned around. young, hopeful. painfully innocent.

you don’t know her name. you’ll probably never meet her.

but you hate her a little.

you hate that she had his love, his dreams, his belief. something you were too scared to even touch.

and you hate that your chest aches when he says her name without saying it.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper. “that it didn’t work out.”

he looks at you, and there’s something tender in the way his eyes soften. “i’m not,” he says after a beat. “i wouldn’t have met you if it had.”

the silence after that is heavy, electric.

you don’t answer.

but you stay there with him. knees almost touching. the scent of tea between you. eyes a little too full. hearts slightly ajar.

the email arrives quietly, with the mechanical ding of a notification breaking the silence of your morning. it’s nothing dramatic—just a government seal, a cold subject line: YOUTH EMPLOYMENT PROGRAM FOR NEWLYWEDS.

you’re still in your oversized sleep shirt, hair loosely tied up, your fingers wrapped around a warm mug of barley tea as you sit at the small kitchen table. the place smells like toasted bread and laundry detergent. yeonjun walks in a few minutes later, yawning, dressed in sweatpants and a faded university hoodie, a slice of toast clenched between his teeth. he glances over your shoulder to see what you're looking at.

you click the email open. it’s from the ministry of social and familial affairs—another mandatory policy. another thing the government arranges for you, like you’re pieces on a board.

“because both parties are currently enrolled in higher education,” you read aloud softly, “the government will provide access to part-time employment opportunities and offer a financial subsidy for essential living expenses during the first year of marriage.”

you don’t say anything for a long while after that. the words hover in the air, bureaucratic and impersonal. but somehow, they make this life feel more real. more permanent. like you’re not just living in a temporary dream—you’re expected to stay here. build something.

“well,” yeonjun finally says, mouth half-full, “that’s... something. we should check it out later.”

you nod, even though your stomach feels hollow.

you still think about that night. the night he told you about his first love. about how he spent three years loving her in silence, convinced she'd be the one fate would give him. the girl with snacks and a bright laugh. the one who got married last year. not to him.

and no matter how much you tell yourself it’s ridiculous, it still gnaws at you sometimes. there’s this faint, irrational heat in your chest whenever she crosses your mind. you don’t even know what she looks like. you don’t know her name. but something about the way he talked about her—with such tender resignation—makes something sour rise in your throat.

you hate that it lingers.

you hate that it hurts.

that night, the rain starts late.

it begins with a steady tapping against the glass, the kind that would normally soothe you—white noise for your thoughts. but then the wind picks up, howling through the narrow alley between your apartment and the building next door, and you know what’s coming.

the first clap of thunder makes you freeze.

your fingers curl around the blanket. your chest tightens. you try to breathe slowly, like your therapist taught you when you were younger. but then comes another one—louder, deeper. it shakes the walls. it shakes you.

you’ve always hated storms. they made you cry as a child, and when you were too old to crawl into your mother’s bed, you forced your little brother to sleep beside you just so you wouldn’t feel alone.

now you’re in a place that doesn’t smell like your mother’s laundry, that doesn’t hold your brother’s sleepy warmth.

you’re alone again. except you’re not. not really.

you don’t think. you just move.

barefoot, your steps light across the cold floor, you open your bedroom door and cross the hall. you knock on yeonjun’s door twice, already feeling embarrassed, but unable to stop.

he opens almost immediately, wearing a gray t-shirt and sleep-tousled hair. his eyes are soft when they meet yours.

“are you okay?” he asks gently, already understanding.

you hesitate. “can i… stay here tonight?”

there’s a beat of silence. he nods, stepping aside without a word, and gestures for you to come in.

his room is dim, smelling faintly of his cologne and clean linen. it’s warmer than yours. there’s a stack of books by his bed, an open laptop with half-written notes still on the screen, a navy blue hoodie slung over the chair.

he grabs an extra blanket and starts to lay it out on the floor, but you shake your head, already trembling from another rumble of thunder.

“i… don’t want to be alone,” you whisper.

yeonjun pauses. and then, slowly, he walks back toward the bed and lifts the corner of the blanket for you.

you crawl in on one side. he lies down on the other. space between you, but not coldness. not indifference.

“i’ve always been scared of storms,” you murmur into the dark. “when i was little, i’d run to my parents’ room. then i made my little brother stay with me. i thought that when i grew up, i wouldn’t be scared anymore. but i guess… i still am.”

you feel the bed shift as he turns onto his side, facing you. his voice is low, almost a hush.

“nothing’s going to break tonight.”

those five words feel like something heavier than comfort. they feel like a promise. and they make something fragile inside you twist.

you’re quiet for a long time after that. the silence is heavy but not uncomfortable. it’s the kind of silence that lets your heartbeat slow. the kind that feels full of something new—something you don’t have a name for yet.

you fall asleep to the sound of rain and his breathing, even and steady beside you.

and when you wake up in the early morning light, his hand is resting over yours.

you slept like a baby.

it's the first thought you have when you blink your eyes open, bathed in the pale light of morning seeping through the curtains. the room smells like faint detergent and something unmistakably yeonjun—warm cotton and the slightest trace of his cologne. the air is quiet now, no more thunder shaking the walls, no rain tapping restlessly against the windows. and your chest feels… calm.

it surprises you, how rested you feel. how deep your sleep was. how safe.

you remember all those nights with your younger brother, clinging to him as the storm rattled outside, whispering stories or counting sheep until your mind shut down from exhaustion. sleep was never easy back then. it was something you wrestled for, clawed your way toward, until it finally overtook you like mercy. but last night... last night, it came softly. it held you.

and now you realize why.

yeonjun’s arms are around you.

not tightly, not possessively—just gently draped, like he forgot to move in the night, like his body instinctively curved around yours in sleep. one of his hands rests over your wrist, the other loosely against your waist, warm even through the thin fabric of your sleep shirt. and his face is so close, calm and boyish, lips slightly parted, his breath even and soft against your skin.

your heart pounds immediately, panic fluttering low in your stomach—not because you’re scared, but because this is unfamiliar. because you don’t know what to do with this kind of tenderness.

you want to pull away. you should. you really, really should.

but instead you stay.

you stay because there’s something about this moment that feels too fragile to break. something inside you, some cracked place, is being filled just by existing in this quiet closeness. and you realize—though you’ve never wanted to admit it—that you’ve been touch-starved for a long time. that there’s a part of you that’s been aching for connection, for warmth, for someone.

his fingers twitch slightly in his sleep, adjusting against your hip, and your breath catches. the movement is innocent, unconscious—but your skin reacts like it’s been branded. you swallow hard, trying to still the storm inside you, even though the one outside is already gone.

you stay like that for several more minutes, listening to the soft hum of the apartment, watching the way the sunlight plays over his features. you trace the line of his brow with your eyes, the soft curve of his lashes, the shape of his lips. he looks so peaceful like this—unguarded, almost boyish. and for a second, you wonder what he’s dreaming about. if he ever dreamed of something like this.

he stirs eventually, a sleepy sound escaping his throat as he blinks slowly awake. his gaze is unfocused at first, but then it lands on you, and something warm flickers in it.

“…morning,” he mumbles, voice still gravelly from sleep.

“morning,” you whisper back, suddenly aware of how close you are, of how your bodies are still tucked together like pieces of the same story.

neither of you moves.

there’s a pause where his eyes search your face, slow and unreadable. and then, with a sleepy smile tugging at his lips, he lets out a soft breath.

“you didn’t run away in the middle of the night. that’s a good sign.”

you laugh quietly, your cheeks burning. “i slept too well to even think about moving.”

he hums, pleased. “me too. i usually toss around like crazy, but i guess… you were a good influence.”

you want to joke. to deflect. but instead you find yourself whispering something real.

“i felt safe.”

his eyes soften.

you don’t say anything else. you just lie there a while longer, not moving, not rushing. there’s a peace in the way your bodies still fit together, in how neither of you seems quite ready to let go.

but the world, eventually, pulls you back. responsibilities, the clock ticking louder in your head. breakfast. classes. life.

yeonjun stretches lazily and finally pulls back, giving you space without question, his smile sleepy but kind. “i’ll make us coffee.”

you nod, watching him slip out of bed, hair tousled, shirt riding up slightly at the back. you press your hand to where his body had been, still warm, and you sit there a little longer, your thoughts spiraling in slow, confused circles.

because even though last night was about fear and storms… this morning feels like the beginning of something else entirely.

the waiting room smells like antiseptic and soft lavender, a strange combination that doesn’t manage to calm your nerves. you sit side by side with yeonjun on a sleek government-issued bench, your fingers clasped tightly on your lap, trying not to let your knee bounce with the anxiety pressing into your chest.

he seems more composed than you are—back straight, hands relaxed, legs slightly spread in his usual confident posture—but when you glance sideways, you notice how he keeps licking his lips, how his jaw clenches just a little every few seconds.

the appointment with the planning officer had been scheduled right after your wedding—clinical, efficient, emotionless, like everything else in this system. you hadn’t talked about it. hadn’t even wanted to think about it. but now it’s here, and there’s nowhere to hide.

“choi yeonjun. choi y/n,” a nurse calls softly from the doorway, clipboard in hand. “follow me.”

you walk side by side into a white, spotless office where a woman in a pale beige suit greets you from behind a desk. she looks to be in her forties, composed, direct, her nametag reading ms. kang – reproductive health officer.

you sit across from her. the air feels heavier now.

“so,” she begins, smiling in that polite, unyielding way government workers do, “you’re about a month into your union. how’s the adjustment been?”

you blink, unsure how to answer. yeonjun speaks first.

“we’re getting used to it. slowly.”

“good,” she nods, tapping something on her tablet. “you’ve both passed the health screenings, no genetic flags or fertility concerns. so the next step is to begin trials of compatibility-based conception.”

you shift in your seat. trials.

“have you already begun your sexual relationship?” she asks, her tone calm, like she’s asking about the weather.

your breath catches. your eyes widen slightly, and your face goes hot. “uh—no. not yet,” you manage, your voice too soft, almost guilty.

yeonjun straightens a little, eyebrows twitching, his tone sharper. “we’ve only been married a few weeks. there hasn’t been time.”

ms. kang doesn’t flinch. she only nods and types something on her screen. “i see. while it’s natural for some couples to take time, we recommend initiating intimacy soon. it will help establish the rhythm of your connection and allow us to track progress for planning interventions if necessary.”

your ears are burning now. her words play back in your head like static: initiate intimacy, track progress.

you glance at yeonjun without meaning to, and he’s already looking at you—but his expression is unreadable. his jaw is tight again.

“we’ll… take that into consideration,” he says curtly.

the rest of the appointment passes in a blur. you nod and agree to things you barely hear, accept pamphlets on fertility monitoring and hormonal optimization. by the time you walk out of the clinic, your skin feels too tight for your body.

you don’t speak on the way home.

you sit beside him on the train, trying to focus on the passing buildings outside the window, but your thoughts keep circling the same place. the way she said it. the expectation of it. and worse—the idea of it.

because the thing is… you’ve thought about it. even before this meeting, in the quiet moments, in the space between shared breakfasts and brushing past each other in the kitchen, in that night you slept in his arms like you belonged there.

you’ve wondered what his mouth would feel like pressed to your neck.

you’ve wondered how his hands would move if he weren’t just offering comfort.

you’ve wondered how his voice would sound if it wasn’t so composed—if it cracked with want.

but that was all private. safe in your imagination. not something stamped into paperwork. not something tracked by government programs and fertility logs.

and now you can’t not think about it.

when you finally get home, it’s too quiet. you move around each other like magnets unsure if they should attract or repel. you both pretend you’re just tired. that it was just a long day.

but the silence drips between you, thick and unspoken.

you head to your room without a word, tossing the clinic folder on your desk like it burns. you try to sleep. but the image of yeonjun, tense and handsome in the cold clinic light, won’t leave your mind. his voice, defensive. his fingers, twitching on his knee. and most of all, the memory of his arm around your waist from that night—the heat of his skin under your palm.

an hour passes. maybe two.

you shift in bed, restless. you toss the blanket off. put it back on. stare at the ceiling. you hear footsteps in the hall.

a soft knock at your door.

you sit up, heart hammering. “come in.”

yeonjun stands there, messy hair and hoodie half-zipped, eyes unreadable in the dim light. he doesn’t come in right away. just leans against the doorframe and runs a hand through his hair.

“sorry,” he says after a moment. “about earlier. the clinic.”

you nod. “it’s okay.”

he looks at you then, longer, and something flickers in his expression—something caught between curiosity and hesitation.

“they make it sound like it’s supposed to be… mechanical,” he murmurs, crossing the room slowly. “but it’s not, right? it’s not supposed to be.”

your breath catches.

he stops by your bed. close enough for you to see the flutter of his lashes, the nervous line between his brows. close enough that you feel the heat radiating off his body.

you don’t know who moves first. maybe it’s you. maybe it’s both of you at the same time. but suddenly, the space between you disappears.

his hand brushes your cheek, soft and hesitant, and you lean into it without thinking.

“i don’t want it to be just… a task,” he says quietly, voice barely a breath now. “not with you.”

you don’t answer. you just let your forehead rest against his chest, your heart beating too loudly, your breath catching in your throat. and when he wraps his arms around you again—warm and strong and familiar—you feel the storm rising again.

but this time, it’s not outside.

it’s you. it’s him.

and it’s not fear anymore.

it’s something else entirely.

you don’t kiss that night.

you could’ve. maybe you almost do. there’s a moment where his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth and your eyes lift to meet his, and you feel it—that shift, like the world holds its breath. but then he steps back, gives you a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and says goodnight in a voice that’s too soft, too careful.

he leaves your door cracked open behind him. and somehow, that’s worse than closing it.

after that, the tension lingers—thick and quiet like smoke.

in the mornings, you find yourselves together more often than not. your coffee mugs sit side by side now. sometimes you forget whose is whose. he steals sips from yours and you pretend to scowl, but your heart trips every time your fingers brush when you both reach for the sugar at the same time.

you fall into a rhythm. not romantic. not domestic. but something else. something intimate in a quiet way.

when the job placement emails come through, you sit together on the couch, scrolling through them on your shared government-issued tablet. yeonjun lands a spot as an assistant at a community cultural center downtown—flexible hours, reasonable pay. you get placed in a local library, part-time shelving and cataloguing.

it’s not exciting. it’s not your dream. but it’s… stable.

“at least we won’t starve,” yeonjun says one evening, his arm slung lazily over the back of the couch behind you. “thanks, government.”

you snort. “maybe next year they’ll assign us a kid and a dog, too.”

he laughs—really laughs, loud and full—and something about the sound makes your chest ache. it makes you want to say something dumb just to hear it again.

but what sticks with you, what haunts you, is that night after the storm. not because of what happened—because of what didn’t.

and what happened at the clinic. what the officer said. what yeonjun said after.

you think about it too much. think about him too much.

and you think about her.

the girl he loved once. the one he talked about in that quiet, midnight voice, when the rain had softened and you were wrapped in his hoodie like armor.

you remember how his gaze turned distant as he spoke of her, how he confessed that he truly believed she’d be the one assigned to him. that he waited. that he hoped.

how the disappointment burned when he found out she wasn’t.

and you shouldn’t feel anything about it. it’s in the past. he told you that.

but sometimes, when you catch him staring into space or fiddling with that little leather bracelet he always wears, your chest twists a little. and you don’t know why.

you’re not in love.

you’re not supposed to fall in love.

yet it keeps slipping in—quiet and slow. like water through cracks.

one evening, it rains again. not a storm, just a steady drizzle that makes the air smell clean. you’re both tired from work and university, but neither of you wants to be alone in your room.

you sit on the windowsill together, knees touching, sharing a bowl of strawberries yeonjun bought on the way home. the fruit is sweet and cold against your tongue.

“i used to love the rain,” he murmurs, watching it trail down the glass. “when i was a kid, i’d sit on the porch for hours just listening. it felt like… everything else stopped for a while.”

you glance at him. his profile is soft in the dim light, his hair falling slightly over his eyes.

“it used to scare me,” you admit quietly. “storms, i mean. as you may know...”

he smiles without turning to you. “you were scared.”

“yeah.”

there’s a pause.

“you weren’t scared the other night,” he says. “not with me.”

you shrug. “you made it easy not to be.”

the silence that follows is gentle. not awkward. just… full.

“do you think it’s still possible?” he asks suddenly. “to fall for someone? even with all of this?” he gestures vaguely, and you know he means the system, the laws, the matching algorithms and fertility checkups and pre-written life paths.

you don’t answer right away. you don’t know how to.

“i think we’re not supposed to,” you say after a long pause. “but maybe… that doesn’t stop it from happening.”

his eyes find yours then, and they don’t look away.

your heart stumbles.

neither of you speaks. the air feels like it’s crackling again—not with lightning, but with something just as dangerous.

the next night, you fall asleep on the couch together. not planned. not anything.

you were watching something. you don’t even remember what. but you woke up with your head on his chest, his arm wrapped around you, heartbeat steady against your ear.

you don’t move. you can’t move.

it feels too good. too right.

his shirt smells like laundry soap and skin. his fingers shift in his sleep, brushing lightly along your back. it makes you shiver. it makes you think about things you shouldn’t.

you stay there until the sun begins to rise.

you pretend to be asleep when he finally stirs and lifts his head slightly, blinking at your face. you feel the weight of his gaze.

but he doesn’t move either.

and neither do you.

because something’s changing. you both feel it.

you just don’t say it. not yet.

not until it’s too loud to ignore.

and maybe that moment is coming faster than either of you is ready for.

you try not to overthink the moments.

you try.

the accidental sleep on the couch becomes less accidental. the next week, it happens again—this time during a shared late-night study session. you're both exhausted, papers and notebooks strewn across the coffee table, half-finished cups of coffee gone cold.

you wake up tucked under the same blanket, the light off, the tablet blinking low battery on the floor. yeonjun is beside you, his legs tangled with yours, his breathing soft against the crown of your head.

he doesn’t say anything when you open your eyes. he’s already awake, watching you, and when he sees you stir, he whispers a faint “morning” like it’s a secret.

you nod, throat dry. “morning.”

neither of you moves.

and maybe it’s the silence. maybe it’s the way his hand is resting lightly on your hip, not possessive, not bold—just there.or maybe it’s because of the way your name sounds in his voice lately—gentler, more familiar, too intimate for two people who were supposed to be strangers made spouses.

whatever it is, it roots itself deep in your chest, wraps vines around your ribs, and refuses to let go.

but things are still complicated.

you remember the appointment at the family planning center far too clearly. how the sterile walls and uncomfortable chairs felt like a sentence being handed down. the woman at the desk, clipboard in hand, speaking in clinical terms while smiling too much. the questions.

“have you two begun sexual relations yet?”

your body stiffened so fast it hurt. you’d shaken your head, cheeks burning.

“no,” you said, barely above a whisper.

and then yeonjun.

his voice didn’t waver. didn’t shrink. but there was a hint of something—offense, maybe, or just discomfort buried beneath practiced calm.

“not yet.”

not yet.

those words echoed for hours after.

the woman nodded, unbothered, flipping her pen in one hand.

“you should consider beginning soon,” she said, checking off a box. “intimacy will help strengthen the emotional bond and allow us to begin identifying which fertility path will suit your needs. the government recommends couples begin within the first ninety days of union.”

you had never wanted to disappear more.

the walk home was silent.

yeonjun didn’t mention it. you didn’t either.

but it sat between you like a stormcloud, buzzing with electricity, waiting to crack open.

you catch him watching you more after that. not in a bad way. not in a way that makes you feel unsafe. no—it makes you feel too safe, and that’s somehow worse.

he’s careful. always. but he’s still a boy. and you’re still you. and your bodies know things your minds are afraid to say.

the small space you share only makes things more dangerous.

his cologne clings to your pillows. your lotion starts appearing on his arms. he hums the songs you listen to in the shower. he buys your favorite snack without asking.

you start wearing his shirts to sleep without realizing. you only notice the third time it happens—when he stops in the hallway and his eyes dip, linger, then flick back up with a quiet clearing of his throat.

“is that mine?”

you glance down at yourself. it’s an old oversized gray tee. soft. worn. familiar. his scent baked into the fabric like sunlight.

“uh… yeah. sorry. it was just on the chair and—”

“keep it,” he says, not letting you finish. “looks better on you.”

you go to bed that night with your skin buzzing.

and things only build from there.

he starts cooking more, pulling you into the kitchen with an easy “help me” that really means just stand here while i talk to you. you lean on the counter while he cuts vegetables, while he stirs sauces, while he tells you about his classes and how boring statistics is, how he almost fell asleep mid-lecture. you laugh and call him dramatic. he grins and tells you it’s your fault for not waking him up when he left.

“you’re supposed to be my wife now. you have responsibilities.”

he says it like a joke. you laugh like it is one.

but your heart stutters anyway.

one night, it rains again. not a storm, just heavy and constant, soft thunder echoing in the distance. you find yourself awake at midnight again, restless, curled on the couch in the living room with your knees tucked to your chest.

yeonjun finds you there.

he doesn’t say anything—just sits beside you, close but not touching, and watches the rain drip down the windows.

“can’t sleep?” he asks.

you shake your head. “not really.”

“you okay?”

you nod, even though you’re not sure.

the air between you hums. it’s familiar now. this closeness. this heavy, unsaid thing growing slowly between shared silences and sidelong glances.

you lean your head on his shoulder, unsure why. maybe it’s because the rain feels lonelier tonight. maybe it’s because it feels like something is shifting again.

his breath hitches almost imperceptibly, but he doesn’t move away.

“do you think they’re watching us?” you ask softly. “the government, i mean. checking how fast we fall in love. how fast we sleep together.”

he’s quiet for a moment.

“maybe,” he says finally. “but they can’t measure the parts that matter.”

“like what?”

he tilts his head toward yours. “like this.”

you feel the words like fingertips down your spine.

you close your eyes, and his shoulder under your cheek feels like solid ground.

this is the moment where maybe everything could change.

but you don’t kiss. not yet.

you breathe in together.

and for now, that’s enough.

the power cuts out a little after ten. it happens suddenly—an abrupt flicker, followed by darkness swallowing the apartment whole.

you blink, heart skipping, your body already tightening with reflex from the sound, from the silence that follows too quickly.

then the soft sound of rain begins again.

but unlike the last time, this one is gentle. no thunder, no flashes of light through the windows. just rain, steady and calm like fingers tapping against glass. it’s the kind of rain that makes the night feel softer than usual. quieter.

yeonjun lights a candle he keeps in the drawer near the kitchen, its flame swaying in the center of the living room table, casting shadows on the walls. he brings it over to the couch where you sit curled up under a blanket, your knees pressed to your chest, already waiting.

he joins you without asking.

“guess we’ll have to pretend we’re in the 1800s,” he murmurs, glancing at the candle.

you laugh softly. “at least you’re not reading me poetry.”

“don’t tempt me,” he grins.

the silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. it rarely is now. something about the rain, the flicker of light, the way you’re seated side by side with your shoulders barely touching, it all feels… close.

your gaze drifts to the window, where the raindrops race each other down the glass. and before you can stop yourself, your thoughts start circling again. you’ve been doing that more and more—ever since that night. ever since yeonjun told you about her. the girl he loved in high school. the one he thought would be assigned to him.

you swallow. your chest tightens, not with pain exactly—more like an unfamiliar ache. something raw you haven’t named yet.

“can i ask you something?” you say, voice quiet.

yeonjun hums, eyes still on the candlelight. “of course.”

“i haven’t stopped thinking about her.”

he turns to you, brows faintly furrowed. “who?”

“the girl you were in love with.”

his expression doesn’t change much. he just blinks slowly, watching you. “why?”

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “i don’t know. maybe because… i’m jealous of her.”

that makes him laugh—soft, surprised. “jealous?”

you nod, heart pounding. “yeah. i guess it’s stupid. but… she got to be your first love. she got all of you when it meant something. and now, i’m just—”

“my wife?” he cuts in, still smiling, trying to lighten the air. “you’re my wife now. kind of a win, don’t you think?”

but you don’t smile back.

you turn to face him, the dim light catching on your lashes, your jaw tight. “it’s not the same,” you say softly. “i know this is supposed to be a marriage, but it doesn’t feel right… hearing about your past like that. it’s not fair. it’s not fair that i have to be the one who came after.”

yeonjun’s smile fades. the playfulness drains from his face, replaced by something heavier. something slower. he looks at you like he’s really seeing you now—like maybe he’s been seeing you all along but didn’t know how close you were to unraveling.

“hey,” he says quietly, voice low and careful. “you’re not after anyone.”

you try to look away, but he catches your chin between two fingers, guiding your eyes back to his.

“she’s the past,” he murmurs. “but you—you’re the present. you’re the one who’s here. who sleeps beside me. who leaves hair ties on the bathroom sink and wears my shirts and steals my side of the bed.”

your lips part, but no sound comes out.

“don’t do that to yourself,” he whispers. “don’t compare. it’s not the same because this is real. and growing. and you—”

he leans closer.

“you make me forget her name.”

you blink, breath catching. the air feels different now. the candlelight flickers between you, but you can barely see it. all you can see is him—his face inches from yours, his voice warm and deep and trembling just enough to make your pulse race.

“yeonjun…”

“can i kiss you?” he breathes.

you nod.

slowly, his hand slides to your jaw, his thumb brushing the soft skin beneath your cheekbone. he closes the space between you inch by inch, giving you time to pull away, but you don’t. you lean in.

when his lips finally meet yours, it’s not fireworks. it’s gravity.

you sink into it, into him, into the warmth and tenderness of it. it’s careful, at first—testing, soft, a question asked in the silence. but then you tilt your head, fingers finding the collar of his shirt, and he answers with a deeper kiss, one that pulls a sound from the back of your throat you didn’t expect.

it’s too much. it’s not enough. it’s everything all at once.

when you finally part, you’re breathless.

he presses his forehead to yours. the candle crackles gently nearby. the rain keeps falling.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper.

“don’t be,” he says, brushing his nose against yours. “i should’ve known. i should’ve said something sooner.”

you shake your head. “no. i needed to feel it. to say it. i think i’ve been holding everything back since this marriage started.”

“me too.”

you both fall quiet again, but this time, it’s different.

you’re not two strangers trying to survive a system anymore.

you’re two people finally reaching across the space that was never meant to last.

and outside, the rain sings soft lullabies to the city, and the candle flickers like a heartbeat, and in his arms, you no longer feel like a second choice.

you feel chosen.

the next morning, something has changed.

it’s subtle. nothing overt. not at first.

you wake up earlier than him and find yourself just… watching him for a moment. the soft rise and fall of his chest. the curve of his lashes against his cheek. how he frowns slightly in his sleep, like he’s still half in a dream. you should look away—you’ve always looked away before—but now your eyes linger.

when he stirs, blinking against the light, he sees you watching. he doesn’t flinch. he just smiles, sleep-warm and real, and your heart does something uncomfortable and sweet in your chest.

“morning,” he murmurs, voice rough.

“morning,” you whisper back, your voice catching a little.

he reaches out lazily, his fingers brushing your arm beneath the blanket, and even though it’s nothing, just that, your breath hitches. you tell yourself it’s the closeness. the aftermath of the kiss. but the warmth in your chest says something else.

and then the day goes on—but not quite the same.

at breakfast, he sits closer than usual. your elbows touch when you both reach for the sugar. he doesn’t apologize like before. doesn’t pull away. just grins and bumps your shoulder on purpose this time.

you roll your eyes. “you’re annoying.”

“you kissed me last night,” he says, way too casually. “you don’t get to call me annoying anymore.”

“you asked first.”

“still counts.”

the banter is light, teasing, familiar. but under it, there’s a new current. an awareness. every glance feels heavier. every touch lingers a second longer than it should. when he hands you a dish, his fingers brush yours, and neither of you lets go right away.

the silence between you becomes something else entirely. no longer filled with obligation or awkwardness. now it feels like a question that neither of you is brave enough to answer out loud.

until it happens again. in the kitchen, late at night, as you’re washing dishes and he comes up behind you. at first it’s innocent—he says something dumb, you laugh—but then his hand finds the small of your back, and you freeze, not because it’s wrong but because it’s not. it feels too good. too natural.

you turn, slowly, water dripping from your hands, and he’s already looking at you like he wants to kiss you again.

he doesn’t. not yet. he just leans in and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. his fingers graze your cheek, his eyes drop to your lips, and then—he walks away.

you stand there for a moment, heart pounding, wondering how the hell he keeps doing this to you.

a few days later, you’re invited to visit your family.

it’s your first time back since the marriage. your parents had called to check in, of course, had even video called once or twice, but nothing replaces being home. your mother’s cooking. your father’s quiet warmth. your brother’s chaotic energy.

the moment you walk through the door, your mom pulls you into a hug so tight you almost cry again. your dad claps yeonjun’s shoulder, awkward but trying. your brother, now twelve, looks like he’s grown taller.

he eyes yeonjun up and down, squints a little, then smirks at you.

“so, are you pregnant yet?”

you freeze.

your dad chokes on his tea. your mother lets out a gasp so sharp it could cut metal. yeonjun’s eyes go wide—like someone just yanked the floor out from under him.

“yoonho!” your mom yells, already reaching for the nearest dish towel like it’s a weapon. “you can’t ask that!”

“what?” your brother yells as he runs from her, laughing like a maniac. “i just wanted to know if the government system’s working!”

your dad is still coughing. you’re standing there redder than a tomato. burning with mortification.

yeonjun, after a stunned beat, laughs. really laughs. full chest, head-tilted-back laughter that’s so contagious you can’t help but giggle through your hands.

“don’t encourage him,” you say, smacking his arm lightly.

he grins down at you, eyes sparkling. “i’m sorry, that was—really something.”

“he’s an idiot,” you mutter, still mortified.

“he’s your idiot,” he says, voice softer now.

you glance up at him and smile, something warm spreading in your chest. it surprises you, just how much that smile feels like home.

and even after the chaos settles, even after your mom manages to drag your brother back by the collar to apologize properly, even when you sit around the table laughing and eating and telling stories—there’s a small, secret current running beneath it all.

the way yeonjun’s hand grazes your lower back when he leans past you to grab a dish. the way you lean into him just slightly when your mom starts talking about your childhood, and he listens like he wants to know everything.

and when the night ends, and you both return to your apartment, it’s quieter—but it’s a good quiet. that kind of peace you only feel when someone’s truly, finally getting under your skin.

the drive back home is quiet, but not in a bad way. it’s the kind of silence that lingers after too much laughter, after too much emotion crammed into too little time. the windows are fogged slightly from your breaths, and the hum of the road is the only sound between you. outside, the city lights blur in soft halos, the streets wet from the rain earlier in the day, reflecting neon and moonlight.

you’re leaning against the car door, eyes heavy, body full from dinner, from memories, from everything. your family had insisted you stay the night, but you knew it would’ve made leaving harder. too emotional. too permanent. so you thanked them, smiled through the tightness in your throat, and left.

and now, here you are, beside him. yeonjun’s one hand is on the wheel, the other resting between the seats, fingers tapping idly against the console. you glance at it once. then again. his profile is calm, a faint curve to his lips like he’s still smiling at your brother’s chaos.

you break the silence first.

“sorry about today… my family can be a lot.”

he lets out a soft chuckle. “i liked it.”

you turn to him, a little surprised.

“really?”

he nods. “they’re… warm. chaotic, yeah, but it felt real. like they love you so much they don’t even try to hide it.”

you press your lips together, looking down at your lap, suddenly blinking back something stinging in your eyes. you weren’t expecting that answer. or maybe you were, but not the way it made your chest ache so gently.

“thanks,” you whisper.

you don’t realize you’re still staring at him until he speaks again, this time softer.

“and your brother…” he smirks a little. “i can’t believe he said that.”

you groan, hiding your face in your hands. “please don’t remind me.”

“i’m serious,” he laughs, and then looks over at you, his gaze lingering longer this time, “you were so red.”

“because it was embarrassing,” you shoot back, but your voice is lighter, warm with the trace of a smile.

his eyes flick down to your lips.

“you’re cute when you blush,” he murmurs, and it’s so quiet you’re not even sure he meant to say it out loud.

your breath catches. your heart stutters. suddenly the space between you feels smaller. the console is no longer an arm’s length—it’s a breath. the air is thicker. hotter.

you look at him, really look at him—his jaw sharp in the glow of passing streetlamps, the tendons in his neck tense, his grip on the wheel a little tighter now. he looks back, just briefly, but it’s enough. something electric pulses between you.

and then he pulls over.

not far from your building, not quite home yet—but enough to be alone. enough to pause. the engine hums low, a steady heartbeat in the silence. he doesn’t look at you right away, just stares forward, fingers tightening, loosening, tightening again on the wheel.

you feel your pulse in your throat.

“i…” he starts, then stops. he turns to you, eyes darker than before. clearer. “can i ask you something?”

you nod, heart racing.

“why did it bother you?” he asks quietly. “about the girl i told you about.”

you stare at him. that familiar heat returns to your chest, crawling up your neck. you bite the inside of your cheek before answering.

“i don’t know,” you lie at first. but then, you sigh. “maybe because it was real for you. maybe because… you had someone you wanted, once. and i never did. and now i’m supposed to just… live with that. pretend like i’m not wondering if she would’ve made you happier.”

he watches you for a long moment, expression unreadable. then, finally, he leans a little closer, voice low.

“do you think i’m not happy?”

your throat dries.

“are you?” you whisper.

he exhales slowly, shaking his head like he can’t believe he’s about to do this. and then he shifts, fully turning toward you. his fingers reach up, brushing lightly against your chin, lifting your face to his.

“you’re not her,” he says. “you’re you.”

and then, without waiting, without asking again—he kisses you.

it’s not urgent. not rough. it’s slow, deliberate, tender with something sharp hidden beneath. like he’s been holding it back for too long and now that it’s happening, he’s pouring everything into it. his hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek. your lips part before you even realize, and his tongue grazes yours, soft, testing, like he’s still asking if this is okay even now.

you melt into it.

your hand slides up his arm, gripping his bicep, grounding yourself as heat spreads through your veins. your bodies don’t move much, still confined by seatbelts and space, but it’s intimate. intense. and when he finally pulls back, breathing harder than before, he rests his forehead against yours.

“you’re not her,” he whispers again. “and thank god for that.”

you sit there, breaths mingling, skin flushed, hearts racing in tandem. your hand is still on his arm. his thumb is still tracing your cheek.

and this time, neither of you says a word. because you both know—something just changed again.

you’re not lovers. not yet.

but your hands brush again on the way to bed. he holds your gaze a little longer. and when you lie down, back to back, you find yourself pressing closer, just enough that your spine feels the heat of his chest.

you fall asleep like that.

and neither of you says a word.

you both had an appointment early in the morning. the ministry of civil labor had sent a formal notice last week, listing the available part-time positions for couples still enrolled in university, and now you were seated across from an administrative worker who barely looked up from her screen as she explained the contracts. yeonjun was placed in a logistics department for a government-run supply chain—something with inventory and system inputs. you were assigned to a small local archival center where they'd digitize old birth and marriage records, which felt ironic in a way that made your stomach twist.

“you’ll receive your first schedule by the end of the week,” the woman said without emotion, and you both nodded, signing at the bottom of the page, pens scratching the paper in tandem.

walking out of the building, yeonjun nudged your shoulder with his and whispered, “look at us. signing contracts like a real married couple.” and you rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the smile pulling at your lips.

“you mean we weren’t real before?” you asked, raising a brow.

he smirked, unlocking the car and opening your door. “we were married on paper. now we’re married... and employed.”

you both laughed, climbing into the vehicle, and the warmth lingered even after the engine hummed to life. it was a quiet kind of happiness, soft and simple, like the feeling of your bare thighs against the leather seat, like the sun warming the dashboard. you wore a dress that day—casual, nothing too fancy, but it clung lightly to your frame in the breeze when you walked out earlier, and you caught the way yeonjun had looked at you from the corner of your eye. not blatant. just... noticing.

the road was mostly empty. the hum of tires on pavement filled the silence as the laughter faded, replaced by something thicker. something weightier.

at a red light, he stopped the car smoothly, one hand still on the steering wheel. the other lifted, slowly, casually, and without looking at you, he placed it on your thigh.

he didn’t squeeze. he didn’t slide his fingers higher. just let his palm rest there, warm and firm, like it belonged.

your breath hitched.

you tried not to move, tried not to tense up, but the sensation crawled up your spine like wildfire. it was such a simple touch, so ordinary, but it landed somewhere deep in your belly—hot, twisting, coiling. your skin tingled where his fingers barely pressed into the flesh, and your thighs felt suddenly, achingly aware of how little separated them from him.

he said nothing.

neither did you.

but your body betrayed you—the way your chest rose a little faster, the way your knees shifted slightly, as if trying to find an answer to the question that touch had asked.

the light turned green.

he drove on.

his hand didn’t move.

the silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. it was charged. heavy with something that neither of you dared name yet.

you exhaled, slow and shaky, and he glanced at you briefly, lips curving—not into a smirk, but something softer. something fond. he rubbed his thumb in a slow arc, barely there, and your fingers curled around the hem of your dress to keep from shaking.

by the time you got home, the tension had woven itself into your skin like a second layer. you both stepped out of the car and walked toward the apartment quietly, but the air buzzed with every step.

inside, the routine resumed—shoes off, bags down, water poured into glasses—but your thoughts were nowhere near the surface. every time he passed behind you, you felt his presence more than you saw him. every brush of his hand, every graze of his arm felt like a firestarter.

you stood near the sink, rinsing the cups, when he came up behind you. didn’t touch you. just stood close enough that you felt the heat of his chest on your back, close enough that your breathing stuttered.

“need help?” he murmured, voice low, mouth near your ear.

you shook your head, but your body leaned slightly into him anyway. traitorously.

his hands didn’t move—not yet—but his presence surrounded you, a quiet pressure that built with every second. you turned your head slightly to glance at him, and the proximity was enough to make you both pause. your lips weren’t touching, but they could’ve. your noses almost brushed.

and then he reached for the cup beside you, taking it slowly, deliberately, his fingers brushing yours. your breath caught again.

“thanks,” he said, voice still low.

you watched him walk away, your hands trembling under the water, and you knew—tonight, you wouldn’t be able to pretend this tension didn’t exist. it was burning its way into your bones.

that night, everything felt like it was humming. the silence between you wasn’t really silence—it was full of what hadn’t been said, of what hadn’t been done but nearly was. the ghost of yeonjun’s hand on your thigh still lingered, burned into your skin. your legs still tingled from the pressure, the weight, the heat. and when he brushed past you in the kitchen again after dinner, it felt deliberate. or maybe you just wanted it to be.

your heart hadn’t settled since the drive home.

later, after you’d both changed into your sleep clothes, you met again in the hallway, the light above you casting a golden hue that made his skin look warm and soft. you paused at the same time, eyes locking. your breath caught in your throat, because he wasn’t just looking at you—he was seeing you. seeing the hem of your shirt, the way it clung slightly to your waist. seeing the bare stretch of your legs, your collarbone, the fine line of your neck.

you thought he’d say something.

he didn’t.

he just stepped past you, heading to the shared living room like usual. the storm from earlier had passed, leaving a cool breeze in its wake. you followed, drawn to him like always. you both sat on the couch, feet tucked beneath you, shoulders close but not quite touching. it was dark. the power had gone out temporarily again, only the soft blue emergency lights casting faint shadows across his face.

“you’re quiet,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“just thinking,” he replied, his tone low, almost distant.

you turned your head toward him. “about what?”

he hesitated. “about earlier... the car. and how it felt.”

you sucked in a soft breath. “me too.”

silence again.

and then, slowly, as if guided by instinct, he reached over and touched your hand. fingers brushing the back of yours. the contact was small. barely anything. but it was enough to pull the air from your lungs. you turned your palm and laced your fingers with his.

it felt dangerous.

he looked at your joined hands like he didn’t recognize his own, and then back at you—his eyes darker than usual, hooded, like he was holding back a tide. you weren’t sure who moved first. maybe it was him. maybe it was you. but one second you were sitting apart, and the next your bodies were angled toward each other, your knees brushing, your breaths tangled. his hand cupped your jaw gently, fingers trembling against your skin, and he leaned in, close enough that his lips nearly grazed yours.

your pulse roared in your ears.

his mouth touched yours like a whisper—featherlight, testing.

you responded before you could think, lips parting for him, heat blooming low in your stomach like wildfire. the kiss deepened slowly, wet and slow and dizzying. his tongue brushed yours, cautious at first, then more certain, like he needed to taste you, like he was starved. your hand curled into his shirt, tugging him closer, and he groaned softly into your mouth, deep and breathless.

his hand slid down your side, fingers skating over the thin fabric of your sleep shirt, and you gasped when they reached your hip. he pulled you into his lap, your thighs straddling him, bodies pressed together too close to ignore. the heat between you crackled—your hips shifted without thinking, and you felt the hardness of him, solid and hot beneath you.

his lips broke from yours for a second, his breathing rough. “fuck... y/n...”

his hands gripped your thighs, sliding up, thumbs brushing the edge of your underwear. you whimpered, pressing closer, grinding down gently. it was heady. dizzying. perfect.

and then—

his phone rang.

the sound shattered the moment like glass.

you both froze.

you were on his lap, panting, trembling, your lips swollen from the kiss, your heart pounding like a war drum. he didn’t move for a second. then he cursed under his breath and gently lifted you off him, muttering a strained apology as he reached for the phone. his voice cracked when he answered, trying to sound normal.

you stood there, stunned, breathing hard, still tasting him on your tongue.

after the call, which only lasted a few seconds, he didn’t look at you.

“i think... i’ll sleep in my room tonight,” he said quietly.

you blinked. “oh.”

he didn’t explain.

he just walked away.

and something cold settled in your chest.

you crawled into your bed alone, wrapping the blanket around yourself tightly, but you couldn’t sleep. not when you still felt the ghost of his hands on your body. not when your lips were still tingling from the kiss. not when he had looked at you like he needed you, and then walked away without a word.

you turned over. again. again. and again. your heart ached with confusion. was it too much? did he regret it? had you done something wrong?

you couldn’t take it anymore.

you got up, padded down the hall to his room, and raised your fist to knock.

but then you froze.

because you heard it.

soft, muffled sounds, irregular breathing. your eyes widened.

a low groan, deep and drawn out.

then a quiet, wet sound—rhythmic, unmistakable.

your breath caught.

you didn’t mean to listen. but you couldn’t move.

then, you heard it.

“y/n...”

your name, moaned out—quiet but desperate. raw. like a confession.

your knees weakened.

another moan, louder this time, almost a whimper.

and then—your name again, breathless, almost broken, followed by the sound of skin slapping softly against skin, faster now.

he was close.

he was touching himself.

thinking of you.

you pressed your palm to your mouth, trying not to make a sound, cheeks burning, body trembling. you shouldn’t be here. you shouldn’t hear this. but your legs wouldn’t move. your breath came in shaky gasps, your heart thundering as heat rushed between your thighs, pooling heavy and hot.

you didn’t know what this meant.

but you knew one thing.

he wanted you.

and now, you didn’t think you could ever look at him the same again.

you didn’t mean to lean closer.

you didn’t mean to press your ear too tightly against the door.

but your balance faltered—just a second too long standing on your toes, your weight shifting, your breath too shallow—and suddenly your foot slipped on the edge of the smooth hallway floor. a soft, startled sound escaped your throat as your body tilted sideways, your hand fumbling for the wall, failing.

and then—thud.

a soft crash, your hip hitting the floor, your palms slapping down just in time to soften the fall. you gasped and quickly clamped your hand over your mouth, praying he hadn’t heard, that you hadn’t been loud enough—but inside, panic bloomed like fire. your chest heaved as you tried to stay perfectly still, your cheeks on fire, the oversized t-shirt—his t-shirt—riding high around your waist from the fall.

then you heard the shuffle. footsteps. hurried. a sudden rush from the other side.

“y/n?” his voice was sharp. worried. confused.

before you could react, the door swung open.

and there he was.

yeonjun.

bare-chested, sweat clinging to his collarbones, his hair disheveled, lips swollen and flushed, his hand still adjusting the waistband of his boxers as if he hadn’t had time to fix himself. and then he saw you.

on the floor.

his shirt up around your waist.

your bare thighs. your panties exposed.

your hand covering your mouth, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

time froze.

he stared at you, blinking once, then again. his mouth parted, but no words came out. his gaze dropped—just for a heartbeat—but you saw it. the flicker. the hunger. the tension that snapped into existence like a spark to gasoline.

you scrambled to tug the shirt down, cheeks burning, breath caught.

“i—i slipped, i wasn’t—i mean—”

“were you listening?” his voice came out low. rough.

you opened your mouth, then shut it. your throat tightened. your heart was pounding so violently you felt it behind your eyes.

“y/n…” he whispered, stepping closer.

your breath hitched.

“i heard you,” he said, his voice strained now. “outside the door. you… you heard me too, didn’t you?”

you nodded slowly, like it was all you could manage.

he knelt beside you without thinking, his hands hovering for a moment before one slid to the small of your back, the other cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin gently, eyes searching yours. “you heard me… say your name.”

you couldn’t speak.

“fuck,” he whispered. “i didn’t mean for you to know. i tried to walk away because i couldn’t control it. i thought... if i gave us space—”

“why?” your voice cracked. “why did you walk away after kissing me like that?”

his jaw clenched. “because i wanted more. i wanted too much.”

your lips trembled. “me too.”

something inside him snapped.

he surged forward, his lips crashing into yours with a hunger that was no longer restrained. this wasn’t careful. this wasn’t gentle. this was weeks of stolen glances and soft touches and building need exploding all at once. his mouth was hot, possessive, his hand slipping to your thigh, then gripping, pulling you into him as you moaned against his lips.

you tasted everything—desperation, desire, the salt on his skin from sweat, the sound of his breath ragged and wild. you clung to him, your fingers digging into his bare shoulders as he leaned you back slowly onto the hallway floor, his body covering yours, fitting against you perfectly. your thighs opened for him without thought, welcoming the pressure of his hips between them, the hardness of him pressing directly against the wet heat soaking your panties.

“fuck, y/n,” he groaned against your mouth, “you have no idea what you do to me.”

his hand slid beneath the hem of the shirt—his shirt—the one you wore to sleep every night, the one that smelled like him. his palm caressed your waist, your ribs, then cupped your breast softly over the fabric of your bra, his thumb teasing the sensitive peak until you whimpered, arching up into him.

“you shouldn’t be here,” he rasped, but didn’t stop. “i’m trying so hard to do this right. to be careful.”

“then don’t,” you whispered back, your voice broken, needful. “don’t be careful.”

his eyes burned into yours.

his lips kissed down your jaw, your neck, biting softly at the tender skin just below your ear. “you’re gonna make me lose it,” he growled.

“maybe i want you to.”

his hand slipped lower, over your stomach, fingers grazing the band of your panties—when suddenly—

a sharp knock on the front door shattered the moment.

you both froze.

his chest rose and fell against yours, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

another knock. then a voice from outside.

“government delivery. lights restored. system check.”

“fuck,” he hissed.

he helped you sit up, both of you breathing like you’d just run miles.

you looked at each other.

your lips swollen. your skin flushed. your bodies aching.

you wanted to scream.

but instead you swallowed it down, tugged the shirt over your thighs, stood on shaky legs. he followed you in silence, running a hand through his messy hair, still visibly hard, still clearly affected.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered.

you didn’t respond.

because you weren’t sure you wanted him to be.

you weren’t sure what you expected when you whispered, maybe i want you to. maybe you thought he would pull away, maybe he’d laugh and tell you to go to bed, that you were just talking nonsense, caught up in the tension of it all. but he didn’t. instead, the room stayed still, save for the thrum of the rain against the windows and the sound of his breathing, which was slow, deep, heavier now, as he looked down at you with something dark and burning in his eyes.

his voice was low, but not soft. "do you know what you're saying?" he asked, barely above a whisper. you nodded, your throat too tight to speak. you could feel his body, warm and solid, pressed against yours as he leaned in again, and this time the kiss wasn’t tentative. it was hungry, deeper, drawn out, and you could taste the restraint in him, the way he held himself back even as his hand gripped your waist tighter.

you barely noticed how he guided you back onto the mattress until your head hit the pillow. your fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt, the same one you'd stolen from him to sleep in, and now it was twisted between your hands as he kissed you again and again, lips trailing down the line of your jaw, the hollow of your throat, your pulse fluttering under his mouth.

every touch was slow, deliberate. when his hands slid under the hem of the shirt you wore, it wasn’t rushed—it was reverent. he looked at you like you were something sacred, something he’d been aching for, something forbidden and now finally his. his fingers traced the line of your hip, the soft skin just beneath your navel, pausing just above the waistband of your panties. you shivered beneath him, your body responding before your mind could catch up.

"tell me if you want me to stop," he murmured, his forehead pressed against yours. you shook your head immediately, a breathy no escaping your lips before you could second guess it. and something in him broke. or maybe it snapped into place. he kissed you like it was the only thing keeping him alive, his hands roaming, learning the shape of you, the softness of your thighs, the arch of your back as you gasped under his touch.

he took his time. he whispered how beautiful you were, how long he had wanted you like this, how the thought of you in his bed had driven him insane since that first night the storm pushed you into his arms. every kiss lower was met with a pause, a glance, asking, confirming, cherishing. his hands didn’t fumble; they explored, gentle and firm, his mouth hot against your skin.

you had never felt like this before. it was more than arousal—it was a kind of unraveling, a melting of all the fear and restraint you had carried for so long. the rules, the systems, the cold logic of the world outside—none of it existed here. here, in his arms, you were just a girl wanting a boy. no laws. no assignments. no duties.

just him. just you.

and when he finally touched you, really touched you, the moan that escaped you was soft, stunned, your fingers digging into his shoulder as he kissed the side of your neck. you were wet, aching, needy in a way you hadn’t even known your body could feel, and yeonjun seemed to know exactly how to handle you—teasing, stroking, whispering your name like it was a prayer.

his own self-control was fraying at the edges. you could feel it in the way his breath hitched, the way his voice broke when he groaned your name against your collarbone, the way his hips rocked against your thigh without even realizing it.

"you make me crazy," he whispered, biting gently at your shoulder. "since that kiss. since that first night. fuck—i think about you all the time. you wearing my shirt, you laughing in the kitchen, you sleeping next to me—"

"yeonjun," you gasped, your back arching as his fingers slid beneath your panties, finally, finally touching you where you needed him most. he cursed under his breath, kissing you again as your legs parted naturally for him.

he kept you on the edge, slow, patient, as if he was memorizing every sound you made, every breath you took. he didn’t rush to have you—not yet. this was still the prelude, the first taste, the careful unraveling. but you were close. too close.

and then.

he leaned over you again, lips brushing your ear, his voice hoarse. "can i make love to you?"

you nodded, heart pounding. "yes. please."

every movement after that was reverent, every sigh swallowed into a kiss, every tremble in your limbs steadied by his hands. he helped you out of your panties, gently, and shed his own clothes with a kind of urgency that was quiet, controlled, but full of need. when he settled between your legs, he paused, eyes meeting yours with a question so full of tenderness it made your chest ache.

his hand wrapped around himself, and your breath caught in your throat. he was thick, long—too much. your eyes widened without meaning to, and he noticed, chuckling softly as he kissed the corner of your mouth.

“it’s okay,” he whispered, but your voice came out shaky when you murmured. “it won’t fit…” he hushed you gently, his palm stroking down your thigh.

“we’ll go slow,” he promised, though the way his jaw clenched told you even he was struggling to hold back.

the stretch was new, unfamiliar, but he moved slowly, letting you adjust, kissing you through the discomfort, murmuring praises against your lips. he held you like you were fragile, like the world would stop spinning if he hurt you, and when you finally relaxed around him, he moved with a rhythm that spoke of restraint and reverence, yet underneath it burned a fire he could barely contain.

it was gentle, yes, but not shy. it was soft, but not without heat. the way he groaned when your nails scraped down his back, the way he whispered your name like it anchored him—it was everything. his hands never stopped touching you, his mouth never far from yours, and the way he looked at you made you feel like you were the center of the universe.

the pace picked up only slightly, but the angle shifted when he gently maneuvered your body, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before whispering, “turn around for me, baby.” your heart skipped as you obeyed, rolling onto your stomach, your cheek resting against his pillow, flushed and dazed, breath hot against the fabric. he settled behind you, large hands caressing the curve of your hips, his voice low and rough against your ear. “you look so good like this… fuck, i could lose my mind.”

you felt him guide himself back in, slower this time, deeper, and the gasp that left you was nothing short of a whimper, your back arching instinctively. the new position had him hitting that spot—the spot—with a precision that made your eyes roll back, your mouth dropping open against the pillow. “yeonjun—oh my god—” you choked, voice muffled, and he groaned above you, one hand gripping your waist as the other gently turned your face just enough so he could kiss your parted lips. “look at you,” he breathed, panting, watching your blissed-out expression with dark, desperate eyes. “you feel so fucking good—so tight around me… you were made for me, weren’t you?”

your voice came out broken, shaking. “it feels s-so good… i can’t—yeonjun, i—” but you didn’t need to finish. he could feel it. your body clenching around him with every slow, deep thrust. he bent over you, chest pressed to your back, skin to skin, and whispered filth in your ear in between kisses down your spine. “such a good girl,” he rasped, “taking me so well… fuck, i’m close. i can’t—i need to pull out…”

you nodded weakly, barely able to breathe, trembling as he gave one more thrust, then another—and with a strangled moan of your name, he pulled out and spilled his release onto the dip of your lower back, hot and heavy against your skin, dripping down to your ass. he groaned, his forehead against your shoulder, panting hard as he tried to come down from the high. “fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmured, voice ragged. “so fucking perfect.”

when he collapsed beside you, he didn’t pull away. his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest, both of you still catching your breath. the rain still tapped gently against the windows, the room now full of the scent of sweat and skin, of something new, something sacred.

"i’ve wanted you for so long," he murmured against your hair.

"i know," you whispered back, curling into him.

and for once, you didn’t feel cold. you didn’t feel alone. you didn’t feel like someone forced into something by a cruel system. you felt wanted. chosen.

his.

yours.

the morning came too quickly, the sun bleeding gently through the curtains, casting a golden warmth across the tangled sheets. your body still ached in the most delicious ways, and your skin was marked with soft reminders of his mouth, his hands, the way he held you like you were breakable and wanted all at once. you hadn’t said much when you woke. yeonjun had only kissed your forehead, helped you get dressed, and now you were sitting in the waiting room of the ministry’s planning clinic, the air sterile and overly bright.

the doctor, a warm-looking woman with gentle eyes and an enthusiastic tone, greeted you both like old friends. “ah! newlyweds,” she smiled, scanning her clipboard. “i see you’ve finally started your sexual life together. that’s wonderful news!”

your cheeks flamed immediately, and beside you, yeonjun coughed, suddenly fascinated by a poster about prenatal vitamins on the wall. “uh, yeah,” you mumbled, barely able to meet her gaze.

“good, good,” she said brightly, motioning for you to follow her behind a curtain for a quick checkup. “we need to make sure everything’s healthy and progressing normally. it’s still early, but we want to optimize for fertility, yes?”

you nodded, letting her guide you onto the examination table. her hands were professional, but the whole thing still made your stomach twist. you were sore—still a little tender—and she noticed, humming under her breath.

“you’re fine,” she reassured you, adjusting her gloves. “some sensitivity is natural after a first experience. but you’re healthy, everything looks good.” she smiled. “do you track your cycle, darling?”

you nodded slowly, fingers tightening on the edge of the table. “yes… i keep a calendar.”

“perfect. when was your last period?”

you told her, and she did some quick math on her tablet before her smile brightened. “then your most fertile window should be starting in about four days. if you’re trying to conceive—and you should be, of course—it’s best to be active every other day during that period. that increases the chances significantly.”

you wanted to sink into the floor. “o-oh.”

“don’t be shy. this is natural.” she patted your knee, then stood. “you’re young and healthy. your compatibility score is ideal. You just need to be consistent now. and relaxed. it should be something enjoyable.”

you weren’t sure what your face looked like when you stepped out, but yeonjun blinked and stood instantly. the doctor gave him a little wink and whispered something about keeping the environment fun, and you could practically feel the tension coil between your ribs as you exited the building together.

the ride home was quiet for a while. the hum of the engine, the soft buzz of traffic, the way your thighs were pressed together beneath your dress. he tapped the wheel with his fingers, sneaking glances at you out of the corner of his eye.

finally, you exhaled. “she said i’m entering my fertile window soon.”

his hands stilled on the steering wheel.

“in four days,” you added, your voice too high, too soft.

“oh.”

another silence.

“and she said we should—uh—every other day. during that window. for higher chances.”

“right.” he adjusted his grip again. “makes sense.”

but neither of you looked at each other. because the thing was, last night hadn’t felt like a scheduled duty. it hadn’t felt like a requirement, or a step in a plan designed by the state. it had felt messy, desperate, slow, sweet, and hungry. it had felt human.

and now the idea of doing it again, like you were just checking off boxes on a clinical list, felt… weird.

“does it feel weird?” you blurted, staring out the window.

yeonjun looked at you, startled. “what?”

“this. talking about it. like it’s a chore or something. when last night—” you trailed off, cheeks heating.

he nodded slowly. “it feels weird because it wasn’t just about the system. it was… about us.” his voice was quiet, unsure, but honest.

you twisted your fingers in your lap, the weight of his words settling between your thighs like the lingering ache from last night. you didn’t know how to act now—how to go from that kind of vulnerability to pretending you were just following instructions.

“i want to do it again,” you admitted, so softly it could’ve been mistaken for a breath. “but not because of the calendar. because… i liked how it felt. with you.”

his knuckles tightened on the wheel, his jaw clenching as he looked at you again. something in his eyes flickered—warm, molten, restrained. “good,” he said roughly. “because i haven’t stopped thinking about it since i woke up.”

your breath caught.

the red light ahead turned green, but neither of you were breathing normally anymore.

this wasn’t just about reproduction.

not anymore.

and neither of you knew how to navigate that yet—but the thought of exploring it again?

set your blood on fire.

you didn’t even make it past the front door.

as soon as it clicked shut behind you, he turned to you like something had snapped loose inside him—like the silence in the car, the weight of what had been said at the clinic, the image of you squirming in your seat all flushed and embarrassed, had pushed him past the edge. his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you in with a force that made your breath stutter, his lips crashing into yours with none of the hesitation from the night before. it was need—pure, undiluted need—and you melted into it like you’d been waiting all day.

your back hit the wall, your fingers clawing at the hem of his shirt, dragging it up over his abs while he kissed you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. his hands found your thighs, lifted you slightly, pressing your hips together in a rhythm already too hungry for the softness of conversation.

you moaned into his mouth, and that was it—he growled low in his throat, carrying you the few messy steps to the living room, collapsing with you onto the couch in a tangle of limbs and breathless gasps. you straddled him instinctively, the dress you wore bunching at your hips, and the way you ground down against him made him curse under his breath, hands tightening on your waist.

"fuck, baby, you're driving me insane," he muttered, kissing down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, dragging the straps of your dress off your shoulders as his thumbs traced soft, dizzying circles into your skin.

"then do something about it," you whispered, breathless, rocking your hips again just to feel him buck up into you, so hard already it made your mouth go dry.

he didn't need more encouragement.

he kissed down your chest, taking his time, pulling down the top of your dress to reveal more skin, his mouth hot and greedy as he licked and sucked at your breasts, tongue flicking over your nipple until you were gasping his name. his fingers pushed the fabric higher, baring your panties and the damp patch growing darker by the second, and he groaned, burying his face between your thighs like he needed to taste you just to stay sane.

you cried out, your hands tangled in his hair, legs shaking as his tongue worked slow, devastating circles against your clit, sucking gently, teasing you with the edge of release only to pull away. “so wet for me already,” he whispered, voice thick, lips glistening. “you’ve been thinking about this since the car, haven’t you?”

you nodded, eyes fluttering shut, and he rewarded you by sucking harder, his fingers slipping inside to stretch you just right, his other hand holding your hips down while you rode the edge again and again until you whimpered, begging, thighs trembling.

“please, yeonjun… i need you, now.”

he didn’t make you ask twice.

he pulled you onto his lap again, kissing you deep, letting you taste yourself on his lips. and then he stood, shifting you onto the couch, turning your body gently, hands guiding your knees onto the cushions, your chest pressed to the armrest, your ass up for him—offered, exposed, throbbing.

"you’re so fucking perfect like this," he whispered, one hand sliding up your spine, the other gripping your hip as he positioned himself behind you, dragging the tip of his cock along your slit, teasing, wet and hot.

you whimpered, pushing back slightly, and when he slid in, inch by inch, you gasped—eyes rolling back, the stretch sharp and addictive all over again.

“fuck, you feel even tighter like this,” he groaned, sinking in all the way until your ass met his hips. “you’re gonna ruin me.”

he started to move slowly, the position letting him hit deeper, every thrust punching little moans from your lips. the slap of skin against skin echoed through the room, his hands gripping your waist, your thighs, your hair. and still, he kissed your spine, leaned over you, whispered filth against your neck.

“you like this, baby? you like being fucked like this?”

“yes—yes, fuck, yeonjun—it feels so good—”

he reached around, rubbed slow circles against your clit as he fucked into you deeper, faster, making you cry out into the pillow, your body arching under him, thighs shaking again.

"let me see your face," he panted, one hand turning your head slightly so he could kiss you, so he could see your expression—your flushed cheeks, your lips parted, eyes unfocused.

“you’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he growled. “you’re gonna make me come just looking at you.”

you felt it building again, heat coiling low in your belly, your body tightening, trembling, your moans turning desperate as he kept you right on the edge, hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over.

“yeonjun—i’m gonna—”

“me too—fuck—i need to pull out—”

but you reached back, grabbing his hand, voice shaking. “don’t. please. come inside.”

he choked on a moan, hips stuttering, and then he was spilling into you with a groan so deep it made your toes curl, holding you tight as he filled you completely, shaking from the force of it. your own climax hit just seconds later, white-hot and blinding, and you collapsed onto the couch, boneless, his body draped over yours, both of you gasping for air.

his come dripped slowly down your thighs, warmth spreading between them, and he didn’t move—just pressed gentle kisses to your shoulder, your back, your spine, whispering your name like it was the only word he knew.

neither of you said anything for a long time.

but you both knew.

there was no going back.

the following days slipped into a blur of aching need and restless nights. you both tried to keep the doctor’s advice in mind, to space out your moments, to give your bodies time to recover, but desire doesn’t listen to calendars or rules. every morning, before you left for university, you found yourselves tangled together, breathless and desperate, fingers tracing familiar curves as if memorizing every inch again and again. afternoons after classes weren’t any different; the moment you closed the door behind you, yeonjun’s hands were already on your waist, pulling you close, his lips claiming yours with the same fierce hunger that never dulled.

the days were a patchwork of stolen touches and whispered promises, of quick, heated moments before rushing to your part-time jobs—him with the university’s cultural center, tutoring students in language and literature, and you at a small café nearby, pouring coffee and smiling through the haze of exhaustion and longing. you came home exhausted but your body still hummed with anticipation, the ache of missing him settling low and deep, urging you back into his arms. your skin grew sensitive, your senses sharper; even the smallest brush of fingers sparked a fire beneath your skin.

and every time he pulled you close, you let him come inside you—every time—forgetting the cautious rhythm the doctor had suggested, letting your bodies rewrite the rules in the heat of the moment. the cool logic of planning was swallowed whole by your hunger, your need to be closer, to feel him deeper, to lose yourselves entirely in the mess and sweetness of this forbidden, stolen intimacy.

sometimes you’d catch yourself wondering if the doctor would be surprised—or scandalized—to know how little control you really had, how much your hearts raced and how your bodies begged for more. but in those moments, all that mattered was yeonjun’s warm breath against your neck, the way his hands shaped you like a secret only he was meant to know, and the way your own voice trembled when you whispered his name.

it was messy, it was frantic, but it was yours. and for the first time since everything began, it felt like freedom.

you were wiping down the counter when one of your coworkers, a woman named hana, leaned over with a gentle smile. she was older than you, maybe 35, and had a quiet confidence about her that made people listen. she lowered her voice just a little, as if sharing a secret.

“you know, i was assigned a husband too. i thought it would be awful, honestly. i was scared. but it turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me. at first, i wasn’t sure if i could love him, or if he even cared. but slowly, i saw who he really was. and now, i’m so happy. we have two kids, and we’re thinking about a third. it’s scary, getting older, but i go to family planning a lot, trying to make sure it’s possible. the government even recognized me for wanting to keep repopulating. it’s strange, isn’t it? how these arrangements can lead to something real.”

you nodded, the thought settling deep inside your chest. could yeonjun and you be like that someday? sure, you cared for him. he was your husband, your partner in this harsh world. you pictured mornings waking up next to him, the soft light catching his face, the two of you building a life, maybe even raising children together. but love — real love? you had never felt it before, not like this. the feeling was foreign, like a story you’d read but never lived. still, yeonjun was everything to you, and that was enough for now.

later that day, when your shift ended, yeonjun was waiting by the door like always, leaning casually against his car. you slipped inside and immediately started talking about your day, the small victories, the tiring moments. he listened, eyes bright, then shared his own stories, laughter in his voice. the rhythm of your lives syncing quietly, comfortably.

and then, on a quiet street, just as the light ahead turned red, you suddenly blurted out, “do you love me?”

the car jerked slightly as yeonjun slammed on the brakes, both of you moving forward with the momentum. the question hung between you, heavy and unexpected.

he was silent for a moment, gaze fixed on the road ahead, and you could almost see the weight of the thought pressing on him. love was a strange word, loaded with promises and fears. but then his eyes met yours in the rearview mirror, steady and sure.

“i do,” he said slowly, voice low but certain. “maybe not like the stories you hear — wild and all-consuming — but i love you. from the moment i saw you, from that first kiss in the storm, from every day since. every laugh, every touch, every quiet moment. it’s real. and it will only grow.”

your heart fluttered in a way that was both new and familiar, and when the light turned green, he eased forward, hands gripping the wheel a little tighter.

back at the apartment, the world outside disappeared as yeonjun pulled you close. the night was gentle but full of fire, his hands exploring with a tenderness that spoke of trust and deep desire. lips brushed your skin with reverence, soft whispers mingling with quiet moans. you traced the curve of his neck, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. every touch was a promise, every kiss a new discovery.

he took his time, patient and caring, making sure you felt cherished, safe. the moments stretched between you, slow and delicious, as if the world had paused just for this — for the two of you, tangled in sheets and warmth, sharing something sacred.

and as you finally melted into him, the love he had spoken of filled the space between your bodies, unspoken but undeniable.

“congratulations,” the doctor said, her voice warm, glowing even, as if she had just handed you the entire sky. “you’re pregnant.”

the world stilled.

you blinked, lips parting, heartbeat stuttering in your chest. yeonjun, who had just stepped inside the room after waiting anxiously outside, froze beside you. his eyes darted from your stunned face to the doctor and back again, like he was trying to make sure he’d heard correctly.

“what?” you breathed, voice barely there.

the doctor smiled, gentle and knowing, like this was her favorite kind of moment to deliver. “you’re about six weeks along. everything looks good so far. the symptoms you’ve been experiencing — the nausea, the cravings, the mood swings — they all point to a healthy early pregnancy. we’ll begin prenatal care from today.”

you felt yeonjun’s fingers slip into yours, holding tight, like he needed to anchor himself. like you were both floating. he didn’t say anything right away — his throat worked around words he couldn’t seem to find — but his hand trembled slightly in yours.

the tears came slowly, not from fear or sadness, but from something else entirely. wonder. disbelief. awe.

a baby.

your baby.

with him.

“i…” you started, then shook your head with a small, breathless laugh. “i thought it was just stress. i didn’t want to hope.”

“and yet, here we are,” the doctor said kindly. “your next steps will be regular checkups, nutrition monitoring, and continued intimacy when you feel comfortable. you’re doing great already.”

you could hardly focus after that — her voice faded to a background hum as your eyes lifted to meet yeonjun’s. he was already looking at you, completely undone. his gaze was soft, watery, reverent. like you were something holy.

he squeezed your hand. “we’re going to be parents,” he whispered, like saying it out loud would make it real.

and it did.

you nodded, blinking away fresh tears. “we’re going to be a family.”

the drive home was quiet, but not empty. yeonjun kept stealing glances at you at every stoplight, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real — like he couldn’t believe the little life beginning inside you was real. his hand never left yours on the console between you, thumb tracing absent-minded circles over your knuckles.

when you stepped into the apartment, he didn’t let go. he guided you gently to the couch, like you might break if he wasn’t careful. and then he was kneeling in front of you, both hands now on your stomach, even though there was nothing visible yet — just warmth. just possibility.

“thank you,” he whispered. “for this. for you. for everything.”

you touched his hair, carding your fingers through the soft strands, heart swelling. “i didn’t do this alone, junnie.”

he leaned forward, lips brushing your still-flat belly, and then rested his forehead there, breathing slow and deep. “i’m gonna do everything i can to be good to you. to them. we didn’t choose this world, but i’ll choose you every day in it.”

you’d never felt more seen. more loved.

later that night, he held you closer than ever in bed, your back to his chest, one hand cradling your stomach, the other tangled with yours. the rain tapped gently against the window again, just like it had the night everything between you shifted.

and now it had shifted again.

you weren’t just husband and wife anymore.

you were parents.

you were a beginning.

and wrapped in his arms, with his heartbeat pressed against your spine, you let yourself dream — not of what the government wanted, not of duty or numbers, but of soft mornings and tiny fingers, of lullabies and laughter echoing through the walls.

of a future you hadn’t dared imagine.

but now, it was here.

growing inside you.

growing between you.

and it was love.

the apartment smelled of cake and laughter. pink balloons were tied to every chair, streamers hung slightly lopsided from the ceiling, and tiny frosting handprints decorated the corners of the tablecloth. your baby girl — chaeyeon — had turned one.

she was currently asleep in your arms, a little drool soaking into your blouse, her tiny chest rising and falling in perfect rhythm. you'd never seen her smile so much in one day, or so determined to wobble around on her chubby legs while everyone clapped for her.

your parents had cried. yeonjun’s mother had brought enough food to feed an entire village. your brother had looked absolutely horrified when asked to hold chaeyeon and had instead stood frozen like she was made of glass. yeonjun’s older brothers had been more relaxed — juggling their own kids, swapping parenting tips with you and yeonjun, their wives giggling over how much yeonjun had softened in just a year.

it was a blur of love. of family. of a happiness you never expected from a life that had once felt forced upon you.

now it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

when the door closed behind the last guest, you let out a long breath and leaned against it. yeonjun was on his knees collecting bits of wrapping paper and cupcake crumbs, his sleeves rolled up and his hair a bit messy from carrying hana all afternoon.

“i think i have frosting in places i didn’t know were possible,” he muttered.

you giggled and padded over, gently placing a hand on his head. “she’s finally asleep. like… deep asleep. miracle of miracles.”

he looked up at you and smiled, slow and soft. “we survived our first birthday party.”

“barely.”

you both laughed, exhausted but giddy, and after tidying up the last of the chaos, you shuffled into your shared bedroom — the one that now held a rocking chair, a baby monitor, and the scent of lavender oil and baby lotion.

you sat on the bed, back against the headboard, and looked at yeonjun as he pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside. his skin glowed faintly from the sweat of the day, and his eyes were crinkled with something tender when he looked at you.

“hard to believe we’ve made it here,” you murmured.

“i know.” he crawled onto the bed beside you, resting his head against your shoulder. “long time ago we were just trying to figure out how to be in the same room without losing our minds.”

“or jumping each other.”

he snorted, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “that too.”

you fell quiet for a moment, fingers brushing through his hair. “when they told me we were being assigned… i hated it. the system felt so cruel. mechanical. like love didn’t matter.”

“me too,” he admitted, voice low. “i kept wondering who you’d be. if you’d hate me. if i’d hate you.”

“and now… i can’t imagine waking up without you next to me.” you turned your face into his hair, breathing him in. “you’ve become everything.”

he lifted his head, eyes dark with something more than just love. “you gave me a family. you gave me her.”

“we gave her to each other,” you whispered, lips brushing his.

he kissed you then — slow, deep, familiar in a way that made your toes curl. and when he pulled back, eyes half-lidded, he murmured, “i need you.”

“then take me,” you breathed.

you barely finished speaking before he was on you, lips claiming yours again, more urgent this time, tongue teasing, his hands slipping beneath your shirt to cup your breasts. you gasped, arching into his touch as he rolled a thumb over your nipple.

“fuck, i love how sensitive you still are,” he muttered against your neck, biting softly before soothing the skin with kisses. “you get wet the second i touch you, don’t you?”

you nodded, already trembling as he dragged your panties down your thighs, fingers grazing your slick folds. “you make me like this… only you.”

he groaned, dipping two fingers inside you, curling them just right, his thumb circling your clit until your hips were grinding against his hand.

“look at you,” he said, voice rough, “needy little wife. always so eager for me. i could fuck you for hours and it still wouldn’t be enough, would it?”

“never enough,” you panted, nails digging into his shoulders. “please, junnie—”

he flipped you onto your stomach, lifting your hips until you were on all fours, head turned into the pillow. “you know what this does to me, seeing you like this,” he growled, running the head of his cock through your folds before slowly pushing in. “fuck, still so tight for me.”

you moaned, face burying into the pillow as he filled you to the hilt, rocking his hips with slow, brutal precision. his hands gripped your waist, pulling you back to meet each thrust, hitting that perfect spot that made your vision blur.

“tell me how good i make you feel,” he said through gritted teeth, fucking you deeper.

“so good—oh god, junnie—right there,” you whimpered. “you fuck me like you own me.”

“because i do,” he hissed. “you’re mine. every inch. every breath. and this pussy? fuck—this was made for me.”

your cries were muffled into the pillow, tears prickling at your eyes from the pleasure building impossibly fast. he bent over you, pressing kisses to your back, your shoulder, your neck, never stopping his rhythm.

“gonna come, baby?” he whispered in your ear. “cream on my cock like you always do?”

you nodded desperately, clenching around him, your orgasm ripping through you with a strangled moan.

he followed right after, cursing low and dark, emptying himself inside you with a final thrust. “fuck—gonna fill you up again. maybe give chaeyeon a little sibling.”

you both collapsed onto the bed, boneless and breathless, his arms wrapping tight around you from behind.

and in that moment, as the warmth of him settled over your back and your heartbeat steadied with his, you smiled.

because this was the life you never asked for — and yet, it was everything.

and now, there was no one else you’d rather be loved by.

[sourappl3s]

just decide today.

it doesn’t have to be tomorrow, it doesn’t have to be within the next hour, it doesn’t have to be within the next minute. just decide you truly have what you want right now and thats it, creation really is finished, your success story is created, you have what you want all after that decision. so congratulate yourself. what’re you scared of? failure? it doesn’t exist, leave the world alone, the how, what, when, where is NONE of your business. you do not question if you are doing it right, it will only lead to a spiral then a loop. break the old story, get out of your comfort zone (the old story). your decision today could change your life for the better, you CAN, YES YOU CAN, wake up with everything overnight, yes YOU CAN, have everything within a second, YES YOU CAN, have it within the next hour, but you should NEVER wait. again making that decision automatically makes it done. you don’t wait, you don’t hope, you don’t wish, you don’t desire, you just know. thats the key, knowing. knowing and acceptance in imagination. be bold, dare to assume your wildest dreams. slam the door on negative thoughts, slam the door on anything that doesn’t serve you. just decide, stop asking the same things over and over, the answers are within, stop searching outside, looking within. trust imagination, trust god (you), have faith in the unseen. walk by faith not by sight. you ARE the universe. time doesn’t exist and it never did.

its been a great short time i’ve been on tumblr but i’ve given you all your information you need, everyone has. you just need to apply, i’ll see you at the finish line real soon, actually what am i talking about? you’re already there?. my account will be up until i decide to deactivate it. everything starts and ends with you.

[xoluvx]

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚛; 𝚋.𝚎𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑 ❥₊ ⊹ ݁⋅˚.

 🎧ྀི 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚛: 𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚎.𝚎𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 𝟸.𝟸𝙺

"hey, did you come into my room?" there was a panic in your voice. one you were trying hard to suppress as you called out to your roommate. you couldn't quite put your finger on it but things looked different. a part of your shirt was hanging from your drawer. your pillows were not arranged in their usual manner.

"no?" there was a defensiveness in your roommate's voice as her footsteps grew closer. she peaked her head into your room. nothing seemed out of the ordinary for her. of course it didn't. only someone with your level of tidiness and particularity would notice the slightly tilted photo frame and the open closet door. you never left your closet door open.

"sorry, i could've sworn i left the closet door closed." you chuckled pointing at the closest like it was such a silly mistake. you probably sounded crazy but it was eating you alive. your roommate raised her brow. crossing her arms not totally convinced by your acting. you were trying to brush it off as cautiously walked towards the closet. you closed the door, scared that someone could be lurking in the shadows.

"i'm sure you just forgot," she shrugged and uncrossed her arms before giving you a reassuring smile. "i made dinner, come on" she nodded towards the kitchen as you gave her a tight lip smile. you waited for her to leave before glancing around the room one last time. you felt weird. unsafe. everything in your room had a purpose and you always left it as such. the closet door always stayed closed.

"you okay?" she glanced at you as she finished chewing on her food. you nodded. fork sinking into a piece of potato. you brought it your mouth. your head still reeling. someone had been in your room and now that you thought about it, it hadn't been the first time. you'd wrote it off as just an off morning but for it to have happened more than once? that was no coincidence.

"someone did come looking for you today," she spoke, fork clanking on the plate. "i didn't get her name. she left when i said you weren't here. it was kind of weird," she scoffed and shook her head recalling the event. something about that statement made your skin scrawl. who could've possibly come looking for you? and why had it just so happened to be on the day that things in your room were misplaced?

"weird," you mumbled furrowing your brows. you felt sick to your stomach. you felt clammy, all blood drained from your face. you couldn't possibly stomach eating the rest of your dinner. you felt bad excusing yourself. you felt shitty shutting yourself in your room. crawling under the covers. you could only think of one person who could've come looking for you and it was the last person you wanted to see.

when you woke up the next morning there was a heaviness looming in your chest. the piece of information your roommate had disclosed crept in the back of your mind, you hardly got any sleep. you didn't want to see who you suspected had been at your door. you didn't want to think of her going through your stuff. how the fuck had she even gotten in?

you walked to the window making sure it was locked before getting ready for the day. you only had two classes and you hoped to be home before noon. still, you took pictures of your room, closed the closet and locked your door as you scribbled a note for your roommate on the little white board clinging to the fridge.

❥₊ ⊹

you twisted the knob as your roommate was opening the door. startled, you clutched your chest, chuckling when you came face to face with her.

"fuck, you scared me-" she mumbled.

"i scared you?" you teased shaking your head still clutching your chest. she stepped to the side letting you in. "were you going somewhere?" you asked noticing she'd closed the door.

"i was but i'll just go later," she shrugged following you towards the couch. you let your backpack fall to the ground with a thud. groaning when you sat on the couch curling your legs under your body.

"that girl came by again," she said sitting on the love seat. you stiffened.

"did she say anything?" you asked biting the inside of your cheek.

"she asked if you were home. i told her you were in class," she shrugged and furrowed her brows with confusion.

"what did she look like?" you asked resting your elbow on the arm rest. you held your head in the palm of your hand anxiously waiting for a description of this person you were most certainly was back to stalk you.

"she had dark hair, blue eyes. she was pretty-" she blushed and you scoffed tossing a decorative pillow in her direction.

"please, are you describing yourself?" you laughed before continuing "she's stalking me. i'm pretty sure she went in my room. how the fuck did she even get in there? remember that crazy bitch i met on that weird ass dating app?" you were rambling. you were angry. it was her. it had to have been her.

"oh my god-" your roommate's face grew pink as she covered her mouth. she knew the one. you never showed her a picture because it was over before it even started. "-so what? she's stalking you now?" she asked crossing her arms, propping her leg on the coffee table.

"i guess," you shrugged. eyes widening when you noticed your door. it was opened. it was fucking opened. "my door was locked this morning," you muttered. a look of confusion spread across her face as she watched you get up hastily. you scrambled to your room. your hand clinging to the doorknob as you pushed it open. one quick glance but nothing seemed out of place. the closet door was closed. your pillows were arranged like usual. everything was untouched.

"are you okay?" you jumped at the sound of her voice. she was hovering near your body. a worried expression on her face.

you cleared your throat and nodded closing the door. "can i sleep with you tonight?" you asked turning to look at her. she could see the uneasiness in your eyes. "i swore i closed and locked my door this morning before i left," your voice cracked and the uneasiness was turning into a lump in your throat that you couldn't swallow. you chocked back your tears but when she nodded and whispered an 'of course' you let it all out. she wrapped her arms around your shoulders. you fell into her arms sobbing quietly.

"it's okay. you're okay," she whispered kissing the top of your head. she brushed your back softly trying to calm your nerves. you sniffled and wiped your nose with the sleeve of your sweater. you came up for air and her eyes lingered to your lips. her hand cupped your face, thumb wiping your tears from your cheek.

you met her soft gaze and tried swallowing the lump in your throat. both of her hands were now cupping your tear-struck face. there was a tenderness in her eyes that made you weak. maybe you were just craving the comfort. maybe it'd been so long since you'd been with someone romantically. there was something in the air because she was leaning in and you were leaning in and neither of you were thinking of the implications this would have on your friendship or on your living situation. it could be really good or it could be really bad.

right now, in her arms, it felt really good. you committed to the kiss. noses clashing awkwardly. lips touching tentatively. you moaned against her mouth when she held the back of your head and your lips smooshed together in a fervent kiss. she ran her tongue along your bottom lip and you parted them. her tongue invaded your mouth. you hummed clinging to her arms longing to be closer. you wanted to feel her closer. you wanted her warmth. you wanted her sanctuary.

"billie-" you sighed feeling a wave of electricity rush through your body "-your room," you whispered against her lips and she nodded parting from the kiss grabbing a hold on your hand. she led the way and you followed willingly. her familiar burgundy comforter and string lights looked so different now. intimate and full of possibilities.

she shut the door behind her and not one to waste any time, you wrapped your arms around her shoulders. lips connecting with hers. feet stumbling towards her bed. the bedsheets were cool under your fingertips as leaned back supporting your weight with the palms of your hands.

she hovered over your body. knee planted in the mattress and between your legs. you shifted your hips. her thigh rubbing against your throbbing core. you felt tight. your jeans felt uncomfortable. you wanted her to take off your clothes. you wanted to take off her clothes. you wanted her to sprawl you on her mattress. you wanted her face between your thighs.

the series of events unraveling in her room took your mind off the whole thing. you were too wrapped up in her lips, in her touch, to remember much of why or how you ended up here. you felt silly thinking you should be thanking your stalker. it led you straight to this. to her tongue on your clit. to her fingers in your pussy curling and pulling you closer to your climax. your hands tangled in her hair. your moans bouncing off the walls of her small room. the sheets rustling under your quivering body.

she looked up at you. eyes eating you alive as she quite literally ate you. as she devoured you. slurping every ounce of your arousal. savoring every drip of your wet pussy. you were out breath lifting your chest, arching you back, pulling her face closer to your cunt. she hummed and the vibrations sent you into orbit. you were so fucking close and nothing, absolutely nothing, was more important than this right now.

you announced your impeding orgasm with a series of pants and broken words. she nodded and coaxed your climax with the tips of her fingers rubbing against your cervix. her tongue pressed on your clit. lips wrapping around your sensitive bud when you clenched around her fingers erupting like a volcano. hot and gushing lava. you rode the wave. blissful on cloud nine.

she was gentle as she flattened your legs and kissed your cheek. your eyelids fluttered and you smiled in disbelief. had this really just happened?

"you okay?" she whispered lying next to you propping her upper body with her elbow. she was satisfied with the sight of your sweaty forehead and heaving chest. your half smile and fluttering eyelids.

"yeah," you croaked turning to look at her with a sheepish smile. "can you get me some clothes?" you asked attempting to sit up. you failed. your legs were too weak.

she chuckled and got off the bed before helping you. you stretched and groaned and she watched as your breasts moved. thighs clenched. lips pouty. she wrapped her fingers around your neck gently pulled you in for a kiss. it was a quick kiss but you could taste yourself and you moaned.

"i'll be back," she muttered against your lips. you nodded watching her disappear to the left. picturing walking down the hallway. feet dangling from her bed. you glanced around her room. it wasn't messy but she didn't have any decorative pillows and her closet door was wide open and a faint night light illuminated the space. you don't know what it was but you never liked to leave the closet door open. out of habit, you got off the bed and made your way to door. you were going to close it when you noticed something. a messy drawer. there were clothes bursting at the seams. you couldn't just leave it like that, it'd eat at you all night.

again, force of habit, you walked towards the drawer opening it so you could stuff the clothes back in but you stopped dead in your tracks. your heart sank touching the fabric. your hands gripped onto it, lifting it so you could get a better view. it was your shirt. a shirt pulled from the drawer that'd been closed haphazardly that first day you noticed something was off. you looked towards the door. you could hear her feet tapping on the hardwood floors as she got closer. you quickly shoved the shirt back trying to leave the drawer as you'd found it. scampering out of the closet and back onto the bed.

there was a looming feeling, you felt it in your bones. her smile gave you goosebumps and you were no longer sure if they were the good kind.

"were you in my closet?" she asked handing you the clothes she'd grabbed from your room. her brows furrowed, eyes focused on the closet door. it was closed.

"i just closed the door," you smiled shakily pulling the shirt over your head then sliding into the shorts still sitting on her bed.

"right," she nodded and smiled back but there was an unfamiliar glint in her eyes and her smile looked more mischievous than reassuring as she cupped your jaw lifting your head so your lips touched. her soft lips were heavenly but they felt cold with the new discovery. your eyes were open, glancing at her door unsure of how safe you were here.

had you just walked willingly walking into her trap?

requested by anon ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹

[sapphicandgraphic]

Sick As A Dog—Chapter 1

Synopsis: You’re a dog walker. When your favorite clients notice you’re not feeling well, they insist on taking care of you.

Chapter: 1/?

Warnings: Sick!fic, lots of hurt/comfort fluff in the beginning, protective Natasha, protective Wanda, maybe things get sexy later? (Who are we kidding, they absolutely will. Mommy Wanda, Daddy Natasha, anyone?)

Your alarm clock was blaring when you woke up. You blinked slowly, groggily, the last tendrils of sleep refusing to abate. You glanced at the time and swore softly, realizing you’d overslept.

As soon as you were upright, a searing pain shot through your head. You winced, reaching for a glass of water. You took a few gulps, registering more pain as you swallowed. A sore throat.

“Oh no,” you groaned, scrubbing a tired hand over your face. You’d gone to bed early last night, hoping to curtail the symptoms you’d been stubbornly ignoring for the past few days. Clearly that strategy hadn’t worked. Now you’d have to pay the price.

You dragged yourself upright, wandering into the kitchen to make a quick cup of coffee. Yelena was sitting at the island, scrolling on her laptop.

“I’m late! My boss is going to kill me.” Your voice was hoarse, raspy. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

The blonde barely looked up from her inbox. “Why do you sound like the crypt keeper?”

You laughed, but this quickly dissolved into a dry, wheezing cough. Yelena frowned, fixing you with a perturbed look.

“You’re sick,” she said.

You shook your head. “I can’t be sick.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re a dog walker, not a heart surgeon. You can take the day off.”

You snagged a protein shake from the fridge, choking down a few sips.

Yelena grimaced. “Seriously, go to the doctor.”

“I’ll be fine,” you insisted.

Your roommate muttered something in Russian. “Whatever. Just don’t die ok? I can’t afford this place without your half of the rent.”

You knew her well enough to recognize this blunt directive as her version of affection. Yelena was actually a big softie, once you got past the very rough exterior.

You’d met at a bar playing darts a few years ago, drinking everyone else under the table. By the end of the night, it was settled. Kindred spirits like that only come along every so often.

“If you want the rent money, I have to walk the dogs. See how that works? We can’t all be BitCoin miners or whatever the hell it is you do.”

She gave you the finger. You blew her a kiss and walked out the door. In truth you had no idea how Yelena made her money. It had something to do with finance, maybe crypto? Your eyes glazed over whenever she tried to explain.

The sky was threatening rain when you hopped on your bicycle and began the journey into Manhattan. The clouds opened up and started pouring just as you arrived at your first client’s house.

“Come on, Pepper,” you said, coaxing the ornery Pomeranian into her rain gear. “Let’s get this over with.”

By midday your symptoms had worsened. The dull ache that started in your chest slowly spread to your shoulders and back. The wet chill of the day seeped into your bones as you stomped up and down the streets of the city, soaking your rain coat, slicking your hair to your forehead.

Most of the time, you loved your job. Being outside, running around with dogs. But today was proving to be brutal. By the time you finished your last walk, you could barely see straight. You unclipped Oscar’s lead in the entryway of the massive brownstone, shutting the front door and leaning against it heavily.

The Rottie mix bounded into the living room, straight to his toy box, and brought you the squeaky plush raccoon—his favorite—depositing it at your feet like an offering. When you didn’t pick it up immediately, he nudged it closer with his nose and whined.

Despite the pain radiating through your body, you chuckled, shaking your head. “Not right now, bud.” Your voice was low, hoarse. His big square head tilted to the side in confusion.

You grabbed a towel from the hall closet, then knelt beside Oscar, removing his raincoat and wiping the mud off his paw pads. He waited patiently, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

“There ya go,” you said, dismissing him with a weary pat. You groaned, pushing yourself off the floor. Just that simple action required almost all your strength. Your head felt like it was full of concrete.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket. You checked the message blearily, realizing there were several of them. All from Yelena.

10:20am

Text me when you finish your route.

11:42am

And take the train home, you can’t bike in this weather.

2:15pm

Are you alive?

3:30pm

Hello????

You were about to reply when Oscar barked impatiently. He had trotted into the kitchen and was waiting to be fed.

You sighed, slipping your phone back into your pocket. You just had to finish up here, then you could head home and collapse into your bed. Take the weekend to recover. This was the mantra you’d been repeating to yourself all day. Now you were in the final stretch, you could see the light at the end of the tunnel.

But you felt so achy. And your mind kept wandering, losing track of what you were doing. You glanced into the living room longingly. What if you just laid down on the sofa for 10 minutes? Surely Wanda and Nat wouldn’t mind.

They were your favorite clients, after all. Practically family, considering Yelena was Nat’s sister. You had attended dinners and parties in their home before. Maybe it would be totally acceptable to crash out on their expensive, luxurious sofa…

A roll of thunder overhead snapped you back to reality.

“Feed the dog,” you sighed, worried your foggy brain would forget if you didn’t say it out loud.

You slipped off your muddy boots, then padded down the hallway. You made it to the kitchen feeling out of breath. Leaning over to grab Oscar’s food and water bowls, the world suddenly tilted sideways.

“Whoa,” you muttered, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter.

Oscar barked once, twice.

“It’s okay,” you said, trying to soothe him even as your vision swam. He turned and bounded out of the room.

You closed your eyes, then reached for the bowls again. This time you managed to set them on the counter. Mission half-way accomplished. Slowly you breathed in, willing the room to stop spinning.

The unexpected sound of footsteps on the staircase roused you from your stupor. You heard Wanda saying your name, a fact that would have startled you under normal circumstances. After all, the house had been empty when you arrived. But all your senses were dulled.

“Is that you?” She called. “I’m glad I caught you, there’s leftovers in the fridge and Nat wanted me to make sure you took them home.”

She was walking down the hall, Oscar trailing behind, and you dimly realized you should say something. But before you could form a coherent sentence, she paused.

“Sweetheart?” Her voice was different now—uncertain, confused.

“Yeah, it’s me,” you called, trying to sound normal, trying to muster the strength to stand upright as you leaned heavily on the counter for support. “In here.”

Wanda rounded the corner, carefully scanning the kitchen. When she finally saw you hunched by the sink, she stilled.

“Hey, Wanda,” you said with a little wave. You tried to smile. “Sorry, I was just…”

You trailed off, losing the plot mid-sentence. Even at full strength, you would have found the sight of the other woman distracting. But given the state you were in, you stood practically no chance. She was wearing a loose denim shirt with both sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Her hair was pinned back, and she had a pair of reading glasses perched on her head. You realized you were staring and closed your mouth, looking away as an intense shiver wracked your body. Wanda’s eyes narrowed. You gestured weakly to the dog bowls on the counter in front of you.

“Just about to feed Oscar,” you finished, hoping you didn’t sound as miserable as you felt.

Wanda watched as you struggled to push yourself upright. You took a few unsteady steps toward the pantry where they kept the dog food, then swayed like you might fall. The other woman stepped toward you instantly, catching you around the waist. She could feel how hot you were through your shirt.

“Let me do that,” she said. “You sit down, before you fall down.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but she was gone before you could get the words out. You sank onto the nearby barstool, legs feeling like jello.

As soon as you were down, you worried you wouldn’t be able to get back up. It felt so good to be off your feet.

When Wanda reappeared, she was still looking at you with the same expression as before—suspicion edging toward concern. But she knew you well enough to guess that outright fussing would be met with resistance. You were private. And you had a stubbornly independent streak. She’d have to play this one carefully to avoid scaring you off.

“Long day?” She asked.

“I’m fine,” you said mechanically. “Just tired.”

She set Oscar’s bowls on the floor, then fixed you with a glare.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Well, I am,” you argued. “Perfectly fine.”

That earned you a small smile. She shook her head, took a deep breath like you were trying her last shred of patience.

“Prove it,” she said.

You scrunched your face up in confusion. Wanda tried very hard not to find this adorable.

“If you’re fine, prove it,” she elaborated, speaking slowly so your fuzzy brain could follow along.

“How?” You whined, rolling your eyes.

“A minute ago you it seemed like you couldn’t even pick up Oscar’s dog bowls,” she shrugged. “So, show me something that a ‘perfectly fine’ person could do.”

“Or what?” You said, trying to buy yourself some time.

She sauntered toward you. “You’re not leaving this house,” she said slowly, enunciating each word. “Until I’m satisfied that you’re okay.”

A ripple of defiance propelled you off the barstool. As soon as you were standing, black dots gathered at the corners of your vision. You ignored these, taking a step forward. Then another. And another. You were almost in the hallway. It would have been a very impressive exit if you had managed to stay upright.

From faraway you heard Wanda cry out, her voice muted by the fuzzy ringing in your ears. The next thing you knew, you were on your back, looking up at the kitchen skylights.

Wanda dropped to her knees beside you. She called your name, brushing your hair back and feeling your forehead. Your cheeks were flushed, eyes glassy.

“See,” you said, slurring slightly. “Perfectly fine.”

She didn’t laugh.

“You have a fever,” she said, words clipped. “How long have you felt like this?”

You shrugged. “Few days.”

“Days,” Wanda repeated faintly, trying to quell her outrage. Something about the flash of anger in her voice made you recoil.

“Don’t be mad,” you said, feeling pathetic.

She softened instantly, schooling her face into something gentle.

“I’m not mad, milaya,” she rasped. “Just worried.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to say there was no reason to be worried, just as another violent shiver wracked your body. Your teeth chattered.

“You and Nat,” she murmured, tracing her thumb across your cheek. “Refusing to admit you’re not invincible.”

You looked away. With sudden horror, you realized you were close to tears. Thankfully, Oscar reappeared in the room just then. He ran to your side, licking your face and furiously wagging his tail.

“Honey, I’m home!” A familiar voice called from the entryway.

“Speak of the devil,” Wanda breathed, and you could see the relief in her eyes. Now that they outnumbered you, maybe you’d listen to reason.

“Hey, did Yelena call you? She left me a weird voicemail,” Natasha said. There was a soft clatter as she placed her keys in the ceramic bowl by the door. “She’s worried about our little wolf -“

“In here, Nat,” Wanda said impatiently. “Need your help.”

Little wolf? Before you had time to question it, Natasha appeared, looking devastating as always in a fitted suit. She had clearly come straight from the office. Her smile vanished as she entered the kitchen.

“What happened?” She demanded, skidding across the tile. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Wanda said, just as you said “Yes.”

Natasha looked between the two of you, confused.

“She fainted,” Wanda explained, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I didn’t faint,” you grumbled, insulted by the prissy word. “Just got dizzy.”

Wanda and Natasha ignored you.

“Should we take her to urgent care?”

You groaned, horrified by that idea. You rolled sideways, trying to push yourself up off the floor. Natasha laid a hand on your chest. When you kept struggling, she reached over and pulled you firmly into her lap, anchoring you in place.

“Stay,” she said, her voice a stern rumble.

Natasha had a soft spot for you. Something about your sweet, gentle nature made her feel protective. Wanda had teased her about it at first. But as you became more and more integrated into their daily lives, Wanda found herself falling for you too. She looked forward to the days when you crossed paths, making you laugh, sharing a snack, learning more about your life. And seeing you like this had them both in overdrive.

Natasha pressed the back of her hand to your forehead, eyes widening in alarm. “You’re burning up.”

“I’m fine,” you repeated, voice cracking with exhaustion. “Just tired. Need to sleep it off.”

Wanda stilled, tilting her head to one side.

“I…agree,” she said, giving Natasha a significant look.

You frowned, trying to follow the unspoken conversation they seemed to be having above you.

There was a loud clap of thunder outside. The noise seemed to settle things for Nat. She nodded, acting like a gavel had been struck, a decision reached.

“You hear that?” Natasha said. “Can’t let you leave in the middle of a storm. Why don’t you stay for dinner? Once you’ve had a hot bath, a nap, and a home-cooked meal, we’ll send you on your way. Deal?”

“You don’t have to do all that,” you objected, even as you curled slightly closer to Natasha, seeking her body heat. She ran an absent hand over your back, rubbing big soothing circles.

“Little wolf,” Wanda said fondly. “We want to.”

You felt a shy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. There was that pet name again. And wow, it did things to you, hearing Wanda’s low voice curl around the term of endearment that seemed reserved just for you. You looked back and forth between their faces then heaved a sigh, suddenly too tired to argue anymore.

“Okay,” you said, voice small.

Wanda smiled, victorious. “I’m making stew! Something hearty, restorative. There will be potatoes and broth and—”

“Ok, babushka,” Natasha teased. “Your old country is showing.”

Wanda scowled, then stuck her tongue out, turning toward the cabinet to retrieve several pots and pans. The next second, Nat was helping you to your feet, troubled by how unsteady you seemed.

“Do you mind if I just…?”

She didn’t wait for an answer before scooping you into her strong arms. “Hey!” You complained. But then you relaxed against her, eyes slipping closed as she carried you down the hall, then turned and started climbing the stairs.

“When’s the last time you ate anything?” She murmured against your hair.

You shrugged.

Her eyes narrowed. “Bad girl.”

The words made your breath catch. You buried your face in her shoulder, trying to hide flushed cheeks that had nothing to do with your fever.

Get it together, perv. Natasha and Wanda were trying to do something nice for you. Were they absurdly hot? Sure. Had you entertained an idle daydream or two about what it might be like to kiss them both? Of course. But that was no excuse for reacting like a horny teenager.

Natasha opened the door to a guest bedroom and set you down gently beside the bed. You thought she might leave, but then she walked into an en-suite bathroom and you heard the sound of running water.

“There are fresh towels and robes in here,” she called. “Can you get undressed or do you need help?”

You swallowed around a sudden lump in your throat. “I’m okay, thanks.”

She reappeared, smiling softly. “Do you mind if I stay? I don’t want to leave you alone. In case you pass out again, or slip, or…”

You gave her a tired smile. “You faint one lousy time and suddenly nobody trusts you.”

Natasha snorted, then turned and faced the wall for propriety’s sake. With shaky hands you began unbuttoning your pants.

“Yelena called me,” Nat said after a few moments. “She’s worried about you.”

You sighed. “Seems like there’s a lot of that going around today.”

Although you couldn’t see her face, you could hear the frown in her voice. “We care about you,” she said. “Is that so bad?”

You pulled your shirt over your head with a small grunt of pain. Natasha glanced back instinctively, catching a glimpse of your exposed stomach and toned abs, the low-cut sports bra showing off your curves. She sucked in a breath, feeling that inconvenient flutter again. It would help if you weren’t so pretty, she thought. Then she quickly turned around before you saw her peeking.

“Sorry,” you said, tossing the shirt on the floor. “I’m not very good at this.”

Natasha stilled, hearing the emotion in your voice. “At what?”

You gestured vaguely at the space between you.

“Making people worry,” you sighed. Again, tears suddenly pricked the corners of your eyes. It was a testament to how rundown you were. Natasha heard the way your breathing changed, became ragged.

She said your name so softly it made your chest ache.

“Can I turn around?” She asked.

You crossed your arms, feeling exposed in just your bra and boxers. But you gave her permission anyway. You trusted her.

“Sorry,” you said, hitching on the word. “Just makes me feel like…a burden, an inconvenience.”

Natasha stepped toward you, enveloping you in a warm hug. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, detka,” she murmured. “And you could never be a burden to us. It’s okay to let people take care of you when you don’t feel good.”

You sagged against her. “Kay.”

You might have let her go on holding you all night. But then your stomach growled, and she chuckled.

“Come on,” she said, lips quirking up in a gentle smile. “Don’t want the water to get cold.”

——————

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[musingsofheaven]

SUGAR RUSH.

peter parker x afab!reader

fluff. heavy kissing. implied intimacy. teens being ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ teens. light suggestive vibes but nothing explicit. ♡

You're on your stomach on Peter's bed, your legs stretched out while wearing the hoodie you stole from his closet a week ago. The sleeves are too long, covering half your hands, but you like it that way. It smells like him, like detergent and that cologne he pretends he doesn't use. You've been living in it like a raccoon in a stolen nest. You're not doing anything right now, just waiting for your boyfriend to finish studying, with your mouth full of Pop Rocks that won't shut up.

Crack. Pop. Crack. It's funny, honestly. It sounds like a neck getting cracked in half—well, it can sound like fireworks too. It's annoyingly loud because your mouth looks like it's trying to pick a fight with physics.

Peter groans from his desk and doesn't even look at you. "You're so annoying." The words come out flat like he's already said them three times today. You know he doesn't mean it. Not really. He's just complaining. As always. It's his nature.

You chuckle, candy still fizzing. "You said I could have them." You roll onto your side just to get a better look at him, your lips pouting as if you're using them against him. His pen is tapping against his notebook while listening to the popping of the Pop Rocks.

"Didn't say I wanted to hear them every five seconds, baby." He pinches the bridge of his nose. Sometimes you wonder how he can even manage you. Maybe he's praying for patience and not getting any divine assistance.

You shift a little, cheek pressed against the soft fabric of his bed. "You can't even hear me over there," you say before scoffing and chewing deliberately, just to make a point.

"I can. It's like... background music. In my head." He spins slightly in his chair, just enough to throw a look at you over his shoulder.

You snort. "Dramatic." You drag the word out, milk it, trying to piss him off. Then you toss another handful of candy into your mouth like a kid.

He finally turns around the chair creaking. His hair's a mess, and there's a pencil tucked behind his ear like he forgot it was there. He crosses his arms and damn... those muscles are flexing. "I'm trying to study, and you're over here sounding like... I don't even know what to call it." His expression is all annoyed, but his eyes are warm. Tired, but warm. Not angry. Honestly? You love it when he gets like this, grumpy and soft around the edges.

You open your mouth real wide and go "Aaahhh," just to make the fizz louder. It's obnoxious. Truly. The kind of noise that would make people glare at you, and you're so proud of it.

Peter squints at you like he's in pain. "Why is my girlfriend like this?" He says it like a curse, like a prayer, like a man at the end of his rope who still wouldn't let go.

"Aw, come on, you love me." You say it too easily. It's not a question—something settled and obvious and unchangeable.

He exhales through his nose and walks over to you anyway, flops down next to you on the bed, elbow bumping yours. You hold out the package of candy. It rustles between you like a peace offering. Or a trap. He hasn't decided which yet.

He eyes it before looking back at you and your lips. "You're gonna shut up if I take some?" There's no heat in it, like the everyday tone he uses when you're being like this. Just a tired sort of fondness, like he's resigned himself to your antics and this weird little life you two have built. Annoyingly lovable, what he always says when you're asking for assurance if he still loves you even though you're playful.

You shrug. "Probably not." And you mean it. You're indecisive, and impulsive, with tendencies to be pushy. He knew that when he let you steal his hoodie the first time, and when you did things just to get his attention.

He sighs but takes a few and tilts his head back to chew. The sound bursts in the quiet like tiny firecrackers, and he physically winces, like he didn't think they'd be that loud. Hates the sounds. Obviously.

He looks at you like you just committed a crime. "Why does it... feel weird?" His face scrunches, and he's trying not to like it but also can't deny that it's kind of hilarious.

"It's fun-weird, not bad-weird." You roll onto your back beside him, shoulder brushing his, voice smug. "It tastes good though!"

Peter turns his head toward you and looks at your mouth. "You're ridiculous," he says softly, barely louder than the crackle. But he's still watching you, still close before he takes the Pop Rocks from your hand, gets enough from inside, and puts it in his mouth.

Then he kisses you.

Like... no warning. One second he's staring at your mouth like it's got all the answers to his questions, and the next, he's leaning in, slow but sure, like he already decided and you just didn't catch up yet. It's not aggressive, not rushed- it's soft, warm, and easy.

Your mouths meet soft at first. Just lips brushing lips, a little sticky from the candy's effect. But then the Pop Rocks crackle between you, loud and sudden, like someone just started a time bomb under your tongues, and everything jumps.

You giggle against him, nose bumping his, but he doesn't pull back. He just tilts his head and pushes in a little deeper. And, well, yeah, maybe that's when it changes.

Because now it's not soft. It's something else.

His mouth opens just enough for your tongue to catch him, and he tastes like cherry- you're sure it's from the candy. The candy's still popping, still snapping under your tongues, and it's a funny feeling. Literally. Your lips part wider, let it get messy, let it get loud. You lick into his mouth a little and feel him suck in a breath right through his nose.

And God, that's all it takes before he's kissing you back harder now, licking the taste of candy right out of your mouth like he's trying to shut it off. His hand finds your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek, gently and soft the way he knows you like. It's steady; he's holding you in place. His teeth graze your bottom lip, yearningly, just barely, just enough to feel it, and you groan, soft and surprised and too into it.

It's clumsy, yeah. Of course, it is. You're both grinning too much, breathing too hard, lips swollen already, and the candy still going off like a fucking broken record. But you don't stop. Neither of you. Because it's fun and silly. Because it's stupid. Because it's so much better than it should be.

Peter pulls back eventually, breathing hard, his lips pink and wet, a little sugar stuck at the corner of his mouth again. He licks it away automatically, and your stomach flips.

"Okay," he says, voice low and just barely wrecked. "That was..."

He doesn't even finish the sentence.

You're already grabbing more Pop Rocks.

"Again," you say, out of breath but grinning. "C'monnn."

He laughs, but it's a little shaky now. "I'm gonna die."

"Mhm," you hum and press your mouth to his before he can say another word.

This time, it's not that gentle. It's full of tongues and teeth and stupid little moans pressed into each other's mouths, sugar and spit and heat all tangled up in a kiss that has no business feeling this good.

You taste like candy, and he kisses you like he’s starving for it.

𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓© 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍

𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[zenmiren]

sypnosis: when you receive no gifts during valentines day, your friends, satoru gojo, and suguru geto decide they need to cheer you up.

pairing: satosugu x gn!reader

content: fluff, no angst, but reader sulks a lot, gojo's kinda a bully... , takes place in 2006

this is really short and honestly feels kind of rushed. 💔💔

i also posted the draft by accident so i had to make it private for like 30 minutes while i finished it whooppsiieee

likes and reblogs are appreciated!!!

valentines day was a day that was heavily anticipated by loving couples all around the world, but for people who didn't have a special someone, it was a day to dread.

you were.. especially.. painfully single.

it was a known fact that your friend group was full of attractive people, you could also say that you were definitely attractive.. so you didn't understand why no one was ballsy enough to give you a gift.

shoko got around 15 chocolates from different admirers, not really a shocker, she was incredibly fine. haibara got around 3.. even NANAMI got one..

you dreaded to see how many gojo and geto had received, considering that both of them were popular with ladies, especially geto.

you, shoko, haibara, and nanami waited for the duo to show up at the usual meeting spot.

you four heard the familiar voices and turned to the direction they were coming from... gojo and geto both held WAGONS full of chocolates that they received throughout the day. it must have been heavy because they were both REALLY late to the assigned time to hang out.

"hey guys!!" gojo excitedly waved over as geto gave you a pitiful smile at seeing your empty hands.

"sorry we're late." geto apologised as gojo grins "yeah! these take waaayy too long to haul around everywhere!" gojo chimed in, talking about the mountain of gifts he received.

haibara had a bright smile on his face "woaaahh!! you guys got so much!!" haibara exclaimed as nanami sweatdropped.

"weeell.. you know, it's kinda expected, since we're so-" gojo flaunted around his chocolates before he stopped to raise a brow at you as he sees you averting your gaze to anywhere but their full wagons. "where's your chocolate, [name]?" he raised a brow, the corners of his lips rise up, curling into a nasty smirk.

geto hit him on the side of the arm and shoko shot him a warning glare. "i don't wanna talk about it." you huffed as he giggled under his breath.

"your really pouting cause you didn't get anything?"

".. 'm not pouting."

"d'awwwwhh, you're totally pouting! seriously! how'd you get fewer chocolates than NANAMI? " nanami glared at gojo's words as gojo laughed.. he was the only one laughing.

geto cleared his throat "thats enough, satoru." he spoke, his usually calm deep voice could be heard as he diffused gojo's teasing, before he smiled down at you.

𝜗𝜚

a whole day, and the only chocolates you received were ONE from a teacher, and that was just because she was handing them out to everyone during class.

you sat with both gojo and geto in the cafeteria after the school day was over. shoko, nanami, and haibara already went back to the student dorms, but you three stayed back cause you wanted to keep hanging out.

gojo and geto watched as you consistently checked your appearance with your compact mirror. gojo was amused, geto felt bad for you.

"do you think it's the way i styled my hair today..? but this is how it always is, i didn't do anything special... do people not like my hair?" you had a comical aura of dread around you as you buried your face in your arms, effectively using them as pillows.

"that might not be it.." geto placed a large hand on your shoulder. "i'm sure people are just too blind to see how pretty you are"

"unngghhh.." you groaned in frustration as gojo bust out laughing.

"seriously, why do you care so much about valentines day, it's just a stupid holiday where people give each other cheesy gifts to show their love." satoru spoke with a shit eating smirk on his face.

"no one loves me.. i'll be alone forever..."

geto sighed while gojo laughed again "c'mon [name] it's not the end of the world, stop being so melodramatic!" gojo wrapped a lanky arm around your shoulder while geto patted your other one since you sat sandwiched between them.

"that's easy for you to say.. you have like 10 million girls giving you gifts.." you mumbled as geto smiles a bit

"10 million is a bit excessive.." geto starts "if it makes you feel any better, none of those girls really gave us those gifts because they really like us. i'm not interested in any of them and neither is satoru, all those girls are shallow and only care about appearance."

gojo nods along "thats totally true, but i honestly appreciate the chocolates, i never read the letters i get." he shrugs

"atleast people think you guys are attractive..."

gojo snickers when he sees your pout and geto only sighed in response.

"c'mon" geto stands up, gojo following right after "we'll drop you off to your dorm."

𝜗𝜚

the walk back to your dorm was uneventful, it was just the two boys talking while you listened.

when you unlocked the door to your dorm, you weren't shocked to find it empty, your room mate was probably out with their partner.

you stepped in and so did gojo and geto. "geee i always love being in your dorm [name], it always smells so frickin good" gojo belly flopped on the couch, leaving his wagon in the middle of the living area while geto hummed in agreement, sitting politely down on the smaller couch.

"oh? yeah, i just use a bunch of yankee candles" you shrugged as geto perked up "i have a bunch of yankee candles" he spoke up as gojo raised a brow "yankee? weird name.."

you three hung out in the living area for a while longer before gojo and geto glanced at eachother, and geto simply nodded.

"hey, [name]." gojo stood up, rolling his wagon over to you, and geto did the same. "we have a little gift for you."

you stared up at both of them in confusion "...?" they both had to stop themselves from cooing at the cute face you made.

"you complained all day about not getting anything, so... look at aaaall these girls, giving you gifts!" satoru proudly grinned, urging to both of the wagons.

"... those are YOUR gifts." you deadpanned.

"not anymore." geto picked up one of the heart-shaped boxes and tapped at the label.

"dear geto [last name], happy valentines!"

was what it said on the label.

"wh-wha... that was there the whole time??!!" you exclaimed in shock as they both chuckled at your reaction.

"i'm surprised you didn't notice it sooner.." geto crossed his arms. "... with how intently you kept staring at our gifts, me and satoru were sure our plan would be foiled"

you urgently looked through the wagons.. all the labels, all the love letters, they had all been replaced with YOUR name! even the love letters that had specific details about gojo or geto's appearance had been changed to match your appearance instead. just.. how much effort had they put into all of this...?

"you guys.. really did all of this just for me?"

"no, we did it for mei mei. of COURSE we did it for you." gojo rolled his eyes, recieving a slap to the back of the head by his best friend.

"do you like the gift?" suguru softly smiled at you, and you nodded intently, a small smile of your own, accompanied by a light pink blush on your face

"yeah.. thanks."

gojo did a victory dance, proud of him and geto for making you happy, geto side eyed him before he chose to just ignore it and focus on you instead.

you had a long night that night.. (they slept with you sandwiched between them on your bed, and you could barely breathe... pervert.)

BONUS:

13th february, 2006

suguru sighs as his hands were stuffed in his pockets, meanwhile satoru looked proud. the two walked around campus.

"is that all the guys?" suguru mumbled and satoru nodded.

"mhm! we talked to all the people that have crushes on [name], they won't approach them tomorrow, i made sure of it."

"don't you think what were doing is a bit insane?"

"insane.. controlling.. manipulative, c'mon, it's all worth it if it's for [name].. besides your the one that agreed to this. you don't get to back out now."

"... whatever."

[ For context, they basically threatened all the people that have crushes on you so they can be sure that their valentines gift is extra romantic...]

author note: i know it's not valentines day anymore. I DONT GIVE A SHEETTT