#but instead i sat down for an hour last night drawing the second one

[trashytracktales]

Miami heat | OP⁸¹

🟤 summary ──── Winning the Miami Grand Prix was the second-best thing that happened to Oscar. The first? Saying yes to Logan’s invitation to celebrate.

🟤 pairing ──── Oscar Piastri x she/her reader

🟤 rating ──── explicit

🟤 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, drinking, smut, swearing, public setting, thigh riding, unprotected sex, manhandling, hair pulling, light dominance, mutual masturbation, overstimulation, mirror play, possessiveness and marking, Logan cameo.

🟤 word count ──── 5.6k

🟤 date ──── May 21, 2025

🟤 a/n ──── Hi lovelies! Since it was my birthday today (surprise 🥳🥳) I HAD to treat myself with this one. If you know me, you know I am absolutely obsessed with Oscar’s thighs [exhibit ONE, TWO, THREE...]. I fear it’s not just a phase, mom, this is who I am. I’ll go back to your requests now & we’ll read each other soon ♥︎

“JUST A COUPLE of drinks,” said Logan and, apparently, that’s all it took for Oscar to postpone a date with his hotel bed.

It would’ve been quite lame, he thought, to go to sleep after winning a Grand Prix on American soil.

With that in mind, half an hour after he finished all his duties at the track, the aussie sat nestled into a booth, shoulders relaxed and fingers curled around a chilled glass of something sweet and citrusy.

Logan had gathered a group of friends, already half-tipsy by the time Oscar arrived. As usual, he was quieter than the rest, laughing when he should, content to let the buzz of conversation pass over him.

Until she caught his eye.

He watched her slipping into the booth, sitting next to Logan with such an ease that made it feel like the night had been waiting for her to actually start. His first impression was that she is stunning, and not just physically speaking, though that alone made Oscar forget how to sit properly. There was more to it, something about her presence that made everything else fade. Because from the moment she turned her eyes on him and smiled, everybody else simply blurred into the background.

And now, Oscar can’t stop looking at her.

Not even when someone at the table congratulates him on tonight’s win.

Not even when Logan throws an arm around his shoulders and asks for more drinks.

There’s an undeniable glow to her that has him in complete trance, some effortless kind of beauty wrapped in softness and pure femininity. It hits him all at once, starting with the irrational need to know her, and the urge to keep her attention, to make sure he’s the one she remembers when they’ll part at the end of the night.

When the next round of drinks lands, she slips in beside Oscar to congratulate him in a whisper, which draws his attention to her full lips. But that doesn’t last long. The heat of her thigh presses now flush against his, bare skin to bare skin, and that almost terminates him. The girl doesn’t wait for him to thank her, instead, her palm brushes over his arm, a small touch that lasts no more than a second.

For that one second, Oscar’s lounging casually with his drink in hand, but the next, he’s shifting in his seat like the air’s gone too hot around him. He downs the rest of his drink in order to cool himself from the inside out, then tugs nervously at the hem of his shorts, while trying to adjust himself discreetly under the table. Still, she notices, and it makes her lips twitch, like she’s hiding a secret only they know about.

What is certain is that his pulse blooms in his chest, and without thinking, Oscar drapes his arm over the back of the booth, claiming the space behind her. It makes his heart race, even though he knows how silly it is to get protective over someone he just met.

His fingers lightly brush her shoulder, and though he’s still, in theory, paying attention to the others, the gesture catches her attention, and she understands what it means in no time: mine, for now.

In this new position, they’re close enough to feel each other’s scent, and her perfume coils into his senses. A sweet smell that reminds him of Fantales, some caramel candies Oscar used to sneak from the kitchen cupboard as a kid. The memory makes him smile, taken aback by the unexpected trip to the past.

Her fingers skim the base of her glass.

His leg starts bouncing slightly.

Her laugh curls warm around his ribs when someone makes a joke.

And when his knee bumps hers under the table, they both go still.

Oscar looks at her, happy to find out that she’s already looking at him. Their eyes lock, and everything else falls away.

Until Logan decides to get up like a whirlwind of noise and glittering eyes, drunk enough to grab Oscar by the wrist and her by the hand, dragging both of them after him.

“Come on,” he slurs, “Let’s shake our asses.”

They follow him, laughing, weaving through the crowd, with the bass vibrating beneath their feet and neon lights spinning lazy halos above their heads. The music is loud, atmosphere inviting, making it impossible not to move.

Somewhere between the second and the third song, Logan disappears from their sight into the mass of bodies, and they’re left behind in the middle of the dance floor. They don’t even notice until they start to dance side by side. Separate at first. Just enough space to feel like they aren’t doing anything dangerous.

But the crowd pushes closer, the bass gets heavier, and with each second, the gap between them evaporates. With that, eyes find each other in the dark and smiles linger a second longer than they should.

At this point, it’s only natural to let it happen.

They collide, soft but inevitable, and Oscar’s hands go to her waist like it’s instinct. His grip is firm, and it pulls a gasp from her lips before she can catch it.

The girl doesn’t pull away. She likes the way she fits there, right against him, as if it’s something her body already knew. Her hands drift without conscious thought, her palms pressing flat against his abdomen, feeling the heat of him through the thin fabric of his shirt. Then higher, across his chest, up to his shoulders, and finally down his arms.

Oscar’s biceps flex under her touch, strong and taut, and his grip on her tightens in response.

Before they realize, she’s wrapped around him entirely, her body molded to his, moving with him to the music. Her scent is dizzying, driving Oscar straight out of his mind. As if he’s controlled by some external force, he ducks his head without thinking, burying his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in like he needs it to survive.

She shudders, her fingers tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan softly against her skin. It drives her mad that she can’t hear him properly because of the music, but she feels the low vibration, and something inside her snaps.

Or maybe it finally clicks.

Oscar’s hands slide lower, down her sides, around her hips, then firmly palm her ass, pulling her with him in his inviting, heated personal space. The sudden pressure draws another moan from her, right into his ear, and her reaction lights him up from the inside out. It also encourages Oscar to keep his hands on her, shamelessly, their faces so close they’re basically breathing each other in. Her lips are slightly parted and her eyes flick to his mouth, lingering for just a fraction, then dart back up.

She wants to kiss him.

He looks like he wants it, too.

But slowly, the girl ends up shaking her head. It’s not a no per se. It’s rather a we shouldn’t.

Luckily, Oscar couldn’t care less. His eyes are already begging, full of lust and that want she saw in him earlier. He’s not pushing, but he’s insistent, asking a stupid question without words: why not?

As expected, she doesn’t have an answer, yet she’s looking at his lips again like they’re already hers. She could die in order to find out how he kisses. Where his hands go when he’s not holding back. What kind of sounds he makes when he’s diving all in. How long it lasts. How deep. How wet.

It doesn’t take her long to glance around the club, just enough to think. Then, without a word, she laces her fingers through his and tugs him behind her as if she’s on a mission.

Oscar follows like he’s still in a trance, heart pounding in his ears with every step he takes behind her.

The bathrooms are hidden near the back, sleek and modern, far quieter than the rest of the place. The lighting here is cooler, silvery, and the stalls are private, each one with a full mirror and its own sink, separated by thick doors and expensive privacy.

She pulls him into the last one, the lock clicks and, in a blink of an eye, he’s on her.

Oscar presses her back against the door with a firm heat, hands braced on either side of her face as his mouth crashes onto hers. The kiss is hungry, open-mouthed and curious, all tongue and breath and need. She tastes like everything he imagined she would: sweet and impossibly addictive.

Her hands are already under his shirt, palms exploring the planes of his stomach, the rise of muscle, and everything she can reach, really.

His knee wedges between her legs for support, and she arches into him with a quiet whimper, mouth breaking from his for long enough to breathe it out. At that, Oscar groans low in his throat, a delicious sound that will haunt her dreams from now on. His hands slide down to her waist, holding her in place while he’s studying her face, searching for any trace of hesitation. There’s none.

Because he’s a tall man, she’s forced onto her tiptoes just to stay with him at the same level as they kiss, but the strain catches up quickly, and when she finally lowers herself, her hips settle onto the firm pressure of his thigh.

Oscar freezes for a beat, then leans in close, “You smell so good,” he says dumbly, just as his body presses more into hers in order to make her whimper again, only for him.

As if he’s done this so many times before, his fingers trail down her side, tracing the curve of her waist with so much intent that makes her shiver. When his hands dip lower, ghosting over the hem of her skirt, she catches his arms lightly, but doesn’t stop him.

Oscar pauses, eyes flicking up to meet hers, asking a silent question and thinking already that this became quickly their way of communicating. Her response is equally quiet, but clear: she shifts nervously, spreading her legs just enough for him to access her with ease.

The girl braces herself against the door, knuckles white as she fists the front of his shirt, breath stuttering out of her lungs. And it doesn’t last long. Not when she’s perched on his thigh, the thin fabric of her underwear barely a barrier between them.

She closes her eyes as she moves slightly, testing the limits of what she can do in a position that doesn’t help her height. And without a doubt, the press of muscle beneath her is firm, and the sensation ripples through her, forcing her to continue her seductive dance, without assistance.

“Oscar,” her voice is just a whispered plea.

He gets the memo, his hand traveling instinctively from her waist, brushing down to her hip. His fingers hook into the waistband of her panties and tug them gently down her thighs, making her gasp in anticipation. The cool air against her skin gives her chills and, suddenly, Oscar is all heat.

“You’re okay?” he asks curiously, breathing against her temple.

She nods, pressing in closer. “Yes. Just…” her voice trails off, brain shutting down as her bare skin drags against his thigh, core aching, her fingers curling into his shirt.

She barely manages a desperate roll of her hips, when her hesitation makes Oscar chuckle gently.

“Are you okay?” he repeats the question more demanding.

She nods against his neck this time, but she doesn’t say anything. Her hips twitch in response, like her body wants it more than she’s willing to admit out loud.

“What is it?” Oscar insists, lips curving into a smirk; he knows what it is, just wants to hear her speaking her mind.

She bites her lip, both embarrassed and frustrated, still grinding against him as if she has no willpower to stop. Shaking her head in disbelief at how her own body betrays her, she whispers, “I don’t know.”

“Then show me,” he says softly, his accent dripping like honey from her ears. “Let me help. We can stop if it doesn’t feel right.”

The girl hesitates only for half a second before moving again, the friction sending a rush of heat up her spine. It’s ridiculous how easily her body responds, how quickly she’s sweating, flushed, soaked, and yet it doesn’t matter. Not when his hands are steady on her hips, not when he’s humming in unison with her sharp breathing, shutting down every rational thought in her head.

“That’s it,” Oscar encourages her, “Use me. Take what you need.”

She lets out a soft whimper, eyes closing as the words melt straight into her stomach.

“You’re doing so well,” he adds, continuing to guide her. “Feels food, doesn’t it?”

“So…” she tries to reply, but she has to swallow the moan that threatens to spill out, her whole body trembling with how turned on she is.

The thickness of Oscar’s thigh fits perfectly between her legs, parting her folds with every slow grind, the pressure against her clit maddeningly good and so, so right, like he was made for her to ride it. Every movement lights up the atoms in her body one by one, and it takes everything in her not to fall apart from how deliciously he fills the space between her thighs.

All this time, Oscar watches her face closely, feeding off her expressions. He flexes his thigh beneath her, just to see her reaction, and when she gasps, he starts moving, lifting and shifting to meet her grind.

Soon enough, he can feel the subtle, desperate throb of her clit through the damp heat between them, and his voice drops low. “Ride it harder, sweetheart,” he says, fingers digging into her hips. “Don’t shy away.”

Her senses explode all at once, like someone struck a match inside her. The fabric of his shorts rides up with her, the heat of his skin burning on hers. Her nerves are buzzing, overwhelmed by the drag of her slick folds against the muscle of his thigh. The speed at which she loses herself is embarrassing, her rhythm faltering already, breath catching in her throat; she would be mortified if it didn’t feel this goddamn good.

She can’t protest much, though. Oscar’s thigh itself is a sin: thick and solid beneath her, strong from years of training, and just soft enough in the right places. It might be the euphoria talking, but she wishes that she could use him like this whenever she wants, ride his body until she forgets her own name. And the way he flexes beneath her, patient and ready to take the lead if necesarry, makes it all too easy to imagine just that.

His jaw flexes the moment he feels her losing it. Her slick heat leaves a trail on his thigh with every slow grind, and the sensation shoots straight to his gut. His mind races, wild with thoughts of what it would feel like to sink his fingers into her, to taste her desperation on his tongue, to bury himself deep in that warmth she’s giving so freely now. He squeezes her harder without realizing, fingers digging in, lifting her just slightly off the ground as he rocks her against him.

“See how perfect you are?” he asks, feeling the way her hips stutter. “Come on, baby, soak me. Show me what I do to you.”

“Osc…ar,” she pants, clinging to him, hands fisting into the back of his shirt, face buried in the crook of his neck. His scent envelops her, clean and dizzying, and her breath comes fast and wet against his skin.

The friction, the rhythm, the pressure, it’s all too much.

Oscar watches her, mesmerized. “Right here, beautiful,” he assures her softly, but the tension in his voice betrays how affected he is only from seeing her so lost in pleasure.

“I’m…”

Oscar’s hand goes up her thigh, his thumb finding the sensitive spot at the apex with practiced ease. She jolts when he touches her there, the motion instinctive. He knows exactly what he’s doing, the rhythm steady and precise, and it sends a rush of heat spiraling through her spine. She sees stars behind her eyes, every nerve ending sparking as more pleasure builds too fast for her mind to catch up.

“There you go,” he breathes against her ear. “I feel you.”

He does. The way her hips start to tremble, the small stuttering jerks of movement that speak louder than words. She’s a mess, pulsing under his fingertips, and the way she grips with every wave of pleasure makes him nearly lose it, too. His fingers hover just shy of slipping inside her pussy, and the thought alone, that all it would take is one tiny push to fill her, to ease that aching need, drives him insane.

“Fuck, you’re so desperate,” he points out in awe. “You need more, don’t you?”

She whimpers in response, hips faltering, and he feels her heat start to coat him, warm, all over his thigh. His jaw goes slack for a second, mind spiraling with the image of what it would feel like to actually slide his fingers into her, his tongue, his cock — anything, everything — just to feel that perfect pull around him the exact moment when she comes.

Her hips stutter again, bringing him back to the present moment, and Oscar swears under his breath as he feels the shiver roll through her body. All around him, her body tenses, clings, and the only thing she can do is hold on, lost in the mess of a sensation so superficial, and the sound of his voice, his scent, him. Just him.

“I’ve never…,” she begins, trying her best to catch her breath. “Never did that before,” she ends up saying, a small laugh escaping her lips.

She surges up to kiss him as a thank you, messy and breathless, her lips trembling as the aftershocks roll through her. His hands fly everywhere, until she finally slows, head resting against his chest.

When she looks up again, Oscar is watching her with the same fire in his eyes. Holding his piercing gaze, her hand darts down to the waistband of his shorts, intent yet impulsive.

But he catches her wrist, stopping her.

“You don’t have to,” he says, voice low but conflicted.

She smirks. “Why not? You look like a guy with good reflexes,” the girl purrs, leaning in.

Oscar’s throat bobs as he swallows hard. “I am,” he agrees, smiling politely. “But you don’t have to,” he repeats, thumb brushing over her soft skin.

“No, I know,” she insists. “I mean, it’s fine. Unless you talked to Logan—”

In one smooth motion, Oscar spins her around and bends her over the marble sink, the cool surface biting into her skin. She whimpers at the sudden position change, lifting her gaze to the mirror, only to catch the reflection of them both: her flushed and excited, him looming behind her, all heat and tension.

Oscar’s eyes meet hers in the mirror, unreadable for a moment, but his voice is calm. “Did anything ever happen? With you and Logan, I mean.”

She shakes her head, not trusting her voice.

Oscar watches everything from the way her lashes flutter to how her body reacts to his question. Pleased with her answer, his palm skims slowly down the curve of her back, then to her hips, where his touch grows firmer.

“Good,” he nods, his knee pressing between hers, nudging her legs apart.

Moments later, her hands grip the edge of the sink, her skirt hiked up. She arches her back slightly, giving him a clear invitation with the way she rolls her hips, a playful gleam in her eyes. Behind her, Oscar moves like a man possessed, pushing down his shorts, enough to pull himself out. Calculated, he fits himself against her, one hand braced on her lower back, the other guiding himself. And when he’s inside, they both breathe out in relief: her at the fullness, him at the slick heat that welcomes him like she was meant for this.

She starts meeting him thrust for thrust once he begins to move, her moans echoing against the cold tile, the mirror fogging up as the air thickens with heat and desire.

“Good, you have his permission to fuck me,” she breathes heavily, “Or good, you’ll fuck me without even telling him?”

Oscar chuckles, pace deepening. “Good, I only need your permission,” he clarifies. “And I’m pretty sure I got it the second you dragged me in here.”

At that, her head dips forward, between her shoulders, overwhelmed by the stretch, the sound of their bodies moving together, and the raw heat that surrounds them. But Oscar isn’t letting her disappear into sensation. Not this fast.

His fingers wind gently through her hair, a firm but tender hold as he pulls her head up. “Up,” he orders in a gentle voice. “Let me see you, yeah?”

Their eyes meet again in the mirror as she tries to nod, but she can’t, thanks to his strong grip.

“Yes,” she says instead, without looking away.

She can see the flex of his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches with restraint, the way his eyes lock on hers like he has something to prove to her.

With that thought in mind, Oscar lets go of her hair only to grip her hips with renewed purpose, fingers digging in with hunger. She feels his desire and need for control in every part of her body, and she likes it. It makes her push back into him, begging for more, meeting him with equal intensity.

Oscar’s chest rises with every breath, sweat beading at his temple, muscles flexing as he moves inside her. He looks like he is restraint personified, where every ounce of him is burning, yet held just barely in check for her.

It becomes messier in no time, the rhythm unraveling as control gives way to need. He spreads her wider with a low groan, and the sound alone sends another pulse of fire through her. But instead of protesting, she moans his name again, her body pushing against the pressure. Again and again.

“Fuck, Oscar,” she whimpers, closing her eyes just to focus on the way he fucks into her from behind. “That’s so good, please. Please, don’t stop.”

Exhaling in spasms, Oscar is able to find that spot inside her again — the one that makes everything tilt sideways. The one that breaks her piece by piece, and puts it together the same exact way. He’s not just ruthless in his movements. He’s precise, and every snap of his hips is a calculated promise.

“Yes,” she keeps echoing, her voice going higher, only to crack at the intensity.

“Keep going, you sound unreal,” he leans in, brushing his lips to the shell of her ear.

She pushes back into him, needing much more. “Harder,” she breathes.

“Fuck,” he hisses under his breath, the word punched out of him like her command knocked the air from his lungs. “Since you asked so fucking nicely,” he adds sarcastically, but he gives it to her almost instinctively.

After that, Oscar’s movements grow more unrelenting, until every thrust seems to echo with the tension built up all night. His hands smooth up her back, then down again, gripping her like he’s terrified she’ll break under his force.

“You feel…” he groans, watching the way he sinks into her, “Ah, heavenly,” Oscar continues. “Wanna see what you do to me?”

She gasps, and he presses in deeper, then slows while dragging his cock out, letting her feel every inch of him before snapping his hips forward again.

“Oscar—” she chokes out.

“Yeah, baby. Tell me,” he whispers, “Tell me what you need.”

Truth is, she doesn’t even know anymore. She just knows it’s him. All of him. Everywhere. All the time.

She looks at him through the mirror, eyes glassy, lips trembling, and thinks she’s never seen anything as heartbreakingly hot as Oscar in this exact moment.

His hands trail up her spine again as if it’s already muscle memory, wanting to feel the way she shivers underneath him. Then he brings them beneath her shirt, palms gliding along her stomach before cupping her breasts through the lace of her bra, his thumbs brushing over sensitive peaks that make her gasp and arch into his touch with her entire body.

The slip takes both of them by surprise, his cock sliding free of her slick heat, making them groan in disagreement at the sudden emptiness.

“Hold on,” Oscar instructs, already grabbing her.

She barely has time to blink before he’s spun her around, back hitting the cool tile wall, his hands under her thighs. He lifted her so effortlessly, and now her legs lock around his waist just as he thrusts back into her. The new angle’s different, way deeper, and her head falls back with a loud moan.

“God, Oscar,” she gasps, fingers digging into his shoulders, then burying into the hair at the back of his head. “I feel you in my fucking throat.”

He lets a small laugh against her neck, lips brushing her jaw as he speaks, “‘Cause you’re so fucking tight,” he fires back proudly. “Can’t believe you’re letting me fuck you like this.”

In her defense, she can’t either. Can’t even come up with a lie, let alone a good excuse. But her body does it for her anyway: convulsing in pleasure, fluttering around his thickness as her climax crashes over her. She clutches at him, lips parted in a silent cry, lost to everything but the sound of his voice praising her, and the way he fills her completely. Her entire body is clenching as the orgasm rips through her, hot and blinding, hips rolling without rhythm, unable to stop herself from grinding into every inch of him as she comes.

Oscar is so close, and he has to still deep inside her, a strained moan escaping his throat as he feels her grip his length repeatedly. She’s swollen, sensitive in all the right places, and he swears he can feel her pulse around him, velvet heat dragging him to the edge.

“You feel so good,” he breathes, his voice cracking. “This is fucking torture.”

She feels him throb against her walls, hard, the tension in his body barely restrained. And just as her legs begin to tremble and the aftershocks ripple through her, Oscar pulls out in a desperate motion. He doesn’t trust himself to stay inside longer than that. Not when she feels that good. Not when she just coated him in the pleasure that he gave her and made it nearly impossible to think.

Dizzy, the girl slides down his body to her feet, barely steady, but her hand finds him easily. He’s hot, slick, straining. Without even thinking, she wraps her fingers around his cock, firm but tender, her thumb pressing to his tip and circling through the wetness gathered there.

His breath shudders out of him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he swears, forehead dropping on hers, hips twitching against her palm.

Somehow, she’s stroking him with just the right pressure, enough to make Oscar whimper as if he’s in pain.

Their mouths find their way back to each other, parted but not kissing, breath blending in that hazy space they’ve built. He thrusts into her palm, muscles pulled taut, chasing the edge she’s holding him on with such frustrating, perfect control.

In no time, his body goes rigid and then Oscar exhales a delicious sound that’s barely audible, but full of release, white heat spilling over her fingers and dripping down her hand. His own moves to gently push hers away, but she doesn’t flinch. Instead, she kisses him, her lips finally catching his with a lazy kind of gesture.

“Let me,” she whispers, brushing her thumb along his skin. “That’s so hot.”

“You’re hot,” Oscar shoots back, as if it’s just a silly game for kids.

Looking for some support, he leans in, bracing one palm against the wall beside her head, while his other hand slides down her stomach with purpose. She’s taken aback when his fingers find her hole again, still aching, still swollen with need.

Oscar doesn’t hesitate. Two fingers sink into her, curling in just the right way that makes her eyes roll back and her knees nearly buckle.

“I like odd numbers,” he explains, breathing hoarsely into her skin. “Come on, one more.”

“Oh, shi—” she whimpers, clutching at his shoulders for balance.

She cries out, the sensitivity making her jolt, but she doesn’t pull away — wouldn’t ever dream of it. Not when Oscar holds her steady with one arm around her waist, the other working between her thighs, patient but purposeful. She buries her face in his neck, breathing fast, tasting salt and skin and something that feels dangerously close to a tenderness she won’t be introduced to.

Not tonight, at least.

In the mirror across from them, she catches a glimpse of their reflection, and she likes what she sees, maybe too much: the broad muscles of his back shifting beneath his shirt, arms braced to keep her upright, his body completely encompassing hers. The sight of it and how small she looks in his hold, how thoroughly he’s taken over every inch of her, sends a fresh wave of heat rolling through her.

His shirt is damp against his chest, biceps flexing with every motion of his hand. He’s methodical, and the control in Oscar is intoxicating, all steady strength and relentless focus on her.

“Is there something you can’t do?” she jokes.

His eyes close for a moment, playful yet annoyed, in a way. “Yeah,” he replies. “I can’t take you home and fuck you properly.”

Her back arches against the wall, mouth open in a silent cry as she comes for the third time. Her pussy clenches around his fingers, thighs trembling, heart pounding. And he holds her there, breathing calmly while he helps her riding it out.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her temple.

When her breathing steadies too, he gently withdraws his fingers, keeping his arm wrapped around her waist. She’s still reeling when he brushes a strand of hair off her face, and then lowers to a crouch.

Without breaking eye contact, Oscar picks up her panties from the floor, the damp lace curled in his palm. Initially, she reaches for them, but he pulls back at the last moment, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“Oscar,” she warns.

He smirks and tucks them into his pocket, pulling his shorts up from where they were hanging around his thighs. “Mine.”

She frowns. “Not fair. I have nothing to keep from you.”

“Nonsense,” he leans in, presses his lips just below her jaw, and sucks gently, until her skin blooms under his mouth. “That count?”

She sighes, eyes bright. “Maybe a—”

But before she can finish, a toilet flushes in a nearby stall, and the sound freezes them both. Their eyes meet instantly, making them laugh at the timing, the kind of laughter that shakes their shoulders.

Closing his eyes, Oscar lets his head fall against hers, grinning like a fool. “Fuck,” he whispers, “Thank you for… this.”

“Team effort,” she says, placing a tiny kiss in the corner of his mouth, sweet like a promise. “When do you leave?”

Oscar lifts a brow. “Why? Miss me already?”

The girl rolls her eyes with a small snort. “Just curious.”

He looks in her direction suspiciously as they try to fix their clothes in silence, still buzzing with the weight of everything that just happened inside the small space. Her fingers tremble slightly as she smooths her skirt, and Oscar’s watching her in the mirror, eyes soft but studying.

Maybe she does. Maybe it’s stupid, but the thought of waking up tomorrow and not having this gnaws at her more than she wants to admit. Because suddenly, the night feels like it’s slipping away too fast, and she doesn’t know how to ask for more without sounding like she’s asking for too much.

Oscar can feel the switch in her behavior, and before she can reach for the door handle, he steps closer, stopping her.

“Hey,” he says in a gentle voice, almost like he’s trying not to scare the thought from her mind.

She looks up, and before she can say anything, he kisses her. Soft and lazy and sweet and with no rush. Nothing like before. His lips move slowly over hers, and he exhales into her mouth like he’s been holding his breath. His tongue brushes hers with such delicate care that makes her knees weak all over again.

When they finally part, she’s breathless in a whole new way.

“If, God forbid, you do end up missing me,” he teases lightly, but he sounds so honest, “I’d like to see you again.” He hesitates, eyes flicking away for a second before coming back to hers. “Not just for… you know,” he says, heat creeping up his neck. “I mean, that was woah! But, you know.”

She smiles, nodding. “Yeah, I know. I’d like that, too,” she agrees. “Now let’s go back. Logan probably thinks we’re fucking in here.”

Oscar looks at her, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Probably?” he repeats.

“Well,” she shrugs, eyes flicking up to meet his, “He’s a smart cookie, and Miami heat does tend to enhance the senses.”

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[covenofagatha]

Practice makes perfect (Part 3)

A month later, will Agatha keep pretending like nothing happened?

Word count: 6.4k

Warnings: reader has a penis, cock cage, fingering, handjob, orgasm denial, degradation, semi-public sex

It’s a month later before you see Agatha again. Your internship ended, you’re back in school, and you haven’t had a good reason to stop by your dad’s work, despite really trying hard to think of one.

Until now. 

He had called you that morning and barked at you to swing by his apartment and bring you the files he left on the kitchen counter as his new wife was busy shopping or screwing her personal trainer—you know either is just as likely. 

So you walk the familiar path from the elevator to his office, very visibly scanning the room. People you worked closely with this summer raise their hand to greet you, but you completely ignore them because you only have one person on your mind. 

You see her through the blinds on the glass doors to the office adjacent to your father’s, the lines on her forehead etched deep as she types something out on her computer. 

There’s a twist in your stomach and a tightening in your pants as Agatha’s eyes flick up to meet yours and the memory of her cunt wrapped around your cock has your cheeks heating up furiously. 

She looks completely unaffected; you could be anyone else from the way she gets back to work without a care in the world. 

Except you can see a light flush in her face and it makes your cock twitch because you know she’s thinking about you too. 

The morning after the last night in the Hamptons had been uneventful, almost like nothing had happened. You had woken up in Agatha’s bed and rolled over, fingertips sliding across to seek out her warmth, but she had already gotten out of bed. She came out of the bathroom, completely dressed and carrying her travel pack of toiletries, as you finally sat up and rubbed at your tired eyes. 

Agatha whisked you out of bed, hissing, “Remember, this never happened.” 

And that had been all. 

Has she been reminiscing about fucking you every night since then? Has she touched herself while thinking about you? Has she been counting down the days until she sees you again? 

You’d be embarrassed to admit that you’d done all three—many times. Agatha is your craving now, your addiction, and you need her more than the air you breathe at this point. 

Your dad yells your name and you think you see the sliver of a smile on Agatha’s face. You quickly dart to his office and he doesn’t even so much as look up when you place the files on his desk. 

“Took you long enough,” he says grumpily and you know that’s as much gratitude as you’ll get from him. Never mind the fact that you drove all the way back to the city and you have class in two hours just to bring him a few papers he forgot. 

“I guess I’ll see you later?” you prompt, trying to stall for just a second so you can think of a reason to talk to Agatha on your way out. 

He takes off his reading glasses and settles back in his chair, studying you. Finally, he waves a hand. “The fundraiser thing is this weekend. Why don’t you come to it? It’ll be good to have family there, you know, for morale. Maybe we can put you in charge of something—how about the bread?” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Of course if he is going to give you any responsibility at all, it would be the thing that even a seven year old could figure out. “Yeah, that’ll be great, dad,” you say through tight lips. 

He grimaces like he’s going to add something else but instead, picks up a magazine and holds it up to his face. You take the hint and scurry out of his office. 

Even though you don’t have an excuse, you open the door to Agatha’s room anyway and poke your head in. She raises an eyebrow through her large, black glasses, unimpressed, and you ignore how it affects you. 

“Can I help you?” she asks caustically, looking at you like you’re a piece of gum that got stuck on her shoe. Hot. 

You step in and draw the blinds on the door before closing the others on the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that make her office seem like a fishbowl so no one in the cubicles outside can see in. 

“Are you going to the thing this weekend?” you respond casually before strolling over to perch on the edge of her desk. She’s wearing a brown tweed coat over a blue shirt and black pants and her dark hair tumbles down her back. 

The memory of grinding your cock between her tits flashes in your mind and you shift your weight to hide the budding erection between your legs. 

Agatha doesn’t miss it, of course, and her gaze drops down before she scoffs. “Really? I’m surprised your cock hasn’t fallen off with how much jerking off you must be doing.” 

She smirks at your muffled whimper and your pants grow tighter. 

But Agatha’s caught off guard when you sink to your knees in front of her. You’re feeling dizzy and not thinking clearly at all and you just know that you need her so you start to crawl the last few inches to her chair when she sticks out a leg and stops you. 

A choked gasp leaves your mouth—her short black pump is right against the bugle in your pants. “Agatha,” you breathe, looking up at her with heat in your eyes and mouth wide-open. 

She simpers and presses harder, making you keel forward. Your mind goes blank. 

“God, you’re insatiable, aren’t you?” she hisses and you nod brainlessly and hump up at her shoe like a bitch in heat. If anyone were to walk in right now, you would be caught in quite the compromising position. 

Agatha grabs your hair and forces you to look at her, digging her heel into your cock and making you moan pathetically. There’s drool dripping down your chin out of the corner of your lips. The smell of her perfume and your sweat makes you drunk and you babble something nonsensically. 

She pulls on your hair harder when you rut shallowly against her, small noises falling from your mouth, and if she keeps it up, you’re not going to last much longer. 

“All it takes is one look from me and you’re tripping over yourself,” she snarls and you whine quietly, pawing at her shin. The look she gives you is lethal. “You need to learn to be patient and not be so fucking embarrassing.” 

Your cock pulses and a stain spreads on your pants from the precum that spits out while you swear under your breath. 

Agatha swiftly grabs your chin, pinching it so your jaw hurts slightly. “You know what I think would help a spoiled brat like you learn?” 

“What?” you choke out, both excited and scared. 

There’s a devilish glint in her eye when she leans forward until your noses almost touch. “A cock cage.” 

The wind gets kicked out of your lungs and your ribs rattle with your sharp inhale. 

“You—you’re going to buy me a cock cage?” you rasp and fuck, it’s going to be torture if you know anything about Agatha. 

Her face contorts into something wicked. “And have that on my bill for this month? No. You’re going to buy yourself one so you can always remember just how pathetic you are.” 

She dips forward, the knee on her outstretched leg bending, and reaches into your front pocket to pull out your wallet. You gasp when she moves her fingers and touches your cock lightly and you rock into her shoe again. 

Agatha places it on the desk and opens the personal laptop before typing something in. You wait with bated breath, trying to control your pulsing cock, when she tilts the computer toward you and you groan. 

It’s a sex toy website open to a page with about twenty different cages. You have to manually suck in air and push it back out because you’ve forgotten how to breathe automatically. 

“Fuck,” you say, and is the room spinning or is that just the endorphins giving you a high unlike anything you’ve ever felt?

Agatha hums nonchalantly as she scrolls though, pausing every now and then and hovering the mouse over an option, but then shakes her head and moves on. You’re panting now and you wonder if she can feel your hot breath through the fabric on her legs. 

She clicks to the next page and you see it the exact second she does—a purple, steel tube that gleams in the picture. 

“This one,” she decides without even looking at you for your opinion, even though you would have nothing to say except yes, please. 

She adds it to the cart and with each number of your credit card that she types in, you swear she presses her heel harder into your cock so by the time she’s done, you’re furiously grinding against her and so fucking close to coming. Your pants are a light blue color and there will definitely be a visible mark but you couldn’t care less. 

You rattle off your address in a shaky voice and you hope, wish, pray that Agatha will take pity on you and let you come, either like this or maybe with more—her hand, her cunt, fuck, her mouth. You think you would die if she wrapped her perfect lips around your cock. 

Your cock throbs again and she smirks before moving her shoe from side to side and making you keen at the friction. 

“You’re incorrigible,” she sighs and your whimper is pitiful. “The cage will be at your place tomorrow. You will bring me the key and then you will wear it to the fundraiser and show me that you can be a good girl and keep your cock to yourself, got it?” 

“Yes,” you gasp. You make a mental note to buy her a nice necklace to put the key on, just in case she wants to show it off. A physical demonstration that she owns you. 

Agatha smiles sweetly and pats your cheek before placing the order and pressing hard against your cock one last time. 

With a long moan, you come in your pants and Agatha just rolls her eyes. 

—

The cage gets shipped to your apartment the next day and you chuckle at the thought of Agatha ordering it express to get it there that fast. 

You take it out of the package, turning the cool metal over in your palm, and your cock already twitches. The key is small and gold and you salivate at the thought of it around Agatha’s neck, resting between her cleavage. 

The second you had gotten home yesterday, you had ordered her a diamond tennis necklace. It had cost about half the median salary but you hadn’t thought twice before ordering it because it would be worth it to see the light catch the jewelry. She’s claiming you with this cage and you want to show that off. 

Only the best for the woman who owns you figuratively, and now, literally. 

You call her and put it on speakerphone, listening to the dial ring. You picture her in her office, smirking down at your contact card, and keeping you waiting until the last possible minute. You have to shift to hide the tent in your pants even though you’re the only one at your home. 

“What?” she asks irritatedly when she finally picks up. Why does that make you harder? 

Clearing your throat, you examine your reflection in the steel. “Um, it came in,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “Fuck, Agatha—” 

“Put it on,” she orders swiftly and you gasp. 

You get off the bed onto shaky knees and unzip your pants. Agatha stays quiet on the line and it feels like you should say something to break the silence, but you can’t think of a word to utter. Your cock throbs when you pull it out of your pants, already half-hard, and you slide the cage over yourself and lock it. 

“Oh, fuck,” you whimper at the cold constriction and Agatha chuckles. More blood flows south and then you wince because it hurts if your cock gets too hard. 

“Good girl,” she hums and you bite down on your hand, hoping the pain distracts you from her. 

It doesn’t. 

“Agatha, can I please—can I please take it off?” you pant, submissive to a flaw because surely she can’t stop you from doing what you want. 

But you want her permission, you need it. If you’re her good girl, maybe she’ll let you touch her again. 

She muses and then laughs cruelly and you whine high-pitched. “No,” she says simply and you’re torn between obeying or ripping the cage off because of the agony you’re in. 

“Agatha, please,” you try again, sounding even more pathetic and desperate because maybe she likes that. 

It would seem that she does not. “No,” she spits out, sharper this time. “You are going to learn how to wait for something for once in your life. Keep it on from now until this weekend and I expect the key in my hand before the fundraiser. And maybe, maybe, if you listen, I’ll let you take your cock out.” 

“How do you know I won’t just unlock it myself before then?”

She hangs up without answering because you both know that’s not going to happen. 

—

Saturday, one hour before the annual fundraiser, you knock on Agatha’s apartment door. 

“Just a second,” she calls, clearly not expecting you or she wouldn’t be so cordial, and you shift your weight to your other leg while you wait. In one hand, you have a bottle of wine and in the other, the box with the necklace and the key. 

There’s a nervous feeling in your stomach—this feels like something real. In the Hamptons, it was a vacation that felt a world away. It felt removed from daily life and you had believed that what had happened with you and Agatha was merely a consequence of being away for a week and a much-needed stress reliever. 

But this? Going to the event together with a chastity cage around your cock and the key to it around her neck? 

What does this mean? 

Agatha opens the door and you’re instantly in pain from the restricted hardening of your cock. She’s wearing a long red dress that dips low and shows off her cleavage and her hair is still in rollers, light make-up on her face. 

She peers down at your black pants and you squirm. It had taken you forever to find the right suit to wear that would hide the bulge of the cage but you wonder if she can see it. Does she get the same thrill from it as you do?

She steps to the side and begrudgingly lets you in as you hand her the wine and the box. You saunter into the spacious living room, dragging a finger against the spines of all the books she keeps, as her footsteps traipse after you. 

“Oh,” she breathes and you turn around to find her looking into the now-open box. The diamonds refract the light from the large windows onto her face and make her gray-blue eyes pop. Your breath catches in your throat. 

“It’ll go with your dress,” you say hoarsely as she lifts out the necklace. 

She regards you with something akin to fondness and she holds it out for you to take before spinning so her back is to you. You swallow roughly and reach it gently around her neck before clasping it and then lean down to breathe in her spicy perfume. 

Agatha shivers at your hot air on her back and there’s a line of goosebumps that appears. You’re about to run your tongue over them when she faces you again and your eyes immediately drop down. 

The necklace comes down under her collarbone and the key rests vertically on her sternum. You’d be dizzyingly hard if not for the cage but you wonder if she can see the desire obviously written on your face. 

“Take it out,” she whispers and you move faster than you ever have to unzip yourself. 

A hush falls over the already quiet room as you pull the purple metallic tube out of your pants. Agatha audibly exhales before squatting down to get a better look. You can see your reflection and hers in it and you don’t miss the dilation of her pupils. 

She reaches out with a perfectly manicured finger and taps the metal three times. The vibrations travel through your cock and up your spine and your eyes water. 

The last few days have been absolute torture—every single thing that reminds you of Agatha has gotten you hard. You’ve been getting erections now just at the sight of a dark-haired woman walking down the street because you think it might be her. 

And now, she’s standing here, a hair away from your cock with the key to your salvation around her neck, and she’s not doing anything. 

“Agatha, can I—can you please—”

She stands up and puts a finger against your lips and you groan dejectedly. You move to put your cock back in your pants but she tuts before pulling a small tube of lipstick from her purse that’s sitting on the couch. She bends back over to look at her reflection in the cage and carefully applies a rosy-red tint that matches the shade of her dress exactly. 

“All good,” she says cheerfully and pats the metal, sending shockwaves through your body, before placing the tube of lipstick on the coffee table. 

Agatha strolls into her bedroom where you’re not sure if you’re welcome, so you just pace out in the living room and try not to look too nosy as you snoop through the photo albums on the bookshelves. 

“Ready to go?” she says, reemerging from her room, now with her wavy, dark hair flowing freely. You stare, stunned at how ethereal she looks, as she breezes by you. “Close your mouth, you’ll catch flies.” 

You chase after her to catch her in the elevator and then without permission, you hop in her company car. The driver looks at you in the rearview mirror but doesn’t say a word. As the boss’s daughter, you can get away with pretty much anything. 

Agatha taps her nails against her purse and looks out the window the entire way to the event center. Her silence—like she can’t even be bothered to talk to you—only has you shifting restlessly next to her, hoping to get her attention. You can’t stop staring at the key hanging around her neck and you need her to unlock you tonight. 

You’d act up in an attempt to rile her up, but you can’t be sure that Agatha wouldn’t just throw the key in the Hudson River so that your cock will never get freedom or relief. 

The thought of her condescending smirk as she draws out a I warned you makes your cock twitch painfully in its cage and you whimper. Agatha gives you the smallest of glances and you can see her eyes twinkling. 

She’s fucking enjoying this. 

You’re half-tempted to slide a hand up her dress to find out just how much, but once again, the fear of never being able to put your cock inside her ever again stops you. Damn her and the hold she has on you, but you also never want it to stop. 

The driver pulls up in front of the venue, where the red carpet has been rolled out and you see your dad, step-mom, Rio, and a few other executive employees already being photographed. The fundraiser, a ball for the creative endowment fund your father started, is kind of a big deal in the city, just like him. Hence, he pulls out all the spots. 

No one will ever be able to say your father isn’t a charitable man. No one except those who actually know him, that is. 

“Go out that way,” Agatha murmurs and nods toward your car door. It’s on the other side so you won’t be as visible to the paparazzi. 

You pout mockingly. “You don’t want everyone to see us walking in together? Come on, I’ll even hold your hand.” 

Agatha snorts before running a finger along the length of the key—a reminder to behave. You gulp audibly and nod before sneaking out on the other side of the car. 

Jogging around it, you make it just in time to watch the camera people turn around to find Agatha and you almost get blinded by the flashes. She gracefully glides through the crowds to pose against the company logo backdrop with Rio, who grins wolfishly. 

You’re content to just ogle her—will any of the photos show that? You’d like to get it framed—when your dad calls your name. He beckons you forward and you try to shake him off, but he keeps insisting so you reluctantly give in and duck beneath the red stanchion to join him. You take a few pictures with him, with him and your step-mom, and then by yourself. There’s absolutely no reason you should have to take any by yourself, but your father requested it, much to your chagrin. 

This is the one part of your life that you’re still not used to. The money, the cars, the penthouse—easy. But having thirty people take your picture that may or may not be on the front page of tomorrow’s paper? It’s a lot. Your dad used to always critique your smile or the way you stood or the way your shirt wasn’t tucked in just right and that left an indelible mark on you. 

Even now, you can’t shake the feeling that you’re doing something wrong all the time when it comes to the press. What if your blazer is crooked? What if your hair is parted wrong? What if the bulge in your pants from the cage is visible? You feel nauseous at the thought of your dad reading a paper with that as the headline. 

It feels like your skin is crawling and you think you’ve been posing for about three hours when there’s a warm presence against your shoulder. You tilt your head and smile a real, genuine smile. 

Agatha tucks an arm around you and you gratefully curl into her, but not too much that it’ll get people talking. She’s been around your family enough to know what your dad can be like, but she’s never been this outward about being on your side. 

“Chin up, eyes open, straight face,” she mumbles and you watch as she sets her face stoic. Her cheekbones are sharp enough to cut glass, the crook in her nose stands out on her side profile, and her eyebrows are neatly combed. You’re so distracted that you don’t even hear the clicks of the cameras until Agatha glances at you in her periphery and pinches your side. 

You straighten up and hold your expression steady. There’s a few catcalls, but mostly encouraging whistles and you stand together for a few minutes like that until she pushes you along the rest of the way. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, finally feeling like you can breathe again. She squeezes your side as an answer before letting go once you get inside. 

The venue is spacious, with about thirty round tables neatly set up in front of the large stage where your father will make a speech. A luxurious sparkling chandelier hangs in the middle of the room. Waiters walk around with trays of hors d'oeuvres and champagne. 

You turn to make a quip to Agatha about champagne and her tits but she’s not there. Scanning the room, you finally spot her talking to Rio while absentmindedly eating bruschetta. There’s something about watching her while she’s so focused and lost in the conversation that makes your cock twitch. 

Not that that’s new. 

She picks up a glass from a waitress that pauses next to her and raises it to her red lips for a sip. You wonder what it would be like to press your mouth to the lipstick stain she’ll leave behind—a fleeting, ghost of a kiss, but the only thing you might get from her. 

You watch her move her hands animatedly around and her veins flex and your mouth waters. She’s doing something so simple and yet, your cock behaves the same as it would if she was touching you. 

Agatha must feel your eyes on her because she suddenly looks over and meets your gaze. You keep staring unabashedly, waiting for her to scold you silently, but she just raises her champagne in a wordless toast. Your cheeks heat up and the cold metal hurts your cock. 

She begins to fiddle with the key, sliding it up and down the glittering necklace and turning it over her fingers and it has you practically drooling. 

A reminder that she owns you, cock and all. You don’t even care if she doesn’t see it like that because you do and that’s enough. 

Your cock is pressing very uncomfortably against its confines, trying and failing to grow, and it’s making you want to scream. You can hardly take it anymore and you’re sure that if you don’t get relief soon, you might actually explode. 

So you walk over casually and pause next to her, waiting for her to acknowledge you, but she’s talking to Rio. She doesn’t even look at you and you hate how hot her indifference is. 

Agatha wasn’t so indifferent when you were eating her out a month ago, when you were grinding on her tits, when you were fucking her. And fuck—fuck, now you’re thinking about it and your blood rushes downwards so fast that you get dizzy and you grab onto Agatha’s arm before you can think about it. 

She stops talking immediately and glares at you. Rio raises an eyebrow and you step away while clearing your throat. 

“I just wanted to ask where you got your necklace from, Agatha,” you say, inwardly cursing when your voice squeaks. 

Agatha gingerly touches two fingers to it. “Oh, this old thing? It was someone’s pathetic attempt at wooing me.” 

A thrill runs through you. “Did it work?” You search Agatha’s eyes for something that tells you if you’re off-base. Rio is right there and the tension between you and Agatha is thick enough to cut with a knife. 

Agatha softens. “Jury’s still out.” 

Oh, fuck. If she keeps this up, you might start to think that she actually likes you. 

Agatha straightens up and looks at Rio before gently laying a hand on her arm. “Would you excuse me? I need to go to the bathroom.” 

Rio nods affirmatively and turns to you like she’s planning on starting a conversation, but your eyes are glued to Agatha as she sashays away. The way her hips sway in that dress that accentuates her ass perfectly…if you weren’t caged you would’ve needed to bring several back up pairs of pants. 

She stops when she gets to the corner that the bathroom is on the other side of and looks back at you just briefly. 

You freeze—is that an invitation? 

There’s a pounding sound in your ears and it drowns out everything Rio is saying. You’re in a trance and you don’t even think you give an excuse before you trail after Agatha. Someone might be calling your name, your dad perhaps, but you brush it off and keep walking. 

Agatha’s touching up her makeup in the mirror when you quietly shut the door behind you. There’s no one else in there and you quickly turn the lock. She meets your eyes in her reflection and scoffs before turning around. 

“I bet you’re here with more of that pathetic pleading for me to let you come?” she tsks and that’s originally why you thought you followed. 

But now, seeing her all dolled up and heavenly, you just want her. You step closer to her like you’re not in control of your own body before slowly reaching out and hiking up her dress, giving her plenty of time to stop you. 

She doesn’t say a word, just keeps her eyes trained on the door like she’s still worried someone will come in. 

When the fabric is bunched up at her hips, she leans back against the counter to make it easier for you to slide a hand between her legs. She’s wearing a pair of black, lacy panties and when you touch the gusset of them, you almost fall to your knees. 

She’s wet. Almost completely soaked through. You whimper and she tries to keep composure as you begin sliding two fingers across her covered slit. 

“Did you wear these for me?” you ask smugly. 

“You’re pathetic,” she hisses without her usual malice. 

“And you like this,” you say quietly, attempting to meet her eyes but she keeps looking away. Instead, you stare at her red lips as they curl. “You like having me in the palm of your hand? I bet you like that key around your neck as much as I do. You’re so fucking wet.” 

She yanks on your hair and finally looks at you. “Then fucking do something about it.” 

A flash of pleasure goes straight to your cock and you whimper as you push her underwear to the side. After a bit of fumbling, you find her clit and rub small circles and there’s a rosy red stain on her top teeth from sinking them into her lip. You watch in awe as her face contorts with pleasure. 

You slide a finger down through her folds and slowly push it into her opening—her mouth drops open before she quickly snaps it shut, determined not to give you any satisfaction. 

Too late, because your cock is straining against the cage and you wonder if anyone’s ever broken out of it before just from an erection. 

A broken moan escapes her when you curl your finger up into her, pressing against the soft, spongy spot and you start a steady pace of thrusting inside her. Your other hand rests on the sink counter behind her, where both her hands are gripping like she’s resisting the urge to touch you. 

You wish she wouldn’t. 

“Fuck,” Agatha breathes when you fit another finger into her and your thumb slips against her clit with how wet she is. Her walls clench around you and draw you in and you pick up the pace, carefully watching her. 

She feels you staring again and this time, her eyes flicker down to your lips before darting away. Your breath catches, your heart stops, and you start to lean in like she’s magnetic. 

“Don’t you dare,” she whispers but she’s begun to move in too and your eyelids flutter closed. 

Your brain goes white the second her lips touch yours and you reach your other hand up to cup her cheek gently. It’s just light brushes against each other at first and your fingers pause inside her to focus on her light olive oil and garlic taste from the bruschetta she was eating earlier. 

But then she wraps both her arms around your neck, whispers “Don’t stop,” and slides her tongue into your mouth. Your hand moves to grip her hip and press her against the counter and she moans into your mouth. 

It’s a mess of teeth and tongue and lips and you can feel her walls gripping you with a broken rhythm while you try to keep your pace from faltering. Your cock is positively aching right now but it’s the furthest thing from your mind when Agatha bites your lower lip. You whine and she swallows it and her nails rake down your back over your blazer. 

She hikes a leg up over your hip so you can get further inside her and you’re rewarded with a high-pitched noise that you’ll still be reminiscing about on your wedding night. Her kisses get sloppier and she’s getting closer—you can feel it. 

So you double-down your efforts, fitting a third finger into her and earning  another moan, and rub at her clit hard. 

Agatha spasms and comes all over your fingers, panting into your open mouth while you let her jerk against you. You keep fucking her through the aftershocks until she winces and breaks away to push at your shoulders and you slowly pull out of her. 

Holding eye contact with her, you envelope your fingers in your mouth and clean them off. She groans and you take in her ragged state: mussed-up hair, lipstick smeared over her mouth, chest pink and heaving. You’re sure you look like as much of a mess as she does, if not more. 

The adrenaline from getting her off is still pumping through your veins and you hardly even feel your own arousal until Agatha reaches down and unzips your pants with one smooth motion. You gasp and she chuckles as she reaches into your boxers to take out your cock encased in purple. 

You almost see stars when she squats down again, parallel to earlier this evening, only this time, she grabs the key on her necklace. It’s hard to breathe when she inserts it into the lock and twists it. Even with the tiniest bit more room, you can feel your cock already growing and pressing against the boundaries of the lessened restraint. 

She stands back up and motions so you tug it off your already-hardened cock and set the cage on the counter. You look at her with pleading eyes and her lip curls with disgust, immediately falling back into her role. 

Agatha roughly grabs you and spins you so you’re facing the mirror. Your cock throbs freely when you see her red lipstick streaked across your own face—a reminder of her lips on yours that you don’t want to ever forget. Your cock bobs and spits a dollop of precum onto the counter and you imagine Agatha licking it off. 

But instead, she drags her tongue up the palm of her hand, stands behind you, and reaches around to grip the base of your cock. You gasp loudly and she begins to stroke. Your stomach immediately tightens. 

“You’re so pathetic, aren’t you?” she croons and your hips jerk forward. She lathers the mixture of her saliva and your precum up and down your length and you squirm. “You’d do anything I wanted, wouldn’t you? Put a cage around your cock because I suggested it? You’re fucking hopeless without me, aren’t you?” 

You moan and rut into her hand. You’re already so close and the embarrassment at coming this soon only turns you on more because you know Agatha will humiliate you for it. 

Except her degradation isn’t cutting as hard as it usually does. There’s heat in her eyes and it’s not just from you fucking her—it’s because she likes watching you like this. 

“Look at what a filthy fucking slut you are for me,” she spits and grips your hair with her other hand to hold you still while speeding up her thrusts. Whimpers fall from your mouth, pleasure tingling from your cock to your lower back and up your spine. “Look at how I ruined you.” 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes, this is all for you,” you chant, hands gripping the sink and her eyes capture yours in the reflection. The corners of her mouth quirk up. “Please, Agatha, I’m going to—” 

She sinks her teeth into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, just another demonstration of how she owns you, and your cock explodes, pumping out strand after strand of cum into the sink. Agatha keeps stroking you while you grunt like a rabid animal and keep fucking her hand until your cock begins to soften. 

It’s the first orgasm you’ve had in about four days and you slouch forward against the sink, careful not to get any cum on your suit, while you breathe heavily. 

There’s the sound of heels clacking on the marble tile and then Agatha reaches between your arm and your body with a wet paper towel to wipe your mess off the counter and then turns on the faucet to clean the sink. 

There’s a comfortable silence while you both tidy everything up. There’s a lipstick stain on the collar of your shirt that you don’t even try to get off. You wipe the perspiration off your forehead and with a different paper towel, she dabs at her lipstick that’s still on your mouth. It’s maternal and gentle and your cock gives another weak twitch before you stuff it back in your pants. She thoroughly washes the chastity cage before shoving it in her purse. 

“That’s a one-and-done sort of thing, then?” you ask, almost worried that she’ll say no. Orgasm denial, when it comes from her as you’ve found out, is hot. 

So you’re delighted when she shakes her head. “Absolutely not. I’m still not completely sure you’ve learned how to be patient.” 

Your smirk is sly. “Can’t teach an old dog new tricks, can you?” 

“Oh, I will,” she says determinedly and you think you should get extra credit for not reaching back into your pants and jerking off right now, like you suddenly feel the urge to do. 

The only problem left is Agatha’s lipstick—it’s completely unsalvageable and she realizes that she left the tube at her apartment after she put it on for the first time earlier. 

So she pulls her dress back down, sweeps her hair over her shoulders before tousling it a few times, and strides out into the hall. You hear her ask if she can borrow someone’s lipstick, surely the first person she finds. 

She comes back into the bathroom a moment later and you watch transfixed as she applies it to the same lips that were on yours just a moment earlier.

“Let’s hope no one notices we’ve been gone for a while,” she murmurs. 

But when you leave the bathroom, exactly three minutes after her so as to not raise suspicions, it doesn’t seem like anyone is the wiser. 

And if someone realizes Agatha’s lips are painted nude instead of the rosy red they were at the beginning of the gala, the same rosy red that has stained your collar, they don’t say anything.

Taglist: @lostbutlovely33 @diorrxckstar @whoreforolderfictionalwomen  @katekathry @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @tayasmellsapples @natashashill @mybraininblood @mysticalmoonlight7  @cactuslover2600 @loveem0mo @readysteddiero-nance @lonelyhalfwitch @lesbiantortilla @crescendoofstars @sol-in-wonderland @ahsfan05 @gbab09 @sasheemo @agathaharness @live-laugh-love-lupone @chiar4anna @fuckedupforkhahn @lowlyjelly @sweetmidnights @n3bula-cats @m1vfs @agathascoven1

[enwoso]

good cop | alessia russo

lil halloween inspired fic. tbh i dunno what this is- half of it i wrote at the start of the month if i’m be honest with you all

a little bit suggestive.

masterlist

“baby? c’mon we need to be heading out!” you called out from the other side of the bathroom door, alessia had been in there for at least forty five minutes getting ready for the night.

you and alessia going to a halloween party that one of the arsenal girls had set up. you and alessia had decided to do a couple costume, alessia as a police women and you as her prisoner.

you had gotten ready in record speed time, all you had to do was put on a bright orange jumpsuit with a white tank top underneath, and scrape your hair back into a bun. but alessia was always one to take her time when getting ready no matter the occasion.

“we’re gonna have them all teasing us again, if we’re late” you carried on as you walked a little further down the hallway to get your phone which had been sat on charge in your shared bedroom for the past half an hour.

a small chuckle leaving your lips as you spoke, remembering all the teasing comments the team made about you and alessia the last time you arrived at the gathering late. it was only by ten minutes but the team had a way with words by saying you were both too in love?

you shaking your head at their teasing comments as you remember alessia’s cheeks flushed a light shade of pink. if you could be too in love with someone than that’s definitely a level you were at with alessia as you look at her as if she is the one who hangs the stars in the sky at night.

pulling you out your daydream as you hear the bathroom door click open and alessia’s sock covered footsteps get closer to you. a slight push of the bedroom door and there she was, a slight gasp coming from you as she entered the room, your jaw dropping.

“it’s too much isn’t it. i’ll go-” alessia mumbled seeing your reaction however you weren’t gasping at her in a bad way, quite the opposite actually.

“no- don’t.” you quickly choked out as alessia was about to spin on her heels. “you look gorgeous, my girl.” you smiled taking her in her outfit and how sexy she looked in it.

black shorts which were short but hugged her legs in all the right spots, some black fishnet tights lining her long legs and a black v neck polo on her top half. a silver police badge on her chest and a belt with silver hand cuffs hanging down from the side as her hair was curled lightly at the ends.

“you think?” alessia asked clearly unsure scanning her outfit over once again, but as she looked up seeing the smirk on your face she knew that the outfit had clearly had some sort of affect on you.

“oh baby i don’t think, i know” you whispered as you stood up from the edge of the bed inching closer to her, your hand’s slithering around her waist pulling her closer to you with a sudden urgency that had spiked.

your eyes flick between her eyes and her lips, words being spoken without the use of actual words as you close the gap. capturing her lips in a kiss which starts slow and sweet, a kiss that doesn’t need to ask for permission instead takes before it turns hungry and desperate.

alessia’s mouth moving against yours with an urgency which only matches your own and the taste of her is intoxicating with a slight hint of the lip gloss she’d probably put on near moments before hand.

the kiss deepening and growing more intense by the second as your pressing instinct each other as both your hands roam and tug each other as if you both can’t bare there to be any distance between the two of you.

your hands finding the back of her neck, pulling alessia impossibly closer as her hands possessively grip your waist making your head spin.

your lips leaving hers as a small whine slips from her at the loss of contact as you trail kisses from her lips and down to her neck. finding her sweet spot and sucking harshly on it, drawing a moan from her as you graze your teeth along her skin. your skin lighting on fire from the sounds escaping from her pretty lips

“do we have to go-” you breathed out against her neck as a small giggle came from her as you went back to nipping at her neck small whispers falling from her lips.

“we wouldn’t hear the end of it if we didn’t show” alessia managed to squeak out as a small huff came from you as your teeth sunk into her, you were all worked up and wanted to instead be falling through the bed sheets not through club doors.

you reaching up to move a strand of alessia’s hair behind her ear as you nibbled slightly on her earlobe, “make sure you don’t lose them handcuffs. they’ll come in handy later darling.”

[obriengf]

yeah this got 18+ real quick - smut warning!

imagine MITCH RAPP during a time when he is allowed peace; a life away from correcting the world of its crimes, waking up in the same bed every day with the absence of worry, contentment riddled so deep in his bones that he can draw a deep breath and finally feel tranquillity. he can sit in his designated armchair each morning, drinking his stupid imported coffee from the ugly mug you got him last christmas. he can sit at the dining table, across from you, sharing a meal and discussing your days, every day. he can lead a life with a promised future, and not one where he was unsure whether he'd make it out alive. just imagine it.

now, imagine him feeling so settled and fulfilled in his life, that he kneels down on one knee. he knows that there is that promised future, and those lazy sunday mornings, and more christmases with more ugly mugs. he knows that you'll crawl on his lap as he sat in that armchair, snuggled up watching movies into the darkness of the night. he knows that you will make him meals, and he would make you some too, before you share them across the table for the rest of your lives. mitch on his knee, a ring held so carefully between his fingers as they slightly shook. he had hope filling his beautiful brown eyes - a golden tone to match the colour of the band. he had felt loss so strongly in his past that it provoked him to be an empty shell. until he met you, until he learnt to love you unconditionally. and you love him too, despite his demons.

"it would be the greatest honour to have you by my side for the rest of our lives. i love you so fucking much. marry me."

to which you would reply with a teary, "of course."

imagine that months had passed. and that the love only grew stronger. imagine standing at the end of the alter with him, as he insisted that he held your hands throughout the entire ceremony, even through his vowels, which he had been memorising for months. his eyes unable to leave yours for a mere second as he stood mesmerised by your beauty on this special day. mitch would feel so lucky that he could call you his forever. flash forward to your first dance, and you both have two left feet. it was a mess, so you stuck to rocking side-to-side, giggling like school kids, impressed when he managed to twirl and dip you without fail. you both decided to feed each other your first slice of wedding cake, but you got his nose instead. on purpose. he knew that it was coming, call it assassin instincts. but he could only laugh before smashing his lips against yours, frosting decorating your cheeks in utter joviality.

now imagine a few hours later, and mitch had you pressing hands and knees into the mattress of your hotel room. your stature was wobbly, his fault, of course, after he priorly had his head between your thighs for what felt like forever. and he ate you out so fucking good, too. his blunted nails leaving crescent marks embedded in the flesh of your thighs, your hips, your stomach. the tip of his nose was dragging over your clit with such force as he tried to bury his tongue so deep inside your cunt. relishing in how you'd constrict around the muscle. and the moans that'd draw from your lips was a fucking symphony if he'd ever heard one. his lips sucked and swallowed as you writhed and panted. you were so close that you could reach out to the stars and touch them as they dizzied your view. but he stopped abruptly. teasing you. and mitch couldn't hold back the smirk that had tugged at his sopping glistening lips as you protested.

he was aiming for an orgasm that would take you to the edge and over. mitch was grasping your hips, pulling you back to him when you started to buckle and lose your strength. skin on skin slapping, reverberating off the four walls. your ass was red from his large hands as they fondled and slapped, only to be soothed by gentle rubs from calloused fingers. you were painted on different marks as your body filled with sensation, as mitch admired them proudly as his eyes lazily dragged down from your purple splotchy neck. your head dropped to the side as your cheek grazed the bedsheet, his name slipping past your lips like a prayer, begging for him. you were close, again.

mitch had a soft side, as you learnt quickly after meeting him. he was generous and sweet. incredibly kind-hearted when he wanted to be. which is why he treated you with such fragility as he slowed his thrusts, the plummeting now nothing but an idle wait. as much as it hurt his throbbing cock, he pulled out from you and wrapped his arms under your frame, gentle as he turned you over. with your back now pressed to the bed, mitch kissed over your eyes as they remained closed, still floating in your upcoming orgasm. waiting.

"let me see you, baby. open 'em for me." his voice was soothing but you still whined, lost in euphoria. mitch chuckled, his breath heavy before his lips kissed over your own, "i want to see your face when you cum for the first time as mrs rapp..."

tears brimmed your waterline but you had never smiled so wide as when you saw the love that exuded from this man, before he was lining himself up again. the tip of his cock tapped against your clit as you cried, pushing yourself up to indicate that you needed him. as your walls incased him completely, mitch's body lowered, his chest sweaty as it stuck against yours, one hand tangled in your own as the other braced itself, white-knuckled, beside your head. his hips drove deep into your core. tapping your inner walls, and you continued to cry out his name as he attempted to soothe you with sloppy bruising kisses on your collarbone, and up toward your ear. you were so tight. it felt dangerous, daring, the way you were squeezing and milking this man for everything he had. and yet he was so utterly addicted to you.

the moment before the release was always one that he cherished. the adrenaline rush was one unmatched, how you both reeked with desperation, how sighs and pants and moans grew louder and louder. the way you would beg one another for more, the 'pleases' and 'thank yous' mixed among the cussing and chanting of 'fuck fuck fuck' over and over again until the explosion. he loved these moments. but when you came? the second you arched so high off the bed that he used all his force to hold you down? when he came himself the second you pulled at his hair in absolute pleasure?

that was his crowning glory moment.

that's when mitch rapp knew that he finally found peace.

[lorelune]

(continuation of this piece. part ii of regency au with jing yuan)

"he needs to stop doing this."

you tell lord luocha this as you stumble out of your one room cottage, desperately attempting to smooth down your day gown. your palms shake as you do and you shoot your patron an angry look.

lord luocha looks perfectly passive, painfully neutral with a hint of mirth. the bastard. "i think it's quite appropriate for the general to call upon you this hour of the day. i thought you would be prepared."

"i am not an 'eligible lady' as i am so often reminded," you shake your head. "i cannot constantly be ready to take his company, just because it's before supper. be reasonable, my lord. speak with him about this."

"perhaps," luocha tilts his head with the barest hint of a smile. "i'll consider it. for now, why don't you go greet our guest? i'll have some refreshments sent in."

"fine." you say. your voice wavers.

this is not the first time the retired general, Jing Yuan, has called upon you. it's more like the fifth. maybe sixth. it is more frightening to keep count of his increasingly frequently visits (as they clearly indicate some type of explicit interest), so you stopped counting them recently. peace of mind and all.

you enter the drawing with and bow to the general without thinking, "good afternoon, general."

"likewise," he says easily, voice so deep and rich; it makes your insides feel wobbly.

jing yuan sits on one of the loveseats, legs tastefully spread and in some amount of regalia. well-dressed, certainly. his hair is half-tied up as he so favors, and his face has a healthy amount of blush. a crisp jaw. bulging forearms and thighs beneath his various dressings. a broad chest. it is hard not to ogle him overtly. you train your gaze on the hand-tufted rug before rising and daintily (as you can) sit across from him on the other side of the loveseat. you tuck your legs to the side, barely remembering to not fully fold them under yourself. decorum and all.

(it feels foolish. jing yuan hardly seem to care. lord luocha thinks your bumbling is amusing.)

"i apologize for the intrusion," he says. he squeezes his hands into loose fists. you don't miss the action. "will you indulge me for a time?"

"i'm already here, aren't i?" you quip back, tone light. easy. "i don't mind the company."

there's more you could say—

("general, i think you are so very kind and thoughtful. thank you for spending your spare time with me.")

("general, i am sorry i can't attend any of the balls and festivities as anything more than a performer. i would not mind being on your arm, if circumstances were different, and you desired it so".)

("general, how much longer will you entertain this? are you intending to steal my heart, only to break it?"

instead, you remain quiet, picking at your nailbeds. jing yuan watches you with a hum. flexes his hands.

"are you working on any new pieces?" he asks.

"a few, actually." you reply. "the muses have been kind to me."

"oh?" he smiles. he tilts his head cutely, almost boyish, despite his age. "may i ask the subject matter?"

"ah—" you feel your face heat. "a number of things. subject matters. a varying themes."

truthfully, you have started four new paintings in the last week. all of which were started in moments of such deep inspirations, they had you painting and laying base colors from sunrise until sunset. it just so happens that these... works have. a clear theme. that of the general.

(during his second visit, he commented on the blooming azaleas. you've been obsessed with perfecting the shape of their petals. his third visit, you sat on the same seat as him. you were so much closer then, and found yourself lost in the honey color of his eyes. the punch of purple underneath them, an accumulation of sleepless nights. another is of a lion, like that of his crest. the final is a portrait of him that has you committing every bit of him to memory. perhaps you'll be able to capture his likeness with your memory if the muses continue to favor you.)

"you're quite the varied artist." he leans his jaw on his fist. "your dedication to your craft is most admirable."

"i cannot help the ways in which inspiration forces me to act," or, to thirst over the man in front of you. god forbid a parched man be given drink so fine. you shake your head. "i have had... some amount of increased, enjoyable, new interactions over the past while. i suppose i'm feeling invigored."

"oh?" jing yuan looks smitten. his eyes go half-lidded. "may i guess the source of your inspiration?"

"if you do, you'll only embarrass me."

"so, you think i will be right in my guess then?"

"i know so." you roll your eyes, sheepish. "i am not foolish enough to think i could hide face and play games with the Divine Foresight and win."

"you underestimate yourself."

"hardly. have you... met yourself, general?"

"often, frequently." he nods to himself. he catches your gaze. it's piercing. "i find myself in the mirror, often, these days. i tell myself that i am spry enough and have retained enough charm through my years to properly court and woo the recluse, genius artist i have been stealing time from. i meet the man in my mirror and think that he is quite clever, but tends to underestimate you as well."

your breath is caught in your chest. you scrunch the skirt of your dress up in your palms and swallow.

"the general speaks freely and foolishly."

"and yet, i do not lie."

"... you are brazen."

"do you not require such treatment?" jing yuan laughs sweetly. "if i were any more gentle with you, you would've already retreated far into your lord's gardens. i wouldn't hope to see you again. you will need to forgive me for my shamelessness."

"... i could perhaps be convinced." you scoot closer on the love seat. you should. create space away from him. before you do something stupid and unbecoming. but you find yourself drawn closer. "the general is a kind man. good-hearted."

"such a charitable assessment."

"i know it to be true." you do know. the man keeps his own gardens, tends them himself. he pays his servants good wages and left war and bloodshed behind sometime ago. "i would like to get to know his good heart more."

jing yuan steels himself then. you watch it happen. his spine straightens, his throat bobs. sweat beads at his temples, you now notice. his keeps his hands in his lap, wringing them together.

"then we are in agreement?"

"... only if the general treats me well." you stumble over your words. "only if you treat me well, general."

"jing yuan, please."

"fine. jing yuan, then." it takes everything in you not to reach for his hands. your last threads of civility barely remaining. "will you treat me well, jing yuan?"

he breathes. you feel the warm exhale of it fan over your cheeks. your gaze drops to the softness of his bottom lip.

"only the best, for you."

"so, you're smitten with me?"

"simply struck." he gulps. you need him, you decide, decorum be damned. you lean forward, just as he does. you can hear the tremor of your breath in time with his—

the door the drawing room opens, suddenly, with a resounding thud. you jump away from the general, a hand over your heart. you attempt to not noticeably pant, though you perhaps fail. lord luocha raises a knowing eyebrow as a few of his staff bring in a platter of a small treats and bubbly drinks in fluted glasses.

"forgive the intrusion," luocha places a hand on jing yuan's shoulder. the general straightens up. "i figured that you two must be in need some of refreshments. may i suggest a walk in the garden, later? perhaps, you could show him your herb patches, [name]."

lord luocha shoots you a knowing look.

(said patch of herbs is just outside of your cottage. a good distance away from the main estate.)

"i'd love to." you swallow and shake your head. "if the general will deign to spend a bit more time with me."

jing yuan looks at you, really looks at you, and smiles. it is an honest, genuine thing. you are glad luocha is at his back, so only you can see the earnest of it. it is something special, you think, just for you.

"as much as you will allow me."

and you will give him as much as you can muster.

[cottonlemonade]

Chickening Out

word count: 630 || avg. reading time: 3 mins

pairing: Oikawa x chubby!Reader (feat. Seijoh4)

genre: fluff

warnings: none

synopsis: Oikawa couldn’t pull through kissing you and his friends find out

“What do you think happened?”, Matsukawa whispered to the others.

He, Iwaizumi and Hanamaki stood in their captain's bedroom, looking down at the bulk of blankets hiding the boy.

“Sick?”, Hanamaki suggested.

“Dead?”, shrugged Matsukawa.

“Rejected?”, Iwaizumi offered with an indifferent groan.

“He hasn’t even touched his milk bread yet.”, Hanamaki said, adding, in his mind, a piece to the puzzle as he pointed to the little bag they had carefully placed by the pillow as to draw their friend out.

“You think it has something to do with the new girl he’s been running after the past month?”, Matsukawa asked, his arms crossed in front of his chest, examining Oikawa’s form closer, maybe to check for breathing.

Iwaizumi nodded knowingly.

“Do you think she slapped him for pulling something weird?”, Hanamaki wondered, feigning scandal by raising his hand to his mouth.

Matsukawa tilted his head and shrugged again, not excluding the possibility.

“Would serve him right, being rejected by a girl like that.”

“A girl like that?”

“Yeah, one you’d actually want to date.”, Iwaizumi explained and the other two nodded in agreement.

After a short stretch of silence, Hanamaki asked, "Has anyone checked if she is still alive?"

"Oh my god, guys, I can hear you.", came Oikawa’s muffled voice from under the blanket.

They took a precautionary step back when he lifted the cover and rubbed his face.

"Come on, Trashykawa, you missed our morning jog. We just wanted to check if you’re still breathing.", Iwaizumi explained and approached his friend's bedside, thinking for a second, then retreated again and sat down on the desk chair, the others following his example of bringing distance between them and the glaring setter.

"What happened last night?", Hanamaki asked again.

Oikawa really did not feel like sharing.

"Nothing.", he turned his back to them when he put his feet on the floor, looking for his slippers.

"So, you struck out?", Iwaizumi asked bluntly.

Aware of the fact that they would not stop pestering him until he told them, he took a deep breath and recounted last night’s events. How he helped you study (not missing to tell them how adorable you looked in your home clothes and how your school uniform didn’t even do your cute squishy form justice), how you had fallen asleep at the desk about two hours into your study. How he had brushed your hair out of your face and just watched you sleep for a while, making sure you were comfortable and just as he was leaning in to take a picture of your adorable expression you had woken up and sleepily apologized for nodding off. Oikawa had then realized just how close your face was to his and how desperately he wanted to kiss you. And so he had packed his books, given a lame excuse and stormed out of your room instead.

“You… you ran away?”

“She was almost asleep, okay? Would you want your first kiss with someone to be when they are asleep?”

“So what are you gonna do now? Just never talk to her again?”, Iwaizumi lifted a mocking eyebrow, hoping his friend would understand that this was not an option.

"What could I possibly tell her, though?"

"Say… say you remembered that you had early morning training, which you did by the way, and that you only then realized how late it already was.", Hanamki suggested.

"You really think she'd believe that?", Oikawa asked, doubtfully.

Matsukawa snorted. "No, but what else can you say that doesn't make you a coward?"

He effortlessly caught the pillow Oikawa threw at him.

[jointlesss]

𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒕𝒉 𝒐𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒆 ·₊̣̇.

warnings ; smut, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it), cursing,...

the soft golden glow of the living room lamp bathed the four of them in warm light as they sat in a loose circle on the floor, a half-empty pizza box discarded near the couch. the night had started off simple—movies, snacks, a little bit of harmless gossip—but somehow, they'd ended up here.

"alright," matt smirked, fidgeting with his rings as he leaned back against the couch. "who's first?"

chris grinned, shaking a soda can in his hands like a magician about to pull off a trick. "c'mon, we all know the only right way to do this. spin the bottle, and whoever it lands on has to pick: truth or dare."

nick rolled his eyes but couldn't hide his amusement. "this is so random chris. Why spin the bottle?"

"you’re just scared," cher teased, nudging him with her shoulder.

nick scoffed. "please. spin it."

chris set the empty soda can in the middle and gave it a hard spin. the room fell silent as they all watched it whirl, anticipation thick in the air. as it slowed, the can wobbled before finally coming to a stop—pointing directly at matt.

“fuckin’ hell ofc it lands on me,” he sighs. “truth.”

“What's your body count?” chris’ head turned from cher to matt as she asked the question.

“cher ur so annoying one day i will whoop your ass but yeah its 3.” they nodded and went on with their game. Matt spun the bottle once again landing on chris this time.

 

“Dare.” he quickly answers without thinking. “Alright i dare you to do seven minutes in heaven with cher-” before matt could actually finish his sentence chris stormed of after he threw cher over his shoulder.

as they walk away you could hear nick and matt murmuring : “they’re definitely not staying there for less than half an hour…”

the door slammed shut with a loud bang as chris kicked it closed, and the definite click of the lock echoes as it wraps around them in safety within the enclosed room. it is pitch black, enveloping them in the darkness of the room, and the air is dense with tension mixed with the sweet scent of his cologne.

her back is against the wall, heart racing, nerves tingling. he's close, too close.

there was a pause where he looked deep into her eyes, then his voice shot through the silence, distinctive in its low, playful tone. "what do we do now?"

she exhales sharply, her heart racing wildly as she grows hyper aware of his fingers stroking her wrist, drawing slow, lazy circles around her delicate skin. the touch is so light and airy, almost as though he is not touching her at all, yet it sets a searing spark shooting through her nerves.

“seven minutes," she whispers softly, her chin tossed up in hope though she cannot possibly see him standing in front of her. "Cher my baby… you know it won't only last 7 minutes…”

A harsh chuckle. Then heat.

His body is surprising her by pushing hard against hers. She can distinctly feel the heat radiated from him in his shirt and how his chest rises and falls a little quicker than it was just a second or two before.

His fingers stroke up her arm, slowly and purposely, before they trail along her jawline, eventually tipping her head to the side, making her feel the intimate, close contact between them and making her wonder what he'll do next. His warm breath barely brushes against her lips, a soft tease that sends shivers down her spine.

"Do you want me to keep going?"

She doesn't.

Instead she clenches his shirt material in a tight fist and tugs him down towards her. The kiss starts off slowly at first, as if they are savouring the taste of their saliva mixing, but when she finally pulls away slightly, he takes complete command of the situation.

 His hands move down her waist smoothly, holding tight and drawing her in towards him. She gasps softly as his teeth lightly caress her bottom lip, while his fingers exert just enough pressure to send her head spinning with pleasure.

“Your pretty lips.. Make me wanna fuck you till you keep beggin’ for more..”

His lips start to wander lower, softly grazing along the line of her jaw, down to her collarbone, leaving a trail of small, passionate kisses. Her body is filled with a pleasant shudder as he tenderly murmurs sweet nothings against her delicate skin.

Her hands moved the rest on his shoulders up to grabbing his hair as he kept on going lower. Chris looked up at her looking for consent as he tugged at the hem of her top.

She arched into his touch, her breathing escalating into frantic gasps as he tugged her top over her head and discarded it. His hands were on her in an instant, searching, squeezing, claiming. His mouth wasn't far behind, warm and avid, tracing the line of her neck before latching onto the vulnerable place just below her ear, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

A pained moan tore from her mouth when he moved her from against the wall to their bed, his body pinning hers underneath his. She tugged chris’ shirt off in one motion, throwing it somewhere random in the room.

"Impatient, aren't you?" he taunted, his voice rough. cher rocked her hips up into him, and he moaned against her neck. "Shut up and get them off," she breathed. His hands moved effortlessly, sweeping her jeans down her legs in a single motion before his palms parted her thighs.  

Admiring the sight in front of him, chris rubbed small circles on her inner thighs. “So wet f’me baby… got you all worked up and haven’t touched you yet…”

She whimpered at his words, her hips shifting involuntarily, searching for relief. Chris smiled, his touch still teasing, still just out of her reach. He liked her like this—needy, desperate, completely desperate for him.

"Patience, sweetheart," he murmured, his fingers trailing higher, ghosting over where she needed him most before retreating just enough to drive her crazy.

A moan of frustration slipped from her mouth. "Chris, please."

He groaned at her begging, his control tenuously thin. After discarding her panties smoothly, he drew a single finger through her wet heat, a low groan breaking from him as he registered how ready she was. "Fuck," he cursed, his eyes black with need. "You're dripping for me."

She gasped when he inserted one finger inside her, slow but purposeful, curling it just so. Her back bowed, a breathless cry on her lips as he inserted another, his thumb pressing against her sensitive bud, circling in perfect rhythm with his movement. "That's it," he whispered, watching her come apart, his mouth skimming her thigh and moving upward. "Let me hear you, baby."

As he felt her coming close, he retreated his fingers out of her velvety walls.

“Chris… noo…” Cher whined restlessly.

Flipping her over in a matter of a second, he pressed cher down to the bed, hands firm on the small of her back, guiding her. She gasped as she felt him behind her, his body hot, his grip possessive as he spread her thighs.  

In an instant his sweatpants and boxers are gone, Chris’ dick springing free.

"You look so fucking good like this," Chris growled, voice thick with lust. His hands skat down her sides before biting into her hips and holding her still as he aligned himself up to her entrance. He didn't ease in; he pushed forward with one deep, claiming thrust that elicited a sharp cry from her throat.  

"Fuck," she gasped, claws digging into the sheets as he set a rough pace, each thrust forcing her forward on him, her body crashing as he inched inside her. The room thudded with the sounds of skin slapping to skin, his breath ragged and hers breaking into low moans.  

Chris reached up, fisted a handful of her hair, wrenching her head back just enough to make her arch for him. "This what you wanted, baby?" he rasped, his other hand cracking down on her ass.  

She moaned, back arching deeper, pushing against him, taking him deeper and deeper. "Yes-God, yes-"  

He groaned and tightened his grip. "Then take it."  

With that, he fucked her harder, pressing against her with his hips, chasing the sweet, unbearable pleasure that sent both of them spiraling toward the edge. 

His pace grew harder, more desperate, every thrust pushing her further into the mattress.

The room erupted in sounds where their bodies collided; the deep, guttural groans of him mixed with the breathless, broken moans of her.  

He pulled her hair back, his chest pressed against her back, lips finding the shell of her ear. "You feel so fucking good," he growled, teeth grazing her skin before biting down just enough to get her to whimper.  

His free hand slipped down her body to that swollen bundle of nerves between her thighs. He didn’t tease; he knew she was already on the edge. Instead, he rubbed tight, merciless circles in time with the punishing rhythm of his thrusts.  

Her body went tense, walls clenching around him and strangled cries ripped from her lips. "Chris- fuck, I'm-"  

"Come for me," he commanded, voice ragged with need. "Let me feel it."  

And then she shattered, waves of pleasure crashing through her with such intensity that she thought she would shatter, her cries muffled against the sheets.  

He cursed under his breath as he felt her clench around him, his rhythm faltering. He held her hips painfully tight and pummeled her a few more times before burying deeply with a rough, shuddering groan, spilling himself deep as he collapsed over her back.  

For a few moments, neither one of them moved, bodies tangled, breaths ragged. Then Chris kissed the small of her shoulder, his touch suddenly gentle as he ran his hands up and down her sides.  

"You okay, baby?" he murmured against her skin, voice softer now.  

She moaned slightly, her body still trembling. "More than okay."  

Chris smirked against her shoulder, pressed another lingering kiss there. "Good," he murmured. "Because I'm not done with you yet." 

a/n ; i had so much fun writing this omd ! thank you chatgpt for helping me out

wc ; 1,7K+

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

© jointlesss ; do not steal or use without credits or approval of us

[2i1han]

Slowly, Then All at Once

2 : since then

pairing: classmate!leehan x fem!reader │word count: 8.9k

genre: slow-burn, young adult, coming of age, romcom

tags: boynextdoor , non-idol au, high school/college au , first love , neighbor!leehan , extrovert!leehan , cold!leehan , extrovert!reader

characters mentioned : kim leehan , park sungho , anton lee , sakai moka , kim minji , ham jinsik , kim woonhak

warnings: no warnings! sfw

synopsis : you and leehan have always known each other—classmates since ninth grade, always familiar but never really close due to leehan's indifference. but when his brother enters the picture, and you ending up in the same building as him, everything starts to change. unresolved situation that were once buried begin to surface, and leehan must decide: let go or finally take a chance.

a/n : hi, everyone! this is the second full part for my series. and, i just wanted to say thank you to all those who read the first part and supported it ! i love you all so much 𖹭 i hope you'll enjoy this part as much as i enjoyed writing it.

playlist : seasons/wte , the first words/song yuvin , a little bit more/jinho , everyone adores you/matt maltese , so let's go see the stars/boynextdoor , but i like you/boynextdoor , so tender/say sue me , bad/wte , light/wte , chocolate/bol4 , some/soyou , would you love me/stella jang , everyday/haebin , star drawing/yuziii

the countdown to graduation had begun. it's the first weeks of october, and the air is starting to get cold, as well as the trees turning bright orange. five months left, and summer vacation was already waving hello from a distance like a blessing. but instead of enjoying the thought of freedom, everyone was drowning in piles of textbooks, mock exams, and late-night study sessions for the csat entrance exams. the entire school felt like it had turned into a pressure cooker, students running on caffeine and stress as they prepared for college entrance exams.

and you? you were no exception. while others buried themselves in past papers, you were sacrificing sleep at ungodly hours, struggling to piece together the perfect art portfolio for your university application. between exam prep, graduation rehearsals, and finishing last-minute school requirements, you barely had time to breathe.

so when the weekend rolled around, you decided to reclaim a small piece of your sanity. you swung by moka's apartment, planning to meet up with her and minji— your first proper hangout in weeks.

moka sat at her vanity, delicately patting powder onto her face like she was about to go on a magazine shoot instead of a casual outing. she glanced at you through the mirror.

"how's your portfolio going?" she asked, dabbing her nose with a fluffy brush.

you sighed dramatically, flopping onto her bed like a tragic indie. "it's fine… i guess. i just don't think some of my existing pieces are good enough." you groaned, rubbing your forehead. "that's why i'm still trying to make new ones."

moka immediately turned to face you, her expression is a mix of disbelief and exasperation. "you can't be serious." she put her powder down as if you had personally offended her. "y/n, you're literally at the top of your class when it comes to art. even the professors are obsessed with you!"

she wasn’t wrong. you had consistently won every art competition, and teachers practically worshipped your skills. but self-doubt was a clingy little parasite, and no amount of external validation could change the way you fixated on the tiny flaws in your work.

you just shrugged it off, knowing that moka will again hit you with the every art has flaws.

"yeah, whatever." picking up your phone from the bed, you scrolled through your messages. "is minji still not coming?"

moka hummed in response, too focused on applying her false lashes to spare you a damnm

right on cue—

ding dong.

"speak of the devil," you muttered, tossing your phone aside before getting up to open the door.

as expected, minji stood there, slightly breathless, her denim jumper speckled with dried paint. her hair was in a messy bun, strands of hair flowing like they had given up on being tied.

"sorry i'm late," she panted, stepping inside. "extracurriculars ran long."

you closed the door behind her, eyeing the paint stains on her clothes. "mhm, looks like it," you said, plopping back onto the bed as minji took a seat on a wooden chair—probably to avoid ruining moka's fluffy pink bedsheets.

"so," minji stretched her arms, "where are we heading?"

"the new café on the next street," moka announced, wiggling her eyebrows. "i heard their pastries are the real thing."

you perked up. "sweet. i've been craving sugar." you lazily raised your phone above your head.

on the other hand, minji groaned. "i'm on a sugar diet, but fine." she crossed her arms. "where did you even hear about this place?"

that's when moka's expression shifted into something far too smug for your liking. "my friend told me," she said, twirling a strand of her hair. "i wasn’t interested at first, but then she mentioned that the barista there is handsome."

you and minji immediately shared a look.

"...ewww," you both deadpanned, cringing.

"the pastries better be actually good, or we're leaving you behind," you warned, stifling a laugh.

moka just shrugged, grinning. "gladly. more eye candy for me."

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

the three of you stepped into the café, immediately greeted by the warm interior, a contrast to the chill autumn air outside. the place had a cozy ambiance—soft lighting, large window panes letting in the golden hues of the late afternoon sun, and walls painted a light coffee brown. it wasn't a huge place, but spacious enough, with about eight tables spread around the room. the scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked pastries hung in the air, making your stomach grumble slightly.

you glanced around as the three of you settled at a four-seater table by the window, the perfect spot for people-watching and rating cars driving by.

"i'll order. what do you guys want?" you asked, tapping your fingers lightly on the table.

moka and minji hummed in thought, their eyes drifting to the digital menu displayed on the right wall.

"just a hot cocoa for me. and for the pastry… let’s just get a whole tiramisu cake," moka decided, leaning back in her chair.

minji nodded in agreement. "that'll do. i'll get an iced americano."

"alright," you murmured before pushing yourself up from your seat and heading toward the counter.

the café wasn't too crowded, only about three other customers were seated inside, all quietly sipping on their drinks. you were the only one at the counter, so you took your time glancing at the overhead menu, even though you had already decided.

i'll just get what moka did, you muttered under your breath before shifting your eyes left and right, scanning the empty counter. you were mildly curious about this so-called handsome barista moka had been fawning over.

and as if on cue, the door to the employee's room swung open.

there he is. the legendary ‘handsome’ barista.

you blinked, suppressing a chuckle. if this was moka's definition of handsome, then water must be dry.

the guy was tall, his jet-black hair falling slightly over his forehead in a way that looked both effortless and intentional. his skin was clear—flawless, even, and his nose was sharp enough to cut glass. fine, maybe some points there. he wore a light cream polo under a black apron, the typical café worker drip.

he caught your gaze and immediately approached, his expression was smooth and light.

"what'll you have today, miss?" his voice was gentle, and polite, almost overly refined like he was a nobleman in disguise.

you almost wanted to laugh, but instead, you matched his energy with a small smile. "two hot chocolates and one iced americano. all medium-sized."

"andd… pastry?" he tilted his head slightly, still smiling.

"one whole tiramisu cake," you confirmed.

the barista nodded enthusiastically before punching the order into the register. "that'll be 43,000 won, miss."

you handed him your card, watching as he swiftly swiped it before handing it back.

"thank you. you can take your seat; i'll bring your order to your table," he offered, gesturing toward the seating area.

you nodded and turned around, only to be met with the sight of moka practically jumping with excitement, her eyes locked onto the barista like he was a rare artifact in a museum.

rolling your eyes, you made your way back and sat down next to minji.

"he's not even that handsome," you commented, scrolling through your phone absentmindedly.

moka's head snapped toward you so fast you feared she might get whiplash. "this is exactly why no guy approach you anymore," she deadpanned. "do you know how many hot guys in school have tried to get with you, only for you to brutally reject them and tell us that they weren't ‘handsome’?"

minji, ever the slightly neutral party, simply nodded in agreement. "i mean… she's got a point." shhe paused for a second before stealing another glance at the barista. "he is handsome. you're just bitter."

you sighed, sparing another glance at the guy, who was now carefully scooping out the tiramisu from the pastry window. "fine. i'll give you two some credit. his skin is nice, and he's got a decent nose. other than that, nothing special."

minji leaned back against the windowpane, while moka let out an exaggerated ugh. her dramatic reaction was short-lived, though, as her smile suddenly creeped back in two times wider than the last. you didn't even have to turn around to know what that meant.

the barista was approaching.

"here's your order, miss," he said, setting the tray down with grace.

moka, in true moka fashion, didn't even glance at the food. her attention was zeroed in on the barista's face, studying every detail like she was going to write a dissertation on it.

you nodded in thanks, ignoring the way the barista's gaze lingered on you for a good three seconds before he walked away.

as soon as he was out of earshot, moka sighed dreamily. "oh my god, he's so handsome."

you picked up your fork and stabbed your slice of tiramisu with a blank expression. "sure."

moka's face flattened as she swirled her straw in her drink. she exhaled dramatically before giving you a pointed look.

"is this all just because of your poor eyesight?" she asked, as if genuinely concerned for your well-being.

minji, mid-sip of her iced americano, nearly choked, letting out a half-laugh, half-cough.

rolling your eyes, you adjusted your thick-framed glasses, the same ones you had stubbornly worn since middle school, despite constant suggestions (or rather, bullying) from your friends. "please. i'm planning to switch to contacts soon."

moka gasped, clutching her chest like you had just declared peace. "finally! maybe then you'll see the world properly, or, see hot people properly.”

you raised an eyebrow. "the world, sure. hot people? questionable."

minji snickered while the other one groaned, shaking her head in disappointment. "you are a lost cause."

she then propped her chin on her hand, a dreamy look spreading across her face. "even his name is handsome," she dragged out the syllables in front of you.

"park. sungho."

minji side-eyed her. "wow, how do you even know his name?" she scoffed before you could ask the exact same question.

moka rolled her eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "duh, it's on his name tag. didn't you see?"

minji snorted. "i barely looked at him. ask y/n, she was at the counter."

both of them turned to you expectantly.

you blinked at them before shoving another forkful of tiramisu into your mouth. "nope, didn't notice."

moka's jaw dropped "unbelievable. you were standing right there!"

you chewed slowly, shrugging. "was focused on the order. priorities."

minji let out a snort while moka threw her hands in the air. "whatever, you're so boring. let's just enjoy this before i lose my mind." she said, stabbing a fork on the cake.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

by the time the three of you had inhaled the cake and drained your drinks, minji let out a satisfied sigh, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

"mhm, okay. this is actually the real thing," she said, stretching her arms.

moka leaned back proudly, folding her arms. "told you."

you hummed in agreement as you swirled the last bits of your hot chocolate. the tiramisu was, in fact, perfection. even the coffee was good, like it was made by someone who actually cared about their job. you hated to say it, but maybe moka's handsome barista had some redeeming qualities beyond his face.

just as you reached for a napkin to wipe your mouth, something caught your eye

something was written under it. your brows furrowed as you turned it over.

a number?

and a note underneath: "you look pretty."

you stared at it. then, instinctively, you looked back to the counter. sungho was busy now, his sleeves rolled up as he worked through a growing line of customers. his face remained completely focused, but he glanced over.

you immediately looked back down at the napkin.

minji was already pulling on her coat, and moka was, of course, checking herself out in her pocket mirror.

"all right, are we ready to go?" she asked, running a hand through her hair one last time.

"yeah, sure," minji yawned, stretching her arms.

you casually crumpled the napkin in your palm and shoved it into your pocket. no big deal. nothing to see here.

as the three of you stepped out into the street, you shook your head, exhaling sharply.

moka nudged you as you walked. "you're being weird. what's up?"

"nothing," you said quickly.

moka narrowed her eyes suspiciously, but minji cut in before she could pry.

behind you, inside the café, sungho briefly glanced toward the window, watching you disappear down the street.

then, with a small smirk, he returned to his work.

"where are we heading now? it's only 3 p.m.," minji asked as she lazily stretched her arms above her head.

moka didn't even hesitate. "the mall. come on, let's go."

minji hummed in approval, already pulling out her phone to check for any new sales.

you were just about to nod when a sudden realization hit you like a brick to the face. your sculpture. the one that was due tomorrow. monday afternoon.

"oh, crap." you stopped in your tracks, causing both of them to halt and turn to you with raised eyebrows.

"what?" moka asked, her excitement fading slightly.

you let out a tight-lipped sigh. "i just remembered, i have an unfinished sculpture in the art room. i need to finish it today. you guys go ahead without me. i'll catch up if i can."

moka's eyes immediately narrowed. "absolutely not."

here we go.

"come onnn, we barely even go out anymore! just this once, prioritize us over some lump of clay," she whined, dramatically clasping her hands together like she was pleading for her life.

"it's not just a lump of clay, moka," you deadpanned.

six pleases and ten ‘we barely go out anymore's later, moka finally sighed in defeat, crossing her arms.

"fine. but next time, make sure you don’t have any unfinished tasks, so we can enjoy the day properly, okay?" she looked at you almost pitifully, like you were some overworked corporate employee instead of a graduating student.

you chuckled, pulling both her and minji into a quick hug. "i promise. take care, both of you."

minji patted your back. "you too. don't let the clay take over your life."

with that, they waved goodbye, and you made your way to the bus stop, waiting for the ride that would take you the very place you had been trying to escape all week.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

by the time you arrived at the art room, you fully expected to be the only student who had procrastinated this badly. but as soon as you pushed the door open, the atmosphere inside shifted.

there, seated at one of the workstations, was leehan—completely engrossed in his sculpture, his hands steady as he gripped a sculpting tool.

you walked slowly, carefully making your way toward your own workspace, which just so happened to be right next to his.

of course.

leehan barely glanced at you, but when he did, it was through the gaps of his hands as he continued shaping his piece. his focus remained stable, and, predictably, he didn't say a word.

not that you were expecting him to.

it had always been like this for the past three years. silent. neutral. two people coexisting in the same space without the need for conversation.

so, treating this as just another normal day, you sat down and got to work.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

thirty minutes passed, and your sculpture was already coming together nicely. the texture was smooth, the facial anatomy was decent, and all that remained were the arms and legs.

meanwhile, leehan's progress… was questionable at best.

you snuck a glance at his work.

it hadn't moved. at least, not noticeably. the proportions were off, the limbs were… concerning, and at this point, it was starting to look more like an artifact from a horror museum rather than an academic project.

he was struggling.

you furrowed your brows. why did he even choose an art strand? was he actually passionate about it? or was this some twisted form of self-inflicted suffering?

whatever the reason, you couldn't ignore it any longer.

"do you need help?" you asked, more out of pity than actual expectation.

and honestly, you weren't expecting an answer. if anything, you thought he'd ignore you like always.

but then, like some kind of miracle, leehan put his sculpting tool down and mumbled:

"yes, please."

yes, please.

your brain short-circuited.

it wasn't just a yes. it wasn't just some bare-minimum grunt of acknowledgment.

there was a please.

was this for real? or had the painful silence in the room finally driven you insane?

but before you could spiral into that thought, you shook it off. whatever, not important. you had a job to do.

you nodded, moving over to his table as you examined his sculpture up close.

"do you even know basic anatomy?" you asked, tilting your head at the poor, disfigured limbs of his creation. it was... unique.

leehan barely glanced up. "i'm bad at it." his voice was quiet, almost as if admitting this was painful.

you hummed in response, crossing your arms.

"well," you sighed, picking up a sculpting tool, "lucky for you, i don't suck at it."

leehan smiled to himself. an actual smile.

not a forced one, but a real, genuine, pleased-with-life kind of smile. but, thankfully for him, you didn't notice. you were too busy sculpting, completely focused on saving his poor project. and honestly? he was probably relieved. if you had seen it, that carefully crafted, too-cool-to-care exterior he had built over the years might've shown some cracks.

instead, he simply stood beside you, watching as you worked with effortlessly.

"watch how i do it," you said, not even glancing up.

leehan obeyed without question, his gaze glued to your hands and the clay.

minutes passed, and the disfigured limbs of his sculpture were slowly reshaped into something actually recognizable. you worked swiftly, skillfully, and before long, you placed the sculpting tool down with a satisfied sigh.

"there," you said simply.

leehan leaned in, inspecting the piece with his usual unreadable expression. but even though he tried not to be expressive, you could tell—he was amazed.

"thank you. a lot," he said, his eyes locking onto yours.

for a second, you weren't sure how to respond. compliments weren't exactly his thing, and hearing him say a full, properly structured sentence felt almost weird. so you just offered a small, awkward smile.

"it's nothing," you muttered.

then it's followed by silence.

it wasn't awkward, per se, but it felt different from your usual shared quiet. like something was waiting to be said next.

you hesitated before speaking. "why..."

you nearly stopped yourself, figuring leehan's free trial of words had probably expired. but when you glanced at him, you noticed that he was listening. actually waiting for you to continue.

so, you did. "why did you take art classes? i notice you struggling a lot with it... even when we're still in middle school."

the question seemed to shrink his usual confidence, or whatever distant, broody aura he carried. his fingers twitched, and his posture stiffened.

then, finally, he exhaled and looked away, focusing on the sculpture rather than you.

"my mom," he said, "she wants me to take arts."

"ohh" you simply nodded. you weren't going to push.

but you still did "don't let anyone stop you from doing what you really want," you said, keeping your voice casual.

leehan's eyes flickered down to his sculpture. for a moment, he didn't move, just absorbed your words in silence. then, he gave a small nod.

the conversation ended there, followed by another silence again. and you took that as your cue to return to your table.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

it was 6:30 p.m. when you finally finished.

your sculpture was done—polished, covered, and ready to be presented tomorrow. meanwhile, the person beside you? still in the exact same spot you left him in.

except, now, his project had actual progress. thanks to the sketch you had given him as a guide, the limbs no longer looked like they belonged in a horror exhibit. he still had a long way to go, but at least he wasn't completely lost anymore.

you packed your bag, hesitating for a second.

should i tell him i'm leaving?

you never did before. not once. usually, you'd just slip out without a word, and he never seemed to care.

but maybe, after today's surprisingly human interaction, it felt weird to just go without acknowledging him.

so, after a moment of internal debate, you finally spoke up.

"i'll get going," you said, pointing vaguely toward the door.

leehan looked up slowly.

you expected him to do his usual nod—you know, that tiny, barely-there bow that was less of a gesture and more of a muscle spasm.

but instead, he actually said something.

"okay."

not just a nod. a full, verbal response. it's flat, but at least it's a thing.

you nodded back, stepping toward the door.

as you left, you didn’t notice leehan watching you the entire way, not turning back to his sculpture until you had fully leave the room.

he has to figure it all out on his own now that his art genius classmate had left.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

ring. ring.

after a few rings, minji finally picked up.

"hello?" you said, pressing the phone to your ear while speed-walking toward the bus stop.

"hello? what's up?" minji's voice crackled on the other end.

"moka isn't answering her phone. are you guys still out?" you asked, adjusting the strap of your bag.

"nah, we just got home. her phone died," minji explained. "we're at her apartment. you coming?"

"mhm," you hummed. "i'll be there now."

"alright. don't get kidnapped. take care."

"wow, thanks for the reminder," you chuckled before hanging up.

you sat onto the bench at the bus stop, letting out a sigh. the bus was taking forever. long enough for you to consider filing a complaint. but instead, you just leaned your head against the metal pole of the shed and jammed your earphones in.

then— knock, knock.

you flinched, pulling out an earbud.

standing beside you was none other than moka's handsome barista from earlier.

"hey," he greeted, smiling slightly.

you quickly sat up, smoothing your clothes like that would somehow make you look less caught off guard. "oh, hi! uh… you're the barista from earlier." you pointed.

he chuckled, nodding. "mhm."

"are you… also waiting for the bus?" you asked, mostly just to fill the silence.

sungho let out a short laugh and shook his head, lifting the small bag in his hand. "just dropping something off."

ah, a delivery or something. not that it mattered. you were a little too preoccupied pretending not to remember the note. the one he casually slipped under your tissue at the café, complete with his phone number and a compliment scribbled underneath.

you thought about bringing it up. you really did.

but then again, what were you even supposed to say? "hey, thanks for the note, but i nearly choked on my drink when i saw it"?

yeah. no.

so instead, you awkwardly nodded. "i see. well… take care, i guess."

sungho, just nodded. he took a step back like he was about to leave, and you were about to sink back into your seat when—

"what's your name?"

you quickly looked back to him. but, before you could respond, the bus's headlights flickered behind him.

"seo y/n," you answered, flashing him a smirk.

sungho's lips curled up slightly to a small smile as the bus doors hissed open.

for a second, he looked like he wanted to say something else, maybe a take care or a see you around. but the moment passed.

instead, he just watched as you stepped onto the bus.

and when you turned back for a quick glance, he was already walking away, hands tucked into his pockets, disappearing down the street.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

"really? you met him?" moka whined, dragging out the words like she was personally offended by fate for not being there.

"yup." you threw a chip into your mouth, acting as nonchalant as possible, though moka's growing excitement was making that difficult.

minji sat on moka's bed, scrolling through her phone with the energy of someone who had heard this before. meanwhile, you and moka were sprawled on the fluffy rug, surrounded by snacks that were supposed to be for a "movie night" but had instead turned into a tea party.

"ugh, lucky. what'd y'all talk about?" moka leaned in, eyes gleaming like she was waiting for some heart-racing, k-drama-worthy story.

you frowned, trying to recall anything that might be considered even remotely interesting. "uh… he said hi, mentioned he was dropping something off, asked for my name, and… that was it."

silence, then-

"that's lame." minji finally spoke, still not looking up from her phone.

moka smacked her leg. "shut up, minji," before turning back to you with a grin "oh my god, he wants you."

you blinked. "that's a reach."

"no, because look," moka sat up with determination. "why would he even ask for y/n's name? he doesn't even know her!"

"well, no shit," minji scoffed, rolling her eyes. "why else would he ask for y/n's name?"

moka glared at her. "you're ruining the fun."

minji shrugged. "i live to bring logic into chaos."

you just shook your head, laughing. "anyway, forget about sungho. something weird happened today."

moka barely looked interested, probably expecting another "i lost my paintbrush again and i swear someone in the art department is gaslighting me" story.

but then you said the magic name.

"leehan-"

and suddenly, both of them snapped their attention to you so fast you thought you heard a crack.

"leehan?!" moka practically screeched, throwing her snack bag aside like this was now the most important conversation of her life.

"why? what happened? did he ignore you again?" minji raised an eyebrow. "thought we left that nightmare back in 10th grade."

you sighed. "no, that's the weird part. he actually… talked to me."

moka's jaw dropped. "what?"

"like, full sentences. he asked for my help with his sculpture."

moka gasped like you had just told her the school was burning down. "HE SPOKE? VOLUNTARILY?"

"yes! and not just a one-word answer. like, actual conversation. he even made eye contact."

minji snorted. "his dialogue options unlocked."

"he leveled up socially," you added. "well, he's already leveled up socially, i just meant, when it comes to me."

"okay, but what if it's a one-time thing?" moka waved a hand dismissively. "like when an npc suddenly gets good ai for one mission and then goes back to walking into walls."

you wanted to argue, but, she might be right. a part of you was curious, though. maybe it was just today, or maybe leehan had finally decided you were worth acknowledging as a human being. who knew?

so you just shrugged it all off. "guess we'll see."

and after that, the conversation shifted into something else entirely—probably a debate about whether or not one of your professors secretly lived at school. you spent the rest of the night laughing, overanalyzing everything, and eventually crashing at moka's place for a sleepover.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

and guess what? moka was right.

because by the next morning, leehan had officially reset to his factory settings.

you were sitting at your desk, mentally willing something, anything— miraculous to happen. maybe he'd give you another full sentence. mybe he'd iinitiate a conversation. but no, the universe wasn't that kind.

leehan did approach your desk, though, standing in front of you with his usual blank expression, looking down like you were nothing more than an obstacle in his path.

still, you held onto hope. you flashed a small smile, waiting for some sign of acknowledgment. instead, he just unceremoniously dropped a folder onto your desk.

you blinked.

it was the proportion guide you lent him last night. but underneath it—your portfolio.

your soul left your body for a second.

your portfolio. the one with all your hard work. the one that, if lost, would've made you spiral into an artistic breakdown and probably quit life to become a potato farmer. you must've accidentally handed it to him, and if it weren’t for leehan returning it, it would've been gone.

you almost teared up. this was an act of heroism. you looked up at him, smiling wider this time.

"thank yo—"

but before you could even finish your sentence, he turned and walked away.

you sat there, stunned.

what was that? just last night, he was behaving like a functional human being, and now he was back to being as soulless as a department store mannequin.

moka was right. again.

and just like that, life resumed its usual routine until graduation. back to square one. same old leehan. same old you.

after grad party

every graduate was at the venue, celebrating their long-awaited escape from the prison sentence called high school. of course, college was just another prison, but at least there was a vacation buffer before the next round of suffering.

you had successfully submitted your portfolio and got accepted into k-arts—your dream university. minji had also been accepted into the same university as both of you passed your portfolios together, while moka, despite sulking for two weeks over being separated from you both, eventually forgave you.

"you guys still suck for leaving me," she muttered, munching on a piece of pork.

minji sighed. "oh my god, moka, you're going to snu. people would kill to be in your spot."

"okay, but who am i supposed to bully now?"

"you'll find someone," you assured her, patting her back. "you're very talented in that area."

she sniffed dramatically. "i know, but it won't be the same."

the three of you laughed, clinking your glasses together in a toast.

tonight was lighthearted, fun, and stress-free. a concept that had been nonexistent throughout senior year. no last-minute projects. no looming deadlines. just pure, uninterrupted joy.

you were at a table with your friends, laughing, playing games, living in the moment.

and then there was leehan.

seated at the table across from yours.

you weren’t paying much attention to him at first. but then, something felt off.

you could feel his eyes on you.

at first, you thought you were imagining it. but every time you glanced up, he was looking at you.

and not in his usual indifferent, "you are but a speck of dust in my world" kind of way.

no.

this time, he looked, different. his expression wasn't blank. it was full of emotion, thoughts running through his mind. he looked deep in contemplation, like he was having an inner monologue straight out of a coming-of-age film.

your forehead started to burn under the intensity of his gaze.

what the hell is going on with him?

he didn't look away when you caught him. he just, kept watching, like he was trying to figure something out.

you tried to play it cool, raising an eyebrow at him as if to say, what?

he didn't react immediately, just kept his gaze steady. then, after a long second, he blinked and looked down, breaking the moment.

your heart was beating a little faster than it should have been.

trying to shake off the weird tension, you simply nodded at him, before turning back to your friends.

minji and moka, of course, immediately noticed.

"oh-ho," minji smirked, taking a sip of her drink. "what was that?"

"what was what?" you asked.

moka gasped, gripping your arm. "was leehan just staring at you?"

"no," you lied too quickly.

"yes, he was," minji confirmed, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. "and not in his usual i have no interest in your existence way too."

moka let out a dramatic gasp, shaking your shoulders. "oh my god, what if he likes you?!"

you let out a snort. "yeah, and what if i suddenly become a billionaire? let's stick to realistic theories."

the night went on, but even as you laughed with your friends and enjoyed the celebration, a part of you kept replaying that moment in your head.

because for the first time in years, maybe ever—leehan looked at you like you were more than just another person in the room.

THROUGH LEEHAN'S EYES

the hall is bustling with graduates—cheers, laughter, the screech of chairs against the polished floor. it's the kind of noise that usually fades into the background, something i could easily tune out.

but tonight, everything feels louder. the clinking of glasses, the bursts of conversation, the music playing through the speakers. the air smells like a mix of catered food and perfume, a scent that's oddly overwhelming.

i should be celebrating.

i mean, i managed to survive three years of this painful art strand—something i had no real passion for when i first chose it. the reason behind my decision was so dumb that i start laughing at myself whenever i remember it.

but even though i spent countless nights regretting my choice, i don't regret all of it.

well… except for some things, like i didn't valued it.

i look up, eyes naturally scanning the room, and then i see her. y/n.

she's sitting at a long table across the venue, laughing with moka and minji—who, let's be honest, have been a pain in the butt since 7th grade.

it's that time of the year again.

people are moving on, going to different universities, starting fresh. some are staying in the same city, some are leaving. everyone's talking about their future like it's something so clear, and exciting.

but tonight, none of that feels real to me.

instead, there's this weight in my chest, a combo of regret and guilt that i can't shake off.

because this might be the last time i'll ever see her. and i don't want things to end like this.

i get so lost in my thoughts that i don't even realize i've been staring at her for too long. too long to be casual.

and then, she notices. her laughter slows, her eyes directed towards me, and for a split second, i think she's about to say something, but she just nodded.

shit.

i panic and quickly look down, pretending to be interested in the tablecloth or whatever nonsense anton is talking about beside me. my heart shouldn't be beating this fast over something so small, but it is.

despite the chaos around her, the crowd, the music, the noise—she stands out.

it's always been like that.

like she exists on a different frequency than everyone else, moving at her own pace while the rest of us struggle to keep up.

like she's the only one truly living in the moment while i’m stuck in my head, always thinking, always hesitating.

she's always had this annoying ability to make everything else fade into the background.

and maybe that's why, even back in 9th grade, i couldn't help but notice her.

9th grade

"good morning, teacher," we all greeted before settling back into our seats.

"good morning, everyone. settle down," the teacher said, adjusting his glasses. "now, before we begin, i'd like to introduce a new student who will be joining us for the school year."

a wave of excitement rippled through the classroom. people started murmuring, whispering to each other like buzzing bees. i quickly turned my head toward the door, just like everyone else, but with the number of students shifting in their seats, my view was blocked.

having a new classmate sounded exciting—a small breath of fresh air after being stuck with the same faces since 7th grade.

then, with a small nod from the teacher, the new student stepped in.

she was a girl.

short hair, cut just above her neck, with soft, wispy bangs framing her round, slightly chubby cheeks. a pair of thick, round glasses perched on her tall nose, making her look a little nerdy but in a way that suited her.

then, she spoke.

"hello, everyone! my name is y/n. i'm 15 years old and just moved into the neighborhood down the street. i hope we can all be friends!"

she gave a light bow, her voice bright and clear, effortlessly filling the classroom.

and that's when i knew it.

i'm cooked.

my heart started pounding so fast i didn't even know what was happening anymore. it was like my brain short-circuited, and my body decided to go into emergency mode. my ears burned hot, my hands turned ice-cold, and before i could process it, my head snapped toward the window in an attempt to distract myself.

this was bad. really bad.

i heard the teacher assigning her a seat, and i prayed—please don’t be near me, please don’t be near me—but then

"you can sit there, next to that boy by the window."

shit. that was my seat.

but just as i was about to internally combust, a voice from the back spoke up.

"sir, han taesan sits there. he's just absent today."

oh, thank god. taesan thank you.

the teacher nodded and assigned her a different seat. i let out a silent sigh of relief. disaster avoided.

or not.

because during break time, she approached me.

i wasn't even looking at her, but i could sense her presence. i felt my muscle went tense, my back straightening reflexively. she was standing right in front of me.

"what's your name?"

oh my god.

i hesitated before looking up. and then—she smiled.

i can't stutter. I CAN'T STUTTER.

"...leehan. kim leehan," i blurted out before immediately pretending to be interested in the random writings on my notebook.

she didn't seem to mind my awkwardness. in fact, she continued talking.

"are you alone? you can sit with us!"

panic.

if i sit with her, i'll die. there's no way i can eat properly without choking at least five times in front of her.

without thinking, i shot up from my seat. "no, i'll be out. thank you," i muttered before making a quick escape. i did not look back. i went straight for out the room to find woonhak like my life depended on it.

for months, i avoided her. not in an obvious, rude way, but in a way that would save me from embarrassing myself.

every time i caught a glimpse of her from across the room, my heart started racing. i didn't know how to deal with it, so i did what any emotionally constipated 15-year-old would do: ignore her.

but then i started to notice that she was ignoring me now too. at first, i thought it was a coincidence, but the more time passed, the more obvious it became.

and honestly? it sucked.

had i ruined my chance of even being friends with her? was she annoyed with me? did she hate me now?

it was all my fault.

i kept overthinking it until i finally decided. enough is enough.

i needed to face my fears and actually talk to her. for once, i would initiate the conversation, not her.

so, i took a deep breath and walked up to her desk, where she was sitting with her friends.

thump thump.

i could hear my heartbeat—it was almost deafening.

kim leehan, calm down. this is not the time to back out.

she turned to me, blinking. she didn't say anything, just waited.

this was it. my once-in-a-lifetime chance.

"y/n, i just want to say tha—"

interrupted.

of course. of course, someone had to cut me off right at that moment. nd out of all people, it just had to be ham jinsik.

i took a step back as he effortlessly inserted himself into the conversation.

tall. handsome. confident.

there was a small pang in my chest, and i hated it. i watched as jinsik stood there so easily around y/n, talking to her like it was nothing.

meanwhile, i could barely get a single sentence out without feeling like i was going to collapse. of course.

jinsik was perfect, the perfect match for her.

i turned back to my seat, forcing myself to focus on my classmate behind me, while batting an eye on jinsik's back periodically. but before I knew it, she was standing in front of me again.

"hey," she said.

i froze.

"sorry about earlier. you were saying?"

there it was. that stupid, dumb leehan who turned into an unfunctioning robot around her.

okay, play it cool. don't let her notice.

i gave her the most casual, indifferent expression I could pull.

"…i forgot," i said flatly.

lies.

she paused for a moment, then simply nodded. "okay then."

and just like that, she turned back to her friends. i watched her walk away, my stomach physically feeling sick.

that was it?

we never talked or interacted again after that. i tried so hard to forget about it—to forget her.

but every time she was around, i felt everything all over again.

i thought we'd never cross paths again after 9th grade. but then, i overheard from them that she was going to seoul high school.

and so, like the absolute fool that i am, i shot my shot.

i took the entrance exams. i applied for the same course as her.

art, my biggest enemy.

but despite that, despite all my regrets, my awkwardness, and my absolute inability to function around her. i still got in.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

everything was a blur. one moment, i was a freshman still trying to figure out how lockers worked, and the next, i was a tenth grader, dragging my feet towards my classroom like a sloth that just learned about capitalism.

my brain was running at full speed despite my body moving at half capacity.

"what if we're in the same class?"

"you absolute goober, isn't that what you wanted?"

great. my inner voice was bullying me again.

i shook my head and picked up the pace, trying to act normal. but the moment i reached the door, i caught a glimpse of her.

inside the classroom.

instant panic. i did a full stop, took a step back, and stood behind the doorframe like some poorly written side character who wasn't supposed to be here.

okay, breathe. don't make this weird.

after a good minute of overthinking every possible interaction i could have with her in the next ten months, or 2 years even, i forced myself to straighten my posture and activated my signature move— dumb leehan exterior™. the ultimate defense mechanism. no embarrassing actions shall be performed under its influence.

i stepped in. and of course, she looked at me.

oh, god. oh, god.

do i look back? no. yes? no, okay, fine, i looked back. i knew the risk. my brain was about to explode, but i still did it.

after the long vacation, i'd be lying if i said i didn't miss her presence. so, in a rare moment of bravery, i nodded at her. a simple, casual, nothing-to-read-into nod.

and then, like the genius i am, i walked straight to the farthest seat possible from hers.

…"by god, i am an idiot."

what the hell was that? now she thinks i'm a loser.

i groaned internally but shrugged it off, pulling out a book to distract myself. a fish encyclopedia, of all things. because nothing screams casual high school student like pretending to be deeply invested in the migration patterns of a corydoras (except i'm actually deeply invested to it.)

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

12th grade

it was 1 p.m. i had been here since 11 a.m. and had made zero progress on my sculpture. at this point, the only thing i had successfully created was a misshapen lump of clay that looked like it had personally witnessed the fall of rome.

frustrated, i turned to anton, my classmate and the only person who tolerated my nonsense in the class.

"man, how do you even do this?" i whined, aggressively poking my sculpture.

anton took one look and started laughing. "leehan, that thing looks like it's about to build itself and walk away."

i rolled my eyes and flicked his shoulder. "shut up, i'm genuinely stuck here."

anton smirked, crossing his arms. "then why'd you even take this class if you suck at it?"

"dumb, personal reasons," i muttered, waving him off. "whatever, i'll figure it out."

anton just chuckled, pointing toward the door. "alright, goodluck with that. i'm heading out. see ya."

i nodded, barely paying attention as i slumped back down, staring at my sculpture like it had personally offended me. then, somewhere between my frustration and self-pity, a thought hit me.

me and y/n haven't had a real conversation in two years.

we talked, sure—about projects, pair work (which, of course, made me internally combust every time), but a real, genuine conversation? nada.

and now, graduation was near.

i wasn's sure if i'd ever see her again after this. once, i overheard her talking about universities with a classmate. she mentioned busan. and let me tell you, i was devastated.

this was my last chance. i needed to talk to her before it was too late. just once.

but before i could even mentally draft a script, the door swung open. i looked up, and of course— the classic.

it was her.

she walked in, slowed down, and went straight to her station.

okay, okay. this was the moment. no ham jinsik around to ruin it. no distractions. i had to say something. anything.

and then, she spoke first.

"do you need help?"

her voice was softer than i remembered. possibly a trap.

wait—i was supposed to initiate this. but whatever. this was a blessing. i just needed to respond in a cool, interesting way.

"yes, please," i mumbled, immediately fidgeting with my fingers.

yes, please?

what kind of medieval peasant answer was that?

but before i could cringe myself out of existence, she walked over to my table, standing right in front of my disaster of a sculpture. and next to me.

this was bad.

not because she was this close (which, okay, also bad for my heart), but because she could see my embarrassing project up close.

her eyes scanned it. she was going to judge me. i could feel it.

"do you even know basic anatomy?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

ouch. but that was fair. "i'm… bad at it,"

she exhaled through her nose, something almost like a laugh "well, lucky for you, i don't suck at it."

and then, just like that, she started molding the clay.

i watched, completely in awe. her hands moved like she actually knew what she was doing. my monstrosity slowly turned into something that actually resembled a human sculpture. a miracle.

i glanced at her hands—long fingers, soft palms, steady movements.

wait, no. do not admire her hands, leehan. abort.

i suppressed a smile. if she caught me grinning like an idiot, i'd never live it down.

minutes passed, and she finished fixing my mess.

"thank you. a lot," i said, and for once, it sounded genuine. not my usual dumb act.

the moment felt still, like everything else faded out. i might've even gotten tinnitus.

then, she dropped the biggest bomb of the year.

"why did you take this class if you're bad at it?"

crap, anton asked the same thing. i should've prepared for this. think of a good lie, leehan. think.

"my mom… she wanted me to take arts." sorry, mom.

she nodded, saying something about not letting anything stop me from doing what i like. and then, just like that, she went back to her station.

the entire afternoon blurred past.

before she left, she handed me an anatomy guide. i barely touched it—just flipped through it while it's laid on the table, so she wouldn’t suspect anything.

but the moment she walked out, i actually opened and lifted it. like a normal person.

and then, something under it slipped out. a portfolio.

i picked it up carefully, not wanting to leave a bit of dent on it. her university portfolio.

i didn't open it. that was hers. so, i just shoved it into my bag.

it was almost 7 p.m. now, and i knew i wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. i sighed and pulled out my phone, calling my brother to bring me dinner.

and as the evening crept in, i sat there, staring at my half-finished project.

i admit it. i was a fool.

i've been a fool.

all the effort y/n and i put into breaking the ice—especially her efforts, was wasted. three years, gone. and for what? because i was too much of a coward?

i wanted to tell her everything.

that i secretly admired her all this time. that i wanted to know her more. that i wanted her sns number, at the very least.

but when i looked up, she was already getting ready to leave.

she walked out with moka and minji, her silhouette disappearing through the exit.

and just like that— that was it. the last time i'd see her.

to be continued...

[dorkyteenagedirtbag-ks]

Synopsis: Kaiser’s dream of glory comes true, but his victory feels hollow.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

The energy in the stadium was electric; people were crazy. The crowd was roaring for Kaiser. The lights shone bright, and the chants of his name echoed, everything felt surreal. Football was his life, his savior, his everything. But as he stood there, triumphant and soaked in sweat, a weight settled in his chest like never before.

The locker room was filled with excitement, but Kaiser sat quietly in a corner, a towel draped over his head, lost in thought. His mind was elsewhere.

It had been weeks since he'd last seen his lover, (Y/N).

(Y/N), a man who once was his silent shelter against the world's noise, his refuge. A touch from him, his smile, or even a look into his eyes were capable of drawing Kaiser from all turmoil within himself back into a tranquil lake. From the moment he began with nothing, the beginning, in itself-he'd seen him work so hard and struggle. And all through it, during every fall and after, even at moments when he'd wonder what everything was about, he'd have Y/N beside him.

But he wasn't here now.

The argument was still echoing in Kaiser's ears, louder than the cheers surrounding him. It had happened a week before the semifinals, a time when they should have been celebrating one of his biggest wins; instead, they were at each other's throats, saying words sharper than they wanted to.

"You're never here, Kaiser," Y/N had said shaking. "You keep talking of the future, about 'one day,' yet it's the same. Constantly football and always something big and more important than me. You just don't see me in that future you are talking of."

"That's not fair," Kaiser had snapped, on the defense. "You knew what this was about when you began dating me. This is my dream, (Y/N). You should get that. You more than anyone else should understand!"

"I get it!" Y/N had shouted, tears welled in his eyes. "But what about my dreams? What about us? What about my feelings? Are we just something you fit in in the cracks between the matches and training sessions?"

 

Kaiser had gone quiet, unable to answer.

"I can't keep doing this," he'd murmured, the anger sizzling out into exhaustion. "I can't keep being your second choice. I can't keep being the one you seek only when you're not shining on the field."

Kaiser wanted to say something-he really wanted to assure (Y/N) that things would be different, that things would change. But the words got caught in his throat, entangled in a truth he couldn't face. Football did come first. It had to. It was his dream, after all. A part of his everything.

(Y/N) had walked away that night, his absence louder than anything he could have said.

Now, sitting in the locker room, Kaiser felt that absence weighing down on him like a rock. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through the unanswered texts he had sent to him. Each one was a little more desperate than the last.

Please, talk to me.

I didn't mean for it to be like this.

I need you, (Y/N).

But (Y/N) didn't answer.

A hand clapped Kaiser on the shoulder, jerking him back to the present. It was Noel Noa. "Press is waiting for you, Kaiser."

Kaiser nodded slowly, still in a haze. Standing up and plastering on a smile that felt fake, he went to talk to them. Everything felt like a lie today.

The press conference was a blur as reporters bombarded him with questions about his goal, the team's strategy, and his future. Kaiser answered like a robot, his mind elsewhere, somewhere with Y/N.

Later, standing alone in the parking lot, the night was eerily quiet. It was almost like the world was taunting his loud mind. He made one last call. It rang endlessly, and just when Kaiser thought it would go to voicemail again, (Y/N) finally answered.

“Kaiser,” (Y/N)’s voice sounded tired and distant.

“I won,” Kaiser said, his voice shaky. “We’re heading to the finals.”

There was an uneasy silence that lasted for what felt like hours. "Congratulations" a soft reply was muttered by (Y/N).

Kaiser's eyes screwed shut because this pain he was feeling had very almost reached its maximum threshold. "I wish you were here."

"I cannot be," responded Y/N. "I can't keep looking at you when you're not even gazing at me."

Kaiser's throat lumped. "It's not like this; to me, you're everything."

"But not enough," he cut in. "Not enough to be first for you. Maybe we weren't meant to be after all."

Kaiser was wordless. "I hope you win," (Y/N) said with a soft tone, and the call ended.

The silence hung between them, heavy and final.

He was there for quite a while-the stadium sounds diminished, the ache in his chest not going away, reminding him of what he'd lost.

Kaiser lowered his phone, staring at the screen as if it could somehow bring back Y/N. But it didn't.

In the end, Kaiser had chosen football. And it had cost him the one thing he could never get back.

And maybe, maybe after all Y/N was a part of his everything, but it was too late.

- 𝐊𝐒

[chxmpagneprxblem]

Chapter Three - Sunshine

Tough Love Masterlist

“Paul LaHote asked me on a date and I kind of want to go on it.” Leah looked up from her DVD collection and stared at you from where you sat on her sofa.

Thursdays were a long honed tradition. You and Leah spent every Thursday having a movie night and a sleepover and neither of you ever broke that.

So you had gotten all of three days holding in the secret of Paul asking you out. You still hadn’t given him a definite answer. He had given you his number instead. You hadn’t called him yet.

“What?” Leah asked, dropping back from her crouched position to sit on the ground. You stared at her for a second before dropping her gaze to pick at the edge of your nail.

“Paul. He asked me out.” You explained without looking up. “I haven’t told him I’d go.”

“But you want to?” Leah asked, confused. You knew why she was confused. She’d never even heard you mention Paul in any capacity only to hate on Sam and his followers.

“I mean. Kind of?” You knew you sounded unsure. “He fixed up my car the last time. And he did loads of extra things too. And he didn’t charge me, just asked me out. And he’s sort of funny. And really hot.”

“And friends with Sam.” Leah finished and you deflated. You nodded and looked up at Leah who didn’t look mad, just confused still.

“And friends with Sam.” You sighed. She nodded again and you chewed on your bottom lip. “I would never dream of forgiving him for what he’s done. And I wouldn’t hang out with them, like ever.”

“You really want to go on this date, huh?” Leah asked and you nodded again. “You won’t leave?”

“Never. Not ever Leah! You know that. I’d rather cut my arm off.” You promised her, clambering off the sofa to sit next to her. “He’s probably gonna be terrible and it won’t be a good date and I’ll have to come back her and complain about it all.”

“Probably.” Leah agreed, her voice suspiciously thick. “And I’d listen, you know, even if it’s a really good date and you have the best time.”

“I love you, you know that?” You asked her softly. “More than I’ll ever love a dumb guy.”

“You better. We made a pact, a blood vow.” She reminded you and you both held up scarred little fingers. “That scar means you can’t ever pick anyone over me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

…

“So about that movie?” You asked into the receiver, watching your father in the living room who was transfixed by the game.

“Kind of late notice, isn’t it?” Paul asked with a chuckle and you rolled your eyes.

“Well if you’re not interested anymore then-“

“Hey! No! I didn’t say that. I can pick you up in like an hour, maybe an hour and a half?” He rushed out and you laughed, drawing a look from your father.

“Make it an hour and we’ll see if there’s time for that pizza after.” You warned and he called an affirmative before you hung up.

“That wasn’t your Leah laugh.” You narrowed your eyes at your father who only raised his hands. “Just wondering who’s taking my Sunshine out.”

“You don’t know him.” You assured your father. He raised his eyebrows and you sighed. “Paul LaHote.”

“Lives down on the Rez, don’t he?” Charlie asked and you sighed heavily again. “Good kid. Billy talks highly of him.”

“He’s not a kid and either am I. So don’t wait up tonight.” You warned and Charlie guffawed.

“You’re twenty one kid. You still live under my roof. Have your ass back in bed by two in the morning or I’ll coming looking for you. Siren and all.” He warned, you knew he was only partially kidding.

“You suck, Chief.”

“Yeah, get used to it, Sunshine.”

…

“Fifty six minutes. I hope you timed me.” Paul grinned and presented a bouquet of yellow gardenias with soil still on the roots.

“I’ll close the door if I look across the road and see Mrs Herschel is missing any flowers.” You warned. You felt more than heard your father step into the hallway. “Go away, Chief.”

“I took those flowers from my mom’s garden who offered them up. Also, hey there Chief Swan.” Paul waved to your stoic father.

“Don’t be a bootlicker, Paul. His name is Charlie and if he wants dinner tomorrow he should get back in the living room.” You didn’t turn to look at your father but you did take the flowers from Paul and hold them out for your father to take. “Could you put these in a vase please, we’ll be late.”

“Two at the latest, Sunshine. Or the sirens are coming out.” Charlie warned as you shrugged on your jacket.

“That would break the domestic noise level law. Don’t break your own rules, Chief. I’ll be home when I’m home. No earlier and no later.” You shut the door behind you and Paul chuckled warmly. “My sister has given him so much to worry about that he forgets I’m not her.”

“She was dating that Cullen guy, right?” Paul asked and you nodded, following him to his truck. He paused by the passenger door and opened it for you.

“Yeah. That’s the guy. He really did a number on her. So now all guys are the worst in the world.” You explained before he closed your door. He jogged around the front of the truck and pulled his own door open.

“He’s just protective of you. That’s what a dad is supposed to do.” Paul shrugged and you rolled your eyes.

“Bootlicker.” You whispered and he laughed again before backing the truck out of your drive.

“I ain’t a bootlicker. I’m respecting the man who brought my date into the world. Or isn’t that allowed, Sunshine?” Paul asked teasingly.

“Don’t you dare. It’s a stupid nickname he gave me when I was a kid and I’ve been trying a long time to shake it.” You knew from his laugh it wasn’t going anywhere soon.

…

“By movie I assumed you would be taking me to Port Angeles.” You told him when he went the opposite way out of Forks. He only shrugged his shoulders and you swatted at him. “Where are we going?”

“You don’t rent an R-Rated movie and then watch it in theater.” He reminded you and you narrowed your eyes at him.

“Sounds like an intentional bid to get me back to your place. Did you kick your mom out for the night?” You asked and he laughed.

“I don’t live with my mom.” He corrected and you rolled your eyes. “I went by her place earlier and grabbed the flowers. I got my own place.”

“Bought your own place with a couple of garage shifts?” You asked and he shook his head, turning off the highway towards LaPush.

“My grandpa left it to me. I don’t know why you think I’m trying to pull a fast one on you. I’m an honest guy.” Paul shrugged and you chewed on your bottom lip.

“I’ve been mean. To you. And you just put all that aside to ask me out.” You admitted quietly and Paul shrugged again. “No, don’t brush it off. I have a reason to be mad at Sam but I dragged you and Jared into it too.”

“You don’t understand the situation. I won’t hold it against you for being a good friend.” Paul promised and you sighed again.

“I, you have to understand, I can’t be their friend. I can’t hurt Leah like that. And they’re your friends. I know that. If you can’t excuse that then this won’t work.” You told him. He pulled into a long dirt drive and you watched him quietly think about your words.

“I think that maybe if I had been around for the Sam and Leah thing I would feel as you do. I see it differently than you do so I can be his friend. It’s perspective and I won’t ask you to be friends with someone you don’t want to be.” He huffed a breath as if the whole sentence had taken years off his laugh.

“You worded that very intentionally.” You pointed out when he parked outside a small cottage.

“Sam is my friend. That won’t change. Leah is your friend. That won’t change. Sam broke Leah’s heart. There’s no changing that either. We’ll just have to find a way to figure it all out.” You nodded slowly.

“Only if this date is any good.” You teased and he laughed.

…

“Terrible. Worst date of my life. I’ll never see him again.” You brushed past Leah at the door and made straight for her room.

“Oh, so you’re gonna marry this boy?” She asked as you flopped down, face first, into her bed.

“Leah. I can not explain how much I want to spend my life with him. We’re going to have three children and Billy will officiate and you’ll be my bridesmaid.” You turned your face to speak before burying your head in her mattress to scream at the top of your lungs.

“Jeez, take it down a notch.” Leah sighed and flipped down next to you.

“Dude, you’re fucking on fire.” You pushed up on your elbows to free one hand to check her temperature. “Are you sick?”

“I feel weird. Achey. It’s nothing. Probably my period coming on.” She sighed and rolled over to face you. “Tell me everything.”

“He brought me flowers. We watched a movie at his place and he ordered pizza. We cuddled a little.” Leah raised her eyebrow at your blushing. “Okay so we made out. Like a lot. It was good. He’s so strong and he just lifted me into his lap. He even made sure I was home in time for Charlie’s bullshit made up curfew.”

“Paul LaHote, a gentleman?” Leah asked with a laugh. “He must really like you.”

“I told him. You know. That I couldn’t be friends with his friends. That I wouldn’t do it to you.” You promised, linking your little finger with hers. She smiled and then sighed, rolling so her face was pressed into the blanket. You wrapped your arms around her and lay with her in silence.

“Love you, Lee.”

“Love you too, Sunshine.”

[unknowntoyou2205]

Diamonds sister pt 2

Y/n groaned as she heard her bedroom door open. After last nights events y/n had spent half the night tossing and turning, unable to get a certain blonde gentleman out of her head. Her mum and sister had thrown questions at her on the ride home and the excitement between them hadn’t gone unnoticed. The excitement the young girl herself felt was also apparent, but y/n refused to show it in fear that it may be thrown back at her.

“Good morning Miss, are you ready to get ready for the day?” Her handmaid smiled.

“Yes I am. Is everyone ready for our visitors today?”

“Yes the chef has prepared sweet treats and tea for this afternoon. They shall not be disappointed.”

“Good.” Y/n smiled, optimistic about today’s agenda.

Y/n opted for y/f/c dress with detail on the shoulder before heading down the stairs to the drawing room where her mother and sister were already sitting, working on their embroidery. Y/n never cared for embroidery, so instead opted to take out her drawing pad, deciding to draw the garden view as she waited for todays visitors. It wasn’t long before the door opened, and Anthony and Benedict arrived in the room.

“Your up early.” Violet stated to her sons with slight dismay.

“Are we the first ones here, how lovely.” Anthony stated, grabbing a biscuit before sitting beside Daphne.

“Perhaps you should make use of your time elsewhere.” Their mother stated.

“I believe y/n would like me to stay, right y/n.” Benedict stated, thinking their usual antics would start.

Y/n went to reply when the door opened once again, and y/ns handmaid opened the door. Violet stood up in anticipation when a figure came close behind her.

Violet watched in awe as her daughter allowed the prince to guide her to a seat away from prying ears. Daphne couldn’t help the smile that spread on her face, despite wanting to advance on the prince herself. Y/n only turned back briefly to smile at them before turning her attention to the prince as he accepted the lemonade from the handmaid and offered one to her. She nodded her head in thanks before taking a delicate sip.

“A visitor for Miss Bridgerton.” The woman spoke out and the figure stepped into the room.

“Price Fredrich, good afternoon.” Violet nodded, indicating for her children to stand up to greet him.

“Your highness.” Daphne stated as she curtsied and bowed her head.

“Good afternoon Lady Bridgerton, I have come to call on one of your daughters.”

“And which one may that be.” Anthony called from his position.

“Miss y/n.” The royal stated, looking at the second oldest daughter of the family.

“I believe you should like to go Benedict.” Y/n muttered to her brother.

“I believe I should most certainly like to stay,” Benedict replied quickly, not taking his eyes off the prince in front of them.

“Now Benedict.” Y/n stated to him before stepping towards the prince with her mother.

“Can I offer you some light refreshment?” Violet asked their visitor as Benedict left the room.

“I would love some. Perhaps some lemonade, and for miss Bridgerton?” Fredrich looked at y/n, expecting an answer.

“The same please.” Y/n spoke with a smile, before accepting the princes outstretched hand.

The two sat in silence, enjoying each other’s company under the watchful gaze of her family. A smile remained on each of their faces before the door opened once again and miss came through.

“So, what do you like to do, tell me more about you?” Fredrich smiled, leaning closer to the girl in front of him to listen.

“Well, I like to draw, I find you can capture anything with a pencil and page. I suppose that’s not a typical hobby of a woman but I find it so refreshing that I could just draw for hours, often with my dear brother Benedict.” Y/n stated, smiling fondly.

“I admire that. Would you be close with your siblings?” Frendrich asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“Yes I like to think that we are. I enjoy being with my youngest two, Hyacinth and Gregory, there so sweet. Do you have any siblings yourself?” Y/n asked, intrigued to learn more about her suitor.

“Unfortunately I am an only child, but I hope to have my own family someday, possibly many. Do you want children some day?” The blonde man asked the woman in front of him, not missing how her smile disappeared to sadness.

“I would love to have my own but the thoughts of having them terrify me after what my dear Mama went through with Hyacinth.” Y/n spoke sadly, remembering the screams of her mother and how she family nearly became orphans.

“I am sorry I asked.” Prince Frendrich stated, placing a hand on y/n’s in comfort.

“It’s ok. Maybe with the right guy I will have my dream, and my fear may be placed at ease.” Y/n stated, her mouth twitching with a smile.

“Perhaps, I may be that guy.” The prince dared to say, moving a hand under y/n’s chin to move her head up.

“Perhaps.” Y/n spoke, smiling at the thought.

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

“Another visitor, for Miss Bridgerton.” This time she looked at Daphne and y/n sighed, knowing the time with the prince had come to an end.

“Perhaps we shall pomegrade tomorrow.” Prince Fredrich offered, wanting to spend more time with the Bridgerton in front of her.

“I would like that.” Y/n announced, nodding her head in agreement.

“Until tomorrow.” Prince Fredrich took y/n’s hand and brought it up, kissing it delicately.

“Until tomorrow.” y/n smiled shyly, watching as the prince moved to say his goodbyes to her mother and brother.

The following days followed with y/n and Fredrich spending many hours together. Benedict had taken it upon himself  to escort his sister to these meetings, despite his sisters disagreement, and the prince was starting to grow on him. Seeing how his sister smiled around thig guy made Benedict realize that maybe his sister meeting with this guy wasn’t a bad idea. The relationship between brother and sister were remarkable, but Benedict would be willing to leave the prince be if it made y/n happy. And it would appear that he made y/n very happy.

Y/n had found herself falling for the royal she had been spending so much time with these past few weeks. Each ball lead to a new dance, and each day lead to a new Pomerado around, getting to know each other more and more. The more time spent with the prince, the more y/n thought that maybe he could be the one. Maybe he was the one she would marry and make her feel safe and secure with herself, much like her father had been for her mother. And the prince, well, he was seeing the Bridgerton girl in a new light.

Today was no different. Y/n had arrived back from a boat ride with the prince ,and was now in a carriage towards the ball of the night, one that was being held by the her sister. Since Daphnes marriage things had been a spiral of emotions for the Bridgerton family, yet the giddiness that y/n felt for tonight was something that did not go unnoticed. Violet watched her daughter with happiness as she glowed. With Daphne now engaged to the duke, Violet hoped that maybe there would be another love story for the Bridgerton family.

The carriage came to a stop and y/n allowed her mother to get out before she herself stood up and exited the carriage. Looking at the entrance in awe, she couldn’t help but smile as she seen the familiar blonde hair standing with the Queen at the back of the hall. Smiles were exchanged as the prince caught sight of the Bridgerton clan walking into the ball, and took no time to start making her way down to them. Ignoring the mothers and daughters who swarmed him, he made his way over to y/n and nodded his head in greeting as the mother daughter duo turned to face him.

Y/n smiled at the Prince as they prepared to dance. Allowing the royal to lead her around the floor, y/n couldn’t help the slight giggle that came out of her mouth. Her giggle made the prince in turn smile as he twirled his dance partner around.

“Good evening ladies, I hope you are well.” He spoke to the two.

“Good evening your highness. We are very well.” Violet spoke for the two of them as they curtsied to him.

“Would it be too much to ask for a dance with your lovely daughter.” He asked, offering his hand out out to y/n.

“Please enjoy.” Violet confirmed, watching with pride as the prince kissed her daughters hand before leading her to the floor.

“Perhaps there may be another Bridgerton wedding in the horising.” Simon spoke beside his mother in law.

“One can only hope.” Violet stated, hoping the best would come for her daughter.

The prince stepped away from her and fiddled with his pocket before bringing out a small velvet box. Y/n watched in shock as the attention of others became apparent. Violet grabbed bEnedicts arm as she watched with hope.

“I hope you are enjoying your night.” Prince Fredrich stated as they danced around the room. Her back to his chest.

“Very much.” Y/n nodded.

“Y/n, I hope I am not overstepping when I say but, I enjoy our time together.”

“I enjoy our time together too.” Y/n smiled.

“And I hope you wouldn’t be opposed to spending more time together.” The prince asked, twirling her around once more.

“I was hoping we would.” Y/n smiled, glancing over her shoulder at him.

“Perhaps you would do me the honour of spending the rest of our time on this earth together.” The prince asked, causing y/n to look at him in shock.

“Your highness, what are you saying.” Y/n asked, turning to him as the music stopped.

Unable to hold her excitement, Violet rushed towards her daughter and pulled her into a hug.

“Y/n Bridgerton, would you do me the honour of becoming my princess, my wife.” Fredrich asked, opening the box to show a ring held delicately with a small coushin.

“I would love to.” Y/n spoke happily, allowing him to pull her in a hug.

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

“You are to be married dearest.” Violet stated, and y/n smiled excitedly.

“I got it mama, I got my dream.”

“We better watch out with royalty in our house.” Benedict teased causing y/n to chock in tears.

The wedding was everything y/n could of ever dreamed off. Prince Fredrich wanted the day to be everything his bride had ever imagined, and went above and beyond to make sure her dreams became a reality. It was fit for a princess, which was what Miss y/n Bridgerton would now be called. Violet was beaming for joy as she watched her second daughter walk down the aisle with her second oldest. Benedict couldn’t help the smile on his face as he walked his sister to her new family, having cried after y/n had asked him to step in what should have been their fathers job. Daphne held her husbands arm in delight watching her twin get married. The Queen herself couldn’t help but show a slight smile, even if only for a brief second.

The night itself was magical and fit for royalty. Y/n danced with her husband under the night stars, outside in the Queens garden. United as one, y/n couldn’t wait to live her newfound life. Princess y/n of Prussia, dawning a ring that belonged to her majesty the Queen on her finger, vowed to spend entirely with her new love, the prince of Prussia.

[m4ttsturn]

my brother's best friend (pt 1)

pt 2 pt 3 pt 4

pairing: matt sturniolo x y/n

summary: over the years you find yourself falling more in love with your brother's best friend.

warnings: none yet

this is the first story I've ever written, so sorry if it's bad. anyway, hope you guys enjoy.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

(the first day i saw him)

"mom!" I ran down the stairs. "yeah, what do you need?" "where's Nate? he said he would go to the movies with me over an hour ago." I was beginning to get upset, Nate promised that he would take me to see Spider-Man Homecoming with him. "I'm not sure, he said he would be home by 5" she responded. I let out a heavy sigh before walking out of the kitchen.

I went into the living room and sat on the couch, aimlessly scrolling on my phone. I watched as the minutes on the clock slowly ticked by, my eyes flicking to the front door every few seconds. it had been 3 hours before Nate had finally showed up, laughing as he walked through the door. three boys followed close behind him.

"dude that movie was so good" Nate said as he kicked off his shoes. "yeah, I still can't believe the way Spider-Man saved the Avenger's plane" one of the other boys spoke. I coughed loudly drawing the attention of my brother and his friends in the entryway. making eye contact with Nate, his face flashing with realization. "oh shit, y/n I'm so sor-" Nate tried to speak, but I stood up abruptly off the couch walking to my room and slamming the door.

the second I closed the door I could feel my eyes watering. it was one thing for Nate to blow of our plans because his practice ran late or something, but for him to go without me even though we had planned this out ever since the trailer came out, hurt. especially since he went with three people I've never met instead.

I jumped onto my bed, burying my face into the pillows. I could hear four sets of footsteps approaching my bedroom before someone knocked on the door. I knew it was Nate because he used the secret knock combination we came up with in order to tell if it was each other or our parents knocking. "go away Nate" my voice was muffled by the pillow. Nate had opened the door anyway, "y/n look I'm sorry, I totally forgot that we were planning to go to the movies today" I turned to face him when he spoke "yeah, yeah whatever Nate."

I glanced around him, taking in the appearance of his friends, each looking similar, but I could tell the differences once I looked a little longer. I made eye contact with the boy who was standing behind them all, almost not visible. I blushed and turned my head away so none of them could see it. "you can go, you obviously want to hang out with these people more than me anyway." Nate gave me a sad expression before walking out of my room, closing the door behind him. as I listened to the sounds of footsteps furthering from my door I decided to read a book instead of wallowing around.

the next time I looked at the clock it read 12:37 am. I decided that I might as well call it a night and changed into my pajamas, which consisted of a tank top and a pair of women's boxers. assuming that Nate's friends had gone home by now, I didn't bother to put on something more presentable as I left my room to grab a glass of water.

when I walked into the kitchen I was met with three pairs of eyes on me, with Nate being in the bathroom. "oh, you guys are still here" I uttered as I went to grab a glass. ''yep, seems like it" the one with longer hair spoke. my back was to them as I filled up the cup with water from the fridge. once finished I turned around to face the three boys. "look I'm sorry, I'm not trying to be rude, its just that Nate promised me he would take me to see that movie months ago. anyway I'm y/n." holding out my hand to them. The one with a nose ring takes it first "Nick" he shook my hand. "I'm Chris" the one with long hair spoke, dapping me up. "and you?" I turned to the last boy, realizing it's the one that I locked eyes with earlier. "Matt" he smiled slightly as he took my hand. my face flushed feeling the electricity buzzing through my fingertips.

"okay well nice to meet you guys, but I'm off to bed. tell Nate that I said he better take me to see that movie tomorrow, I don't care if he just watched it." "will do" Chris spoke, Matt and Nick nodded along. I headed back towards my room and closed the door, still thinking about the feeling of Matt's hand on mine. "well this is going to be a problem" I mumbled to myself before shutting off the light and snuggling under my covers.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

Nate had brought the triplets over again, many times over the next few years. each time my crush on Matt grew a little stronger. besides that I had actually gained a friendship with all of them.

· · ─── ·𖥸· ─── · ·

a/n: I'm probably going to move this story on pretty quickly I just wanted to get a little backstory out first.

let me know if there is anything I can do to write better, criticism is appreciated

[simonsrosebud]

also for my second WIP ask PLEASE brussels!!!! im not from belgium but its close enough (to the netherlands) so im really really excited about that one too!!!!

oh gosh I've only been to brussels once for 2 days so im hoping i don't do it dirty. i LOVED brussels and the netherlands!!

-

Neil realized with gut clenching clarity that Andrew would be sitting with him in each and every class that he took.

He and his mother had rules.  Don’t draw attention, don’t ask questions, don’t answer questions, and don’t- definitely don’t make friends.  Neil didn’t have any intention on befriending Andrew, but it was hard to go unnoticed when they sat beside one another for seven hours a day.

Neil had been determined for the last four years to follow his mother’s rules, but it wasn’t often that he went this unnoticed as the new kid.  His mother would never know it, but it was normal for him to be bugged by a good five different students at each new school before everyone learned to leave him alone.  If she knew that, then he’d never be allowed to go to school to all.  Neil didn’t think he could handle that isolation.

So, since he was excelling with flying under the radar, he turned to Andrew two weeks into their introduction.  “Why don’t you speak to anyone?” he asked in English.

Andrew stilled from where he was writing down notes in a mixture of two languages.  Neil didn’t know why he didn’t just pick one.  His own notes were written in French so that no one would know, at least from afar, that he was writing down aimless things instead.  Making lists, like the food they needed to buy when it was his turn, keeping track of the last time he dyed his hair, and sometimes writing “letters” as if he had someone to give them to to tell about their adventures.

Adventures, his mother called them, as if he hadn’t known exactly what this was from the day they left.  That his father was obsessive and angry, and that if they stopped he would find and kill them.

He shivered and tensed so as to not let it show.  After a moment, Andrew slowly sat back in his seat and let his gaze slowly wash over the classroom.  Their teacher, grading last night’s homework at her desk.  Students, mumbling and quietly giggling to one another in favor of doing their schoolwork for as long as they could get away with.

When his eyes landed on Neil, he raised his eyebrow.  “Do you really want to ask that?” he asked in slow, low, Dutch.  Neil wanted to roll his eyes and tell him to fuck off.  He was using the language against him because he knew- he knew that Neil was still working on it.  The exact thing he’d refuted two weeks prior.  “Let me also ask,” he started.  Neil’s heart pounded.  He looked like a deer caught in a pair of headlights.  “How many times are you going to re-wear the same five outfits?”

Neil’s free hand, sweaty and needing something to grip onto that wasn’t the pencil he was close to breaking, clenched around his knee instead.  When he didn’t answer, Andrew kept his eyes on him in uncomfortable silence.  Waiting, and waiting, for what felt like a half hour but was only three minutes, until Neil opened his mouth just as their teacher dismissed the class.

Andrew stood and slung his bag over his shoulder.  “You and I are somewhat alike, I hate to think.  No,” he said when Neil nearly cut him off.  “I don’t care.”

prev / next

[peppymintdreams]

What If Andrew and Darling Met on Different Terms

I have no idea why this took my so long to write like I was struggling between writing this and doing my actual work late up at night writing this shit 😂

Masterlist 

They kept thinking about it over and over again it repeating in their mind, ____ decided to take a nap before doing their homework that Professor marston assigned, what they didn’t expect was a dream that would soon change their perspective on their very attractive professor, the events on the dream repeated in their thoughts just imagining Andrew pinning them to the wall whispering the dirtiest things and kissing them over and over again the smooth feeling of his lips on theirs the rich sweet taste it left just one kiss was enough to make one desire it.

What were they to do they were lost and they couldn't get him out of their mind and focus on their assignment drawing to pass the time didn't help as all they could draw was him from his nice soft hair his strong jawline those piercing eyes made them kick their legs with joy,

as they wrote all their admiration for their professor they realized something changed it felt like they had just forgotten what they were doing  and saw this entire letter on their ASSIGNMENT written down

realizing this was inappropriate they erased everything that was in the paper and instead drew out a sheet of paper and wrote everything that was previously on the other paper into this one after using two more sheets of paper and several hand cramps they were down letting out a sigh the folded it up and put it in there bag and would give it to him at the end of tomorrow after hours, 

Andrew would be free after that so there would be nothing stopping them from telling Andrew their feelings deciding it was late so they decided to finish what work they had left on their way to classes… as they sat watching the clock soon enough classes were over and they got the letter out of their bag and was ready to give their letter to him this was it…they were going to tell him and nothing was going to stop them

but as they knocked on the door it opened immediately with Andrew saying “my teaching hours are over and I have some important business to attend to, so Tutoring as been cancelled today what ever questions you had please email it to me” and with that before they even got a word he shut the door. At a loss for words ___ walked away “well…shit..that was…rude?” They didn’t know what to say holding the letter in the hand so tight they’d crush their bones if they held any tighter “what am I even doing” realizing how weird this looked..

a student in love with their teacher huh how cliche they felt broken but didn’t know why he was just doing his job and they couldn’t stop him, in a hurt emotion ___ crumpled up the paper and threw it away in a nearby trash bin stupid emotions I was stupid to believe it was real days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months what were they to do they felt loss they had their eyes on him and only him they could tell he was also looking at them, they’d sit and take in every word that came out of his month the smooth assertive tone from his voice made their knees weak,

his handsome face they could study Andrew and pass with flying colors. He was such a work of art to look at everything about him was pure perfecti- “____, did you hear me” Professor Marston spoke snapping them out of their daydream “huh wait what, sorry could you repeat that I kinda got lost on the last bit” they question, rubbing his temple Andrew repeated himself “pay attention ___ In George Orwell's 1984, what is the significance of the phrase "War is Peace, Freedom is Slavery, Ignorance is Strength"? Without even a second thought “In 1984, the phrase "War is Peace, Freedom is Slavery, Ignorance is Strength" shows how the Party uses contradictions to control people's thinking. It means that constant war keeps the country stable, freedom leads to chaos, and staying ignorant makes the Party stronger.”

They said all in one breath on the inside they hoped they were right and not embarrassing themself because they were fantasizing about their professor “correct, please remember to pay attention” he said and went on back to his lecture. Letting out a sigh they continued to gaze at him, Andrew kept talking and with each word ___ fell deeper and deeper in love with him let his eccentric features distract them.

 Soon enough the class was over “alright, that's all for today. Make sure to review the key concepts we discussed,

 especially the contradictions in Orwell's 1984. Remember, next class we'll dive deeper into how language can shape reality, so come prepared. Don’t forget to read the assigned chapters that are uploaded onto moodle, and if you have any questions, for emergencies feel free to reach out via email or come to my office during office hours." And with that the class left but __ stayed back they wanted to tell him “oh ___, you're still here?” He question as if it had been a surprise that they of all people stayed behind 

“uh yeah, I just want to apologize I’d zoned out for a few seconds and didn’t expect to be called on” they said a nervous laugh escaping them “it is quite alright loads of students daze out when in my class some even think it’s a good idea to come here for free naps, when they should be coming here for their education to learn” he said “but I’m assuming you come here for…other reasons” he said given them a gaze and a smirk feeling the weight of pressure,  

___ felt their heart race at his words, the playful smirk lingering on his lips. The weight of his gaze felt like a spotlight, illuminating the unspoken feelings between them. "Well, I mean, your lectures are quite engaging," they replied, trying to sound casual, but their voice wavered slightly.

Andrew chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned against his desk. “Engaging? Is that what we’re calling it these days?” He folded his arms, his expression softening. “But really, I appreciate your honesty. It’s nice to see a student who actually cares.”

The compliment sent a flutter through ___’s chest. They shifted on their feet, suddenly aware of how close they were standing to him. “I do care,” they said, their voice steadier now. “It’s just… sometimes I get lost in my thoughts, you know?”

He nodded, his eyes searching for theirs. “I understand. Sometimes my thoughts wander too, especially when I’m caught up in teaching.” The atmosphere thickened with an unspoken tension, each word laden with meaning.

“Is it bad that I enjoy your class more than I probably should?” ___ asked, taking a half-step closer. Their pulse quickened, uncertainty mingling with excitement.

Andrew’s smirk faded, replaced by a more serious expression. “It’s not bad at all, but…” He hesitated, glancing toward the door as if ensuring no one else was around. “You know there are boundaries we have to be careful about, right?”

___ felt a pang of disappointment, but they nodded. “I get it. But it’s hard not to feel something when you spend so much time together.” They took a deep breath, gathering courage. “I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“No, you’re not overstepping,” Andrew replied, his voice gentle. “It’s just complicated.”

Just then, the faint sound of students chatting outside snapped them back to reality. Andrew pushed himself off the desk and straightened up. “You should get going before someone sees you here alone with me. We don’t want rumors spreading, do we?” He tried to lighten the mood, but the gravity of the moment hung between them.

“Right,” ___ said reluctantly, stepping back. “Thanks for understanding. I’ll see you in class next week?”

Andrew nodded, a hint of warmth in his eyes. “Of course. And remember, if you ever need to talk about anything—school or otherwise…personal matters I’m here.”

With that, ___ turned to leave, their mind racing with what had just transpired. As they stepped into the hallway, they couldn’t shake the feeling that their relationship with Andrew was about to shift in ways they couldn’t yet understand.

 heeding Andrew’s warning ___ made a conscious effort to keep their feelings in check. But as they walked out of the classroom, a whirlwind of emotions flooded their mind, and it felt impossible to push him out of their thoughts. The way he smiled, the softness in his voice—it replayed in their mind like a favorite song stuck on repeat.

For the rest of the week, they tried to focus on their studies, but Andrew was a constant presence in their thoughts. During lectures, they found themselves daydreaming, stealing glances at him from the back of the room, memorizing the way he gestured as he explained complex theories. It was maddening how a simple conversation could leave such a lasting impact.

At night, as they lay in bed, ___ would scroll through their phone, searching for anything to distract them. Yet, every swipe of the screen brought back memories of their interactions. The way his eyes sparkled when he discussed literature, the warmth in his laughter—it was impossible to ignore the growing feelings that bubbled beneath the surface.

One evening, while flipping through old photos on their phone, ___ stumbled across a candid shot taken during a class project—a group of students huddled together, laughing, with Andrew standing off to the side, his expression full of pride. That moment encapsulated everything they admired about him—his passion for teaching, his ability to connect with students, and the subtle kindness that made them feel seen.

With a sigh, ___ tossed their phone onto the bed and buried their face in their hands. “Why can’t I just forget about him?” they whispered to themselves, feeling a mixture of frustration and longing. The more they tried to push their feelings aside, the stronger they grew. It was as if Andrew had woven himself into the very fabric of their thoughts, and they couldn’t unravel the connection they felt.

As graduation approached, the excitement of new beginnings mixed with the weight of their unresolved feelings. ___ knew that soon they would be moving on, yet the thought of leaving Andrew behind felt unbearable. It was a reality they had to face, but the hope of crossing paths again lingered in the back of their mind.

On the last day of class, ___ felt a bittersweet ache in their chest. They wanted to say something, to confess the feelings they had tried to suppress, but the memory of their earlier conversation held them back. Instead, they left a note on Andrew’s desk, thanking him for everything he had done for them.

As they walked away, they glanced back to see Andrew reading the note, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. In that moment, ___ felt a flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the end of their story after all.

Several weeks had passed ___ couldn’t shake the whispers of insecurity that crept into their mind. It seemed like every student in the department had a crush on Professor Marston, and hearing their admiring comments only fueled their anxiety. “He’s so handsome,” one would say, while another chimed in with, “He’s such a great teacher! I’d do anything to get his attention.” The thought of Andrew being interested in someone else made ___’s stomach churn.

They worried that Andrew would eventually see them as just another student, someone unworthy of his attention or affection. With these thoughts spiraling in their head, ___ sought solace in Luca, the TA. They had noticed Luca’s easy-going demeanor and thought that he’d have an understanding perspective of their situation and thought he might understand the complexities of student-teacher relationships better than most.

After class one day, ___ approached him, their heart pounding. “Hey, Mr Luca, Pearce? Sir? I don’t know, um.. do you have a minute?”

“Of course! What’s up?” Luca replied, glancing up from his laptop with a friendly smile.

___ hesitated, glancing around to ensure no one else was listening. “I wanted to talk about Professor Marston… and, well, my feelings for him.”

Luca raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Ah, I see. That can be a tricky situation.”

Taking a deep breath, ___ continued, “I just feel insecure. I hear other students talking about how attractive he is, and I can’t help but think… What if he doesn’t see me that way? What if he finds someone else more interesting?”

Luca leaned back in his chair, considering their words. “I get it. It’s easy to feel like you’re not enough when you’re competing with all those perceptions. But you have to remember that relationships are about more than looks. Andrew is a good guy, and I think he values character over superficiality.”

“Yeah, but what if it gets complicated?” ___ asked, their voice tinged with worry. “I don’t want to cause any backlash for either of us. It feels so wrong, even if it’s innocent.”

Luca nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a valid concern. I think waiting might be the best approach. Let things develop naturally. You’re not that far apart in age, and if there’s a genuine connection, it could work out over time. Just give it some space.”

“Space?” ___ echoed, feeling a mixture of relief and frustration. “It’s hard to think about that when all I want to do is be near him.”

“True, but rushing things could lead to misunderstandings and hurt feelings,” Luca replied. Luca looked around for a second thought then let it out “you wanna know what Andrew told me once,” he asked ___ didn’t say anything but give him a subtle blink “Andrew told me once you think of assignments as extensions of the writer you're one step closer to understanding them as a person” it seemed like something Andrew would say “it really struck me”. 

“Focus on building a friendship first. If it’s meant to be, time will help bring things to light.”

___ nodded slowly, taking in Luca’s advice. It made sense, even if it felt challenging. “Thanks, Luca. I really appreciate your insight. I guess I just needed someone to remind me to take a step back.”

“Anytime,” Luca said with a reassuring smile. “You’re not alone in this. And who knows? You might find that your connection with Andrew grows even stronger with a little patience.”

Feeling lighter, ___ left the conversation with renewed hope. They still had a long way to go, but at least now they had a plan to guide them through the uncertainty of their feelings.

Promising themselves that they would wait as long as it took, ___ decided to take Luca's advice to heart. They made a conscious effort to “sit down” and let time do its thing. In the following weeks, they poured themselves into their studies, immersing themselves in projects and assignments. The pressure of upcoming exams distracted them from the nagging thoughts of Andrew, and for a while, it felt like a relief.

As the days turned into weeks, ___ found solace in their work, each late night spent studying and each completed assignment bringing them a sense of accomplishment. Gradually, their feelings for Andrew began to fade, replaced by a focus on their academic goals. The nervous excitement that once filled their chest whenever he entered a room was replaced by a quiet admiration.

“Maybe this was for the best,” they thought, convincing themselves that their life didn’t have to revolve around their professor. They felt empowered by their independence, relishing the sense of control they had regained over their emotions. After all, graduation was just around the corner—next week, to be exact.

“Just like that?!” they whispered to themselves one night, staring at the calendar in disbelief. Time had flown by faster than they could have imagined. The realization that they would soon be leaving behind their college life—along with the complexities of their feelings for Andrew—was bittersweet.

As they packed their things and prepared for the final days of their university experience, ___ reflected on how much they had grown. They had learned to prioritize their own dreams and aspirations, finding joy in their accomplishments instead of lingering on what could have been.

On the day of their last class, ___ sat in their seats, scanning the familiar faces of their classmates, a mix of excitement and nostalgia swirling within them. Andrew stood at the front of the room, delivering a heartfelt farewell speech that made the weight of their feelings rush back momentarily. “You all have so much potential, and I can’t wait to see where life takes each of you,” he said, his voice resonating with genuine passion.

As the applause filled the room, ___ felt a familiar flutter in their chest, but this time it was accompanied by a sense of closure. They realized that while their feelings for Andrew had once been intense, they no longer defined them. They could appreciate him as a mentor without needing to pursue something more.

After class, as students began to filter out, ___ stayed behind, summoning the courage to approach Andrew one last time. “Thank you for everything, Professor Marston,” they said, their voice steady. “I’ve learned so much from you.”

Andrew turned to them, a warm smile gracing his face. “It’s been a pleasure having you in class. You have a bright future ahead, ___.”

“Thanks,” they replied, feeling a mixture of pride and sadness. “I’ll miss this place.”

“I will too,I’ll miss having you in here…you were truly…one of my favorites” Andrew said, brushing their bangs (if you don’t have them I’m so sorry) away from their eyes, the sincerity in his eyes making ___'s heart skip a beat. But they reminded themselves of their promise to wait and took a deep breath, grounding them

selves in the knowledge that this chapter was closing, and a new one awaited.

As they left the classroom for the last time, ___ felt a sense of peace. They had given their feelings time to breathe, and while they may have shifted, they had also found strength in themselves. Whatever came next, they were ready to embrace it

It had been four years since ___ graduated, and life had taken them in unexpected directions. As they lounged on their bed one evening, absentmindedly scrolling through old school photos, one image caught their eye: a snapshot taken with Andrew at graduation. In the photo, they were both beaming, Andrew’s smile wide and genuine, their own face flushed with a mix of pride and admiration. A sudden jolt of emotions surged through ___, flooding them with memories of their time in class together, the thrill of their connection, and the ache of what could have been.

“Could it work now?” they pondered, the question hanging in the air. It had been nearly five years since they promised themselves to sit back and let time do its thing, but what had really changed? Andrew was still a professor, and they were now navigating adulthood, still filled with uncertainty about relationships. The thought settled heavily in their mind. Of course not. Andrew probably doesn’t even remember me.

Over the last few years, ___’s romantic endeavors had been rocky at best. Each relationship had crumbled under the weight of unmet expectations and emotional turmoil, leaving them hesitant and guarded. Maybe it was time to take a risk. With a newfound determination, they downloaded a popular dating app that a friend had suggested, eager to explore new connections.

As they swiped through profiles, they encountered their fair share of catfishes and pictures of men holding fish—how cliché! After a while, their thumb paused, eyes widening in disbelief at the sight before them. There, staring back at them, was Professor Marston. He’s on here?! The realization sent a rush of excitement and apprehension coursing through them. They glanced around their bedroom, as if expecting someone to pop out and catch them in the act and judge them on their delusions.

Without overthinking, ___ swiped right on his profile, their heart pounding in anticipation. Moments later, a notification lit up the screen: You’ve matched with Andrew Marston. A surge of adrenaline shot through them, mingled with a wave of nervousness.

“What do I do now?” they muttered, staring at the screen as if it held all the answers. Their mind raced with possibilities: Should they send a flirty message, or play it cool? Would Andrew even want to reconnect after all this time?

Taking a deep breath, they decided to keep it simple. Hey, it’s been a while! How have you been? They hit send and immediately regretted it, anxiety creeping in as they wondered how Andrew would react.

Time seemed to stretch as they waited for a reply, their heart racing with anticipation. Would he remember them? Did he even want to engage in a conversation after all this time?

Just as doubt began to creep in, their phone buzzed with a notification. Hello Wow, this is a surprise! I’d never thought I’d see you on here, I’m doing well, how about you?

A wave of relief washed over ___, followed by a flutter of excitement. They were talking to Andrew again. Could this be the start of something new?

As they exchanged messages, ___ felt the familiar spark igniting within them—a reminder of the connection they once shared, tempered now by years of growth and maturity. They were ready to embrace whatever came next, even if it was uncertain. Perhaps this time, they could explore what had once been left unspoken and let time lead them forward

After several days filled with texting, laughter, and heartfelt reconnections, Andrew brought up the idea of meeting at the café a couple of blocks down from the university. The thought sent a thrill of excitement through ___, who quickly accepted, eager to see him in person again. As the days counted down to their “date,” ___ found themselves in a whirlwind of anticipation, wondering what they should wear. Should they go casual or dress up a bit? After much deliberation, they settled on a comfortable yet stylish outfit, a light sweater that highlighted their figure and dark jeans that felt just right for the occasion.

Finally, the day arrived. ___ walked down the street toward the café, their heart racing with every step. But as they approached the entrance, a pang of disappointment hit them—Andrew wasn’t there yet. Were they early? Late? A flurry of visions clouded their mind, filled with anxious thoughts. What if he changed his mind?

Five minutes felt like an eternity as they stood there, glancing around the bustling street. Just when doubt began to creep in, Andrew appeared, slightly out of breath and a touch disheveled, as if he had rushed over. “I’m so sorry I’m late!” he exclaimed, a sincere smile breaking across his face. “I got caught up with a meeting that ran over.”

“It’s okay! I just got here, too,” ___ replied, their nervousness dissipating as they saw his warm smile. “I thought I might have missed you.”

As they walked inside together, the rich aroma of coffee filled the air. Once they ordered their drinks, they settled into a cozy corner table, the atmosphere warm and inviting. The soft chatter of other patrons created a comforting background hum.

“So, how have you been?” Andrew asked, leaning forward, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“Busy with work, but good overall,” ___ replied, feeling the tension ease as they settled into conversation. “I’ve been thinking about those long nights studying for finals. It feels like just yesterday.”

Andrew chuckled, shaking his head. “I remember you always being the last one to leave the library. You put in a lot of effort.”

“Guilty as charged!” ___ laughed. “But I have to admit, some of those late nights were less about studying and more about hoping to catch a glimpse of you.”

A blush crept up Andrew’s cheeks as he met their gaze. “I had no idea. I always thought you were just really dedicated to your studies.”

“I was dedicated, but I was also a little... infatuated,” ___ admitted, their heart racing.

Andrew’s expression softened, and he leaned in closer. “I’m glad you said that. I felt a connection between us, too, but I didn’t know how to approach it back then.”

Their drinks arrived, steaming mugs placed in front of them. As they chatted about old memories, exchanged phone numbers, and shared laughter over silly college anecdotes, the chemistry between them became undeniable.

Then, as the conversation turned more intimate, Andrew leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. “You know, I’ve thought about that day at graduation a lot.”

___’s heart raced. “Really? I have too. I was so nervous when we took that photo together.”

Andrew smiled, his gaze unwavering. “I was too. I just didn’t know what to say. I wish I had told you how much I admired you back then.”

With that shared moment hanging in the air, Andrew’s eyes flickered to ___’s lips, an electric charge pulsing between them. Suddenly, he leaned in closer, closing the distance as his lips brushed against theirs. It was a soft, tentative kiss that quickly blossomed into something more passionate. It was everything ___ had been waiting for, for what felt like years—a culmination of unspoken feelings and missed opportunities.

Nothing could ruin this moment for them; it felt so incredibly magical. The world around them faded as they lost themselves in each other, the café bustling with life yet feeling like a private haven just for them. As they pulled away, breathless and smiling, ___ could hardly contain their joy.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the day I met you,” Andrew confessed, his cheeks slightly flushed.

“Me too,” ___ replied, a giddy smile spreading across their face. “I thought I was being ridiculous, but now… it feels right.”

Andrew chuckled softly, “I think we both might be a little ridiculous. But in the best way.”

As they continued to talk, the conversation flowed seamlessly, filled with laughter and lingering glances. Each moment felt like a promise of something beautiful beginning. In that instant, all the doubts and insecurities melted away, replaced by the warmth of newfound affection.

“I can’t believe we waited this long,” Andrew said, his tone thoughtful. “But maybe it was worth it. We’ve both grown so much.”

___ nodded, feeling a sense of hope swell within them. “It really does feel like the right time now.”

They both knew this was just the start of a new chapter—one where they could explore their feelings without fear. They were no longer just a student and a professor; they were two souls connecting in a way that felt right. And as they sat across from each other, the future felt wide open, filled with possibilities

[otissbluebearshirt]

First Christmas - [ Brian ‘Otis’ Zvonecek ]

Summary: Your first proper Christmas with Brian becomes that much more special when he asks you that one magical question

Word Count: 1272

Warnings: female!reader, implied sex

A/N: I feel like this sucks so apologies if it does

Masterlist | Otis Masterlist

It was your first Christmas living with Brian. The first time in the two years you’d been dating that you’d be spending the holiday under the same roof. The last two times you had both been with your families, only getting to spend the last few hours of Christmas day together and cherishing each second.

But things were different now.

Now you were living together, in the very place you’d both put your whole heart into making a home. Which meant from the second the clock struck midnight, you’d get to spend every single second of your favourite holiday with the man you loved more than anything.

And to make matters even better, it was snowing.

“I always loved seeing snow on Christmas.” You sighed contently, drawing lazy circles over Brian’s knee as you sat between his legs.

The first thing you’d done when you both moved in was make a cozy little nook by the biggest window. Filled with pillows, blankets and the stuffed bear Brian had gotten you last Christmas. Somewhere you could just curl up with a cup of tea and watch as the world went by around you. Bonus points if it was raining. You could sit there for hours if it was raining.

You both sat there now, watching the snow. Brian’s arms wrapped comfortingly around you, your back pressed up against his chest with his head resting atop yours. Low Christmas music drifted through the air and the crackling of the fire only added to the coziness of the moment.

All that was missing was some hot cocoa but unfortunately you’d forgotten to pick some up at the store, which meant you had to settle for beer instead. But you didn’t care. You had the love of your life holding you close and that’s all that really mattered.

“I’m really happy we’re together this year.” You said softly, placing your hand on Brian’s as you glanced up at him, the way his eyes softened immediately when they met yours warming your heart immensely.

“Me too, baby.” Brian whispered, leaning down to place a soft kiss against your lips, feeling as they lifted beneath his as you couldn’t help but smile. He pulled back just a little, lifting one hand to gently graze his knuckles down the side of your face. “I have something for you.”

“You do?” Your eyes widened a touch, excitement filling your stomach as it wasn’t Christmas day yet and Brian always was a stickler for the rules of not opening presents until then. He nodded, shuffling a little to reach into his pocket as you lifted yourself away from him.

Spinning to face him, you crossed your legs beneath you, the smile on your face as he pulled out a neatly wrapped, small box from his pocket making him one hundred percent sure he wanted to do this right now. Not that he could have waited anyway but still, your excitement only fuelled his own and surprisingly, he wasn’t as nervous as he thought he might have been.

“I was planning to give it to you tomorrow night.” Brian said almost anxiously, his eyes glued to the box as he hesitated for just a second. He held it out towards you, eyes never leaving it until you had taken it from him and when you did, you could have sworn you heard him suck in a breath. “But I couldn’t wait any longer and honestly, doing it on Christmas seemed kinda cliche.”

“Doing what?” You asked, eyes narrowing a little as you gently shook the box. It made no noise.

“You’ll see.” Brian smiled, pushing your hands closer to you as he urged you to open the present before he did it for you as now that the gears were set in motion, he couldn’t contain his excitement. “Open it.”

“Okay.” You said with a touch of nervousness, sliding your finger through the folds of the paper and carefully tearing it open, revealing a black, velvet box beneath. “Brian…”

Your heart was practically in your throat as you realised what was happening. Your mouth unable to form anything but whispers of unintelligible babble as you shakily opened the box, your eyes tearing up when you confirmed your suspicions about what was inside.

Reaching forwards Brian took the box from you, which was easy given how limp your hands seemed to go. He stood up, pulling you up with him and the second your legs straightened, his bent and he got down on one knee.

“I’ve never had much luck when it came to relationships.” Brian began, taking your hand in his and feeling how it shook in his hold. “But when I met you… I knew I wouldn’t need luck anymore because that was the day I knew I’d found the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.”

You were already crying and he hadn’t even asked you the question yet. But you knew your answer. Hell, you’d known it long before this very moment.

“Will you marry me?”

“Yes.” You nodded, the word leaving your lips before Brian’s even had a chance to settle in the air. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Brian’s smile widened more than you’d ever seen it and you didn’t think his dimples could get any deeper, but boy were you wrong. He got to his feet, sliding the most beautiful ring you’d ever laid eyes on onto your finger, where it fit perfectly. Like it was made just for you when in reality, Brian thought he’d have to get it resized.

The second his movements stopped you kissed him, with such intense heat that it would rival that which crackled softly in your fireplace. Your bodies pressed together firmly, his hands landing on either side of your neck as he held you the way you always liked. So gentle and caring that there wasn’t a single doubt in your mind about your answer to his question. And there never would be as Brian was the embodiment perfect.

“I love you so goddamn much.” You whispered, voice a little croaky as you were still very much, crying.

“I love you too.” Brian replied softly, brushing your hair behind your ear as he pressed another loving kiss to your lips, wondering how in the hell he managed to get so lucky. Not only had you agreed to go out with him but you’d now said yes to marrying him, surely he was dreaming?

Things heated up between you both again, your fingers working their way into his soft curls as you kissed him with enough passion that you wouldn’t have needed words to tell him you loved him. You jumped a little, wrapping your legs around his waist and feeling as his hands came to land on your upper thighs, holding you in place as he slowly made his way towards the couch.

The next thing you knew you were lying on top of him, the two of you naked, equally as sweaty as one another and completely out of breath. In other words, in complete and utter bliss as who knew a marriage proposal would result in the best sex the two of you had ever had.

Neither of you had paid any attention to the time, not until the antique grandfather clock you’d thrifted suddenly began to chime, causing you to lift your head a little and glance over at it.

“It’s midnight.” You whispered, smiling softly as your eyes fell back onto your boyf… Your fiancé, rather. You leaned down, pressing a light kiss to his lips before whispering. “Merry Christmas, Brian.”

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[makingfanfictionstosleep]

under my skin

Story Masterlist : Jinx | A/N : Joo Jaekyung x F! Reader, Both Jaekyung & Reader are bisexual, Explicit & Very Mature Content, Sassy Jaekyung, Typed on my phone so please bear with typos, Just had to get this off my fckn head | R18 MDNI - Minors Do Not Interact

THREE

The dressing room pulsed with tension the second Jaekyung stepped out of the van. His entire demeanor shifted—no longer cocky, no longer smug. Instead, his face was carved into a mask of cold focus, exuding intimidation and raw, coiled power.

Right. The zone, you thought grimly, watching him. But it still baffled you how sex was his catalyst for entering that state.

The all-night sex should’ve been enough to push me out of his system, you told yourself, dragging your own mind back to work—back to what you were known for.

You weren’t just some gym-side physical therapist. You had history. Credentials. You were one of the best. You’d worked with South Korea’s national teams, patched up Olympic swimmers, even toured with Japan’s swim team during the last games. You didn’t step back because you had to—you stepped back because you chose to.

And now, watching Jaekyung stalk into the ring from your post in the crowd, you weren’t sure if stepping back had been a mistake.

There was no denying the way he moved. Fluid. Lethal. Devastatingly magnetic. His presence alone could crush most opponents before the bell even rang. Dangerous, handsome, arrogant—and with a dick so absurdly big it had ruined your sleep schedule and focus for the past hours.

You hated him.

You hated how he made you feel things you hadn’t felt in years.

The fight was brutal. Technical. A masterclass in destruction. Jaekyung didn’t just win—he dominated. You had to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from reacting too much when he raised his fists in victory, chest heaving, blood dripping down his temple like a fucking warrior god from a myth.

Too bad he’s rotten to the core, you reminded yourself, wrenching your eyes away.

By the time he returned backstage, the rest of the team had already prepped the ice bath, pain patches, and recovery gear. Jaekyung collapsed into the armchair, breathing hard. You didn’t wait for instruction—you were already applying the ice to his slightly swollen shoulder.

He hissed at the contact, but slowly his muscles relaxed.

You held the pack in place, the silence between you thick with unspoken thoughts.

“That was a really good, intense fight,” you finally said, trying for neutral professionalism.

He cracked one eye open, smug returning just beneath the surface. “Told you. That’s why I need to be in the zone,” he said, drawing out the last two words with infuriating arrogance.

You ground your teeth, then shoved his hand onto the pack. He winced.

“Hold this in place, Mr. Joo. Ten minutes,” you snapped, already walking away. “I need to prep the therapy table.”

His amused chuckle followed you out of the room.

“Fucking evil spawn,” you muttered under your breath.

What you didn’t know was how confused Jaekyung was. Sex usually worked—it was his reset button. A way to burn off obsession. But here he was, days later, still thinking about you.

His plan had been simple: fuck you, get it out of his system, move on.

Didn’t work.

So now he sat at a bar in an exclusive club, nursing a drink, watching an attractive man watching him.

He’ll do, Jaekyung thought, tilting his head slightly toward the restroom.

It was mechanical after that. Slick. Detached. The guy was into it—pretty, responsive, good with his mouth. But Jaekyung’s mind didn’t stay present.

Couldn’t.

His eyes closed and all he saw was you. The way you moaned. The way your nails dug into his shoulders. The way your body trembled under his.

The orgasm hit unexpectedly—sharp, unsatisfying. The man panted beneath him, looking dazed. “You were good, baby. We should—”

“No.” Jaekyung stood, pulling out and discarding the condom. “Leave.”

The guy looked hurt, then pissed. He left with a slam of the door.

Jaekyung stayed behind, hands braced on the tiled wall, eyes burning with confusion.

This is supposed to fix things.

Meanwhile, across the city, you were sprawled on your bed—naked, flushed, and entirely unsatisfied.

The woman between your legs was stunning. Her mouth talented. But nothing clicked. You were faking moans just to reward her effort.

She pulled back, wiping her mouth, and gave you a smirk. “Your mind’s somewhere else, beautiful. Those moans might sound good, but they’re fake.”

Before you could protest, she pinched your clit, making you jolt. “Close your eyes. Think about who you really want in this pretty pussy.”

You obeyed.

Immediately, your mind conjured Jaekyung—his hands, his voice, his filthy mouth. His size. His stamina. His relentless drive.

“That’s it, gorgeous,” she cooed, slipping a vibrator into you while watching your reaction, “Think of him.”

It didn’t take long.

“Say my name,” she whispered—only it wasn’t her voice in your mind anymore.

“Jaekyung,” you gasped, coming undone.

When your eyes opened, she looked smug. “Knew it. It’s always a guy that ruins you like this. Don’t worry, I’ve been there. Just fuck him until he’s out of your system.”

“Fucking evil spawn,” you muttered.

The next morning, you drove yourself to the gym with a pounding headache and a racing mind.

You needed to get Jaekyung to the hospital. You suspected something deeper with his shoulder—maybe even a tear.

You braced for resistance.

But instead, when you brought it up, he just… agreed.

“Okay,” he said simply, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “We’re taking my car.”

You blinked at him, disoriented. “Was it always this easy?”

The hospital visit confirmed your suspicions. Jaekyung was forced to rest—a full week. No training. No matches. No gym.

He didn’t take it well.

He stormed out ahead of you, not even checking if you were behind him. You let him go, sighing. You understood. For someone like him, forced rest probably felt like punishment.

The doctor had been stern, thankfully. Told Jaekyung flat-out that if he wanted to keep his career, he needed to respect his body.

You watched him speed away from the hospital parking lot. Didn’t bother calling. You needed space too.

Later, you were at the gym’s parking lot, about to head to a private client’s house, when your car door slammed shut before you could get in.

“What the f—”

“You need to take responsibility for this,” came a low, familiar voice.

You turned slowly, already knowing it was Jaekyung. He had you caged—one hand on the car door, the other beside your head, body angled close.

Your breath hitched.

“Mr. Joo—”

“I’m not going against the doctor’s orders,” he said quietly, breath ghosting over your lips. “But if you’re the one who forced this rest, then you’re the one who needs to manage me during it.”

You crossed your arms, standing your ground. “You’re a grown-ass man, Jaekyung. Figure it out.”

A slow grin curled at his lips.

“Oh, I will,” he murmured. “But you’re going to help me do it.”